“Little bug, I do not understand this myopic pessimism. This isverygood coffee, by the way. You have been fretting over this market business for nearly a week and you haven’t even turned in the application. I’ll do it for you, if you don’t stop doubting yourself.”
Ladybug didn’t bother mentioning that it was an online application, for the point of his threat was made. “I’m being silly,” she’d mumbled, slumping against the counter, knowing it was true.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he clarified, setting his coffee mug on the counter, missing her glare. “Ladybug, I watch you standing at this counter every day, working away over your orders.”
“But those are orders for customers, customers who already—“
“Customers you didn’t have a year ago,” he interrupted. “Customers who found you through one channel or another, who rely onyouto brew them luck and love, to heal their children. You already have them, and you did it all on your own, because you were brave enough to try. What bad thing could come from trying this?”
“But what if no one buys from me?! What if they don’t…”
She’d trailed off with a gulp, moving her gaze to the floor.What if they don’t like me?
She hated admitting that she was still an insecure child at heart, awkward and silent where the other girls had sparkled and chattered. The last witch picked as a partner for potions or spellwork or games. The thought of her table of potions and remedies being ignored as she sat there in tongue-tied embarrassment was too much like the memory of being the only girl with no buddy for wildflower foraging.
One of Anzan’s giant hands had gripped her chin, raising her face slowly. It never failed to send a little shiver up her back at the thought of the leashed power in those hands, the lethally sharp nails on his long fingers, his very real ability to snap her in half like a cracker with a flick of his wrist . . . and how unfailingly gentle he was with her, always. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, parting her mouth. Small, black orbs flickered, as his deep blue eyes fixed on hers.
“Little bug . . . who cares?”
She dropped against his chest, letting it swallow her exhausted laughter. She had thought of nothing else since coming home from the Makers’ Mart, and it had been nearly a week. She was no closer to making a decision, but neither was she to letting the idea go. It rasped beneath her skin like a splinter she was unable to dig out, burrowing deeper and deeper until it was the only thought she had left.
“Perhaps you need to find a partner.”
Ladybug raised herself. “A partner?”
Anzan nodded, adding a selection of candied dates and cicadas to the plate he’d assembled to take back upstairs with his coffee.
“A partner. One who knows how to sell. Someone with experience.”
She backed up several paces, until the small of her back bumped the opposite counter. Anzan was completely absorbed in his coffee. A strange prickle moved down her neck.
“Why did you say that?”
Anzan looked up at her slowly, his eyes focusing on her. “Did I say something?”
She breathed steadily, clearing her mind. “You did, just now. You told me I ought to find a partner. Why did you say that? Were those your words, Anzan?”
His blue eyes blinked balefully at her. “Little bug, whose words would they be but mine? I don’t know why I asked. Why, do you know someone?”
Walk wary of magic that is beyond understanding, for it owes allegiance to no one.
Her hands balled into fists. It was no accident that she had suddenly had a burning desire to visit the Makers’ Mart the previous weekend, no fluke that Anzan was suddenly inquiring into whether or not she knew someone with sales experience. Of course she did. A purveyor of fine esoteric and occultist goods.
He had done this. He had not left, had never left. He had just become more clever about how to manipulate her.
Ladybug stalked across the kitchen, taking a deep breath before opening the door.
The black cat sat on the garden bench, as if he had been waiting. She had done exactly as he’d wanted. Authricia had been right. He couldn’t be trusted, but now it didn’t matter. The thought of the Makers’ Mart would consume her until there was no room for anything else, and to be successful, she needed his help.
He was banished once before, and you can do it again if need be.Burdock and cumin, red pepper and caraway, an oil of holy thistle.A witch’s intent is more important than the strength of her spell.
She stepped back and motioned into the house. The cat leapt gracefully from the bench to the flagstones before her, transforming into a slender, black-haired man on his final bounce. His smile was at once familiar and infuriating as he spread his hands to greet her, as if no time had elapsed since last she saw him.
“Elizabeth, my darling girl. It’s been too long.”
The whole world seemed to sway for a moment, tipping on its axis as if the earth were no more than a styrofoam ball, swinging in some junior coven astronomy project, as Holt stepped over the threshold of her home for the first time since Willow’s death.
Ladybug didn’t know why she had assumed inviting him back into her home and her life would be insignificant. She supposed she’d thought Holt would come in and she’d be annoyed, that she’d give him exactly three minutes to explain himself and he would bluster. She would show him the door, and that would be that.
