Holt had only shrugged. “Not every week. Don’t worry, you won’t need me for long.”
She’d been chewing on his words since, twiddling her fingers as her stomach knotted itself like a poorly played game of cat’s cradle.So much for hiding under the table. She couldn’t do this alone, he had to know that.
“For pity’s sake, you’re going to be fine,” he sighed now, pushing to his feet. “The table looks great,” he went on, moving to stand before it one last time, looking over his careful displays. “You’re welcome, by the way. There’s not going to be anything left,” he assured her. “Come here, look at how professional you look.”
She felt like a child, trudging around the table to meet him. Itwasan impressive display, she had to admit. She would practice the set-up at home until could replicate it flawlessly, would make small changes as her product assortment shifted with the season, adding new things, and removing those that didn’t sell. She would ensure she could set up the banner on her own, would make sure she knew how to run the small credit card reader he had purchased for her, would practice until she had every element of this micro business down pat.
All but one.
Ladybug knew there wasn’t enough practice in the world she could do at home with a card table that would make up for her conversational deficits. After all, she had been practicing that for more than thirty years, and the mastery eluded her still.
“Look at that sigil. Remember what it means. Remember how far you have come on your own, Elizabeth. On your own, but never alone. And don’t forget how proud they all are.Thatis the power of witch, little Ladybug.”
Anzan had given her a similar pep talk that morning, reminding her of her bravery, how much she had accomplished on her own, and how proud he was of her. She didn’t have time to get emotional, she reminded herself, pushing her tongue into the roof of her mouth as she nodded. It was time to open.
“It’s showtime,” one of the goblins exclaimed cheerfully from the table beside them. “Cheers to your first big day!”
The first customer to her table was a middle-aged troll with a curtain of platinum silver hair, shopping with a teenager.
“Just browsing.”
Ladybug’s stomach bunched as the two troll women looked over her work, nerves tightening and twisting her insides, leaving her breathless.Looking, touching, judging.
“Do you ladies come here every week?” Holt asked the pair conversationally. If he was aware that Ladybug was suffering from apparent apoplexy right beside him, he gave no notice. “This is our very first week, so I have no idea what to expect with traffic.”
“Not every week, but at least once or twice a month,” the older of the two answered with a smile. “I like to get here as soon as the doors open while it’s still a bit quiet. This place will be a madhouse within the hour. Hard to believe it’s your first week, everything looks great.” She gave Ladybug a kind smile. “Don’t look so petrified. You’re probably going to sell out some of this stuff! I don’t think anyone else has perfume oils in roller balls like this, so smart.”
She turned to the younger woman, her daughter, most likely. Ladybug bit her lip when the younger troll handed her mother two bottles of intention oil that she had picked out, using the small plastic spatulas beside the testers of body butter to try the lavender sage.
“That one is made with goat’s milk from Saddlethorne, just up the road, and all of the herbs we use are grown in our own medicinal garden.”
The older troll hummed at Holt’s words, sniffing the top of her daughter’s hand as she extended it to her mother’s nose. Ladybug considered that she might need to wear period panties next week, because there was a very real concern that she was going to pee herself in excitement as Holt rang the women up; two bottles of intention oil, the lavender sage body butter, and the matching bar of goat’s milk soap.
“Good luck to you,” the troll said as they walked away. “Although I’m sure you’re going to do great.”
“Hopefully we see you again,” Holt said just as cheerfully, matching the woman’s bright tone. As soon as the pair had stepped away, he turned to her, dark eyebrows drawn together. “I’m going to say this as nicely as I can — fix your face. Because you literally look like you’re shitting yourself.”
“I can’t help it,” she hissed back. “I told you I’m no good at this! Did you see that?! I can’t believe they bought so much!”
He rolled his eyes in response. She imagined him getting stuck that way, a permanently cross-eyed black cat, momentarily mollified at the thought.
“I already told you, you’re going to go home empty-handed. If you don’t sell out just about everything, I’ll let you put me in a little daisy cat hat and post photos online. You heard what she said, this place is going to get busy very soon. Why don’t you go to the bathroom and empty your damn bladder and stop hopping from foot to foot. Grab me an iced coffee on the way back. I’m parched.”
She had promised herself that her days of being the group lackey were over, but now was not the time to start. Ladybug did as she was asked, taking the long way back around the hall on her way back to the table, mentally counting how many vendors she spotted selling similar products to her own. It was then that she spotted them.
Two witches around her age, one of whom she had known since the junior coven. They were laughing over something and didn’t see her, and she quickly moved past their row before either of them turned their heads. She could no longer see the items on the table, but from her vantage point, Ladybug was able to make out the sign they had in a picture frame —herbal remedies and elixirs.
The real competition. In more ways than one, she thought, scurrying back to her own table.You’re a witch, not a mouse. You can sell circles around them, and you will. The troll woman had been right. The hall was already substantially more crowded than it had been just fifteen minutes earlier, and she knew from her own previous trips to the Makers’ Mart that the crowd would continue to grow.
“Do you remember Leticia Lattimore?” she asked upon her return, handing Holt his coffee.
“Unfortunately. Why, is she here?”
Ladybug plastered on her most winsome smile, hoping it did not resemble a grimace as fresh shoppers stepped up to the table. She could do this. Shehadto do this. “Her daughter Izzy,” she said from the side of her mouth. “Perfect, poisonous Izzy.”
“Ladies, if I can answer any questions for you, please do not hesitate to ask.” His voice, she noticed, was a titch more serious as he spoke to this group, his glamour slipping ever so slightly, a vibration of magic threading his words. “Every crystal used to power your intention oil has been charged beneath the full moon, in traditional ritualistic fashion. Some of the recipes in our medicinal grimoire are potions that have been curing our neighbors for hundreds of years. We have the witch who created everything you’re about to enjoy on the table with us today, so if you have any questions at all, she is on hand to offer her expert opinion and advice.”
The moth woman and her sylvan companion murmured appreciatively, while two goblins slathered their arms in tester lotion.
