“Well you could always repay her kindnesses by helping her kid sister.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmur, and we both chortle as we exit the car.
Catbeam pops her ridiculous green top hat on top of her wiry gray curls and leads the way through a weedy non-path to the front door, which cracks open as we approach.
“Catty,” rumbles a low, hoarse voice, “yer lookin’ lovely as usual.”
“Talo,” murmurs Catbeam, “don’t think you can sweettalk me into one of your stingy deals.”
Hinges squeal as the door swings open, revealing a stocky, silver-haired troll with black eyes, pointy ears each sprouting a tuft of hair, an oversized nose, and a pale gray-blue complexion. “Ach, ye can’t mean it, Catty. Ye know I’d never steer ye wrong.”
Catbeam cackles and sways her skinny hips as she enters the shop. Sweet moonglow, I think she’s flirting with the beady-eyed troll! “What about that pair of earrings you sold me in ’69? They were brass, Talo, not gold. They turned my earlobesgreen.”
“’Twas a terrible mistake, and I’ve made it up to yeever since, since ye never cease to remind me of those earrings.”
Catbeam sniffs. “You’d best not be trying any of your tiresome troll tricks today; this is my granddaughter’s fiancé, and he would like to look at some rings. But I should warn you, next to my grandson Jake, he’s the most fearsome werewolf in Door County.”
A low gargle of surprise escapes from my throat, and Catbeam gives my arm a warning pinch. I straighten my spine and stare at the troll, who squints up at me. “Well now, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine, Mister… er, what’s yer name?”
“Mr. L.T. Barker,” supplies Catbeam quickly; there’s probably a rule about not giving a troll your full name, which she neglected to tell me.
“How can I help you, Mr. Barker?” asks the troll, welcoming us into a tiny, cramped shop with exposed wood walls and shelves upon shelves of shiny, sparkly objects—jewelry, pen knives, compasses, small clocks, handheld mirrors, tea cups, candlesticks, paperweights, marbles, and so forth.
“I’m looking for a unique engagement ring for a beautiful faerie whose favorite color is green.”
“And this is for Catty’s granddaughter?” Talo scratches one of his hairy ears. “Is she the baker or the wedding planner?”
“The baker,” I reply.
Talo approaches the wall of shelves containing mostly jewelry and begins to pick pieces off the shelf. When he turns back to me, he’s holding a square, velvet-lined tray containing six gold rings that glimmer in theshop’s dim overhead light; hmm… that fact alone tells me these rings are enchanted to look nicer than they are.
Granny Catbeam crosses her arms. “Nope. Just put them right back on the shelf, Talo.”
“But—”
“We’re not interested.”
With a heavy sigh, Talo replaces his first set of rings and proceeds to make another selection, but Catbeam rejects them too, and the set after that. Talo finally shifts his bare feet on the wooden floorboards. “Please wait here while I step outside to gather the finest collection of rings ye will find anywhere in the known world.”
Catbeam crosses her arms. “Don’t keep us waiting too long. We haven’t got all day.”
When the troll exits through a small, narrow opening in the rear of his shop, I turn to Sophie’s grandmother and hiss, “This feels like a waste of time.”
“Have a little patience. That was all preamble… now we’ll start getting to the good stuff.”
“And when I find the perfect ring for Sophie, you still want me to walk away?” I ask.
“Of course!” replies Catbeam with all the confidence of a chess player plotting her next five moves.
Talo makes several more trips out back, each time returning with a ring or three in his tray; the jewelry is getting more upscale, and so is my anxiety. For one thing, no prices are posted, so even if I wanted to pay in US dollars rather than in faerie bargains, I can’t. And Catbeam is pursing her lips a bit more with each new ring Talo presents, as if she, too, is trying to gauge the cost.
Finally, Talo presents me with a single golden ring inside a black velvet box. “Mypièce de résistance,” he says with a surprisingly good French accent. Delicate curlicues encircle the band, forming a basket of feathered wings on top. The wings encase a two-carat solitaire emerald, which is surrounded by a circlet of tiny, sparkling diamonds.
It’s superb, and I have no doubt Sophie would love it. Talo is staring at my face, which I guess is super transparent, because he’s smiling broadly and probably already doubling whatever price he had in mind. Catbeam pinches me again, and I cough. “If that’s your pièce de résistance,” I tell him. “Then I’m afraid I must be going. It simply won’t do.”
I turn on my heels and march toward the door, hoping the troll doesn’t ban us from ever setting foot in his nonsensical shop again. But Catbeam’s scratchy voice calls after me. “Are you absolutely certain there isn’tanythinghere that would please Sophie? Perhaps that rose gold band Talo showed us earlier? That was rather pretty.”
That’s my cue to turn back reluctantly and take another pass through a couple of the earlier choices. Talo and Catbeam begin haggling over the rose gold ring I’m not even interested in, until Catbeam huffs in disgust at the price and hustles me outside.
