“It’s good to see you again, Grandmother,” Augustin said, his eyes flitting between her and the stranger. Or was it another elder?
Elder Orora grunted. “You could stand to visit more, now that you live in Weathervale. It shouldn’t take an official summons for me to see my grandson.”
“I’ve been very busy,” Augustin said, his nose raised with a self-important sniffle.
Orora’s eyes traveled from Augustin’s face to Braiden’s and back. “Yes. I can see that.”
Augustin seemed to miss the implication. Braiden did not. He dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, his sweat now a mixture of exertion and the intense heat of sitting under Orora Arcosa’s burning gaze. Like a spotlight, really, a beam of sunshine focused through the end of a spyglass.
“Today was supposed to be the official launch of Augustin’s Effervescent Elixirs,” Augustin announced, smiling as if for a room full of admirers.
Orora pursed her lips, unimpressed. The other elder sat in silence. Was he asleep? Worse — was he dead?
“Yes, your little pet project,” Orora said. “I imagine it must be a most amusing distraction before you return your focus to adventuring and dungeons.”
Braiden opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it, seeing how Augustin bristled at his grandmother’s words. This was his duel to fight, a battle of barbs, wind wizard against wind wizard.
“It’s not just my ‘little pet project,’ Grandmother, and you know that. I am on hiatus from the business of adventuring. I’m trying something different. Something new.”
“Come now, Augustin. Do you really want to waste your potential waiting on customers, standing behind a dreary counter for the rest of your days?” Orora tilted her head apologetically. “No offense meant, Braiden.”
“None taken,” Braiden answered through gritted teeth.
Augustin harrumphed. “You didn’t summon me here to berate me about my business, did you?”
“Of course, not. Don’t be silly. I meant to berate you about many other things. Starting with this.”
Elder Orora held up a sheet of regrettably familiar paper. It was one of the flyers they’d sent out not an hour ago. More than ever Braiden wished he could be back at the shop. He’d take a whole morning of wistfully praying for customers to come over whatever Elder Orora was about to offer.
“Do either of you have a permit for distributing flyers throughout the city? Some would say that this constitutes soliciting. On an unprecedented scale, I might add.”
“But you taught me that spell yourself,” Augustin said, ruffling his hair in frustration. “We didn’t solicit anyone. This is just — marketing, that’s all. Guerrilla marketing.”
Braiden wrung his hands. He had no time to wonder how gorillas were involved in this.
“It’s littering, is what it is. Gods, Augustin, honestly, is this how I raised you? Scattering parchment throughout your hometown, being a public menace?”
She hadn’t mentioned the confetti, the bits of string, the ribbons, the colorful streamers. For once Braiden was glad that his weaving magic was so temporal, leaving behind no evidence. He could sense what Elder Orora was building up to. The cobweb twanged. The spider silk tightened.
“All is forgiven, of course, provided you pay the fine.”
And there it was. The black widow skittered across the cobweb.
Augustin threw his hands up. “A fine? Fine. Whatever. Is that all?”
Elder Orora’s head turned so slowly toward Braiden, her gray eyes cutting a steely line. Braiden gulped. The black widow lunged.
“Are you aware, Braiden Beadle, that your shop is not zoned for residential purposes?”
Oh, gods. She knew about the wizard in the storage room.
“Well, technically, Elder Orora, I live in the shop’s attic, and I’m explicitly aware that it falls within the Lighthouse’s guidelines. I’m allowed to take residence on the premises.”
He almost stamped his foot in triumphant indignation. Elder Orora’s smile was as sharp as a saber.
“Ah, yes. The living quarters in the attic. Perfectly permissible. But you are not allowed to collect rent for housing a tenant in a commercial space. That would make you into some sort of inn, would it not? A bed and breakfast. And that comes with its own snags and foibles. Permits. Licenses. For serving food and drink, among other things.”
Braiden froze. Elder Orora leaned her elbows on the table, her hands folding, fingers fitting together like the teeth on a bear trap.
