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Anyway, she shouldn’t leave the key outside, that much was clear. Cracking open the door, Fia looked both ways down the alley, where the only movement came from the windblown branches full of orange leaves, then fumbled the key from its hiding spot.
It didn’t make her feel much better. The magicians who’d slinked past the gargoyles guarding the impenetrable archives could get into her home anytime they wanted. She was vulnerable, which was maddening.
“I’ll just have to root them out first,” she said with a perhaps overambitious resolve that both thrilled and terrified her with its boldness. Perhaps because she’d spoken the words aloud, perhaps because she’d already dared Thistledown, and definitely because she had so much to lose, there was no going back on the idea now. “I have to clear my name.”
Somehow.
Goodness, she’d never so much as confronted a spider—thanks to Finnick—let alone three magicians.
Abandoning her tea, Fia strode down the hall and pushed through the door that separated the spellshop from the rooms where she lived. Last night, Grace had suggested (insisted) that Fia go about her day just as she normally would, and that meant opening Sable Spells. Fia knew it was the best thing she could do to avoid suspicion, but she didn’t know how she’d manage it while snooping into the identities of those devious thieves.
Unless she hired some help for the shop?
Which she really couldn’t afford. But she couldn’t afford not to do it either.
And it was more than the expense. Her life, already gone crooked since losing her mother, had now tipped so far off the track that she was certain to crash unless she righted her course.
Rummaging in a drawer, Fia pulled out a sheet of paper usually reserved for her spellwork, then spun toward the pen and pot she always left on the ink-splattered counter. Breaths falling fast, she stared at the materials. Imagined her mother looking on. Whether she was here or not, this was Sable’s shop, and she’d always run it independently, just as she’d lived her life. It felt strange and almost uncomfortable now to do something her mother had never done—but there was no denying Fia needed help.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she drew up a small advertisement, as neat as she could make it, lettering the same message on both sides. Satisfied with its presentation, Fia stuck the paper to the cracked front window.
TEMPORARY SPELLWRIGHT WANTED
MUST BE PROFICIENT IN SPELL CONSTRUCTION
LEGIBLE HANDWRITING REQUIRED
APPLY WITHIN
After that decisive act, the day went on more or less like any other. A handful of customers streamed in and out of the shop. Some, like Dermot Stone, acted as they always did, uninterested in pleasantries or the new notice on the window.
“Three sun stones, and I’m in a hurry,” he reminded her gruffly.
“Where are you off to?” she asked, bagging the gold-veined stones, which attracted the sun even on cloudy days.
He scowled. “I’ve got to water the mums.”
On his way out the door, he brushed past other customers, who had probably been drawn in by the article, but she was hardly thankful for that. They seemed to look at Fia a little too closely, doubtlessly wondering if someone like her really had the audacity or the skill to steal The Book of Ribs.
“And how have you been recently?” Gwendolyn Blair—a dowager and gossip if ever there was one—asked knowingly. Rin, the tiny golden songbird she brought with her everywhere, ruffled his feathers from his place in her unnaturally bright hair.
“I’ve been just fine,” Fia replied through a stiff smile.
Gwendolyn tutted, as if she knew otherwise.
A lull came that afternoon. Orange-hued light slanted through the front window, catching on the crack the rook had left in the glass. Fia was so busy frowning at the damage, she only noticed the door opening again when the brass bell tinkled above it and a wisp of cool air curled into the room.
Quickly, Fia pushed up from where she’d been resting with her elbows on the counter, prepared to greet the latest customer. Except she couldn’t see anything more than a silhouette in the doorway, the sun falling in spears at just the right angles to cloak the figure in darkness.
She gasped, thinking one of the thieves had stepped boldly into the shop. But just as the idea bloomed like spilled ink, the figure strode forward, shedding the shadows.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, voice low and lazy, as though nothing ever ruffled him. But if anything, she was more startled now—at the sight of this young man, who couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than her, dressed in the high fashion more common in Fantillian. Even his jaw looked fashionable, sharp against the soft curve of his mouth. He wasn’t the type to come to Wakesend, let alone her store. Besides that, his dark eyes hooked into her with such interest, they might very well have tugged her right across the room so he could steady her.
Fia laughed, embarrassed that he’d noticed her fright—embarrassed by her thoughts of him too—and attempted to brush both aside. “You didn’t startle me, I assure you.”
Instead of crossing to the counter as most customers did, he paused in the doorway, one pale hand adjusting the cuff of his finely tailored coat.
“Oh!” No one had yet inquired about the advertisement she’d posted, but maybe that was why he’d stepped inside—not that he at all looked the sort, but as hopeful as she was, she eagerly asked, “Are you here about the position?”
