able to get the maiden wizard out. They were planning on heading out the morning after I destroyed the Station. Were they successful? Maybe my antics provided a distraction for them. I guess I’ll never know.
I wouldn’t mind talking to Jomeini and seeing what she Saw me do. Nattie’s words weigh on me again.
It is up to you to break the spell. The tears were cried for you.
Maybe the maiden wizard can give me some kind of direction.
“They all travel together like a circus,” says Ren, stopping before a brown door at the end of the hall. Its handle is round brass, rusted over in several spots. “Only darker, and much more discreet.”
I hear movement through the door. A deep voice says something, earning a gale of laughter, and the sound rattles my already teeming nerves.
Ren lifts a fist to knock.
“Are you sure?” I ask, suddenly anything but. This detour only increases my agitation. We’re wasting time—we need to get going. I don’t have any moyen anyway. What exactly are they going to expect in return for whatever it is we’re about to get from them?
Ren quirks his mouth before letting his fist land on the door.
Seconds later it flies open. A familiar flowery scent escapes from the room. A gruff man wearing an eyepatch and chewing on a toothpick glowers at Ren first, then me. His nose bulbs out at its tip like a pear. I swallow. If these guys are angry at Ren, they can hash it out later. It took Dircey three days to decide we were trustworthy, and we don’t have that kind of time.
“You open for business?” Ren asks.
The man wearing the eyepatch snarls before yanking Ren into the room. To my surprise, he pulls my brother into a hug.
“Good to see you, Csille. Glad you’re not a traitor.”
Ren laughs, patting the man on the back. “You too, Zeke.”
Zeke’s mouth drops playfully, displaying the bits of black between his teeth and pointing a finger at Ren from a tattered sleeve as though he’s just made a joke.
Seven people sit in various places around the smoky room. The incense fills my lungs, coating them and shortening each of my breaths. Couches line the back wall, and to the right is a row of plants with long, skinny leaves beneath a series of lamps. They must be the basole plants Dircey mentioned earlier. Ayso stands near them, clipboard in hand, prying at one of the leaves with a pair of tweezers. Light from the lamps bounces off her glasses.
Various jars with different liquids and other items track a long counter lining the wall to my left, and several trunks and cases are scattered here and there. This must be their inventory. But while the wares are easily packaged and stored in those cases, transporting glass cases and plants beneath their lamps must be far more difficult to manage.
Cadie crouches before one of the trunks, winding a cord around a strange-looking tool. Her wings dither, not fluttering so much as twitching as if in annoyance at my entrance.
Another woman with dark curly hair and too many scarves tucks several jars into a case. An older man gives me a look of kind interest from behind the countertop.
“Scarlet,” Dircey says, addressing the scarved woman. “This is Ambry, Ren’s sister. She’s on a bit of a schedule, troop, so let’s see what we’ve got that can help her out.”
“And then we leave?” asks Scarlet in annoyance.
Before waiting for an answer, she opens a case like Isabel’s, the vendor Gwynn bought her tears from, who seemed so relieved when I showed up all those nights ago. With the case’s hidden doors, drawers, and crevices, a feeling tells me it very well could be the same one my tears were hidden in. Scarlet withdraws a small, velvet bag that writhes as though a small animal is dying inside of it.
“What is that?” I can’t help asking. If we weren’t in such a hurry I’d love a tour of sorts. To learn about their trinkets and potions, the mixes in their apothecary, the powders used to deny a person their magic. Maybe
I wouldn’t mind talking to Jomeini and seeing what she Saw me do. Nattie’s words weigh on me again.
It is up to you to break the spell. The tears were cried for you.
Maybe the maiden wizard can give me some kind of direction.
“They all travel together like a circus,” says Ren, stopping before a brown door at the end of the hall. Its handle is round brass, rusted over in several spots. “Only darker, and much more discreet.”
I hear movement through the door. A deep voice says something, earning a gale of laughter, and the sound rattles my already teeming nerves.
Ren lifts a fist to knock.
“Are you sure?” I ask, suddenly anything but. This detour only increases my agitation. We’re wasting time—we need to get going. I don’t have any moyen anyway. What exactly are they going to expect in return for whatever it is we’re about to get from them?
Ren quirks his mouth before letting his fist land on the door.
Seconds later it flies open. A familiar flowery scent escapes from the room. A gruff man wearing an eyepatch and chewing on a toothpick glowers at Ren first, then me. His nose bulbs out at its tip like a pear. I swallow. If these guys are angry at Ren, they can hash it out later. It took Dircey three days to decide we were trustworthy, and we don’t have that kind of time.
“You open for business?” Ren asks.
The man wearing the eyepatch snarls before yanking Ren into the room. To my surprise, he pulls my brother into a hug.
“Good to see you, Csille. Glad you’re not a traitor.”
Ren laughs, patting the man on the back. “You too, Zeke.”
Zeke’s mouth drops playfully, displaying the bits of black between his teeth and pointing a finger at Ren from a tattered sleeve as though he’s just made a joke.
Seven people sit in various places around the smoky room. The incense fills my lungs, coating them and shortening each of my breaths. Couches line the back wall, and to the right is a row of plants with long, skinny leaves beneath a series of lamps. They must be the basole plants Dircey mentioned earlier. Ayso stands near them, clipboard in hand, prying at one of the leaves with a pair of tweezers. Light from the lamps bounces off her glasses.
Various jars with different liquids and other items track a long counter lining the wall to my left, and several trunks and cases are scattered here and there. This must be their inventory. But while the wares are easily packaged and stored in those cases, transporting glass cases and plants beneath their lamps must be far more difficult to manage.
Cadie crouches before one of the trunks, winding a cord around a strange-looking tool. Her wings dither, not fluttering so much as twitching as if in annoyance at my entrance.
Another woman with dark curly hair and too many scarves tucks several jars into a case. An older man gives me a look of kind interest from behind the countertop.
“Scarlet,” Dircey says, addressing the scarved woman. “This is Ambry, Ren’s sister. She’s on a bit of a schedule, troop, so let’s see what we’ve got that can help her out.”
“And then we leave?” asks Scarlet in annoyance.
Before waiting for an answer, she opens a case like Isabel’s, the vendor Gwynn bought her tears from, who seemed so relieved when I showed up all those nights ago. With the case’s hidden doors, drawers, and crevices, a feeling tells me it very well could be the same one my tears were hidden in. Scarlet withdraws a small, velvet bag that writhes as though a small animal is dying inside of it.
“What is that?” I can’t help asking. If we weren’t in such a hurry I’d love a tour of sorts. To learn about their trinkets and potions, the mixes in their apothecary, the powders used to deny a person their magic. Maybe
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