The Graces by Laure Eve Page A

it a real being I could talk to? Did it appear to people if they said the right incantations, or if they knew its real name? What did it think about humans?What did it know?
    ‘What’s it doing here?’ I said. The face stared across the alleyway, seeing nothing.
    ‘The Mews is the oldest bit of town. Normality doesn’t intrude so much around here. The old stuff hangs around, you know?’
    She tugged gently on my elbow. ‘We should go,’ she said.
    I dropped my gaze quickly. I didn’t want to alert them so soon to my obsession with things like this. The friends they had were attracted to the implication of magic that hung over them like mist as much as the glamour they talked and breathed. I was different. I wanted to see beyond the glamour to the real them.
    Thalia moved us out of the alley and into a more normal high street, though it was cramped and dirty in comparison to the main part of town. This was the kind of place that never got any council-funded Christmas lights.
    She didn’t say much as we walked. I’d expected her to be more like Summer, who seemed to talk until you gave her what she wanted from you. Thalia didn’t seem to want anything.
    We came to a door. A painted wooden sign dangling from a bracket fixed into the wall read ‘Trove’. The little bell above the lintel tinkledsweetly. Steps led down to another door, which was pulled shut.
    ‘It looks closed,’ I said.
    ‘It’s not.’ Thalia pushed the door open and I followed.
    Inside we were greeted with a claustrophobic jumble of insanity. If you were tall, you’d bang your head on the odd musical instruments strung across the ceiling, and people of all heights had to navigate around the glass globes hanging almost all the way to the floor. Objects were piled on tables and stools, dark wood cabinets full of trinkets lined every wall and corner. Roiling, buzzing tribal music played faintly in the background. The air smelled musty and old.
    ‘We’re bound to find something in here,’ said Thalia over her shoulder.
    She wandered past a tall, ancient-looking desk, and a man suddenly popped up from behind it.
    ‘Oh,’ he said, looking at Thalia. ‘You’re her sister.’
    ‘Hi, Mr Tulsent,’ said Thalia. ‘You mean Summer?’
    The man pushed his glasses up his nose with a nervy movement. He was thin, all angles, an oversized cardigan hanging off his frame and greying wispy hair sticking out from his head.
    ‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘Is she not with you?’
    Thalia smiled. ‘Not today.’
    We rounded a wall and stood together in a poky corner, hidden from view. Thalia picked up a huge glass marble with a strange, dusky splash caught in its core.
    ‘He’s so into Summer,’ said Thalia in a whisper. ‘And he’s pretty weird, like he doesn’t quite know how social rituals work. I’ve never once heard him say “hello”. It’s almost like he’s not from around here, but he’s not exactly foreign either, you know? Summer’s in here all the time, though, and she says she talks to him sometimes.’
    ‘Really? Why?’ I said, matching Thalia’s disdain.
    She laughed. ‘No idea. You know Summer.’
    I didn’t, actually. Superficially, maybe, but not enough to know what Thalia meant. That was another Grace thing, I was starting to notice – when you were in their crowd, they assumed you’d always been there and you knew everything they did. It was somehow isolating and comforting at the same time.
    I wandered over to a cabinet and peered through the glass. It was packed full of jewellery – thick bracelets, rings, necklaces with twisting silver chunks, everything studded with polished, coloured stones as big as my fingernails. I wanted to touch them all, run my fingers over them, slip them over my skin. You could spend hours in this place, just peering ateverything Mr Tulsent had to offer.
    We were in there a while, giggling over fertility idols and staring at instruments I couldn’t even guess how to play. Eventually, I saw a