Page 52 of Homegrown Magic

They lean into her touch the same way they’ve seen that monstrous cat Harvey do, suppressing the urge to purr.

As soon as the barkeep returns, she drops her hand and turns from them. “Let’s have our drinks and head out, all right? It’s been a long day, and I’m suddenly dead on my feet.”

Yael’s just about to ask whether she’d like a ride back to their room at the Glowing Coin, or a ride after they’ve reached it, but they bite their cheek to stop themself. They’ve got to stop behaving like the same decadent disaster they were when they left home. No wonder Margot froze with panic in the carriage after Yael’s accidental confession. Yael had hoped it was only a reaction to their parents’ proximity as they rode toward Ashaway. But maybe Margot sensed Yael’s old self drawing nearer and nearer as well, approaching as surely as the black basalt walls.

This isn’t a pleasant thought.

With every swallow of ale, Yael tells themself that it’ll be fine. The problem will resolve itself the moment they leave the city to return to Bloomfield after the masquerade. And if Yael has to play the role of the rakish Clauneck heir until then, so what? Especially if they’re putting Margot’s name on everyone’s lips while they’re at it.

It’s the least Yael can do for her when she’s already doing so much for them.

20

Margot

Well before ten the next morning, Margot strolls along an elegant, tree-lined boulevard just a few streets south of the Golden Court. She’s heading for Rastanaya’s shop but also anxious to delay her arrival. Her nerves tingle with each step, and she takes a long steadying breath as she passes under the cool shade of a maple tree. Birds chirp overhead and several pixies—city-dwelling creatures Margot remembers from her childhood, though she’s not thought of them in years—sit on the edge of a nest built into a streetlamp. Above the city, the early-summer sky is blue, cloudless, and calm.

It’s not a big deal. Just dress shopping.

With Yael’s mother.

Your worst enemy, one of two at least, and the woman who holds the fate of Bloomfield in her hands.

Clutching her small purse—which, like her purple day dress, looks entirely too plain compared with the outfits of the other early-morning shoppers strolling the boulevard—Margot keeps walking, searching the street for the gold-and-white-striped awning Yael told her marked Rastanaya’s shop. There it is, jutting out from the front of a building at the end of the block like the prow of a queens’ barge. Two enormous golden urns, both taller than Margot, stand on either side of an amethyst door, and even from here, Margot can feel a forbidding aura of sophistication and elegance wafting off the place. Well, Yael did tell her the door was carved with runes for the protection of the shop’s expensive wares; perhaps that’s what she’s picking up.

Not for the first time that morning, cold dread steals over Margot. What is she doing here? Why is she doing this?

She’s here because she has to be. Because one does not ignore a summons from a Clauneck, especially when they hold the deeds to everything that matters. And because she must convince Yael’s mother that she’s close to creating the Natural Caster Potion, which she’ll surely agree is worth waiting for. Yes, of course. She knows this.

If only she didn’t have to lie to Menorath Clauneck.

“My mother’s a beast,” Yael had said that morning as Margot kissed them goodbye over breakfast. She had told them about dress shopping but kept the rest of her worries from them. “But a subtle one. She won’t cast dark magics on you in the middle of the shopping district. Really, she’s no worse than strawberry weevils or grumpy cats. You can handle her, Daisy. Trust me.”

Margot is trying so hard to believe it. She wants it to be true.

It’s just…

“It’s just dress shopping,” she whispers bracingly under her breath. “You’ve lived on your own for years. You can survive dress shopping.” Steeling her resolve, she approaches the shop.

A lovely, lilting ballad fills the air as Margot draws nearer to Rastanaya’s doorway—some busker close by, she supposes, but there’s no hired band to be seen, nor a singer with hands outstretched for coins in exchange for a tune. The song is unlike anything Margot’s heard, aching with sadness and bursting with hope at once. It reminds her of being young, standing in the tower of Greenwillow Manor and looking out across the fields, longing for an adventure and believing she would find it in the world someday.

Perhaps there’s still a bit of adventure to be found here in Ashaway, after all.

The song stops abruptly as a dark-haired young woman pops out from behind one of the urns. Margot lets out a small squeak as Araphi stands in front of the amethyst door.

“Margot! I’m so glad to see you again!” Araphi exclaims. She wears a confection of purple and black lace, with a tiny top hat resting on her pinned-up hair, and she’s draped in ropes of pearls.

“Were you hiding back there?” Margot points toward the narrow, shadowy nook behind the urn.

Araphi brushes a dried leaf from her skirts with a shrug. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure how early you’d be, but I wanted to catch you before you went inside. Though I had hoped that Yael might walk you to the shop, at least.” Araphi winks. “My dashing cousin is quite fond of you, Margot. And I thought I might wait for you because—as much as I know you’re a formidable woman—I didn’t want you to face the dragon alone. I mean my aunt, of course.”

The dragon? Facing a dragon is very different from facing a strawberry weevil or house cat, as Yael would have had Margot believe. Margot’s heart starts to race again. Still, even through that panic, some small part of her is immensely grateful to see Yael’s cousin. In the shifting landscape of Ashaway’s high society, she is the perfect person to accompany her. If only Yael were here too.

Yael had volunteered to come, but Margot had insisted they stay back at the inn. Menorath’s note made it very clear that Margot was to come alone; a separate appointment would be made for their heir. Besides, she couldn’t lie to Menorath about the Natural Caster Potion if Yael was standing right there. They’d want to know what the potion was and why their family was interested in it, and why Margot felt so compelled to create it, which would lead them to the threat of eviction hanging over Margot and the town that Yael was now a part of; the last secret Margot has to her name—