Page 53 of Homegrown Magic

“So, what exactly is going on between you and Yael?” Araphi asks as she rests a hand on Margot’s arm. She leans in conspiratorially.

“Oh…well…” Margot trails off. “We’re…”

She’s not sure how to answer, or how much to tell Araphi, who might report back to Yael’s family. Margot and Yael are together for now, but they haven’t really dug into what it all means exactly.

“Yael never mentioned that you sang,” Margot says instead, desperate to change the subject.

Araphi holds a finger to her lips as if she’s shushing a child and looks around. There’s a group of well-dressed people farther down the block, but no one near enough to hear Margot. “The acoustics are great right behind the urns, as I discovered long ago when I’d accompany my mother and aunt to this shop. They’d be in there for hours, and I’d sneak outside to keep myself busy. Though of course a Clauneck scion like myself should never engage in such low activities as singing outdoors—or, really, singing at all, except as a party trick to impress guests or customers. But I’ve been moonlighting as a tavern singer, you know.” Araphi winks. “Nobody else does, not even Yael.”

Even through her surprise at the thought of sophisticated Araphi drinking in a tavern, much less singing in one, Margot manages to say sincerely, “That sounds delightful—and you have a magical voice.”

“It is, and I know,” Araphi says simply, confident enough to take the compliment. “I’ve loved music my entire life.”

“Would you ever pursue it after school?”

Araphi shakes her head and gives a small, bitter laugh. “Oh, that would never happen. Us Claunecks must all end up in the same place, eventually. And I’ll be…stepping away from school this fall, to attend the many dreadful engagement parties my family has planned. I’ll marry Denby next spring, and then…” Araphi trails off before adding, “Like my mother used to say. ‘I am what I am now, and that is all.’ ”

Unsure what to say to this, Margot offers the first thing that pops into her mind, “You know, Sage, my best friend—do you remember her from Rastanaya’s show?—she asked about you.”

At the mention of Sage, the full force of Araphi’s attention lands on Margot. Her dark eyes light up. “She did? How is she? Of course I remember her, and I’ve been wondering about how her adventure is going. Not that it’s my business if she’s been eaten or stabbed, or anything.”

Now it’s Margot’s turn to smile. Sage’s not-so-subtle questioning about Araphi had sounded almost exactly like this when she and Margot had communicated via their compacts the night before.

“She’s alive and on her way to the shoreline. I think she’ll be back sometime in late summer.”

“Well, that’s good,” Araphi murmurs, a blush pinking her cheeks. “Perhaps we can all get together when she returns. Though of course by then I’ll be quite busy. So many engagement parties planned to accommodate my family’s many interests, and wedding dresses to buy, and…Well, I’m afraid my time won’t belong to myself for much longer.” She shakes her head as if brushing away a bad dream, and flips a curl over her shoulder. “Never mind all that. The time will take care of itself. Let’s get started before my aunt arrives. I’ll show you all the dresses she’ll hate and Yael will love.”

She offers her arm, and Margot links her own through it as they push open the shop’s door.

By the time the clocks strike ten, Margot is standing on a platform in front of a full-length mirror, admiring the way a low-cut forest-green silk gown hugs her every curve. Araphi had insisted this was the dress Margot needed for the ball, and she was right. It’s spectacular. There are feathers arranged into a collar at Margot’s neck, and the gems and beads woven into the fabric of the gown glitter under the shop’s chandeliers. Sheer silk sleeves—woven from “the most exquisite enchanted spider silk” according to Rastanaya’s top assistant, a severe-looking woman named Nora—cover Margot’s arms, veiling her tattoos.

Rastanaya is out of the shop at the moment, but a pack of attendants flitter around Margot like hummingbirds. One of them holds a clipboard and takes notes on the dress’s fit; another places a tray of champagne flutes on a table and readies things for the arrival of Menorath; and a third and fourth stand near a silk chaise, holding other gowns for Margot to try on. Araphi sits on a floating couch near the platform, holding a champagne flute and watching the proceedings. When she meets Margot’s eye, she winks.

“Can we just choose this one?” Margot asks. “Do we have to look at any others?”

Araphi starts to say something, but Nora jumps in.

“Lady Clauneck has very specific tastes,” Nora says as she walks around Margot, assessing every stitch. Her heels click over the star shapes inlaid in the parquet of the dressing room floor, and her eyes narrow as they meet Margot’s in the mirror. “She likes dresses dark in color and elegant but not too risqué—something that makes an impression but isn’t overly flashy. I’m just not sure this one will do…”

“Lady Clauneck isn’t wearing it,” Margot mutters, making Araphi giggle.

“What’s that?” Nora glares at her.

“I said, ‘It’s lovely.’ ” Margot offers Nora a smile as a peace offering.

In fact, it’s the most exquisite thing she’s ever worn, besides the dress Rastanaya gifted her for the fashion show. It almost—almost—makes her feel like she belongs here. Margot had heard her mother talk about Rastanaya’s shop, but she’d never had reason or inclination to visit it when they lived in Ashaway. Even having seen Rastanaya’s extravagant garden fashion show had not prepared Margot for the store itself.

Beyond the amethyst doors is a vestibule lined with amber panels, accented with gold leaf and mirrors. Margot had tried not to gape as she and Araphi passed through the entryway into a showroom full of Rastanaya’s creations that felt more like a museum—or a greenhouse full of exotic plants—than a shop. Several private dressing rooms, all of them larger than Margot’s cottage, are set off the showroom, each of them decorated in the same decadent amber-and-gold motif as the hallway.

“She looks wonderful,” Araphi says, her voice full of the assurance and command of a seasoned shopper. “Can you find her a mask to go with that gown?”

An attendant is dispatched to a storeroom, and Margot turns back to the mirror. Her hair is pinned into a hasty updo—a quick mimicry of the hairstyle she might wear to the ball. Eyes on her reflection, Margot runs her hands lightly over the dress. She looks like a proper Greenwillow now. An acclaimed plant witch. Someone worthy of the praise Yael has been heaping on her since they arrived in Ashaway to anyone who would listen.

Or you look like a corpse flower about to bloom.

Gods, she wishes Yael weren’t singing her greatness quite so much. Yes, she needs to convince Menorath and the Claunecks that she’s fully capable of creating the Natural Caster Potion, given enough time, but why does it make her feel awful whenever Yael introduces her to the very same people she remembers from her parents’ dinners so long ago?

“Don’t overthink it, darling,” Araphi says, standing and offering Margot a flute of champagne. “You’re a vision, and Yael won’t know what do with themself when they see you in that dress. Or”—she grins wickedly—“perhaps they’ll know exactly what to do.”