Page 15 of Enchanted Village

He looked up at Silas. “Like I said, bad eye makes it trickier.” He turned to the shelves on the wall. “And those . . . those will take me a miracle. I’ve got to get those to match up right with the studs.”

“Huh,” Silas said. “I always figured it would be, well . . . easier. Magic.”

Mr. Weatherby barked out a raspy laugh. “Easy? Nothing easy about it. You gotta know what you’re doing to cast a spell. Can’t anyone just pick up a wand, charm a hammer, and build a house.” He shook his head. “And you’re a teacher.”

Silas beamed suddenly. “So, you did recognize me!”

“Elliott’s nephew,” Mr. Weatherby said. “Of course. He told me you might be bothering me.”

Silas ignored the insult. “Well, I might not be magical, but I could help you with these shelves. I assume you’ve got a hammer and nails around here somewhere?”

Mr. Weatherby looked thoroughly perplexed by Silas’s question.

“You can help with the shelves?” Mr. Weatherby asked. “But you’re—”

“Ah,” Silas said, pointing to where there was a tool kit wasting away on a nearby shelf. “Precisely what I need. Don’t you worry, sir. I’ll get to work on remounting these while you work on mending that one.”

It took Silas roughly two hours to finish the job. He might’ve been able to get it all done quicker, but he used the time to chat with the initially reluctant shopkeeper. He picked his brain about the history of the village, the shop itself, how Mr. Weatherby had gotten involved in collecting and selling non-magical items in the first place.

“A girl,” Mr. Weatherby said, flashing the first smile Silas had seen all afternoon. “It always comes down to a girl, doesn’t it?”

Silas chuckled. “Sure seems to.”

“She collected non-magical toys,” he said. “I never understood it, but she was always out trying to find them. I figured if I found them for her, she’d have a reason to talk to me.”

Silas was finishing off the final shelf. “And did that work?”

Mr. Weatherby smirked. “Married her three months later. Love of my life.”

Silas nodded. He noted the sadness that had crept into those last words and didn’t press.

Mr. Weatherby inclined his head to Silas. “What about you? Is there a girl? Or . . . someone that’s caught your eye, maybe?”

The old man waggled his eyebrows, shocking a laugh out of Silas.

“Don’t think I missed you running after our Maggie,” he said. “I might have a bad eye, but the other one works just fine.”

“Margaret Nettle,” Silas said. “I’m hearing a lot about her these days.”

“That’s a mighty special girl,” Mr. Weatherby said. “Knew her mom, Daphne, and her grandmother, of course. Smartest witches I’ve ever seen, save maybe for Liza. Don’t tell Liza I said that, though.”

Silas nodded. “Must run in the family, then? I haven’t met too many witches, but the magic Margaret was using . . . it must’ve been particularly powerful to subdue that kurlop, right?”

Mr. Weatherby’s eyes flashed, and he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he studied Silas, making him feel decidedly like someone under a microscope.

“You haven’t really talked to Maggie yet, have you?”

Silas blinked. “Well, I only found out this morning that she owns the Toasty Owl. I was planning to go tonight, but I probably need to freshen up first.”

Silas gestured at his clothes, which were damp with sweat. He’d pulled off his jacket and set it aside, so the cotton of his shirt was pressing to his chest.

“Can’t imagine this look will go over well,” Silas said with a laugh.

Mr. Weatherby stood up, checking his clocks on the wall. There were roughly seventeen of them, but only one appeared to be working.

“Well shit, son,” Mr. Weatherby said. “The Toasty Owl opened an hour ago! You’ve wasted the whole damn afternoon talking to me.”

Silas stood up, brushing the dust off his hands. “I wouldn’t call it wasting—”