Page 117 of Spellwright

Fia traced the book spines one last time, a smile quickening at the sight of Penbrook being so very Penbrook. Even though he wasn’t cursed any longer, he was still—and apparently had always been—as dozy as a cat.

“Just making sure everything’s in place,” she replied.

And it was, only thanks to Skye, who had descended on the empty shop the day of the masque and in the weeks after, furiously casting that mysterious cleaning spell alongside Vernon and Michael, Annalise and Norie, Elena and the Sinclair sisters, who deftly stitched up the awning too. Grace and Montrose had stopped by every day, and even Dermot had come, grumbling the entire time as he scrubbed away the ash.

“Everyone’s here,” Penbrook said. “But I’ll gladly send them away if you’re not ready to reopen the shop.”

“I’m ready.”

Together, they turned, and Penbrook released a kaleidoscope of golden butterflies, which had Fia laughing in delight as she walked to the door of Sable Spells, and flung it wide.

Gwendolyn Blair was the first one in—or really, the second, as Rin flew in ahead of her—and she immediately deposited a burst of yellow-gold roses in Fia’s arms. “They’re not as lovely as those amber peonies the Madbury illusions.” She winked at him somewhere behind Fia. “But they’ll do.”

Norie and Annalise slipped in as Gwendolyn chased after Finnick, who was chasing after her songbird, pushing a box from Sugarplum Sweets at Fia, who barely managed to grasp it without dropping the huge bouquet she already held.

“We made double-chocolate cupcakes with spiraled frosting of cranberry and cream,” Annalise said with a grin.

“And they’re neither cursed nor tart,” Norie promised.

“Fia!” With the tip of his cane, Vernon gently nudged the girls aside, making room for himself and Michael. “How are you faring?”

“My heart, you know. It’s… full,” she said. And yes, it still ached too, although more softly now.

Before she could ask after him and Michael, Vernon held out his arms, and shifting the box of confections to her hip, Fia leaned into him so they both got a face full of flowers and a good chuckle along with the hug.

Stepping back, she began, “Thank you both for your help with the shop—”

“Well, your mother’s name is on the window, dear, and I suspect you have no plans to change that. But it’s not the shop; it’s yours now.”

“Mine,” she whispered.

Fia curled her stockinged toes on the hardwood floor, feeling grounded right where she stood, in this place she cherished most. Her mother… would have wanted this for her.

“A little something for you.” Michael held out a small sign the Lavenders had made with swirling calligraphy and finely detailed embellishments. It stated simply:

~ FIA IVES ~

DUST-FINGERED SPELLWRIGHT

OF WAKESEND

He set the sign atop the box from Sugarplum Sweets, where it tottered precariously.

Vernon tapped the gift with his finger. “You should hang it behind the counter.”

“Only if she wants to, Vernon,” Michael said.

“And why wouldn’t she?”

“I want to,” she assured them, reading the sign again, though upside down. Dust-fingered. Funny how she’d grown to rather like the way her fingertips spun golden dust when she cast a spell. It was something so truly her own—the way her magic joyfully poofed.

The Lavenders sauntered off smiling, Vernon rather smugly, only for Skye to appear at Fia’s elbow.

“Here, let me help you,” she said, and they carried the gifts to the counter, where someone had left a pot of mums without comment or card.

Fia touched the velvet petals, almost certain she knew who’d brought them. “Dermot’s really not so good at hiding his scruffy heart.” If he had his way, Fia imagined Dermot would have lined all the shelves with greenery, and really, a few more plants would look rather nice.

“Look at him now.” Skye chuckled, pointing him out.