Page 19 of Spellwright

Fia strode down the hall in blue-and-white-striped stockings, past the parlor and the staircase where Finnick rested, then pushed through the connecting door and into the shop. Always curious, the cat followed at her heels. Through the front window she could see a small group clustered on the walkway. Customers never arrived this early, but nearly a dozen had gathered now, including her old classmates Annalise Colton and Norie Belvedere, who worked together at Sugarplum Sweets; Gwendolyn Blair, with her songbird, Rin, nested in the elaborate pouf of her yellow hair; and Elena Reyes, an expert bookbinder who worked from her apartment just over on Howell Place, holding the hand of her young daughter.

And there on the stoop, the focus of everyone’s attention, stood Penbrook Madbury. In an effort to maintain some distance, he’d pressed himself up against the storefront, effectively cornering himself.

Fia hurried forward, barely coming to a stop as she opened the door, slipped her arm through the gap, and tugged him, stumbling backward, inside. Before anyone else could follow, she quickly and forcefully closed the door again. Utterly disappointed by their separation from the Madbury, everyone left outside in the cold let out a collective groan.

Penbrook straightened the collar of his coat, which was made of some lovely cobalt fabric softer than anything Fia could ever remember touching. And yes, she was still touching it, touching him, her fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“You’re freakishly strong,” he said.

She dropped his arm. “I was saving you.” A sniff. “And haste overtook delicacy.”

He glanced back at the eager faces beyond the window. “Yes, I’m sure at any moment they were going to tear me limb from limb.”

“If only,” Fia muttered under her breath, though it wasn’t fair. She’d already been in a bad mood that had nothing to do with her distinguished assistant. In fact, she almost felt a little better having him here, distracting her from her own worries—not that she’d ever admit it.

“You drew a crowd,” she said instead, her nose scrunching up. Most people who came to Sable Spells were looking for something customized, spells that were written specifically for their needs—either too complicated or too bothersome to attempt to write themselves—and fitted like a bespoke gown. But today they’d come to see Penbrook Madbury.

“My name drew them. Not me.” Something flickered in his eyes, and then it was gone, a dark curtain drawn across his face.

Fia wanted to sweep it open again to see what she’d find there. All the questions she hadn’t asked him during the brief interview—and several more she had no business asking—flitted through her mind. But now wasn’t exactly the time. Not with the customers pressing their noses against the window like Fia and Penbrook were the entertainment.

“Aren’t you going to let them in?” Penbrook raised his eyebrow—or maybe it always looked like that, arched and slightly crooked.

“Yes, I…” Fia tore her gaze away from the ridiculous cut of his brow. “I just didn’t want them descending on you like vultures.”

“So we’re back to violent limb tearing.” His voice pitched lower. “My, your mind must have the darkest corners.”

Fia narrowed her eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”

He was laughing at her.

“Never mind,” she said crisply, waving her hand as if to invite him to his doom. “Apparently, you’re used to people flocking around you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Have fun, then.”

And with that, she threw open the door.

The crowd, perhaps even a little larger now, streamed into the tiny store, coming between Fia and Penbrook and putting an immediate end to their conversation. She drifted back and considered letting him fend for himself against the vultures—she had to work on her (rather pathetic) investigation, after all—but she cared about the shop too much to leave him here alone when things were already so busy.

Not that he seemed to mind—unlike Finnick, who scampered out of the shop and into the apartment, tail swung low. Penbrook flashed a grin at the crowd. “Who arrived first?”

Everyone looked around, eager to leap forward. Then Elena’s little girl—in what must have been her fanciest dress, with ruffles of rose and ruby—peeked around her mother and pointed at Annalise Colton and Norie Belvedere, done up in their finest ribbons and bows. “They were first, I think.”

Instead of pushing their way forward, the friends conferred briefly and then smiled at Penbrook in a doe-eyed sort of way, gesturing for the younger girl to go ahead of them.

When Elena’s daughter stepped forward, tilting her chin to see him better, he bowed.

“What is the wish of the lady?”

She went suddenly shy, but before she could scoot back behind her mother, he began spinning a spell, and the girl remained in place, mesmerized.

The air snapped with magic. It fizzed over Fia’s arms and across her lips as if she’d been dunked in champagne. A hazy glow clouded above Penbrook’s palm, and then it softly flooded with the very colors of the girl’s ruffled skirt, which he might have guessed were her favorite.

Breath held at the powerful display, Fia leaned across the counter in her eagerness to see what he was creating. Something small and intricate that he took his time crafting. Something special meant for this one little girl.

Penbrook had none of the grand spectacle Fia might have expected of a Mad Magician, sending up the illusion of fireworks or calling down the stars and promising they’d grant wishes. Instead, he focused so carefully on this one beautiful thing. The crowd’s attention narrowed to a pinprick focus, everyone tipping forward in anticipation, quieting from their chatter.

The girl’s eyes widened as he brought his hand forward at last, offering her a single flower. It was like none Fia had ever seen before—heavy headed, its stem bent like a swan, its petals whispering like feathers, and its sweet scent tickling Fia’s nose like sugar-dipped cherries eaten in the rain.

“What kind of flower is it?” the girl asked in a voice wavering with wonder. Carefully, she stroked the fluttering rose and rubied petals.