Page 71 of Nocturnes & Nightmares

Suddenly, it isn’t so funny anymore.

“How much for everything?” Voss’s question breaks me out of my silent lamenting.

“What?”

“How much would you have made had you sold everything?”

I shrug, not really wanting to think about it, since the number is so far away at the moment. “Eight hundred. Give, or take.”

“All that work for eight hundred? You’re selling yourself short, Nola.” He picks up one of the vases I repaired, with its golden cracks over shiny black glaze. “I’ll give you a thousand for everything. Do you ship?”

“Very funny, Voss. That’s as bad as Jonah coming in here to buy all my shit.”

“My apartment is lacking. I could use some hand-thrown pottery.”

“Okay, I’ll give you a few vases, but I’m not selling to you.”

“Is it because we’re neighbors?”

“Is that all we are still? I was wondering about that after yesterday.”

His brow wings up and he glances over his shoulder, his head obviously spinning with more ideas than mine at the moment. “If you didn’t have the burden of needing money, would you give this stuff away?”

“Ah, is this a test to see how passionate I am about pottery?”

He shrugs and stuffs his hands into his perfectly pressed slacks. “Maybe I’m just trying to get rid of this shit so I can take you out to dinner.”

“I guess I’d give it away, if someone wanted it. It’d be nice not to have to cart all this stuff home again.”

He tugs his wallet from his pocket and counts out a thousand dollars in front of me, then turns to face the crowd. “Excuse me! Can I have your attention?”

The crowd ignores him, the noise of witches shopping too loud for him to be heard.

Using the chair set out for me, he climbs up onto my table, leaving me staring at shiny, polished black shoes that I can practically see my reflection in.

“Voss! What are you doing?”

“Excuse me! Can I have your attention?” The conversations die down, and all eyes turn toward Voss.

Once again, my cheeks are burning. Hot.

“For the next ten minutes, everything at this table is free to take!”

The second he announces it, the sound of pounding hits my ears, as a stampede makes their way to my table. Women and men dressed in black capes and hats, fighting over my pottery like it’s Black Friday at Walmart. The table wiggles and jostles. Someone knocks over a now-empty wooden crate that once housed a stack of dishes. The Christmas tree I set out for display lies tipped over on the table, it’s mini bulbs rolling around in front of me.

It doesn’t even take ten minutes for every piece of pottery on my table to disappear, along with my business cards and the bowl of mints I set out.

My table is empty, as ravaged as a tuna buffet in a piranha tank.

And for the second time today, I break into hysterical laughter.

* * *

I wheel a single box, filled mostly with table props, out of the conference room and find Voss waiting for me by the elevator. In his arms is a small crate with a table cloth, lights, and gift bags that nobody bothered to use. “I don’t know whether to hate you, or hug you, right now.”

“Tell me you wanted to sit through Pixie’s seminar on Potions, and I’ll feel like shit for what I did.”

My stomach can’t possibly muster another laugh, but it does. And when the elevator dings, opening up to more witches, I clamp my mouth shut, feeling as if I’m about to explode when I step inside.