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“Yes, or rather, whoever has it in their possession,” she admitted. “You don’t agree?”

“We don’t even need our overcoats today.” Penbrook tilted his face to the sun. “I think the relative warmth after yesterday’s rain is what did the pumpkins in.”

“I hope that’s all it is,” Fia said, stepping through the door of Sugarplum Sweets, the interior of which smelled of vanilla and cinnamon and immediately cleared the scent of rot from her nose.

Penbrook feigned a quizzical look. “What an odd sort of antique store. That’s where you said we were going, didn’t you?”

With a roll of her eyes, Fia dragged him toward the counter. “I just want to grab something for Grace first.”

“Anything for me?” he unabashedly hinted.

“Morning!” Annalise Colton, her curly hair still ruby bright from Penbrook’s illusion, eyed them curiously, as if it was one thing to see them together in Sable Spells and another entirely to see them coming in from the streets of Wakesend side by side.

Something clattered in the back kitchen, followed by a muffled shout. “That’s just Norie, banging bowls,” Annalise said, then confided, “All the fruit rotted in the night, so we’re in a scramble, trying to figure out what to bake instead of the apple crisps and pear crumbles we’d planned on.”

Rotted fruit, just like the pumpkins.

Fia glanced at Penbrook, who was frowning and perhaps reconsidering his opinion on the ruin of curses. “How strange,” she managed.

“Isn’t it? Well, we’ll figure it out, but I’m glad you dropped in.” Annalise peeked at Penbrook when she said this. “I wanted to tell you, I’ve gotten so many compliments on my hair.”

“I’m sure you would have gotten them regardless of the color,” Penbrook said, but he looked pleased, and slightly embarrassed too. He never did seem to quite know how to take a compliment—Fia guessed that he hadn’t received many from his parents, no matter how much he strove to please them.

“I raved to some of my friends about the shop, but they said that it was closed when they went by.”

“Just for a few days,” Fia said.

“Still, they were disappointed.” Annalise gestured at the glass-front display case, which even without the fruity pastries, overflowed with mouthwatering treats—tiny almond cakes dusted with powdered sugar that would recall a childhood memory, sticky buns drizzled with thick lines of honey that sweetened your temper, molasses cookies dipped in dark chocolate that were so delicious, they needed no magic at all—and Fia pointed out her selection. Then, when he gave her an adorable look as shameless as Finnick asking for treats, she requested a maple-glazed scone spelled to soften regrets for Penbrook.

Something else clanged in the kitchen, and Norie, a spot of flour on her cheek, stuck her head around the door only long enough to cry, “Annalise!”

Hurriedly, Annalise handed over Fia’s order and accepted payment. “I’d better go help before she makes a complete mess of the kitchen and Mrs. Allory docks our pay.” Halfway through the door, she turned back with a smile. “Hope you reopen Sable Spells soon.”

As if someone had unexpectedly wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, Fia warmed at the words. Without her mother there running the spellshop, Fia sometimes felt no one would care if the doors shuttered—not just temporarily, but forever. And maybe Annalise had only made the comment because of Penbrook’s illusions, not Fia’s spells, but surprisingly, that didn’t bother her.

Neither did the idea of him being there more permanently.

But first she’d have to see about saving him.

They left the sweetshop—Penbrook delighting in his scone—and a few streets later reached Miscellany, the bell above the door tinkling their arrival. Grace turned away from the shelves she’d been dusting, which contained all manner of odds and ends—a silver letter opener and a tin of buttons beside crystal vases and a jar full of tigereye marbles, a pair of opera glasses that could see five minutes into the future, placed next to an old ring of rusted keys and a stack of embroidered doilies. Among the truly valuable finds, Grace always said, she loved displaying the sorts of unusual things most people didn’t want but were exactly what one particular person might desire.

“Fia! Oh, just give me a second,” she exclaimed now, reaching for something on the shelf and cupping it in her hands.

Jumping out of the way, Fia gave Grace more space than she needed to hip open the door and release a spider. Fia shuddered.

“On your way.” Grace set the little creature on the tree outside the shop, out of harm’s way. Coming back inside, she wrapped Fia in a hug, mindless of the cobweb caught in the ends of her hair. “Look who’s with you—the famed Mr. Madbury!”

“Penbrook,” he said, stepping back as if he were afraid of being ambushed by someone a good foot shorter than him.

“Penbrook, then. What brings you two by so early?”

“I wish I could say we just dropped by to chat,” Fia said guiltily. “But could we consult some of your books? I brought treats.” She held out the ribbon-wrapped box from Sugarplum Sweets.

“You don’t have to bribe me,” Grace laughed, plucking the box from Fia’s hands and just as quickly opening it. Inside, she found a dozen miniature chocolate chip muffins, which Fia knew were her favorite, dashed with magic that kept them oven warm. “But I certainly won’t let these go to waste.” She selected the largest one and took a bite. “What are you looking for?”

“Writings… on a darker sort of magic.”

Grace narrowed her eyes, disapproving, as Fia had expected. “And why would you want that?”