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“Yes, so obviously I’m desperate to break the curse.” Andromeda’s eyes sparked with fiery purpose. “Any way there is.”

“You want to go through with the wedding?” Fia croaked out.

“No!” they both said at once, simultaneously pulling at the rings again, though they were stuck fast in place.

Fia swallowed. “You want to cut off your fingers?”

“There now, I like how you think,” Andromeda said wryly, as if she had a knife tucked away somewhere in her dress expressly for that purpose.

“I wasn’t suggesting—”

“If only that would work,” Penbrook said. “But it wouldn’t help.”

Andromeda plopped defeatedly down onto one of the stools behind the counter. “The curse is already a part of us.”

The door to Sable Spells swung open, and they all whipped toward it in surprise.

“Fia!” Vernon Lavender said cheerily, oblivious to the strained mood of everyone else in the shop. “I need to steal you a moment.”

He nodded an apology to Penbrook and Andromeda, coming slowly forward and relying on his cane to lead the way. His timing was terrible, but Fia couldn’t turn him away.

“Do you want a chair? Let me get you a chair.” Fia started for the tufted armchair by the fireplace that she’d never be able to move by herself but would try to anyway, but Vernon waved her off.

“I can’t stay. I just have a little something for you.” He smiled in the same dreamy way he had when she’d described Sebastian Smith as having eyes like smoke.

She pinned him with a suspicious look. “What are you up to, Vernon?”

“Me? Oh, absolutely nothing. You know I’d never meddle.” Which, of course, meant he was meddling.

Despite everything else that had happened that day, Fia laughed, though it fell out rather shakily. “Does Michael know you’re here?”

“Hush.” He chuckled, pulling a black envelope from his pocket and placing it in Fia’s hand. “Go on, take a peek.”

Carefully, she opened the envelope, addressed simply to Fia Ives.

“Thought you ought to meet that handsome someone.” He glanced at Penbrook, then lowered his voice. “Unless… your interests lie elsewhere.”

“You hush!” she said, because even when Vernon whispered, he wasn’t very quiet. Flustered, she slid a thick sheet of paper from the envelope—an invitation designed by Vernon and printed by Michael.

BRAMBLE BALL

AT THE REQUEST OF SEBASTIAN SMITH

LET ALL WHO WISH GATHER AT THE WILLOWS

ON THE 27TH OF OCTOBER

COME DUSK

Astonishment trembled through Fia.

“Ah, look! You’re speechless, my dear. My work here is done.” Vernon tapped his cane once, and at the door turned back with a smile. “I hope you have a lovely time at the ball, and I expect you to come by with stories.” And just as abruptly as he’d arrived, Vernon left.

Fia retrieved Penbrook’s glasses from her pocket and put them on again, just to be sure she was seeing clearly. Open-mouthed, she stared at the invitation for the ball.

Thrown by Sebastian Smith.

At the Willows.