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Well, at least Grace would be happy about the gala, but Fia bristled when she read Jasper Tremaine’s name, reminded of the way he’d refused her admittance to the Thistledown archives. Oh, but if he knew she had The Book of Ribs—that she’d cast a spell from it—he’d be furious.

If only the spell had worked.

Fia crumpled up the paper and shoved it into her pocket, shaking away the fanciful imaginings that the book would be waiting for her like a gift, ribbon-wrapped and given without consequence. The Book of Ribs wouldn’t work like that, and so long as it was beyond Thistledown’s archives and in her possession, Fia felt responsible for the grimoire—and what else it might do.

With an unexpected sense of purpose, she opened the shop, thinking about the small protections she could give her neighbors. Yes, give.

Her mother would have rejected the idea if Fia had ever suggested such a thing, would have said it wasn’t their responsibility to take care of anyone but themselves—and by that she would have meant the two of them, not even including Fia’s father. Sable would have let the curses rage—she’s probably even written ones herself over the years, Fia thought vaguely—and been glad for any profit she made from their neighbor’s struggles. Which hit much too close to that earlier article in the Herald, as if Dominik Honestly had understood something of her mother and, all this time, supposed Fia was cut the same.

She’d always known they were different, but somehow, Fia had thought she was the one who needed to be more like her mother, not less. Now that wasn’t what she wanted—not for herself, and not for the spellshop.

As customers bustled in, the cursed storm seemed to be all anyone was talking about—especially those like Fia, who had been swept right off their feet.

“How’s everything over here?” Norie asked, coming inside with Annalise, a small bag dangling from her arm and swinging side to side. She wore a distressed expression, her face paler than usual against the deep indigo of her dress.

“Just fine now,” Fia said, even though the pinch in her belly said otherwise. “Thanks to Penbrook.”

“He’s the one who calmed the storm?” Annalise asked.

“Yes.” And it was ridiculous, Fia thought, how the cursed boy had managed such a thing while a fatal wink away from sleep, sweeping in with his obnoxiously grand magic. “It was the Madbury.”

The whispers began circling the room almost before the words left her lips—It was the Madbury! Penbrook Madbury! They remembered his first name now, and Fia knew it was no insignificant thing—to be known. Maybe, she hoped, people wouldn’t mistake him for one of his siblings again.

“Where’s he hiding?” Norie’s head swiveled, and she looked eagerly around the shop.

“He isn’t here right now, but he’ll be back.” Soon, Fia hoped. For all the good it had done the night before, she wanted to keep her eyes on him. And her lips…

She buttoned them tight, a rush of warmth climbing up her neck. That kiss was absolutely the last thing she should have been thinking about.

“Oh.” Norie yawned around her disappointment, then sheepishly covered her mouth. “Sorry, I can never sleep when it storms.”

“She was awake all night, baking.” Annalise looked as if she’d stayed up with her, her eyes red from sleeplessness.

“It’s calming. Like that tea you gave us yesterday.” Norie glanced up from her twisting hands, the bag on her arm swinging again. “I could guzzle a whole kettle.”

“How about a cup?” Fia asked, happy to offer what comfort she could.

Norie smiled. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Fia slipped into her apartment, pleased to hear that her mother’s calming spell had worked its magic—a small bit of evidence that Sable hadn’t been only one thing. She’d been stubborn in her ways and sometimes selfish; she had also been gifted with magic and could guide it gently when she wanted.

“I brought you something too.” Only at these words did Fia realize Norie and Annalise had followed her into the kitchen. Norie set down her bag and lifted out a box from Sugarplum Sweets. “Hope you like strawberry sweet squares.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Fia mirrored Norie’s words.

With a swish of her hand she called up the calming spell she knew so well, only for a dusting of ash—a remnant of the previous night’s darker magic—to sputter up from her fingertips. Hastily, she pulled her hand away from the teacups, her golden dust returning in a glittering burst just after, but it was a sharp reminder that she couldn’t let her guard down. Couldn’t chat the day away with these girls.

“Here, try one.” Norie held out the box, and Fia accepted a strawberry square in exchange for the cups of tea, even though her stomach flurried with what felt like more ash.

Tugging her toward the shop.

“I’d better get back out front.” Hoping to mask the abruptness of her words, she bit into the sweet—which wasn’t sweet at all.

Fia had never tasted strawberries so astonishingly tart. Norie must have been so frazzled by the storm last night she forgot to add enough sugar.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Annalise asked, which had to mean she hadn’t tasted this particular batch.

“Mmm.” Fia stuffed the rest of the square into her mouth, then swallowed thickly, smiling even though her lips wanted to pucker.