AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I yanked a blanket from behind the counter, waited for him to gingerly seat himself in the armchair beside the fireplace, and threw the blanket over his legs. “What were you doing out in this weather?”
He lifted his gaze but trembled too much to reply.
I rolled my eyes and left him by the fireplace while I fussed over the counter, tidying what didn’t need to be tidied. Nothing about Valentine had changed. Always late to class, always fighting, always beaten with the cane for talking back, never knowing when to be quiet, be still, go unnoticed.
He was quiet now, though.
What was I supposed to do with him? I had work to do. He couldn’t be here.
He whispered something, a word…
“What did you say?” I knew it, but I needed to hear it again.
“Huh… N-nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
He’d clearly said the wordhush, its meaning unclear. The cold had gotten into his mind. I couldn’t do anything more for him and left him in the storefront while I tidied my tools in the workshop, clearing my workspace. A cluttered workspace was the sign of a cluttered mind, Jacapo had always said. My mind hadn’t been cluttered until Valentine Anzio had walked back into my shop, claiming to work for Rochefort.
Now, of all times. He had to come backnow. It wasn’t fate, of course. Such a thing did not exist in Minerva. We were all dancers in an elaborate music box, with someone deliberately winding the key.
“Devere.”
Valentine stood in the workshop doorway, encroaching onmyspace, my world, my sanctuary. He was a mess, a broken doll almost beyond repair.
Those were the most difficult to throw away.
“May I… stay a while?” he asked.
I waved a hand. “I won’t turn you out in this storm.”
He dipped his chin, his eyes haunted. “Thank you.” And he returned to the storefront.
He must have wandered into the woods, probably gotten lost in the storm. Hm, no. That didn’t ring true. The splatters on his cheek appeared to be blood. His clothes were askew, as though he’d hastily dressed. But the shock on his face spoke of some other horror.
I glanced at the stove and the teapot. It wouldn’t hurt to make him a cup. The quicker he warmed himself, the quicker he’d leave. I poured two cups of tea, carried both to the storefront, where the fire blazed, and held his out. He’d wrapped the blanket around himself and looked as sorry as any man I’d ever seen.
He stared at the fire, watching the flames crackle, and slowly came back to himself. “Thank you,” he croaked, taking the drink.
“Don’t get used to it. As soon as you’re well and the storm passes you will kindly leave and not come back.”
His lips quirked, hinting at a smile, as though I were joking. I rarely jested, especially with him.
“It’s a wonder you sell any toys at all,” he mumbled, cupping his drink and lifting it to his lips.
The toy store was my everything, my entire world. I couldn’t leave as he had, so I’d built a new world within its walls. And Rochefort thought to evict me? I had nothing else, no one else. It didn’t seem right that one man could destroy another with a simple piece of paper. All of that was bad enough, but it had to be Valentine Anzio who’d brought me the eviction notice; it had to behimrifling through my life.
The toy displays shone, and the trains trundled, and the clocks tick-tocked, pendulums swinging.
Valentine drew my eye again. He’d closed his eyes, and his head had lolled to one side, propped against the side of the wingback armchair. The cup sat precariously loose in his limp fingers. I plucked it from his grip and rested my knuckles against his cheek. Cold. The kind of cold a cup of tea would not fix. I dipped two fingers to the pulse at his neck. His heartbeat was weak with an occasional flutter.
I straightened, set his cup on the mantelpiece, and frowned at the man. “If you die in that chair, you do realize everyone will assume I killed you.”
The whole town despised me. My father’s death had given them a reason to point fingers, but Valentine’s untimely demise would see me lynched in the square.
I folded my arms and glared at the fool. He shouldn’t have come to me. Now he was a problem, and I already had enough of those. I tapped my fingers on my upper arms. A dusting of whiskers darkened his chin, and a purple bruise hid beneath his snow-damp fringe. He slouched there, in my chair, with his solid, firm body, so casually handsome in a messy, chaotic way that I hated him for it and for the things he made me feel.
As a boy in school, his uniform had been threadbare and dirty. He hadn’t cared. He’d find me and tug on my tie, then mess my hair and laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in a way that had mademelaugh.
A purple clockwork beetle scurried out from between the buttons on his shirt and ran across his chest. It stopped over his heart and fluttered its wings.
