Page 59 of The Little Shop of Grand Curiosities

As I stretched over the arm of the couch to leave it on the small end table next to it, I almost knocked a little purple jar down.

“Careful!” Isa squealed and lunged to catch it just in time.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out.

“No,I’msorry for the mess,” Isa sighed as she showed me the golden annulet that encircled her pointer finger. Curiosities often bought their merchandise from potion-makers, so I recognized the magic object immediately. Potion-makers wore annulets like this one to prevent themselves from getting affected by the potions they created. Once the potions were bottled, they were safe to be around, but they could be quite powerful while still simmering on the stove. A full-blooded witch would not get affected by her own concussions, of course, but witches were mostly focused on creating spells and curses rather than bothering with the tedium of potion-making. It was common for humans with a bit of magical inheritance, though, to choose the profession of potion-maker, which demanded some magical ability but was not entirely dependent on it.

And indeed, Isa explained while I munched on the sugar cookies: “I’m a potion-maker, you see. I have a Shop in Thaloria, but I fulfill most of my orders here since the manor haswaymore storage for my herbs and dusts. Plus, it is far safer than making these things in a tiny Shop in the city. The potion-maker next door once blew off his Shop’s roof trying to make a courage potion for a marriage proposal. I swear, he still screams every time he hears somethingpop.” She sucked in a quick breath, wincing to herself as she turned to Apollo. “Sorry… I’m rambling…I’m still shocked to see you here. How long has it been this time? A year?”

Apollo exhaled. “One year, eight months, and twenty-five days. But who’s counting?”

I gulped down the little sound of disbelief that threatened to escape me. Was Apollo really counting the days he spent away from his family? Had Walder been right, after all? Was the Prince of Broken Hearts actuallylonely?

To my further bemusement, Isa’s face hardened, accusation rising in her eyes. “You didn’t even write us this time. We’ve all been worried sick about you, Apollo.”

Apollo gifted her his usual blend of cool indifference and wry amusement. “Now, that’s a terrible way to waste your time.”

Isa clenched her jaw as she met my gaze. “Why don’t I show you to the guest room? You need a warm bath and some rest,” she suggested, and scrambled out of the room before I could even thank her for her hospitality.

Warily, I whispered to Apollo, “Hey, are you sure we’re not imposing? She seems a little… overwhelmed. And not to mention busy.”

Somehow, I knew he was going to lie to me even before he opened his mouth. “Don’t worry, that’s just Isa.”

A shiver crawled up my spine, and it had nothing to do with my almost dying from dragonfly fever. Something was wrong. I tried to put my finger on it, but I couldn’t. I was used to watching Apollo go through emotions—or I should rather say,reactions—faster than he was probably going through lovers. He should be calling medarlingby now and teasing me about my terrible luck or making some self-deprecating joke about the way he’d overreacted.

But he looked too shaken to simply move on this time. Was he truly so worried about me, or had something happened while I’d been passed out? Or, better yet, was this all a game to him? Pushing me away, then whispering sweet nothings to me in the dark, then trembling for my life as though it meant something to him, then his coldness all over again, his silence like a frostbite on my heart. It was too much to both burn and freeze in one day. I needed something to console me now. A word. A touch. A look. I would be content with only one soft look from him. I would not ask for more. It would not even mean anything. It would just be a kindness.

Was it really so hopeless of me that I craved his kindness, knowing what he was?

“Apollo—”

“You need to rest,” he said curtly before slipping out of the door.

An anxious feeling overcame me. The butterfly in my pocket burned. The stardust in my veins hummed in something like awarning.

???

The bedroom was a wilderness of fabrics. Rich floral tapestries on the walls, elegant upholstered furniture, and buttery plush bedclothes. But not even the unexpected prettiness couldn’t put my mind at ease. A keen sense of apprehension bubbled in my bloodstream as Isadora flung back the heavy drapes and opened the windows to let some fresh air into the room.

“Are you okay, Isa?” I asked carefully.

Isa gave me an absentminded smile over her shoulder. “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

She returned her attention out of the window. The grounds of the manor were in springtime bloom. Almond trees and daffodils and neat rosebushes as far as the eye could see, bees gorging themselves on pollen, and butterflies fluttering from blossom to blossom. The air was sweet, but it wasn’t a floral sweetness. It was the scent my cauldron exuded after a generous serving of stardust. Magic.

I pressed my lips together and tried again, “Apollo said you’re okay with us staying here tonight, that we aren’t imposing, but—”

Isa whirled around. “Apollo is heartless. He doesn’t care if he’s imposing.”

Her curt tone unsettled me almost as much as the hurt expression on her face. I struggled to find a courteous enough reply. “Oh, I see. Well, then—”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, her cheeks as red as the roses in her garden. “Of course, you’re not imposing. You just shouldn’t listen to everything Apollo says.”

She went to leave.

I got in front of her, my pulse picking up. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Isa sucked in a breath and bit into her bottom lip in something like regret. “I know how Apollo can be. Believe me, he’s practically my brother. I grew up idolizing him. I know he’s charmed you.”

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