Page 35 of Sharpen Your Claws

Rolling her shoulders, she asked, “Did you sense anything?”

“Nothing outside of the ordinary,” Evera replied. “What is this Manwell’s they spoke of?”

“A furniture store. The shop is near mine. I didn’t hear of the owner hiring an apprentice, so we’re going to investigate.”

“Fun,” said Evera, her lips stretched into a wild grin. “I do love a good mystery.”

Charmaine chose not to say anything. She didn’t want Evera treating the situation flippantly, however, her help was better than none. And she didn’t know how Evera would react to anything she may perceive to be an insult or attitude. Nicholas was safer to be around, even in his unnatural state, because ultimately, he cared what William wanted. Evera was unknown.

“A shop, you said, then you own a business? From what I know of Terra, that is impressive. What is your,” Evera made a peculiar face, like a toddler unsure if they needed to shit or eat. “What is it called? Experience, talent, err, trade?”

When she didn’t immediately reply, Evera leaned closer, seeming to signal that she wanted an answer. In her shock, she almost missed the corner they needed to take. She stumbled toward the street. Evera caught her wrist, tugging her forward before she fell into the muddy road. Evera smelled like a rainstorm, fresh and calm, the latter of which she never expected to feel around any fae.

“Careful. If you get hurt, Nicholas will blame me and I am in no mood for him.” Evera let go, but her wrist tingled from where they touched.

“How kind of you to care about your well being most of all,” she mumbled while moving on toward main street.

“No one else will care for us more than ourselves.” Evera stepped ahead to peer at Charmaine. “So, what is it? Your business?”

“Oh, um, I’m a seamstress. My mother and I create gowns for women of high society to wear at their social gatherings.”

“Ah, we have something of that sort, clothes makers, except we call them weavers. They’re typically boorish bog creatures that feed off insects. I assume you do not take insects as payment.”

Charmaine chortled. “Absolutely not. In Terra, we take payment in coins. Is there truly no form of currency in Faerie?”

“Not in the same sense. Our currency is our interests, as in the weavers, they feed off insects. If you bring their favorites, they will repay you. Heal the forest after a fire and the brownies who live there will offer help when you least expect them, things of that sort.”

Evera blew a kiss at a man who gawked at her. He tripped and face planted on the sidewalk. The fae cackled, proud of herself and seeming to adore the attention she received the further she went into town. She stood out with her flawless appearance and wicked smiles. Charmaine worried how many of these poor souls she’d find later to take advantage of.

“That is… what I wish we did,” Charmaine admitted. Places like the outer banks wouldn’t exist. As warped as Faerie was, poverty didn’t exist nor did expectations of who or what a person should be. How strange that she would become so envious of a place she had always deemed terrifying.

“Mortals are peculiar in their ways. I do not envy you, that’s for certain.” Evera pointed ahead. “Is that it?”

Manwell’s shop came into view, a two story brick building that matched most of the others. A sign hung from an iron clasp featuring the shop’s name with a hammer underneath. Evera cast an annoyed glare at the clasp. She ensured Charmaine stood between her and the iron. An ornate clock tower stood in the window beside a rocking chair and an end stand. A customer left prior to Charmaine entering. The bell above the door jingled.

Upon initial inspection, there was no help wanted sign on the exterior. Inside, there weren’t signs other than information on the pieces. Manwell sold the work of local carpenters, the wardrobe’s sat at the back against the wall with dressers in front of them and smaller pieces such as clocks and wracks at the front. The owner sat behind his desk, little more than bones, and curled gray hair beneath his bowler hat.

“Morning ladies,” he said, standing. He didn’t react to Evera, although Charmaine wondered if the old man understood she was fae. His eyes had a dusty look about them. “What can I help you with today?”

“I’m looking for work, sir, and heard that you might be seeking someone to help move your furniture,” she replied.

“Oh, even if I were, I couldn’t possibly offer it to you girls. That’s a tough job,” he said.

“I see. Do you work with a company, then?”

“I do, miss, been with them for nearly two decades now. If you’re looking for work, there is a florist down the street seeking an assistant.”

“That’s so sweet of you to mention. Thank you for your time.”

The girls left the shop where Evera said, “It may be safe to conclude that we’ve learned how the shadowed disciple has isolated them.”

“It’s a good plan. Most in the outer banks wouldn’t realize it’s a hoax and they would be unlikely to check in person like we did. We should tell,” her voice trailed off.

Down the street, Josef sat across from a girl with beautiful golden curls. They ate sweets together, smiling and laughing. It was everything Charmaine could ever want, a reminder of what she didn’t have and what she couldn’t imagine having. She knew Josef had gone on a date and expected the date to go well. He was a good man and that girl would be lucky to have him, but seeing them together brought upon a dark, unsettling feeling that made her feel unclean and broken.

“What is it?” asked Evera, sounding excited. “Do you see trouble?”

“No, we need to tell those men not to go to the docks.” She hurried off the street to head toward the outer banks, keeping a pace that nearly had her tripping.

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