Page 11 of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
No.
No one here is trying to kill you, she reminded herself, forcing a breath into her lungs and some pliability back into her stiff limbs.No one knows who you are.The broom had sprouted thorns again, which she quickly banished as she turned her gaze to the front window and drew the curtain. She was surprised to find stalls and carts had appeared as if by magic, dotting Wingspan Green in orderly rows.
“A market!” she marveled aloud, eyes darting to the woman in front of her shop whose overturned cart had been the source of the noise. She had a large, twisted bun of snowy white hair, dark brown skin, and wide eyes beneath pinched, concerned brows. Her mouth was as overturned as her cart, though her frown shifted to an “Oh!” of surprise when she noticed Violet through the window. Someone who wasgoodwould go out to help, so Violet opened the door.
“Are you alright?” she asked, crouching down to help the woman retrieve the ceramic jars that were rolling around the cobblestones.
“Quite alright,” confirmed the woman, gesturing to the broken wheel. “Just frustrated. Not exactly sure how I’ll manage this one.”
“Let me help.”
She and the woman righted the cart, and Violet placed her hand on the wheel. She closed her eyes and urged the dead wood back to life, to grow and mend until the broken pieces were whole once more.
The woman was staring at her, mouth hanging open, and Violet blushed under her scrutiny.
“Sorry about the leaves,” said Violet, swatting one of the twigs that had grown out the side of the wheel. “I’ll fetch some shears so you can trim them off.”
“Well now.” The woman blinked at her thoughtfully a few more times, like she was trying to puzzle out whether what she’d seen was real.
Violet’s cheeks heated even more. “It’s nothing.”
“No, I’d say that wassomething. Thank you.” The woman’s gaze turned studious in a way that began to make Violet uncomfortable, and she repeated to herself once more, like a mantra, that no one here could recognize her without her face full of thorns and that vile purple cloak.
“Oh, you’ve a—” Violet gestured to the honeybee that buzzed near the woman’s head, but then noticed several more. “Bees.”
“Almost thirty years together and my wife still claims she’s not used to them, but it comes with the territory.”
Violet’s eyes dropped to the jars that had fallen. One of them had shattered, and a sticky, golden substance was oozing into the cracks between the stones. Honey.
“You’re a beekeeper!”
“Yes!” Whatever spell the woman had been under seemed to break. She beamed at Violet. “I’m Quinn, of Quinn Bee Honeybees. You’re new here.” Her eyes were friendly, but Violet immediately felt defensive.
“Yes, I’m—I’m Violet. I’m opening a flower shop.” Her hands were suddenly clammy. Quinn’s eyes followed Violet’s to the storefront behind them.
“Ah, so you’re the Marsh twins’ new tenant,” she exclaimed. “I’d heard they’d fixed up the place enough to let. And a flower shop! What will it be called?”
Oh, right. A name. “I…”
“No matter! It will come to you when you’re ready. But you simply must let me talk pollinators with you sometime. Will you import flowers or grow them in your back garden? If you’re interested in a hive, I can get you set up. They’re great for flowers, which of course you must know already, being a florist.”
As Quinn chattered on, Violet felt a thrill at being called a florist by anyone besides herself.
“Oh, but is this one of yours?” Quinn rushed to the big oriel window and marveled at the bouquet Violet had placed there, evidence of her hard-earned practice. She inspected one of the spiky, colorful flowers that nestled among the lilies with awe. “But these—what are these?”
“It’s called a protea,” Violet explained. “They grow in the Shards.”
Quinn marveled at the yellow-and-orange blooms. “Gorgeous! I’ve never seen their like. And you imported them?”
“Not exactly.” Violet wiggled her fingers like she was performing a spell.
“Of course!” Quinn let out a laugh. “Oh, this is wonderful. You’re going to do so well here. No one will have seen anything like it! I can’t wait to tell everyone. How much for this? I’ll draw more customers at market if they have something to look at besides jars of honey.”
Violet’s eyes flitted to the simple arrangement. “I don’t have prices for them yet.”
“Two silver stelle,” said Quinn, her eyes flashing. “And I’ll tell any of my customers who ask where to find you.”
Excitement, tinged with more than a little panic, crawled its way up Violet’s spine. “I—yes, okay.”
