Page 19 of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
“No.”
“I’m sure we could convince Violet to plant us a lovely patch of flowers. We could clean it up for the summer and—”
“I said no, Pru.”
She actuallygrowledat him. “Well, what then, you ridiculous grump? You’re going to keep your eyes down until we run ourselves into the ground?”
“I’m just doing things the way Mum and Da always did. The way things have always worked.”
“But they’re not working anymore,” she argued. “We need to change course. Wasn’t that your plan all along? I know it’s a risk, but why don’t you try picking up your alchemy agai—”
“We’re not talking about this.” Nathaniel snapped the ledger closed. His thoughts were mixing with memories again.
“Wenevertalk about this!”
“Because there’s no point!” It was no use now. There was no way he could keep it all together; his emotions had spilled, shattering from their delicate glass vials to spout toxic fumes he couldn’t help but breathe in. “My plan was a disaster. I failed spectacularly, Pru. That’s what changing course got us.”
“Nathaniel, what happened wasn’t—”
“I’m not an alchemist anymore,” he insisted. “We’ll keep the shop afloatwithoutany dangerous new ideas. We always have and we always will. Collecting rent will help, and you can keep performing at the market.”
“Right.” She laughed humorlessly. “Running the shop. Performing at the market. The lives both of us always dreamed of.”
“It’s the hand we’ve been dealt, Pru. There’s no point trying to reshuffle the deck now.”
“So you’ll just keep on being miserable in a job you never wanted, here in a place you should never have come back to?”
“Yes!” He caught his words. “I mean, I’ll keep things running here at the shop. I’m—I’m not—”
“Nathaniel.” Her tone was pleading; suddenly he didn’t want to look her in the eye. He knew what he’d find there, and he needed her pity like he needed another bill to pay.
She laid her hand over his ink-stained fingers and squeezed tightly. “They’d understand, you know.” She sounded like she wanted to cry. He still couldn’t look at her. “If we changed things, I mean.”
“It’s theirlegacy,” Nathaniel said desperately, as though this could make her see.
“I hear you,” she said finally, squeezing his hand once more. “I don’t agree, but I hear you. We’ll keep going for a bit. We have three months, right?”
“Two and a half.”
“Right.” She nodded, as if that decided it. “Maybe business will pick up.”
She disappeared up the stairs, and Nathaniel realized he’d lost count of the money before him. He started over, his brow furrowed, until the front doorbell rang and he realized Pru had left it unlocked behind her. With a sigh, he schooled his features into something pleasant and friendly and said, “I’m so sorry, we’re closed for the evening.”
The man who stood in the entryway looked around with interest before turning to Nathaniel with a too-wide smile, like he’d stretched it a bit too thin over his face.
“Are you the proprietor?” His voice was reedy, as though his words were being carried to Nathaniel on a gust of wind that warned of a storm.
Nathaniel straightened. “I am,” he said, studying the tall, pale-skinned man. He looked to be a few years younger than Nathaniel, with long blond hair pulled back with a black silk bowand piercing blue eyes. He wore a thick, fur-lined cloak made of fine wool and tall leather boots with pointy toes edged in gleaming silver. A man of means, then. Perhaps looking to part with some coin. Nathaniel urged a smile to his lips. “Can I help you?”
“In fact, you can.” The man swept forward until he stood before Nathaniel and held out a hand for him to shake. His grip was cold from the outside air. “I’m an alchemist, and I’m new to this…charminglittle town.” He saidcharminglike someone else might sayghastlyordecrepit. Nathaniel straightened his shoulders. “I’m looking to replenish some supplies for my work.”
The skin at the back of Nathaniel’s neck prickled. More newcomers. A young witch looking to sell her silly flowers was one thing, but this smarmy, wealthy-looking fellow on top of it? And an alchemist at that? He smelled trouble.
“We’d be happy to help you get set up,” he responded as pleasantly as he could. “Tomorrow. During business hours.”
The man’s mouth twitched. “But of course. You wouldn’t mind if I leave you with a list, would you? I know what I’m looking for.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of his cloak and slid it across the counter.
Still watching the man, Nathaniel picked up the paper and opened it. His gaze flicked down the list of ingredients, written in a slanting script.
