Page 12 of Charlotte's Story
“You always say stuff like that that about Lady Catherine,” Harold muttered.
“Well, I owe her a lot.” The sprite fluttered around, apparently unable to settle.
Oh great. Another fan of Lady Catherine.
“Now that I think about it, I might’ve seen her there too when we were looking at those enchanted scarves,” Lenora said. “You know the ones that grow or shrink and can change color depending on your clothes. I—”
I cleared my throat.
“Right, well, she might’ve been following the good old pastor around at the market.”
“Wait,shewas followinghimaround?” I rubbed my forehead, trying to piece things together.
Lenora gasped. “Did she attack him, and he just defended himself?”
Harold sniffed and fiddled with a light wrapped around his neck. “Honestly, that makes more sense than Pastor Collins hurting anyone. That boy can’t navigate a social situation to save his life, but even if a fae tried to rob him blind, he’d probably give him the money and then ask them about their day.”
The sprite huffed but didn’t say anything. Neither did I, even though saying it was a fae didn’t mean much. I’d have been more impressed if Harold had mentioned a different Marked race, like witches or vampires.
“I should’ve guessed as much when I found her sneaking around the church last week during book club. She was definitely up to something.” Lenora scowled. “And I’ve even seen her visit Rosings Park too. Maybe she was trying to catch him there.”
Maybe finding the truth wouldn’t be so hard after all. If she’d attacked him, she might have been injured when he defended himself. With how powerful fae magic was, that didn’t sound too crazy.
“I don’t know what to think,” the sprite said, her wings, which looked like leaves, flapping rapidly. “This town is full of crazies, Lady Catherine being the exception of course.”
“If you want to know more about Dahlia, you should talk to her uncle.” Lenora held out a hand for the sprite to settle on.
I bit my lip. Going straight to the victim’s family didn’t feel like the most sensitive approach, but if it gave us some clarity and gave him some peace, it might be worth it.
“He owns the museum in town, and you can find him there most days,” Lenora continued. “He and his niece didn’t always get along, but he’d still probably know more than anyone else.”
“You mean the Museum of Regrets?” I asked.
“That’s the one.” She nodded.
Harold frowned. “Are you sure you want to send her there?”
“Why? What’s wrong with the museum?” I shivered, from the cold or his warning tone I couldn’t tell.
“There’s nothing wrong with the museum. Stop stirring up trouble where there is none,” Lenora said. “Anyway, you let us know if you need anything else. Or if youhearanything else.”
The sprite elbowed her, her tiny elbow hardly making a dent in Lenora’s sweater. “Can you stop being so nosy for just one minute?”
Lenora sniffed. “What? I’ve lived almost three hundred years. You can’t blame me for wanting a little excitement.”
“No one blames you,” I said, making a mental note to let Tessa know later what I’d learned from the neighbors. “I’m grateful you were willing to share what you knew.”
“Of course. Of course.” Lenora patted my hand as if she were my grandmother.
“I’ll swing by the Museum of Regrets tomorrow to see if Dahlia’s uncle can provide any more information.” I curled my hands into fists to keep my fingers warm, my new wedding ring cold against my skin.
Somehow this had turned into a marriage ofinconvenience, but I wouldn’t let that stop me from getting answers.
Chapter 4
AfteratextfromFirth in the morning telling me he was running errands, I kept myself busy by preparing the collection of candles for Mayor Pembroke. If he felt like errands were more important than filling me in on everything that had happened then that was his business. Considering he didn’t even remember our wedding, maybe I was lucky he’d even thought to text me.
When he still wasn’t home by noon, I bundled myself into warm clothes and headed to town. I needed to talk to Dahlia’s uncle at the Museum of Regrets. I walked to town, letting the quiet crunch of snow and the scent of pine in the air soothe my worries. It wasn’t the most practical means of transportation, but snow was one of my favorite types of weather, and I could risk a little impracticality for it. The cold nipped at my cheeks, but I wrapped my cherry blossom scarf tighter—a gift from Lizzy that was enchanted to stay warm—and walked on.
