As I entered, I zeroed in on my mirror box, elated and a bit shocked they hadn’t taken it as evidence. Walking through my booth felt odd, as if the ghost of Mr. Duncan still lingered. Chills prickled my neck as I scanned the room. Nothing looked disturbed—the table and chairs, my basket of yarn, the knit scarves hanging from the coat rack, all looked the same—but it felt different.
When I got to my laptop box, I slowly sat in the chair beside it. The silver glass gleamed in the sunlight streaming into the room. My pewter figurines were still arranged as they had been earlier, in their appropriate order and cleaned to perfection. Except for the dragon still lying on its side, each figurine stood in the red-velvet lining, looking as if they would start speaking at any moment.
If I ever wanted to find out what was going on with my mirror, I’d have to touch it, so I stretched out my hand and conjured a negating spell in my mind. I closed my eyes, letting the magic flow through me until it gained strength, and then I uttered the magic word and released my magic.
A spiral of amber and blue enveloped the mirror, and I held my breath as I waited for the spell to work.
Tendrils of light combined and turned white. Sparks popped and dazzled my eyes. Usually, this spell dissipated in a second. For it to last so long now made me wonder what had happened to my mirror. If it had been spellcasted, then why hadn’t I felt the enchantment?
I rested my chin on my hand as I watched the light show, trying to come up with a good reason for what had happened. Obviously, someone had tampered with my mirror. If they’d spellcasted it, they hadn’t left a trace behind, which meant they were either a very powerful practitioner, or the mirror hadn’t been spellcasted at all. There was a possibility that something beyond my understanding was going on, and if that were the case, then it was even more imperative I restore my mirror. My stepfather, Fan’twar, the sky king of Faythander, was possibly the only being I knew who would have answers. Plus, I needed to know why my magic had acted on its own to heal Kull.
Finally, the light died away, leaving me with an empty mirror. My spell should have removed any foreign enchantments, but the real test came now. I slowly reached out and gently touched the dragon statue. When nothing happened, I grabbed it.
The statue was deceptively heavy for its size, and its weight felt comfortable in my hands. I studied the statue, examining every scale and claw for even the slightest difference, but I found nothing out of the ordinary. I did the same with each of the other figurines and again found them untouched.
Carefully, I arranged the statuettes in the box and snapped the lid closed. I still had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right, and I still didn’t trust my mirror to use it as a portal, but for now, it was the best I could do.
Someone coughed, startling me, and I spun around to face Princess Esmelda.
She sniffled before speaking. Her eyes were puffy around the edges and wet with tears. “Hello, Olive,” she said. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Of course,” I said, standing. “What’s the matter?”
I led her to a chair, and while she sat, I found a box of tissues under the table and handed one to her. She took it and pressed it to her nose.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who else to talk to. Terminus is busy, and you’re the only other person I trust.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m—I’m just…” She took in a deep breath. “I’m dreadfully homesick. This world is so strange. Walking all the time. No wings to carry you whenever your feet get tired. There is no nectar to drink, nor apple blossoms to eat. There are no honeydew fields to flutter through. I haven’t seen a single nobbinfly or maywelter. They are our kin, you know, and this world seems to know nothing of them. The people here are oblivious to the true nature of fairies.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure it’s not easy to be in a strange world surrounded by so many unfamiliar things. Maybe we can think of a way to help you feel more at home. Did you have any hobbies on Faythander?”
“Hobbies?”
“Yes, like gardening or candle making?”
“I was quite talented at weaving.”
“Good. Let’s start there.” I stood and found my yarn basket. I hadn’t intended on using it to keep fairy royalty entertained, but if this helped the princess out of her homesickness, then it would be worth it.
“Have you ever knitted?” I asked.
“No.”
“Or crocheted?”
“No, but I have woven shawls and skirts.” She eyed the yarn. “Except, I used flower petals and stems soaked in fae water—it makes them more pliable.”
“I think crocheting shouldn’t be too hard for you to pick up. Here.” I handed her a crochet hook and demonstrated how to loop the yarn and make a chain. As I suspected, she picked it up quickly. Soon, she was on her way to making her first potholder.
After a while, she was smiling once again, and I left her to keep watch at the front, assuming, perhaps foolishly, customers might come by today.
A familiar face appeared in the crowd and headed to my booth. Mrs. Kaufman, the pub owner’s wife, was out of breath by the time she reached my booth. Time had not been kind to Mrs. Lydia Kaufman. Her reddish, graying hair was frizzy and never seemed to stay put, and the wrinkles and redness of her skin were proof it had seen too much sun over her lifetime. She was one of those
