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“Does she have feelings for you?” he asked, lowering his voice to an urgent whisper.

“That woman hates my guts,” I scoffed. “I’m just helping her return to the South, is all.”

“But she could be—”

“Walder, please,” I groaned. “Wine.”

“Fine,” he muttered, casting a disapproving glare at my clothes. “But you better clean up first. I don’t serve dinner to filthy brutes.”

I bristled, shrugging off my cape as I took a step inside the cottage. “I swear, you and Nepheli are made for each other.”

13

Nepheli

Ihad to be dreaming. Perhaps I had fallen asleep on my desk at the Shop and this was all some wild product of my subconscious, a fanciful scene to help me escape the mundaneness of my life. Because, honestly now, what were the odds of meactuallybeing in a spirit’s house talking to a butterfly-winged weaver as we passed room after room full of marvelous curiosities?

And the cottage was without question of ineffable magical beauty. I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t know what to experience first. The colors, the textures, the smells. Each cozy alcove boasted upholstered armchairs and wooden tables abounded with twinkling mushroom-shaped lamps and curious little knick-knacks. Cherrywood shelves and cabinets displayed a plethora of books, potions, serums, talismans, and artifacts, everything looking both incredibly valuable and perfectly absentminded, almost mislaid. Cups of tea and stray bookmarks. Crooked picture frames and loudly ticking clocks. The clocks were perhaps the most interesting part, for none of them agreed on the time. Every rhythmictick-tocksuggested something different, as if the days here, colorful and curious, meandered to an unbound, time-bending version of the world. A jumble of flowers dangled from the ceiling, along with strings of feathers and crystals, sparkly candles, and garlands of opalescent marbles—the scene was uncanny. The whole cottage smelled of rosemary, oranges, and wine, and the temperature was deliciously balmy, the kind of warmth that could lull you into the easiest sleep of your life.

It had to be a dream. Or perhaps I was still trapped in Fairyland, and I was hallucinating it all while my physical form withered.

“Are you okay, Nepheli?” Agathe’s sweet voice came from the top of the staircase. Mushrooms were growing on the steps, sprouting from between clusters of soft, green moss. I grabbed onto the railing and hopped around them, trying my best not to stomp on the little things. I was afraid they might be sentient beings. So many curious things have happened to me lately that I started to rethink my definition of theimpossible.

“I’m just wondering if this is all real,” I panted, finally reaching the top.

Agathe pinched my arm.

I cried out, astonished at how strong the tiny weaver was.

“See? Real,” she chirped and dashed down the long, dim-lit hallway—much longer than what the outer structure of the cottage indicated.

I followed, seized by a sense of blissful enclosure, as though nothing bad could ever happen in the strange pathways of this place. Then, we entered another room, passing through a snow-white arched door, and my mouth fell open all over again. The bedroom bore cream-colored furniture with delicate golden carvings and gorgeous sky-blue wallpaper. Actual clouds hung from the frothy ceiling, casting a discreet yellowish light over the lush four-poster bed in a perfect balance of opulence and whimsy.

“It’s exquisite,” I sighed, craning my neck to take it all in.

“We’ll share the room if you don’t mind,” Agathe said as she gestured at the small walnut-shaped bassinet perched on the windowsill with quaint lacy curtains framing it. “I always sleep by the window because the starlight replenishes my magic,” she explained.

“I really,reallydon’t mind,” I squeaked, trying and failing to contain my excitement. I had no idea how to conduct myself in front of her. Weavers weren’t simply magical, after all. They were magic itself, and I was more than unprepared for such an incredible opportunity. My head was a mess, and my dress was dirty, and I did not seem to be able to recall any of thethousandquestions I’d wanted to ask her.

Agathe went to lie down on the bed, where she stretched out her spotted wings and folded her tiny arms behind her head like a pillow. “You don’t have many weavers in the South, huh?”

I approached but refrained from sitting down, hating to dirty the beautiful powder-blue bedding. “Not anymore,” I sighed as I leaned against one of the bed’s poles. “After the Dreadful Mundane spread in the South almost every magical being left for other kingdoms.”

Her periwinkle brows drew together. “The Dreadful Mundane?”

I frowned back, feeling as perplexed as she looked. “It’s a sickness. It has drained the South of its magic. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. The papers in Elora can’t stop talking about it.”

An endearing little laugh left her florid lips. She shook her head, and pink dust speckled the sheets. “Oh dear. There is no sickness in the South, and certainly not one that drains entire cities of their magic.”

“But…” I stammered, confused. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. No one cares about magic in Elora anymore. In fact, I own the last Curiosity Shop in the entire kingdom.”

“The one who seeks magic will always be able to find it, Nepheli,” Agathe said enigmatically, and when I failed to respond, she clarified, “Curiosity is a choice. And a very hard one at that. Magic does not come without its own pitfalls and perils.”

Nervously, I hooked a finger under my necklace. “Yes, I’m starting to get that.”

“Well, the Southern Kingdom is mostly populated by humans, and humans like safety and comfort. You like stability and predictability, and planning ahead. Uniformity makes better sense to you than unbridled, inexplicable wonder. To accept such strangeness,” she vaguely gestured toward the window, and another thin layer of glimmering dust peppered the air, “you have to open your mind and heart so wide that it starts to hurt. Because it hurts to grow, doesn’t it?” She considered, shrugging her little shoulders. “But, of course, this is not up to us weavers to decide. Every being will carve its own path and grow in its own way, and we have to respect that. We magical creatures are drawn to the North because this is the land where the gods were born. There’s always going to be magic here. It’s embedded in the soil. It spills down from the sky when it rains. And although traces of it will always exist in the rest of the world, like your Curiosity Shop, it is only natural where humans thrive for magic to wane because, in a way, they’re perfect opposites.”

I blinked at her, utterly and thoroughly gobsmacked.