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Exasperation fizzed through my bloodstream. “Then what do you want? I told you this isn’t a foxhole. You can’t hide in here all day and waste my time. You either buy something or you leave.”

He ignored me, scrubbing a hand along his jaw in contemplation. “Are you sure there are no other Curiosity Shops in Elora?”

“If you don’t believe me, then,please,go look for them yourself. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, yes?”

Apollo gritted his teeth. “Well, that’s fucking disappointing.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is a rather pathetic Shop, isn’t it? I mean, you barely have anything truly curious here. No mystery boxes in sight, and a whole bookcase over there without a single spell book on it,” he scoffed, gesturing to the other side of the Shop.

The bookcase caught the light with something like irony. The hues of the wood were the ones of the seaside; grey-blues and sun-bleached browns. It looked as if it had washed up on the shore of some faraway land one day and had traveled all across the Realm looking for its everlasting harbor to finally find it right here, in this warm little corner of the Shop.

“It is a magical bookcase, if you must know,” I said, barely able to hold back a curse. “And don’t you dare call my Shop pathetic again.You’repathetic. Look at you, six feet tall and hiding in here like a scared little boy.”

“I’m actually six-five,” he wryly mused.

“Congratulations, what do you want, a medal?”

He chuckled to himself as though I’d said something witty and strolled toward the bookcase. “So, how is it magical exactly?” he asked, brushing two fingers along a shelf.

I had the instinct to slap his hand away, but I managed to contain myself. Someone had to maintain a level of propriety here, and it was obvious that it wasn’t going to be him.

“You can ask for anything you’re interested in, and it willcreatea book for you.” I cleared my throat and faced the bookcase to demonstrate. “For example, let’s say: I would like a book on how to weave a proper flower crown.”

After a few moments, a green picture book emerged on one of the shelves, providing me with the exact information I had requested.

“Fascinating,” Apollo sighed under his breath.

He crouched down and stared at the bookcase very intently for a moment, studying the knurls and rings of the wood as sun-beamed specks of dust danced in the air above it.

Then he whispered something to it.

This unnerved me greatly because his expression turned somber, almost harsh, and whatever he requested, the bookcase was unable to procure, which had never happened before as far as I knew. There were, of course, limits to its magic, but even I wouldn’t know what those limits were. Magic wasn’t something that could be defined so easily. It changed from person to person and object to object. There was the magic of places and things, such as this bookcase and this Shop. There was the magic of potion-makers and seers—magic that some humans possessed. And then there was the pure, unbridled magic of witches and the fairy folk, of which we had none in the South.

Whatever Apollo had requested from the bookcase, it had to be magic beyond its capacity, and I didn’t like the thought of that at all.

“What did you say to it?” I demanded.

His head jerked back to me as if he’d forgotten I was there. He straightened up and gave me a dangerous little half-smile, which I didn’t appreciate at all. There was a wild, reckless quality to it—the smile of someone who fantasized about doing terrible things to you and didn’t mind you knowing it. “I just asked what is Miss Curiosity’s favorite way of pleasuring herself.”

To my complete and utter horror, a small, pink book was produced by the bookcase. It materialized out of thin air and fell flat on the top shelf with a scandalous littlethud.

I scrambled for it, gasping in shock, but Apollo was swifter and snatched the book right away, only to hold it high above his head.

“Give me that! What are you, a child?” I squealed and fumbled like an idiot for the book, jumping up and down with my hands in the air. “Give me that, now! What kind of person asks such a thing about a complete stranger?”

Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to note this, but Apollo Stranger, albeit an ill-mannered, arrogant, man-child menace, smelled spectacular, like spice and woodsmoke and the grass after rain.

“I really like this bookcase,” he announced, laughing a low, gravelly laugh. “I think I’m going to buy it after all.”

“The bookcase is not for sale, you obnoxious prick!” I growled. “The book you requested is, and you cannot buy this one!”

“I’ll give you a whole gold mark for it,” he bluntly offered.

I scoffed in outrage and brushed down my skirts. “You can’t put a price on dignity.”

“I’ll give you three,” he bartered.