Page 27

Sera came home from the Medieval Fair’s market with no less than three hearts.

As one was a poorly carved decoration covered in splinters (“I was hoping they’d count as thorns,” Sera explained tragically), one was a rusted door knocker, and one was a heart-shaped monstrosity with Home Is Where the Heart Is etched upon it, Luke was not exactly surprised that when Sera dropped them into her enchanted glass teapot, the teapot spat them back out again.

Later that night, when he handed Sera a mug of outrageously sweetened tea on his way upstairs, he said, in an abrupt, forbidding tone that was designed to dissuade any and all further discussion, “You’re on the wrong track, and you know it.

The cardinal feather? Hearts from the Fair market?

These things don’t matter to you. They have nothing to do with who you are. You need things that do.”

“I know.” There was nothing but intense, anguished frustration in her voice. “Believe me, I know it’s pointless to resort to random tat off the street, but maybe the wrong answers are useful too. Maybe there’s a clue to where I ought to be looking…”

She lapsed back into thought, chewing on the end of her pen with a fierce seriousness that suggested she was not going to budge one inch off that sofa until she’d had a breakthrough.

Luke, who should have been halfway up the stairs by now, found himself lingering. Waiting.

“I’m thinking of what’s outside,” Sera finally said, almost to herself.

“The crow feather obviously wasn’t right for the spell, but it did come from that wild, untamed, stupid garden that’s been a part of me my whole life.

It was also the only thing the teapot kept hold of for a few seconds, like it was actually considering it, so maybe going back to the garden is the right answer.

What about the plants? Lots of them have thorns. Do plants have hearts, though?”

“I once translated a spell that asked for a lion’s hair,” Luke replied thoughtfully, leaning against the doorjamb. “Anyone wanting to cast it could try to get hold of the hair of an actual lion, I suppose, but there’s also a mushroom called a Lion’s Mane—”

Sera let out a short, sharp squeal, sprang to her feet, and ran past him out of the room.

Luke looked longingly at the stairs but, against his better judgment, went after her. She’d already dashed outside and dashed right back, and she met him halfway across the kitchen with something cradled tenderly in her hands.

“It’s one of Matilda’s artichokes,” Sera said in a hushed voice. “I’ve been keeping them alive. They’re thorny.” Her eyes shone like entire universes in the lamplight. “And they have hearts.”

For no reason at all, Luke felt like there was broken glass in his throat. It took him a second to speak. “Try it in the teapot.”

“Could you get it off that shelf for me?”

He put the teapot carefully down on the table. She peeled back the prickly outer leaves of the artichoke, revealing the odd little heart in the middle, and dropped it into the teapot. She was standing so close he could feel her stillness as she held her breath.

One second, two seconds, three…

…four, five…

“It’s not spitting it back out,” Sera said, exhaling in a rush.

…seven, eight, nine…

The artichoke vanished in a literal puff of smoke, leaving behind a warm golden mist that swirled contentedly at the bottom of the teapot.

“HA!” Sera squealed. “It worked! IT WORKED!”

As if the house could sense her delight, wildflowers burst out of the dishwasher, the scent of warm scones drifted out of an oven that wasn’t even turned on, and soft orbs of light sprang to life along the old wood beams in the ceiling.

“Incomprehensible,” Luke muttered.

Practically hugging the teapot to her chest, Sera looked up. “Did you say something?”

He shook his head. “It’s late. I should go up.”

Up? He should go, full stop. Leave. Flee , even. Take his sister, take what was left of his common sense, and go home to Edinburgh.

And then what?

He needed more time to figure out what came next.

One more week, Luke told himself. He’d stay one more week.

He almost regretted that decision when Thursday came around and Matilda had a favour to ask of him. Considering she was now homeschooling Posy, Luke thought the very least he could do was hear her out.

“Between you and me,” she declared, “Nicholas needs at least one friend who doesn’t have feathers for brains.”

“What about Sera?”

“A friend who is neither a woman nor a child,” Matilda clarified.

“Matilda, I’m not exactly sure what—”

“You could start with a visit to the pub,” Matilda suggested. “I’m told young people like to bond over a pint at the pub. Have you been to the Red Rose yet? It’s a bit of a walk, but you won’t want to drive, will you? Oh, look, there he is! Nicholas!”

Luke gave her an incredulous look. “We’re supposed to go now? What about Posy?”

“Isn’t she in bed?”

“Yes, but—”

“Jasmine and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll keep an eye on her.” Matilda beamed at him. “I really can’t thank you enough for doing this, Luke. Nicholas’s friends from the Fair are twits. Harmless twits, but twits nevertheless. He needs you.”

And so, just minutes later, Luke found himself cutting through a very large, very dark, and very boggy farmer’s field with an extremely enthusiastic Nicholas by his side.

Luke had conjured a glowing orb that floated ahead of them, giving them just enough light to avoid tripping over a sheep or falling into a hole, and Nicholas was utterly fascinated.

“So.” Luke searched for something a man would say to another man when befriending said man. “Er, what did you think of the Liverpool match the other day?”

Nicholas turned his head a full one hundred and eighty degrees to stare at Luke in astonishment. Luke stared back, expressionless, resolutely stoic, until he simply couldn’t take it anymore and they both broke simultaneously into laughter.

“Did Matilda tell you I needed a friend?” Nicholas asked, unexpectedly perceptive.

“She might have.”

Nicholas grinned. “She told me the same thing about you.”

“You know,” Luke said, resigned, “I find myself completely unsurprised by that.”

The Rose was just the right kind of busy for Luke, which was to say there were enough people to blend in but not so many that his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in.

(Well, there was admittedly only so much he could blend in when he was with Nicholas, who was clanking about in armour, but at least most of the pub’s patrons seemed to be used to him.)

Luke bought the first round of pints at the bar and was just about to send Nicholas on a scouting mission to find an empty table when an unexpected but friendly hand landed on his shoulder.

“Hiya!” It was Malik, Sera’s friend, the farmer who’d come by the inn a few times since Luke had arrived. “It’s Luke, isn’t it? And Nicholas too! We’re just in that corner there if you want to come over. Andy! Another round, please!”

Nicholas was already bounding happily over to the table in the corner, where both Sera and Malik’s husband, Elliot, were taking turns at the dartboard, glasses wobbling perilously in their hands. Luke followed, but reluctantly, loath to intrude.

If she minded his presence, though, she didn’t show it. “Oh, hi,” she said, including both Luke and Nicholas in her smile. “Nicholas, you’re just who I need. Please help me beat Elliot at darts!”

“It would be my greatest honour,” Nicholas said at once.

“I’m three pints in and still winning, by the way, so it won’t be easy,” Elliot warned him.

“And if you’re wondering if a fourth pint is on its way, yes, yes, it is.

Don’t judge me. This is the one time of the week Malik and I don’t have to think about mashed bananas, teething, and the exact consistency of Evie’s poo. ”

“Not judging,” Luke assured him. “Admiring your restraint, in fact.”

Sera yielded her dart to Nicholas and flopped into a chair at the table. Luke appropriated an empty chair from a different table and slid in across from her.

“I have returned,” Malik announced triumphantly, plonking two full pint glasses on the table. “Sera, are you sure you don’t want another?”

Sera wiggled her glass at him. “Still working on this one.”

Luke couldn’t help noticing that her tongue and bottom lip were stained red from the strawberry daiquiri she’d been drinking.

He looked away at once.

“Sera, look!” Nicholas yelled. “I’m winning!”

Sera sprang back up to go see, immediately launching into a spirited debate with Elliot over whether Nicholas’s victory really counted as hers (“He’s my champion!

Of course it counts!”) while Nicholas continued to rack up points with the perfect precision of a man who spent most of his time training with pointy weapons.

Malik, meanwhile, watched them for a moment before turning contented, sleepy eyes to Luke. “Sera says you’re still looking for somewhere bigger in Edinburgh. Anywhere in particular?”

Luke shrugged. “I’m in Leith right now, but I’ll go wherever I have to. The pickings have been pretty slim so far, though.”

His phone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans, persistently, and he pulled it out to look at the screen, hoping to see that the person calling him just after nine o’clock on a Thursday night was Verity, or Howard, or even some sort of spam.

Nope. It was his father.

Jaw tightening automatically, Luke stood. “Sorry, I have to answer this.”

He strode outside, where it was quiet, and, after allowing his thumb to hover temptingly over the Decline button for a fraction of a second, answered his phone.

* * *

Sera saw Luke leave the pub. She hesitated for a second before following him.