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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“There you go,” Lilac said cheerfully, handing the last of her sellable inventory over to an elderly couple.

News of Allen’s purchases, and why he was so enthusiastic, had spread like wildfire. Lilac didn’t want to assume anything, but she wondered if the older woman’s desire for arthritic cream and the man’s need of Follicular Elixir was more than coincidence.

Now all she had to do was wait for everyone to try her products and give her (hopefully good) feedback. She’d already separated the ruined bottles and jars by product in the leftover totes and would work on relabeling them tonight in her room. Perhaps she could sell the rest over the course of the week. Then maybe, just maybe, with the villagers endorsing her, her Grandmother would realize Lilac’s true talent. And accept it.

After hiding the totes under the display table, she extracted a poplar seed from the vial in her pocket. A spurt of green magic grew a Sold Out sign, and she erected it on the tablecloth before excusing herself. She had precious minutes before the bachelors found her again, and she was eager to see Edith.

The faun bookseller had fresh holly nestled by her horns and wore a white cable-knit sweater . . . that matched the little vase of white lily-of-the-valley flowers on her display table. She recognized the vase immediately—it was a familiar orange juice glass.

Allen , she thought fondly.

“Mistress Lilac!” Edith beamed a bright smile, holding up the bouquet. “Did you do this?”

“I had a little help,” she admitted. Then she leaned in close. “Edith, I did it.”

The faun’s black eyebrows flew into her curly hair. “You did? Those were your potions I saw everybody using?”

Lilac nodded victoriously.

“Well done!” The faun gave her hand an affectionate little slap. “Look at you, Miss Rebel.”

“I know, right? I wasn’t able to sell half because of some ruined labels, but I did manage to sell out on all the rest. Maybe people will try them out tonight and ask for more tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not! I’ve been using your stuff for years, why, just look at my horns! No keratin treatment does that. ” The faun’s horns were indeed of a superior luster.

Lilac found Edith’s encouragement fanning the flames of her newfound hope. “Maybe, just maybe, I can— Oh hang it all.”

“What?” Edith poked her head beyond her booth and groaned. “Ugh, men.”

A flock of her suitors were jostling each other at a power walk to get to her, more gifts in their hands.

“Can I hide in there with you?”

“Sure, but they already spotted you.”

Lilac sucked in a deep breath.

“If you hold that breath and pass out, maybe they’ll leave you alone,” the faun suggested.

“Or they’ll battle each other over who gets the privilege to take me to the hospital. I mean, I enjoy a good Regency romance with all its manners and decorum and forbidden desires—thanks for The Perfect Rake , by the way—but ugh, what I would give for a shadow daddy right now.”

“I can’t help you with that now, unfortunately, this being a family event, but I got me some foil-edged hardcovers of the latest pornmantasy bestsellers if you want to stop by the bookstore later.”

“I just might.”

“Mistress Lilac, there you are,” the closest bachelor declared as if he’d just won a round of Hide and Seek. “I’ve brought you some punch.”

Lilac didn’t take it. In fact, she had to push the cup away from her mouth. “I’m perfectly hydrated, thank you.”

“Perhaps something to nibble on?” This second man had obviously robbed one of the Cat & Cauldron’s servers of their tray and had loaded it with every appetizer just for her.

Lilac’s stomach threatened to betray her at the sight of those phyllo cups stuffed with melted Brie cheese and raspberry preserves, little slivers of almonds on top promising a satisfying crunch. Especially after refusing that monstrosity Allen had called breakfast. Yet, years of her grandmother’s fatphobia made her resist the indulgence.

“I’ve got something stronger than punch, if that’s appealing to you.” A third bachelor removed a flask from his inner coat pocket and gave it a roguish wiggle.

“Oh my.” There was no way she was drinking any of that .

“She said she wasn’t thirsty, Brandon,” the first one hissed.

“And I guess you’re drinking all that punch by yourself, Landen,” he sneered, replacing the flask. “Too bad it won’t keep you warm like this whiskey will.”

“Wanna bet?” Landen chugged first one punch, belched, then immediately started in on the other Lilac had pushed away.

Lilac rolled her eyes. These men would certainly peacock and compete over the most ridiculous things for her attention. Most of them not even making a lick of sense.

“Classy, Landen,” a fourth chastised. “And right in front of Mistress Lilac, too.”

“Hey, I think he’s turning purple,” Edith said.

The punch cups dropped from Landen’s hands as he jerked back, pawing at his throat.

“He’s choking!” Lilac cried, rushing forward.

“Choking on what?” Brandon scoffed. “There’s nothing in the punch. This is just a ploy for sympathy or—Gah!”

Black veins appeared on Landen’s throat, radiating up over his chin and down across his neck like a sinister spiderweb.

“Poison?” Lilac whispered.

She reached for him, trying to grab his flailing hand and shove some of her healing magic into him, but the man staggered back, careening into the booth behind him. Shouts rose at the disruption, then screams as people caught sight of his face.

Lilac chased after him, shoving people out of her way as he writhed on the floor. She managed to dodge a kick from his thrashing foot and caught his leg, immediately flooding him with her magic. She wasn’t as talented with healing as Meadow or Rose, but she had enough skill to halt the spread of the black veins.

“Lilac!” Boar dropped down by Landen’s head.

“I got the poison under control, but whatever’s lodged in his throat keeps injecting it like a wasp’s stinger.”

“Get him up.”

Boar wrestled Landen, who was turning a deeper shade of purple by the second, upright and wrangled him to receive the Heimlich. A few jolts to the chest did nothing to dislodge what was in his throat. Still on the floor, Lilac clung to Landen’s ankle, pouring whatever help she could into his body with her glowing hands .

“Get his head back.” That command came from Allen.

The caretaker had come out of nowhere, but at his order, the bachelors stepped back to give him room. His multi-tool flicked in his hand like a butterfly blade until the needle-nose pliers appeared. Boar snatched Landen’s hair and yanked the man’s face skywards.

Grabbing Landon’s chin in his hand, Allen pried open Landon’s mouth as far as it would go. “Steady now,” he warned everyone, then inserted his pliers. “Gotcha!”

Landen heaved a giant gasp as Allen pulled what looked like a star anise pod from his throat. Lilac’s magic was spent, unable to heal the bruising and lacerations he’d endured.

“Here, drink one of Mistress Lilac’s healing tonics!” a woman cried, yanking the cork from the purple vial. “I bought it for my husband’s flu, but he can manage off another hot toddy or two for a few more days.”

Landen drank, wincing with pain. After he swallowed, his eyes popped open in wonder. “That’s— I— It’s incredible! The pain is gone.”

“Let me see that.” Boar plucked the vial from Landen’s hand, read the label, then flicked a spearing gaze to where Lilac was still on the ground.

Oh no.

“Master Boar.” Allen nudged the witch to look down at what he held in his pliers.

Lilac was grateful for the interruption and the humiliation she would’ve had to endure otherwise. Looking away—for her brother couldn’t impress shame upon her if she wasn’t looking at him—her attention came to rest on the shattered punch cups.

And the strange brown sand that the oozing punch left behind. Strange. They made their punch with whole spices so there would be no grit to filter out.

“Star anise?” Boar’s question dragged her gaze to the pod pinched in Allen’s pliers. “We don’t make our punch with star anise.”

He sent a tendril of magic into the pod. “And that one has been spelled.” Then he raised his voice. “Anyone drinking the yuletide punch, stop immediately!”

The crowd parted for him to rush back to the refreshment table.

Allen turned, focusing on the man who had offered Lilac his flask. “You. You’ve got whiskey, don’t you?”

“I-I, uh—”

Allen stepped forward, slapped the man’s coat open, and helped himself to the silver flask in his inner pocket. He unscrewed the top, doused the star anise, then pulled a lighter out of his own pocket.

Multi-tool. Lighter. Is he a Swiss Army Man or something? Lilac wondered.

Whatever curse had infested the pod shrieked upon contact with the flame and dissipated in a puff of black smoke. The entire pod turned to ash and crumbled away. Allen’s golden-brown eyes tracked the ash to the floor, where he met Lilac’s ivy-green gaze. He startled, as if appalled to find her on her hands and knees, then looked frantically at his hands. They were coated in Landen’s saliva or otherwise occupied with the multi-tool.

He faced the crowd. “Is no one going to help Mistress Lilac to her feet?” he boomed. “She just saved a man’s life!”

Lilac squeaked as a dozen hands seized her, hauling her upright and smacking the debris from her skirts.

“I think she can handle that part,” Edith cried, swatting a few hands away with one of her books. “Talia, help the mistress with her shawl.”

The server plucked and tugged until Lilac shooed her away. “I’m alright! Thank you, Talia. ”

The young woman hung her head, mumbling an apology.

Allen doused his pliers with more of the bachelor’s whiskey, then set the tool on fire to sterilize it before returning the mostly empty flask to the disappointed bachelor.

“What was that?” he murmured, eyebrows pinching together into a frown.

“I’m not s—”

The caretaker reared his head back like a startled stallion, eyes flaring. “The barrier.” Then he seized her arm, hauled her in close, and hustled the two of them forward towards the front doors. “Come with me, witch. The Hall is under attack.”