Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

Despite the serene smile plastered on her face, Lilac was screaming inside. It wouldn’t do for the pub patrons to see a Hawthorne display any emotion other than cool politeness, especially her, but this Hawthorne wanted to throw something. If she didn’t get into the bathroom quick so she could hide in a stall and just beat her fists against the tile wall right this minute , she was going to pop.

“Your reputation is legendary.”

How dare that simple human judge her ? Allen Sharpe had no idea what he was talking about, what she had gone through to have that reputation foisted upon her.

“Oh, Mistress Lilac, don’t leave!” a panicked voice called out.

Lilac turned, still scowling at Allen’s words, and discovered Talia hurrying towards her.

The young woman was pretty, a touch simple, and a perpetual temp. You were guaranteed to find her all over the village all of the time. Either she had the flightiness of a sparrow or just preferred a varied working experience.

It was probably that lack of skill one gains after working consistently at the same job for any considerable amount of time that made the tray with their lunch wobble precariously on her shoulder. The pea soup threatened to slop over the rim of the serving cauldron, the bread boules had already begun to roll like snowballs down a hill, and her salmon was sliding inevitably toward the edge of its plate as if it would suddenly grow fins again and leap off the tray for another chance at life.

“I’m sorry the food took so long! I dropped the first tray and then the cook cut his hand filleting another whole salmon and—” In her haste, Talia bumped into a bar stool and launched the tray into the air.

The food never hit the ground.

Lilac’s magic burst from her hands like a flurry of green leaves. It swirled around the soup, creating vortexes to spiral it back into the bread bowls. It caught her salad and the salmon as if in a trampoline, bouncing it all back onto the plate. She caught the tray and held it steady as the food and cutlery and everything else returned to its original place. More or less.

When Talia scraped herself off the floor, Lilac shoved the tray back into her hands with a firm, “Be careful.” Then she hustled to the restroom and locked herself in the furthest stall. She hit the toilet handle with her foot so the abrasive rush of draining water would drown out her angry cry.

Her reputation was legendary?

By the Green Mother, he’d said it with such scorn and judgment. It was completely at odds with the way he had acted during her interrogation—polite, unfazed, and courteous, even though her behavior had been anything but. It was like he was two different men.

Regardless, why should it even matter to her? She was here to sell her wares and establish herself as a skilled potions-maker.

Because you’ve never been rejected before. You’ve never had your reputation thrown back in your face .

She wasn’t na?ve; she knew what the villagers called her behind her back: heartbreaker. She knew Aunt Hyacinth sometimes referred to her as the Destroyer of Manly Hearts, Souls, and Loins.

But none of them knew why , nor that it was tied directly to Grandmother’s decree that shifters were never to be trusted or associated with. That they were forbidden.

She’d surmised the true reason back when she was sixteen, when the matriarch had called her into her office to discuss her cousin Meadow’s budding crush on a human boy named Jeremy Rook. It’d been the meeting that had damaged her sisterly relationship with her cousin, almost irreparably, and had sent her down the path to become known as the family’s femme fatale.

She shut her eyes against the memory of it, of the betrayal she would have to inflict and the betrayal she had just received from her own grandmother. Then she swallowed a few deep breaths, blotted away the tears on her cheeks before they could smudge her makeup, and went to wash her hands in the sink. As the hot water pooled in her cupped hands, Lilac stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“You’re better than what Grandmother made you,” she whispered. What you allowed yourself to become. “Don’t let him get into your head. This is your chance, and you’re not going to let a stupid boy ruin it for you.”

Tomorrow’s Craft Faire would set the tone of the entire Yuletide Gala. She would not fail, and she wouldn’t let Allen Sharpe and his scathing remarks ruin it for her or anyone else.

She smacked the faucet off and ripped a few paper towels free of the dispenser, imaging they were tufts of Allen’s golden blond hair. He’d shown his hand when he’d insulted her after all that cozying up he’d done to her siblings, and she would expose him to her family. He’d done her a favor, really, solidifying the fact that he was a duplicitous liar and eradicating any possible attraction she might’ve been entertaining.

The ice around her heart renewed, she retrieved the emergency mascara and lip stain from her purse to touch up her appearance. Satisfied, she turned to march out of the bathroom like the Morrigan on her way to battle and nearly collided into a tearful woman.

“Talia?” she exclaimed.

“Oh, please excuse me, mistress,” the server blubbered. “I didn’t see you! I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright!” Lilac backed away to let the woman enter the restroom. “Come here to the sink.”

She turned the water on and waited a beat for Talia to rinse off her running mascara and ruined blush. “Um, if this is about earlier . . .,” Lilac began, biting down on her lower lip. “I’m sorry that I spoke harshly to you, Talia. I—”

“Oh no! It wasn’t you, mistress. Not at all.” Talia forced a smile and practically attacked the paper towel dispenser for fistfuls to smash against her wet face. “It’s just, with the holidays, and him back in town . . ..”

Him? Talia had been making eyes at Boar since they arrived, staring wistfully from the bar, so it wasn’t hard for Lilac to guess who the him was. Poor Talia. Boar might be in the marriage market, but all of that was on hold while he was in charge of the Yuletide Gala. That, and he’d never given the woman a second glance in his life.

Talia turned a wild look on Lilac. “Your mother doesn’t make love potions, does she? Mine aren’t better than dishwater. Wait!” She snatched Lilac’s hands, the paper towels fluttering to the floor. “You’re Mistress Peony’s daughter. Surely some of her prowess has been passed down to you. Can you make me one?”

Love potions? That was powerful magic indeed, and while not forbidden, was severely discouraged. It replaced a part of someone’s personality, sometimes permanently. And more often than not, the people who used love potions quickly learned that the object of their obsession, once obtained, wasn’t at all what they truly wanted.

But from the way Talia was looking up at her so hopefully, so pleadingly, Lilac didn’t feel it right to admonish her. She was obviously heartsick, and she didn’t want to shatter her further. So, she deflected. “I didn’t know you were a practitioner, Talia.”

Practitioner was the term for a human with supernatural sensitivities, one who could be trained to harness the magic found in natural sources to perform small feats. There were dozens in the valley, all of them below the notice of the Hawthorne coven.

The young woman sniffled. “I’m not a very good one, at least with the small magics. You need a charm to keep the pixies out of your sugar bowl, I’m your gal, but other than that . . ..” She shook her head and returned to the previous subject. “So, um, the love potion?”

Lilac extracted her hands from Talia’s grip. “No, Talia,” she said gently but firmly. “That is magic neither you nor I should dabble in.”

“But you can do it, can’t you? Please! If he would just look at me, truly notice me, I’m sure—”

“ No. ” She would not listen to any more.

Lilac left the sniffling young woman in the bathroom and returned to her family. And the liar.