Page 101 of As Above, So Below

Fuck me andfuckRyc.

And fuck not reading that book on fae customs and traditions when I had the chance. If I’d bothered to learn more about all this, I wouldn’t find myself in this situation. I wouldn’t have accepted the gift, let alone be seenwearingit. I’ve clearly sent a sign I didn’t realize I was sending.

And it’s set expectations between us I’m not sure I agree to.

I heave another sigh, fighting the urge to find Ryc and do exactlywhat I’d threatened earlier. The absolute last thing I need isromantic entanglement.

“Honestly, it’s incredibly romantic,” Cora croons with such an honest warmth and admiration it pains me. Her eyes grow dreamy as she continues, “After everything you’ve gone through to get here, you should enjoy this. He could be your ma—”

“No,” I interject with a firm shake of my head, uninterested in letting her finish.

I’m not going to entertain Cora’s romantic notions, they’re too based in the books she’s read. And to be fair, while I’ve read some of them too and they pull at my heart, demons and romance don’t exist. Everything is an exchange, a transaction.

I sigh. “He’s asked to meet with me tonight. I’ll return it then.”

Eve gives me a look, one that bids me good luck.

Or that I’ve messed up beyond repair.

I can’t tell.

Probably both.

The shopkeeper calls Cora and as she and Eve approach the counter, I half consider waiting outside. But the thought of standing out in the blazing sun is enough to keep me indoors for the time being. A breeze pulls through the shop, and tracking the source of the much desired fresh air, I notice it streams down from the second floor.

I need to distract myself from thoughts of the dagger, of Ryc, or I’m going to meltdown in the middle of this room. Forcing myself to move, I wander around the shop, trying to focus on the details around me. Grounding myself.

Rough wooden crates line the walls, angled to display the herbs stored inside. A muted array of greens, pinks, reds, blues, browns, and yellows. It appears they’re grouped by herb type: flowering herbs along one row, leaf derivatives in another, and root types along the bottom. I’ve never seen such an accumulation of herbs all in one place. It’s impressive, despite the violent onslaught on my nose.

After a time, I climb the narrow stairs to the second floor, seeking the source of the breeze. The second floor is a smaller space than below, and floor-to-ceiling open shelves divide the room intoseveral aisles. Each shelf jam-packed with glass bottles.

With the afternoon sun pouring through the open windows and balcony doors, the shelves host a glittering rainbow of colors. Splashes of blues, pinks, reds, and oranges wash against the shelves and floor, leaving me mesmerized.

An abundance of potions designed for all nature of ailments, rituals, and celebrations. Hanging around the neck of each bottle lies a tag, providing the name and description of the item.

Is there anything for resisting a fae’s charm?

Or an inexplicable draw?

Something, anything to make it so I cannotfeel?

Aside from myself, the second floor lies empty as I wander and weave between the shelves. The chaotic organization of the bottles reminds me of the library in the hells, the glowing light reminiscent of the glow from soul crystals.

A small pang of sadness strikes my heart.

All those souls left forgotten once again.

I doubt Vaelyn visits them.

And Ylara… she’s likely locked in obsidian.

The breeze sweeps through again, carrying the sound of excited voices and draws my attention to the open balcony doors at the end of the aisle. As I approach, the voices grow louder, and I step out onto the balcony half expecting to see a massive crowd before the shop.

Instead, the street is lined with people, its center clear.

As if they’re waiting.

Approaching the edge of the balcony and peering over the railing, people chatter, many holding some sort of black fabric. A few handkerchiefs, a flag with a silver embroidered emblem—it’s hard to make out as most of the flag is bunched in their hands.