Page 12 of The Cobbler and His Elves

Martha’s neat, girlish script covered the page in a jumble of notes and scribblings. My eyes darted across the paper, trying to make sense of it all. One line caught my attention:

SHD shirt—custom tailoring, paid IOU. No entry in my books.

I frowned, rereading the words. It didn’t fit with anything else we knew. Why would Martha deliberately leave this out of her official records?

I tapped the perplexing entry with my index finger. “What do you make of this?”

Jack leaned in closer, his cedar-and-bergamot scent surrounding me. His breath tickled my ear, making me shiver involuntarily. The warmth of his body so near mine made it hard to concentrate. I swallowed, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Jack’s finger traced the line. He tapped it thoughtfully, his touch deliberate. “Martha’s involved in the leather theft, that much is clear. But this entry...” He paused, his brow furrowing.

I frowned, piecing together the fragments of information. “An IOU for custom tailoring? Maybe it’s just a simple favor?“

I mulled over the information, not quite seeing the significance.

“Could be,” Jack agreed, his voice low and thoughtful. “But why keep it off the books?”

“She’s being coerced,” Elijah said, holding up both threatening notes side by side. “The handwriting matches. Whoever threatened you also threatened Martha.”

I leaned in, studying the notes. “You’re right. And the paper... doesn’t it look familiar?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “It’s the same type used in Thompson’s ledgers at the tannery. I’d bet my last dollar on it.”

We sat in silence for a moment, letting the implications sink in. Martha, Mr. Thompson’s daughter, involved in the leather theft. Someone blackmailing her, using paper from the tannery. And now, Martha missing.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

Elijah’s expression turned serious. “We need to be careful. Whoever wrote these notes could be dangerous. And now that Martha’s gone...”

“They might come after Milo next,” Jack finished, his jaw clenching.

A chill rippled through my body, raising goosebumps along my arms. “You don’t really think?—”

“We’re not taking any chances,” Jack said firmly. “We’ll stay here. Keep watch.”

Elijah nodded in agreement. “At least until we get to the bottom of this. Better safe than sorry.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the determined look in their eyes stopped me. Part of me—a larger part than I cared to admit—felt relieved at the thought of not being alone.

As night fell, we settled in for a long vigil. Jack and Elijah insisted on taking the shop floor, leaving me to sleep in my small apartment upstairs. I tossed and turned, unable to shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me.

A sudden chill jerked me awake. The fire in my small stove had gone out, leaving the room freezing. Shivering, I pulled on my worn flannel robe and stumbled out of bed. My toes curled against the icy floorboards as I fumbled for matches in the dark.

With stiff fingers, I struck a match and coaxed the stove back to life. The coal caught slowly, reluctant in the unusual cold. I added a few pieces of kindling, watching the flames lick hesitantly at the fresh fuel. The radiator pipes groaned and creaked as warmth began to seep back into the room.

As feeling returned to my extremities, my thoughts drifted to Jack and Elijah downstairs. With their hardier alpha constitutions, the brothers probably didn’t feel half as frozen as I did. Still, the shop’s old walls offered little insulation. This sudden cold snap likely troubled even those two, despite their robust alpha physiology.

I grabbed an extra blanket and made my way to the rickety stairs. The wooden steps protested under my weight as I descended to check on my two guardians.

I found Jack and Elijah huddled around the shop’s old potbelly stove, cursing softly as they tried to get it lit.

“Damn this infernal contraption,” Jack muttered, striking another match.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Here, let me show you.”

With practiced ease, I lit the stove, coaxing the flames to life. Soon, warmth began to spread through the shop.

“How do you stand it?” Elijah asked, rubbing his hands together. “It must be freezing up there.”