The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(26)

Pressing her ear to the wooden door, she strained to hear anything on the other side. It was quiet. Either the person was gone, or they were waiting and listening just like she was.

They were going to keep waiting. Blue had no intention of opening the door to check the alley.

Quietly backing away from the door, she tossed the rag she was holding into the trash and then returned to her worktable. Papa would be here soon, and Blue’s concentration was destroyed. She’d pack up her ingredients and somehow pry herself out of bed earlier than usual so she could finish the orders Lucian was scheduled to deliver in the morning. She’d just begun sealing up her puffer bloom oil, when the knob on the shop’s front door rattled.

Blue dropped the oil and reached for the halberd Papa kept on a hook beside the doorway that led back into the shop. The ax head was precisely balanced on a long, spiked shaft that was nearly as tall as Blue. Hefting it, she spread her hands wide along the shaft like Papa had taught her—one hand close to the ax head, and one just below the midpoint on the pole. If someone broke into the shop, Blue was going to make them immediately regret that decision.

The only light that came into the shop itself was from the braziers that were lit along the street poles outside the windows. The firelight glowed against the iron filigree that covered the windows from the outside. Blue crept across the dimly lit floor, holding the halberd steady, and then caught her breath when a shadow moved across one of the windows.

It was a figure in a hooded cloak. A woman, Blue was pretty sure. She moved with delicate confidence, seeming to be more shadow than human as she slipped past the shop and disappeared up the street.

Blue clutched the halberd close and rushed to the window. Peering past the iron filigree, she strained to see the figure on the torch-lit street, but the woman kept to the shadows and was soon lost from view.

What did it mean? Was it just a customer who’d seen the light pouring from the high windows in the storeroom and had hoped the shop itself was still open?

Blue shook her head as she swept the street with another look, searching for movement. No one who meant the shop any good would quietly try both doors in hopes of entering the store without being noticed. Whoever had stolen her almost-gold had come back hoping for more.

When would it stop? And how long before the rumor that she was creating gold at the Mortar & Pestle spread through the streets and reached the ears of a broker?

She should never have lied to Papa. Shouldn’t have experimented at the shop in the first place. She could’ve figured out a way to do the same process at home. Bought a new stove with higher heat distribution. Taken tools and supplies from the shop to the house. Anything to keep the secret safe.

Now she’d put herself, Papa, and the shop in danger, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

Blue stayed at the window gripping the halberd until her fingers began to cramp. Other than the occasional carriage, the street was deserted. Finally satisfied that she was truly alone again, she returned to the storeroom to finish cleaning up, but it was impossible to concentrate. She kept glancing at the doorknob, imagining it had moved. Jumping at tiny whispers of sound. Straining to hear footsteps outside the shop walls.

Finally, she gave up. Keeping the halberd at her side, she sat in one of the shop’s chairs to wait for Papa.

The cathedral’s iron bells tolled the hour, the sonorous notes rolling through the Gaillard quarter thick as cream. Blue counted the bells and frowned. It was well past the dinner hour. Papa should’ve returned by now. He liked to be in bed early, since he always got up before the sun.

She held herself still, watching the star-spun sky out the shop’s window, leaning forward in anticipation every time she caught a noise that sounded like it might be Papa’s footsteps.

Maybe he’d gotten caught up in a household project and lost track of time. Or maybe Grand-mère had needed his help at her cottage.

When even the occasional carriage stopped passing by the shop, Blue abandoned the chair and began pacing.

Maybe something had happened to Pepperell, and Papa was helping the cat before coming to get Blue. Or he’d fallen asleep while reading a book in his overstuffed arm chair as he did some nights, though Blue couldn’t imagine Papa sitting down to relax while his daughter was still in town.

Maybe . . . Blue’s heart dropped as the cathedral bells tolled again. Another hour had passed, and she’d run out of plausible excuses for Papa’s tardiness.

Maybe he’d hurt himself along the way, and it was far too late for any passersby to take the road that led past their farmhouse and into the city, so he was just lying there waiting for help.

This last possibility latched onto Blue’s thoughts and sent a buzz of fear through her veins. Keeping the halberd in her hands in case the strange visitor from earlier was still lurking about the streets, Blue let herself out of the shop, locking the door behind her.

The day’s warmth had long since cooled. A chilly wind scoured the street and tugged at Blue’s hair with capricious fingers. She’d forgotten her summer cloak in the storeroom, but the fear that clawed at her now refused to let her return for it. Instead, she held the halberd close and hurried down the street, past the smithy and the tanner’s shop, the cobbler’s studio and the haberdashery. Turning left at the corner that housed a pub and a solicitor’s office, she collided with the solid figure of a man.

For an instant, she thought it was Papa. Late, but still coming to retrieve his daughter and bring her home. The fear that had driven her out of the shop receded, and she took a hasty step back so she could see him clearly.