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

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.

One heartbeat. Two. And the fear crashed into her again as she got a good look at the man in front of her.

Normand, a guard in the Gaillards’ service whose wife was the magistrate of the quarter, stood before her, his fingers worrying with the edges of his uniform jacket. He was the same height as Papa, though wider in the middle, and his red-brown hair had long since gone mostly gray. She’d known him since she was a toddler sitting on the storeroom floor poking her fingers into her mother’s potions. Usually, she’d greet him and let him tell her how big she was getting, how maybe he had a nephew who was looking for a girl with a steady head on her shoulders, how her mother had been the smartest person he’d ever known.

But she had no time for pleasantries tonight. Not until she found Papa.

“Excuse me, Normand,” she said breathlessly. “I have to go. Papa didn’t show up to take me home, and I’m worried.”

“Wait a moment, Blue.” His hands reached out to steady her, but his voice was all wrong.

It shook. Broke when he said her name. And there was an awful gentleness to it, as if he pitied her.

She backed up.

“Let’s go to the shop,” he said, his voice still gentle. His hands set carefully on her shoulders like she was made of glass.

She shook her head, her breath coming in quick, hard pants. “I have to go. Papa needs me.”

His hands settled on her shoulders. Gripped. “I’m sorry, Blue.”