Read Online Petty Magic by Camille Deangelis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Camille Deangelis
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the clasp. “It’s meant to ward off illness, bad spirits, and whatnot.”
“Though I guess that depends on what you put inside it,” I murmur.
He squints at the tiny price tag dangling from the ribbon. “Looks like it’s over three hundred years old.”
“The pomander itself, you mean. Not the ribbon as well, surely.”
“Seems I’ve been telling you things you already know. You an art history major?”
I shake my head. “I’m just interested.”
He looks at me as if to say So am I —and when he asks, “Is there something in particular I can help you with?” I am confident he isn’t talking about his inventory, though his manners are technically beyond reproach.
I remember myself and pick up the cake box. “I haven’t come to browse, actually.” With slightly trembling hands I give him the box. “It’s for you. It’s a cake. A toffee cake. For you.”
He stares at me, agape, and I’m not taking literary license here. After a long moment he says, “For me?”
“My aunt baked it. She’s a friend of your uncle’s, comes in here all the time. She just asked me to drop it off.”
“Wow,” he says. “Wow. Thank you so much.” I’m touched at how touched he is.
“I’ll tell my auntie you were thrilled.”
He offers his free hand. “I’m Justin.”
“Eve.” His hand is warm, his grip hearty. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Well, Eve. I’m closing the shop soon. What do you say we wash this down with a cup of coffee? Two cups, I mean. One for me and one for you.”
“Can’t stay, I’m afraid. I’ve got to get home for dinner.”
“Do you live here, then?”
I shake my head. “Just visiting. I live in New York.”
His eyes light up. “The city?”
I nod. “I live with my sister. We come down some weekends.”
“And what do you do for fun while you’re in Blackabbey?”
“We might go out for a drink. You know the Blind Pig Gin Mill?”
“Will you be there tonight?”
I shrug. “Should be.”
“Great,” he says with an enthusiasm that reminds me even more of Jonah. I feel a pricking round the eyes. “I’ll see you there.” He walks me to the door and hesitates. “Are you sure you can’t come for a drink now?”
“Quite sure. My aunts will be waiting for me. Tonight then?”
“Tonight,” he says, and I can tell he’s biting back the urge to ask exactly what time I’ll be there. “All right. Bye, then.” He parts the blackout curtain and opens the door for me, and when I glance back he’s still standing in the doorway looking after me.
A FTER DINNER I am playing a game of Neverending Hobscobble with Vega at the kitchen table when the doorbell rings. Vega leaves her hand on the table, ventures into the hall, and puts her eye to the peephole. “It’s a boy,” she whispers. “I don’t know him. Are you expecting anyone, Auntie?”
“Not particularly,” I reply, but I come up swiftly behind her and yank the door open.
“Hello, Eve.” Justin pauses. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Uncle Harry where your family lived and he gave me your address. Your aunt’s address, I mean.”
I usher him in and Vega looks at me as if to say, So this is why you haven’t put your old skin back on .
I pay her no mind. “I thought we were meeting at the bar.”
“We are. I mean, I was down there for a while, and then I started to wonder if you’d made other plans, so I just thought I’d come by and …” Justin casts a curious glance about the foyer, then remembers himself and lets out a nervous laugh.
I smile up at him. “I’ll just get my purse.”
O UR CONVERSATION is pleasant on the walk into town. We chat for a bit about Emmet Fawkes’s European itinerary and how Justin is settling into the upstairs apartment (not exactly home, but he’s getting used to the weird smells and antediluvian appliances); he tells me I have a classy name and that if it weren’t on my house he’d have thought it was a stage name. I laugh as
“Though I guess that depends on what you put inside it,” I murmur.
He squints at the tiny price tag dangling from the ribbon. “Looks like it’s over three hundred years old.”
“The pomander itself, you mean. Not the ribbon as well, surely.”
“Seems I’ve been telling you things you already know. You an art history major?”
I shake my head. “I’m just interested.”
He looks at me as if to say So am I —and when he asks, “Is there something in particular I can help you with?” I am confident he isn’t talking about his inventory, though his manners are technically beyond reproach.
I remember myself and pick up the cake box. “I haven’t come to browse, actually.” With slightly trembling hands I give him the box. “It’s for you. It’s a cake. A toffee cake. For you.”
He stares at me, agape, and I’m not taking literary license here. After a long moment he says, “For me?”
“My aunt baked it. She’s a friend of your uncle’s, comes in here all the time. She just asked me to drop it off.”
“Wow,” he says. “Wow. Thank you so much.” I’m touched at how touched he is.
“I’ll tell my auntie you were thrilled.”
He offers his free hand. “I’m Justin.”
“Eve.” His hand is warm, his grip hearty. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Well, Eve. I’m closing the shop soon. What do you say we wash this down with a cup of coffee? Two cups, I mean. One for me and one for you.”
“Can’t stay, I’m afraid. I’ve got to get home for dinner.”
“Do you live here, then?”
I shake my head. “Just visiting. I live in New York.”
His eyes light up. “The city?”
I nod. “I live with my sister. We come down some weekends.”
“And what do you do for fun while you’re in Blackabbey?”
“We might go out for a drink. You know the Blind Pig Gin Mill?”
“Will you be there tonight?”
I shrug. “Should be.”
“Great,” he says with an enthusiasm that reminds me even more of Jonah. I feel a pricking round the eyes. “I’ll see you there.” He walks me to the door and hesitates. “Are you sure you can’t come for a drink now?”
“Quite sure. My aunts will be waiting for me. Tonight then?”
“Tonight,” he says, and I can tell he’s biting back the urge to ask exactly what time I’ll be there. “All right. Bye, then.” He parts the blackout curtain and opens the door for me, and when I glance back he’s still standing in the doorway looking after me.
A FTER DINNER I am playing a game of Neverending Hobscobble with Vega at the kitchen table when the doorbell rings. Vega leaves her hand on the table, ventures into the hall, and puts her eye to the peephole. “It’s a boy,” she whispers. “I don’t know him. Are you expecting anyone, Auntie?”
“Not particularly,” I reply, but I come up swiftly behind her and yank the door open.
“Hello, Eve.” Justin pauses. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Uncle Harry where your family lived and he gave me your address. Your aunt’s address, I mean.”
I usher him in and Vega looks at me as if to say, So this is why you haven’t put your old skin back on .
I pay her no mind. “I thought we were meeting at the bar.”
“We are. I mean, I was down there for a while, and then I started to wonder if you’d made other plans, so I just thought I’d come by and …” Justin casts a curious glance about the foyer, then remembers himself and lets out a nervous laugh.
I smile up at him. “I’ll just get my purse.”
O UR CONVERSATION is pleasant on the walk into town. We chat for a bit about Emmet Fawkes’s European itinerary and how Justin is settling into the upstairs apartment (not exactly home, but he’s getting used to the weird smells and antediluvian appliances); he tells me I have a classy name and that if it weren’t on my house he’d have thought it was a stage name. I laugh as
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