The Spellshop

But I do know books—and that meant there was nothing she couldn’t know, eventually. That was a magic in and of itself.

Halfway down, the wind pulling at her hair, she felt unglued,
like a book whose pages had scattered on the floor. She couldn’t shake the sense that if she released the railing, she’d fly into the air like a bird … Which would be ridiculous, she told herself firmly

It was a perfect day: blue sky peeking between the trees, birds warbling to one another, a breeze from the sea that carried the fresh scent of salty air. Within the walls of the library, she’d forgotten the wonder of a summer breeze

Caz was … highly unusual. He was the result of a reckless librarian experimenting with
an incomplete spell that she didn’t have permission to use. The librarian had been caught and punished—harshly, in Kiela’s opinion. Wanting to make an example of her, the emperor had ordered one of his sorcerers to transform her into wood. She’d been displayed amid other statues in the library’s famed North Reading Room. Afterward, alone, Caz had wandered the stacks until he’d found Kiela.

She still didn’t know why he’d chosen her, but he’d announced that he was her new assistant,

Welcome home, it said.

She felt her stomach clench.

Home.

Was this home?

Kiela placed the note down and stared at the words. She couldn’t name all the emotions that the simple two-word note made her feel. Hopeful? Terrified? Sad? At least I’m not still hungry.

On the front step, before the mostly broken door, was a basket with several glazed cinnamon raisin buns, as well as three chicken eggs and a wedge of cheese. “Okay, well, that’s nice,” she said.

Fine. He was a nice, friendly neighbor who didn’t understand property lines.

It was foolish to think she could build a life here just from what they found and what they brought. Besides, the fantasy of living here unnoticed had already been broken when their neighbor had discovered her sleeping.

No, there was no denying it.

She was going to have to talk to people

She found sprigs of lavender in the front herb bed, wrapped their stems with a ribbon, and hung them above the privy washbasin.

Kiela began to feel a shred of hope.

This was a good place.

It could be made whole again.

And so can we

Her parents had abandoned a heap of old Caltreyan clothes. Selecting one of the island dresses, Kiela shook it out. Dust plumed in the air. The skirt was a quilt of blue—sky blue, sapphire blue, sea blue—all stitched together with silvery thread and hemmed with silver ribbon, and the bodice was a soft white blouse.