Crisp autumn air blows my hair out of my face as I hurry down Leafshire Way, the main thoroughfare in Leafshire Cove. Grinning so hard that my cheeks hurt, I grip my latest purchase—beautiful, blue-dyed wool for my current tapestry project. The wool must remain clean, so I cannot drop it under any circumstances. Sunshine beams through the fluffy clouds to dapple the cobblestones in golden light, and woodsmoke wafts through the breeze. Everyone and their brother are out shopping at the various market stalls.
The scents of nutmeg, butter, and cinnamon dance across my nose. The town’s most illustrious baker, Kaya, sells cinnamon scone after cinnamon scone to locals and travelers alike from the cart she has set up in front of her shop.
“Morning, Laini!” Kaya calls.
I smile and wish I could wave, but my hands are too full. Kaya is great, and I should visit her more often. There’s always so much work to be done though…
“Don’t forget to take a break now and then!” she adds, winking.
She doesn’t have any magic, so I know she’s not reading my mind. She just knows me. The messy bun on the top of her head releases another stray lock of brown hair.
“I will!” I shout back.
It’s a friendly lie. I don’t have the luxury of a break. After I get the job with Lord Rustion, I might, though. I’d love to sit on the tavern’s back deck with my feet up and sip some of the brewer’s new mead by the river. I sigh, wishing I could do that right now. If I focus and stay on schedule, perhaps I can do it sooner rather than later.
My skeins of wool slip over my left arm, and I gasp, catching them at the last moment. I look around. I’m sure I appear to be some sort of madwoman with the way I hide from others and scurry through town on errands. I’m only trying to avoid my ex and the gossips who surround him. All I need is my work, my dragonfox, and the shop that also serves as my cozy abode. A small voice in the back of my head whispers that life doesn’t need to be lonely, but I squash it with a frown I feel to my toes.
Nope. I’m not risking my heart. Never again.
Tully, the only potions expert in the area, hawks her wares at the market too. The willowy, redheaded witch flicks her wand, and sparkling vials of green, purple, and gold dance around her, making the crowd at her cart ooo and aww. She offers temporary love potions and tiny, glittering bottles of Flight Fix—her most popular item. Two orc boys share a bottle, then explode into joyous laughter as their very large, very green feet leave the cobblestones. They begin to float over the marketplace, and I can’t help but grin at their happiness.
I’ve tried to define what Tully and I are to one another. Not friends. Definitely not. She can be horrible. Loves to annoy me. But I hesitate to call her an enemy—she tends to show up when I am the most lonely, and I never really want to kick her out.
The wool I’m carrying feels nearly as heavy as one of those orc boys, and I readjust once more so that my tired arms don’t drop them. I can’t dirty this lovely yarn. I have one chance to create a small but intricate tapestry that will impress our mayor, Lord Rustion, enough to get the job of creating a grand tapestry for his newly refurbished great hall. If I don’t get this job, I’ll have to give up my loom and workshop because I’m simply not making enough money to keep things going. As it is, one round of cheese and a loaf of two-day-old bread are all I have to eat through the next week. Not a fabulous way to live.
“Ah, Laini,” a terribly familiar voice says behind me, and my palms grow damp. “How nice to see you so early in the day. You usually wait until dusk to scamper out of your workshop.”
Swallowing my fear, I face Leo. He’s Lord Rustion’s adult son and my ex. Yes, his hair is golden, and his face is gorgeous enough to make my fingers itch to embroider his strong features, but the shifter is nothing but cruel, through and through. Even though I’ve seen him shift into his lion form, I still see him as a rat.
“Great to see you, Leo,” I lie. “Tell your father I said hello.”
I start walking again, feeling dozens of eyes on my back. Sweat beads on my upper lip, and my hands grow slick. Even after all this time, it shocks me that Lord Mayor Rustion, who is a kind older shifter always helping out at the orphanage, could have a son like Leo.
“She just has no desire to spend time with her fellow townsfolk, does she?” Leo says, acting at being quiet though his voice is loud.
One of his regular cronies, a pale blue goblin named Tam, huffs a laugh. “I can’t believe you two were ever together, really.”
“She’s so odd,” his other friend, a badger shifter named Harton, stage whispers.
Most of the town is filled with wonderful folk, creatures and humans alike. But, like in every flock of sheep, there are always a few meanies.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment as I attempt to move more quickly, willing this encounter to end. The whispers continue behind me, and I can tell a few more folks have joined in. My eyes burn. I wish I could walk faster. I just want to hide.
Suddenly, lightning cracks.
The watchtower bell sounds, and thunder booms. My heart thumps painfully as I pause to look up. The clouds are whirling and churning like an angry sea. There’s another crack, and dazzling white, pink, and teal-blue sparkles come showering down in big, wet drops. A magical storm. They’re common in Leafshire Cove, and they’re completely unpredictable.
“Noooo. Not now,” I beg the world at large.
My workshop and home are only a good sprint away. I can make it. I can do this.
The toe of my leather shoe catches a cobblestone, and my skeins leap into the magical rain.
A dark shape moves gracefully past the town well and dives for my yarn. The person catches it, then sweeps their cloak over both me and my skeins of wool.
“Allow me to escort you home,” a deep and gravelly voice says from the darkness of the cloak’s hood.
What a deep voice… It’s eerie, and honestly, scary. I can barely see anything of the person because he has me tucked so close to his huge body—only a flash of steely eyes within his cloak’s hood. When we make it to the door of my shop, I find I can’t figure out how to say thank you.
“I, um, but…”
He opens the door with a light gray, clawed hand that is far too large and frightening to be as gentle with the doorknob as it is. I hurry inside, and the cloak is pulled away carefully, the scent of whoever this is dancing across my cheeks—some type of spice and the metallic scent of rain. Or maybe that’s just the storm?
I set my woolen yarn on the table in the center of the workshop and spin to properly thank the stranger.
But he’s gone.