Chapter Six

  I carefully balanced the box of potions with one arm as I closed the Jeep’s back hatch with the other. A beep with my keys set the lock, and I could finally switch the heavy load back to both arms.

  It had rained the night before, so I picked my way carefully around the puddles that dotted Main Street as I headed for the doors to the shop. It was only a half an hour before opening, and I was running a bit late. A giant box of fragile potions in my back seat always made me a little more cautious when driving. I just hoped Wanda wasn’t waiting for me. She always liked to do her shopping before the store was technically open, so she didn’t have to ‘deal with the riff-raff’ while she picked out her potions.

  I took a quick glance at the front door, and my shoulders relaxed to see that no one was waiting. It might be outside regular hours, and Wanda was a prickly cactus at the best of times, but she was also a good customer and an even better friend, so I’d hate to keep her waiting, especially with the chill in the air.

  That was one thing I still hadn’t gotten used to about Oregon—June in California would bring with it days that could get up to the nineties and yet, here I was, walking through puddles with a chill in the air that seemed both constant and pervasive.

  My heart suddenly leapt into my throat when my trailing foot caught the edge of the curb, and the huge box in my arms went flying upward as I grabbed after it, even as I started to go down. Days’ worth of potions in their delicate glass bottles hurtled straight up from the box, fanning out through the air so quickly, I barely got out a strangled yell of protest.

  And then they froze.

  At the same time, I froze.

  Rather than landing on my ass with glass shattering all around me, it felt as if an invisible pillow had not only softened my landing, but then pushed me upright again. I seemed to find my footing and recovered myself while the glass bottles… well, they just stayed right where they were—in the center of the air, as if on freeze frame. Right, they were just hovering in the air like ornaments on a Christmas tree, only if the tree was invisible. Even the box hovered a foot off the ground, tilted on its side.

  I gasped, trying to figure out what in the world had just happened and why it appeared to be continuing to happen. I wanted to glance behind me, to see what had stopped me from falling hard on the pavement, but at the same time, I was afraid that if I turned away from the frozen bottles mid-air, it might somehow break whatever magical enchantment this was.

  Footsteps rang out against the street behind me as someone approached.

  “My goodness, that could have become quite the unfortunate incident!”

  The voice wasn’t one I recognized, but it was deep and decidedly male and even more decidedly British.

  “Good thing I happened to be walking down the street and saw you just in time!”

  Even though I couldn’t place the voice, somehow I was absolutely certain I’d heard the man speak before. It was like hearing from an old friend after you’d been apart for a long time. As soon as my ears registered the cadence, the pitch and the tone of the man’s voice, warmth filled me, as if someone had just wrapped a cozy blanket around my shoulders.

  From the corner of my eye, I watched as the man stepped around me, plucking the potions out of the air one by one as if he were picking apples, before leaning down and retrieving the box, placing the unscathed bottles inside. It felt like slow motion as he made his way around my left side.

  “There we go. No harm done. I hope your foot is alright, these curbs can be absolutely treacherous,” he continued chatting as though whatever had just happened was completely commonplace and nothing to write home about. Meanwhile, he continued picking each potion bottle out of mid-air and placing it back into the box, chattering all the while in that mellow voice that I somehow, against all rationality, knew.

  The man slipped one last rosy pink bottle into the box with a soft clink of glass and turned to face me. “There, now. I think that’s the last of—”

  And that was when our eyes met.

  And I’m fairly sure we both stopped breathing.

  His mouth dropped open, eyes wide as whatever he was about to say completely stalled on his tongue. The box he’d been holding suddenly dropped, crashing to the pavement in a wave of broken glass and floral scents.

  Neither of us said a word, because I was fairly sure neither of us could say a word.

  Instead, we just stood there, staring at each other while lavender and lemon, bergamot and sandalwood whirled through the air. I tried to speak, but it felt like my throat had locked up, strangling any words that tried to push through. From the look on his face, he felt the same.

  And then something strange happened—something that might have been stranger than the potions freezing midair. I suddenly had this inescapable desire to step forward, to reach out and slot our fingers together. The need to touch him was almost overwhelming and even as I tried to hold myself in the same spot in which I was standing, I somehow knew that if I did slot our fingers together, they’d fit perfectly. I felt my breath coming hard as need continued to sing through me—I wanted to see him smile, see the way it would make his eyes crinkle up at the ends. I wanted to step into his open arms, feel them close around me, and I was filled with the knowledge that my head would fit under his chin like we were statues carved from a single piece of marble.

  And yet these feelings made absolutely no sense because I’d never seen this man before in my life. And that had to mean something—it had to mean he was magical and his magic was somehow toying with mine.

  Well, of course he’s magic, I reprimanded myself. Remember that whole frozen potions in the air stunt he just pulled?

  A stunt that I wished he’d continued pulling just a little bit longer…

  Regardless, he was tall, at least a couple of inches above six feet. Tanned skin had gone pretty pale as he stared at me, blue eyes very wide, as if the man who’d made a box of spilled potions hover in the air couldn’t believe what he was looking at—me. A bit of stubble graced his cheeks, like he hadn’t had a shave in a couple of days. On some it might have looked scruffy, but he just made it look rakish… and that was a good word to describe him. Even though he was dressed in a suit, definitely had a posh English accent and appeared to be a gentleman in all meanings of the word, there was something… naughty about him—a little flicker in those large blue eyes.

  He wasn’t a broad man, no big shoulders like Marty, or Roy’s huge biceps. He was trim, and narrow, more of a swimmer’s build than a weightlifter’s. And, as I studied him, I found he looked extremely handsome in his dark gray suit, complete with a wine-colored waistcoat. A suit and a waistcoat in Haven Hollow? Yep, this guy was a long way from home… that, or he was lost.

  He was also my age, I guessed, maybe a year or two older—I’d guess him to be forty-six or forty-seven.

  The accent he’d spoken with was fairly posh as I’d said, London maybe. And as I also mentioned, I could have sworn I’d heard that voice before, but I had no idea where or how. Maybe he’d called the store? Maybe that was why I knew his voice, but not his face? Poppy’s Potions didn’t get a lot of out-of-town orders, though.

  “I, uh…” He blinked like someone waking up from an incredibly realistic dream, where he wasn’t sure if he was in the real world or the sleep one. After he breathed in deeply, he looked down in dismay at the cardboard box, now full of shattered glass. Even the box was ruined, oils soaking into the bottom and sides.

  “It’s,” I started but then stopped once our eyes met again.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to drop them… like that.”

  “No, no.” I waved my hand, taking a half step forward. “I’m the one who dropped them…” I had to catch my breath because my heart was racing so hard. “Thank you… thank you for trying to… um...” And that was when I remembered what he’d done—that he’d stopped the potions mid-air and I was pretty sure he’d also stopped me from landing on my ass, in the middle of a puddle.

  I looked up at him again and couldn’t seem to pull my attention away from his eyes and the fact that they felt so… familiar. While blue is a cold color, this man’s eyes were warm and welcoming as clear summer skies. And they did crinkle up when he smiled, just like I’d known they would, fine lines fanning out around them. The only sign of his age were those few lines and the strands of silver lacing his otherwise shadow-dark hair.

  I shook myself, trying to get my thoughts in line. What the heck was wrong with me? I’d never reacted to someone like this, and certainly not to a stranger. I’d have worried it was something to do with all the potions crashing together like they just had, but this bizarre reaction had started before the potions had ever hit the ground.

  And that wasn’t all—for the first time since my encounter with Roscoe, that inexplicable exhaustion was nowhere to be found. I felt refreshed, energized, renewed. Not only returned to the old Poppy, but even more energized than I’d ever been. It was strange, to say the least.

  And it all had started as soon as we’d made eye contact.

  What was more—I wasn’t the only one who was now completely flabbergasted and confounded to the point that I couldn’t even speak properly. All the bravado had drained out of this handsome stranger as soon as he’d seen me, as soon as our eyes had locked.

  I dragged my gaze away from his with more effort than I’d ever admit to, and wiped my hands down the front of my coat, trying to get rid of the sudden clammy feeling. “Um, were you on your way to my shop? Can I help you with something? Er, a potion, I mean?”

  The man knelt, picking the soaked cardboard box off the ground with a sheepish smile. “Actually, I was… ahem, I was called here.”

  “Called here?”

  He nodded, and that haunted look in his eyes returned again. “Yes… I think you have something that belongs to me.”

  “Me?” I blanked, staring at him in confusion as he continued to stand there, dripping box in hand. “I don’t… I mean… I don’t have anything of yours,” I frowned, shaking my head, wishing my brain would get with the program like yesterday. “How could I?” I continued on a little, weird laugh. “I’ve never even seen you before.”

  A small smile curled the corners of his lips then. It was a secret smile, something that said the one wearing it knew something I didn’t.

  “Are you sure?” His voice was light, almost teasing, recovered from his earlier embarrassment.

  “Am I sure?” I laughed and then frowned as I wondered why in the world he looked so familiar and yet… “I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”

  He chuckled, and the sound was deep, melodious. I swallowed hard. “No, I meant, are you sure you don’t have anything that belongs to me?” I didn’t respond, so he continued. “You haven’t recently come into possession of anything… strange? Something that perhaps… sought you out?”

  Vellum, I realized with a start. He was talking about the book that had come to my door. “The book belongs to you?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh,” I answered and couldn’t keep the disappointment from my voice. Finn was going to be so upset.

  “I’m sorry, where are my manners?” the man continued and offered me a glowing and wide grin. “I am Alixandre Osmont, travelling magician.” He made a little bow that somehow looked graceful, even with the oil-soaked box in tow.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Alixandre,” I said, still feeling sad about the conversation I was going to have to have with Finn regarding Vellum. “I’m Poppy.”

  He smiled and then I smiled and then we both just stood there for another few seconds before I remembered what I’d been on my way to do before he showed up—open my shop. So I spun around and then hurried to unlock the door, all the while hoping Wanda wouldn’t decide to show up early. If she saw the way I was acting, she’d never let me forget it.

  As soon as I unlocked my front door, I gestured for Alixandre to enter so he could put the box down. I’d have to go through it later, to see if there was anything salvageable in the mess. But I had other things to worry about just now.

  “A travelling magician? What does that mean?”

  Alixandre put the box down on the ground where I pointed, and then he straightened up with a soft smile. “When people are young, the whole world is magic,” he started as if this were the opening to a long and colorful story. “Children believe in the existence of all things, don’t they?”

  “I suppose so.”

  I was trying to figure out where he was going with this line of conversation and I was also still trying to figure out why I’d had such a bizarre reaction to him and how he was able to pull off that little potion in the air stunt. A magician? Was it possible this one was actually magical? I had a feeling that was a rhetorical question.

  “Narnia and Hogwarts are as real as New York or Paris,” he continued as he spun around and seemed to be taking stock of my store. “To a child—but as that child grows, all the magic of the universe simply fades, dissolves within him or her. The world erodes that sense of wonder, drains it out of him until that child just becomes another disbelieving human.”

  His smile faded, and he placed a hand on his chest, like a knight making a vow. It was then that he faced me again with that devilish smile and I felt my heart flutter before it started beating in earnest again.

  Chapter Seven

  “It is my duty to ensure that magic is very much alive in children,” Alixandre continued. “That it doesn’t just fade away.”

  “Oh.”

  He nodded. “I’m also a dab hand at making toys.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t really know what more to say.

  “So, I travel about from town to town, teaching the ways of magic to children.”

  Witches, I knew. Gypsies, obviously. Warlocks, and shamans, and even some of the darker types of magical practitioner, I was aware of. But I’d never heard of a magician before—or, at least, a real one, one that practiced magic.

  What was more, Alixandre felt human to my senses. He didn’t ‘feel’ the way most of the supernatural world did. But he was also obviously magical, since the trick with the box of potions floating in mid-air hadn’t been wires or mirrors.

  And that wasn’t even getting into the weird feeling of recognition I’d had when we’d finally set eyes on each other. Was it a magic thing, then? Gypsies were humans with magic, not technically a supernatural race. Maybe the feeling was one of… like recognizing like? I’d never felt that kind of thing before when I’d met other Gypsies, though. I’d never felt that reaction when I’d met anyone… outside of Alixandre.

  As I thought about it, I was reminded of the fact that my exhaustion was completely and thoroughly gone.

  It was warm inside the shop, so I unbuttoned my coat while my thoughts raced headlong into one another and I hardly knew where to even start.

  “Allow me,” Alixandre said as he walked up behind me and helped me remove my coat. I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck and it caused goosebumps to cover me entirely.

  “You have a British accent, but your name sounds French,” I managed, doing my best to try to make conversation, lest he think I’d completely lost the ability to form words.

  Alixandre laughed. “Ah, yes. I was actually born in France, but I’ve spent so much of my life in London that I quite consider myself an Englishman. No matter what my name might imply.”

  Part of me wished I had Finn’s ability to tell whether someone was telling the truth. Some instinctive part of me wanted to trust Alixandre, and that should have made me even more wary because I was by nature gullible. I always seemed to believe the best about people (many who didn’t deserve it) and my natural inclination was to give everyone the benefit of the doubt—something which had gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion.

  But… no… there was something about Alixandre that just made me… want to believe him.

  “I find it quite interesting that the book led me here,” Alixandre continued as he gave me a kind smile.

  Vellum. I felt my whole countenance sink as I reminded myself of how disappointed Finn would be when I told him Vellum wasn’t ours to keep.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because the book usually isn’t… concerned with adults.”

  I frowned at him to say I wasn’t following.

  “It seeks out children.”

  I nodded. “Ah, well, I have a son.”

  And then I wished I hadn’t admitted as much. I mean, I didn’t know Alixandre from anyone and considering the very strange reaction I’d had to him, it was best to assume the offensive. He clearly possessed magic and that meant he might mean me harm.

  Alixandre tugged the silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit, pinching it up between his fingers. The fabric twisted, threads spinning out into petals and a stem, until a single, perfect poppy appeared in his hand, and he held it out to me with a smile.

  I took the flower, feeling oddly breathless as our fingers brushed against each other. I would have been more embarrassed about it if I hadn’t heard the little catch in Alixandre’s breath, too. Whatever was going on, I wasn’t the only person feeling it and that somehow pleased me—like I wasn’t the only one making an imbecile of herself.

  “Thank you,” I said, a little in awe because the flower I was now holding was real, not silk or paper. The petals felt like velvet under my fingers.

  “So, you said… you were saying that the book seeks out children?”

  Alixandre watched my face for a long moment, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and I wondered if he’d even heard my question. The dark circles of his pupils expanded, almost eclipsing the blue. Then he cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Yes, which is why it escaped me and why I’ve come to retrieve it.” Before I could further question him, he continued. “Will you… were you planning on attending the magic show? It’s in town—at the Half-Moon—”