Page 114 of A Promise of Peridot
I stilled. “How old?”
He shook his head. “Four.”
A laugh slipped out of me as we continued up the street, brisk air at our faces, watching the lake as it swirled and churned in the distance.
“Esme’s is right up this hill.”
The road wound like a gray stone snake, dotted with swaying weeds and pussy willows, until it led to a tilted storefront. The shop’s thatched roof was sloped downward on one side from years of seaside wind, and the pin-striped canvas awning out front was so faded I couldn’t tell what color it had once been.
We stomped up creaking steps and pushed inside, a copper chime ringing out our entry. The Painted Lady’s name conjured images of a bright and colorful store laden with powdered rouge and fatty lipsticks, or fine oil paints and bristled brushes. ButEsme’s store was dim and cold, with shelves and aisles barely lit by too few hanging lamps. Each cramped row was stuffed with dusty oddities like glass blown into obscure shapes I couldn’t fathom a use for and tiny matchboxes with hand-drawn sketches of babies and dogs.
The store was empty save for a mousy little girl with shaggy hair, who, as soon as her eyes met mine, slipped behind the counter and down what must have been a hidden flight of stairs.
“Did you see that?” I asked Kane.
“See what?” He wiped at his face and coughed. “The cobweb I just swallowed? Clearly not.”
I grinned up at him. We were handling the discomfort of the morning rather well. I was actually a bit proud of us.
“I’m in love with you. Desperately so.”
I gulped at the intrusive memory of his words, feeling my face turn hot, and spun to inspect a miniature pewter toad.
“Esme?” Kane called out into the store. “Hello?”
The countertop and the cupboards behind it were as cluttered as the rest of the store, with rusty jewelry boxes spilling ribbons and tarot cards. Three hooks hung by the slatted, swinging doors, each with a different-sized, well-worn raincoat: one blue, one maroon, and one yellow. Below, three pairs of scuffed, matching boots.
A woman emerged from the hinged doors and greeted us with a bright smile as she tucked her hair back into a nautical scarf.
“Greetings, and welcome to the Painted Lady. May I offer you a tea leaf reading or a commune with the dead?”
“We’re actually here on other business.” I coughed on dust and swatted at the air. “Are you...?” But the woman had spun her back to us, looking for something. With a nod, she adjusted a rusted tin pail on the floor with her shoe. It sloshed, and I peered upwarduntil I spied a poorly patched hole in the ceiling. “Rain’s coming tonight, I think,” she said to us, like it was our little secret.
“Esme, I used to be a dear friend of your mother’s. My name is Kane. Do you remember me?”
The smile that had been plastered across Esme’s face faltered slightly, and she clasped her hands rigidly on the countertop. “Can’t say that I do, sorry.”
“I’d like to ask you something, if you have a moment.”
Esme wrinkled her nose, waiting.
“Is it possible that you inherited some of your mother’s abilities?”
The false smile only grew. “Unfortunately not. Anything else I can help with?”
“We have a high-ranking Amber official who tells us otherwise.” Kane took a step toward the counter, leaning on it and sliding a casual hand into his pocket. “Now, why would that be?”
Esme’s wide smile vanished, replaced by a curt, thin line. “He is mistaken.”
“Esme,” I tried. “We do not mean you any harm. We aren’t with the Amber or Garnet armies.” I glanced sidelong at Kane. “Kane is leading the only battle against them. Against Lazarus.” I said his name so low it barely slid past my lips. “If you can help us find something from your mother’s prophecy, it could give us a fighting chance.”
“You’re... King Ravenwood? Son of Lazarus?”
“The one and only.”
“Please,” I begged her, pressing myself against the countertop. “Any visions you may have had could help us.”
Esme looked like she might cry. She bit her lip and leaned closer, until the three of us were nearly huddled.
