Page 55 of The Toymaker's Son

But if that hadn’t yet happened, would it happen at all?

Unless, none of it was real.

I winced and squeezed that last thought out of my head.

Everything was real. Confusing, but very real. “I’m not broken—”

“Are you all right?” Devere asked from behind the locked door.

My heart jolted. “Yes! Fine. I’m fine.”

I needed to get myself under control. If he thought me mad, we’d never make any progress in solving whatever was happening here.

“Are you sure?”

“Do you perhaps have clothes I can borrow?”

“That will fit you? No.”

Of course he didn’t.

“I’ll see about getting some of your belongings. You’re staying at the Lost Penny?”

“Yes. Thank you, Devere. I appreciate it.”

His shoes clunked on the boards, moving away, and a moment later, the shop bell tinkled.

Whatever magic was at work here, he seemed to be under its spell too. Or he’d have remembered the last few weeks, remembered how we’d gotten close again, remembered… the kiss.

There would be an explanation. There always was. The unknown appeared to be magic before it became known. This was the unknown. Its own kind of magic.

I cleaned myself up, taking the liberty of using Devere’s razor to smooth my chin, and when he knocked at the door, I opened it to find two suitcases waiting on the landing. They certainly looked like mine, even though I had left them somewhere in the woods. It was perhaps best not to think too long about the logistics of this carousel of events and focus instead on the present moment.

Cleaned up and well presented, I at least began to feel like my typical self again, and someone capable of riddling out whatever was happening.

I descended the stairs and followed the sound of voices toward the storefront, where a customer was attempting to haggle the price of a toy train. Not wanting to intrude, I hung back.

“I’m sure it was worth that some weeks ago, but Jacapo is no longer here, so it’s not worth a penny more than what I’ve offered.”

“The fact that my father is dead has no bearing on the value of this toy,” came Devere’s curt response.

“Mamma, are we getting the train?” the little boy asked.

“Yes, dear. We just need Mr. Barella to agree on its price.”

“I’ve told you the price,” Devere sneered.

“And I’ve told you it’s not worth that.”

Devere plucked the train from the boy’s hand. “Then please do visit another store and buy from them.”

“But there aren’t any other toy stores in Minerva.”

“Aren’t there? How terrible for you. You’ll have to take a coach to Massalia, costing you far more than this toy. Good day, ma’am.”

The boy’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“You see!” the woman exclaimed. “You are no Jacapo, and you can keep your toys.”

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