Chapter 22

“Hi, Emmett!”I greeted with forced cheer as I entered the flea market, the little bell above the door ringing as sweetly as my words. Had to throw him off the scent of my wound-up nerves somehow.

“Well hello there, Miss Misty.” Emmett finished pressing a magenta sticker to the spine of a paperback book and set it on the tower of similarly coded books beside him. “You’ve got quite the spring to your step today! Any particular reason?”

“No reason,” I replied just as cheerily as before, diverting down one of the aisles so I wouldn’t be sucked into any small talk with the flea market proprietor until I was ready to check out.

Moving quickly, and whistling to cover the haste of my stride, I went to the rear of the barn for the menswear section. Without paying much mind to style, I selected a few shirts and sweaters, a pair of jeans, a package of new crew socks, and a pair of boots I hoped were the right size. From the little I knew about shifters, they had a tendency of shredding their way through a whole wardrobe of clothes in a matter of days. Still whistling, I pretended to look at this and that as I meandered with purpose over to the shelves with the blown-glass paperweights.

The black tourmaline sphere was gone.

Maybe it’d just been moved? People picked stuff up and put it down where it didn’t belong all the time. Though, I’d hidden it really well.

“Looking for this?” a voice asked.

My whistle took on a sharp note as I twisted around, spying a small creature I’d never seen before standing less than three feet away with the black tourmaline in his hand. He was dressed exactly like Emmett, down to the checkered shirt rolled up to the elbows and the denim overalls, though his ended above his ankles. His russet-brown hair was shellacked into a swoop reminiscent of Danny Zuko’s from Grease, and his feetwere bare but clean.

“Monkfoot?” I ventured.

“What is this?” he demanded. “I watched you hide it. But you’re nice to Emmett. You bring us cookies. This doesn’t feel nice.”

He could sense the magic inside. Of course. He was a brownie, Fair Folk.

“You alright, Miss Misty?” Emmett called, his stool creaking as he must’ve eased himself off it. “Need any help?”

“I’m good! Just found something interesting,” I replied. “Be right there to check out.”

Monkfoot backed away, clutching the black tourmaline to his chest as I crouched down in front of him. “That is a protection crystal,” I whispered. “You know those magic hunters skulking about? I hid that here to protect him, and you, if they caused any trouble.”

“But they’re gone now,” the brownie said.

They were? Had our ruse in Tussock succeeded so quickly? Ame had said I’d put on quite a show. Well… ha-cha! I kept my expression neutral, as if this wasn’t news to me. “That’s why I’m here, to take it back. You don’t need it anymore, and we don’t need some human messing around with it either.”

“That’s why I took it in the first place.” Monkfoot glanced down at the sphere. “What’s it do?”

“Creates a shock wave that knocks anything unconscious that it’s not coded to protect.”

The brownie shuffled forward on silent feet, and I forced myself to stay still and not appear overeager as he dropped the crystal into my palm. “Yeah, that would be bad for business. Not to mention it’d take me months to clean up.”

“Thank you, Monkfoot.”

He gave me a fleeting and shy smile. “I really like your cookies.” And then he vanished.

As his invisible feet carried him away to another task, I rose from my crouch and resumed my whistle, pocketing the tourmaline before emerging by the checkout counter. Emmett has started another stack of paperback books, this one with yellow stickers along their spines.

“I’ll take these,” I said, piling the clothes onto the counter, “and I’m returning this.” The velvet bag with what remained of the gold brick he’d given me sank into the pile of clothes.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Emmett whispered, slipping the velvet bag out of sight under the counter. “Were you, uh, successful?”

I beamed a smile at him, genuinely this time. “Yep.”

“Well.” Emmett perked up a bit on his stool. “Wonderful! And just so you know, you might not need to do whatever you needed that gold for.”

“Oh?” Arching an eyebrow, I leaned in close, though I suspected I knew what he was about to say. “Well, spill the tea, Emmett Trinket. Don’t leave me in suspense.”

He shifted forward, enough for the wild wisps of his white hair to tickle my forehead. “The magic hunters are gone!”

“What?” I gasped softly.

“Mrs. Bilberry was telling anyone who’d listen all about it at the Magic Brewery this morning. I mean, I have a coffee pot here because I’m not about paying three dollars for a black coffee every day, but I like to go in once or twice a week to get up to date with all the town gossip not printed in Talk of the Town, you know?”

“Of course.”

“So the Redbud phone tree—the unofficial one, mind you, not the one run by Mayor Robert—got activated and we all confirmed they’re gone.”

“What a relief.” And I meant it. That was one thing off my back, but the weight that remained had me shoving the clothes at Emmett. “Sorry to be in a bit of rush, Emmett, but I think I need to get home and bake up some celebratory goodies or something.”

“Understandable! And don’t be afraid to bring any by if you need another taste-tester.”

As he examined the price tags, clacked the keys on his register, and folded my purchases to bag up, the mirth in his eyes slipped away with each article of clothing. “No red plaid flannel this time?”

“Why would—” Then I realized as Emmett added the folded henley to the stack that these clothes weren’t in Arthur’s style at all. A blush flushed my cheeks as if I’d been standing too close to the hearth fire. “Oh. Not this time.”

He only nodded once, handing the bag over to me with a look that could only be described as a plea for me to reconsider. The old romantic had shipped Arthur and me hard.

“Th-thanks.” I ducked my head and sped away for the door to race the werewolf home. “Bye, Emmett. Bye, Monkfoot!”