1

Today was going to be great. The morning light blazed through the arched windowpanes and illuminated every small and large corner of the Shop with a golden, sun-scrubbed kind of beauty. The old, hardwood floors were freshly polished, eager to be worn out once again. The porcelain vases were overflowing with a merry collection of spring blossoms—bluebells and daffodils and little cheerful violets. The cherrywood shelves had been dusted down and fully stocked with all kinds of marvelous curiosities, and I was determined to share them with the world.

Today, I was going to make a sale.

It'd been a full year since my parents retired and moved to the West, and seven whole months since the Shop's last sale—a wooden mystery box with a large lapis lazuli stone in the middle. I remembered it distinctly. Seven months of watching my savings dwindle to practically nothing. Seven months of idle days and sleepless nights, worrying and pondering a future where the Shop would no longer be a part of me.

The issue here, unlike what one might be inclined to believe, wasn't with the Shop or with my way of managing it. The issue was with the world.

Well, maybe not the whole, entire world, but with Elora at least, our little bleak, uncurious corner of the universe.

Elora had once been the most magical city in the Southern Kingdom. Not as exceptional as the grand cities of the East with their illustrious Universities and Magical Academies or the mysterious wonderlands of the North, but alive at least. Every neighborhood had been bursting with Curiosity Shops and Oracle Parlors and our once famous upside-down Tea Houses, their colorful structures erected on grounds where gravity was feeling particularly funny—indeed, magic liked to linger in certain places in an almost religious manner.

All kinds of magical peculiarities had made our city extraordinary, with its people's hearts inwrought with an unremitting sense of wonder. Then the Dreadful Mundane arrived in Elora, and everything here changed.

According to our most assiduous journalists, the Dreadful Mundane was a sickness of a sort. No one knew exactly when or how it had started, only that it was as relentless as a plague and as formidable as the weight of the sun. The sickness squeezed into people's hearts and obliterated any curiosity and evidence of individuality, leaving them, well, mundane.

The humans of the South never had magic in their blood to begin with, but at least they used to live with it. They used to work with it, cherish it, celebrate it. Now they avoided it like an evil witch's curse.

The Shop was the last scrap of curiosity left in Elora. It was why my parents had decided to move back to their hometown, where magic was still alive. But I could not bring myself to join them and leave the Shop behind.

Looking around the Shop, all I could see was a capsule of memories. Old books, velvet curtains, and dusty sunbeams pounding on hardwood floors, the sediment of comfort everywhere. There was the dim-lit little alcove in which I'd read all those great, heart-rending books—books that had utterly transformed me. There simmered the black cauldron on the stone hearth, the Shop's mind and heart pulsing with a relentless crackle. There lay the endless rows of charms and trinkets, the jars of magical serums, the collection of mirrors that showed you silly things, true things, lovely things, the bundle of potions for laughter and joy, and strange, colorful dreams. There hung my favorite pink and burgundy plant pots, purplish offshoots drooping over my neat desk. There glinted the crystals behind the cabinet, refracting the light in countless, uncanny colors.

The Shop slowly but unshakably became the physical manifestation of my very personhood. I was certain that I could not exist without it. It was a part of me as much as my limbs were a part of my body.

I was trying not to be too judgmental of people. It was neither their fault nor their responsibility to see the world the way I did, but it was still hard for me to grasp how someone could simply stop being curious. If there was a sickness, then why wasn't I affected by it? And why did no one care about finding a cure?

The weavers of the North, the old spirits responsible for weaving magic into the fabric of reality, had to be able to help us with this. So why was no one asking for help?

With a little sigh, I shrugged off my coat, folded it over the back of my chair, and smoothed my palms over the pleats of my skirts. I'd made sure to look presentable for my customers today. I'd fixed my hair in loose curls instead of braiding it and even worn my favorite, most expensive dress. It was the color of a sugarplum, with a pretty, square neckline trimmed with tiny pink roses. It really wasn't fit for the daytime, but it was my only dress with skirts long enough to cover my worn-out boots.

As I bent down to pick off a loose thread from the hem, a flash of metal caught my eye; the entry's three silver bells were sprawled in the corner just behind the door.

"By the gods, what are you doing down there?" I muttered under my breath and quickly went to fix them.

From the other side of the Shop, the cauldron made a low, almost gasping sound. I cast a quizzical look at it over my shoulder.

Surprisingly, it was burning very low.

"Wait a second, I fed you yesterday!" I huffed.

The hearth of the Shop didn't need any logs to maintain a nice, crackling fire. It only took a healthy serving of stardust into the cauldron, which was always brewing something of its own volition, and roaring flames would emerge from the dark stones to lick the aged metal.

Surely, I could be forgetful at times, but not so much as to forget to feed my own cauldron.

I hooked my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at it chidingly. "This is not the time to get greedy, you know. I've been eating bread and olives for two weeks, so you can have your stardust."

The cauldron gurgled, its frothy green liquid forming tiny mossy bubbles, and the fire upsurged at once.

"Much better," I permitted, checking from the Shop's windowpanes the daily bustle of Diagonia Alley.

The cobblestone street had been worn flat and sleek by the countless passersby hurtling to and fro day after day. The ladies with their spring cotton dresses and lace-trimmed parasols, the gentlemen with their black hats and golden pocket watches, the glossy carriages dragging up a thin layer of dust while heading downtown. Such a restless place was Diagonia Alley. Yet the Shop was drowning in an ocean of silence, my breaths the only reoccurring sound like soft waves sighing on an empty shore.

I strolled back to my desk, lit the oil lamp—I had not yet gotten my hands on one of those fancy electrical ones that were the latest fashion in Elora—and perched on the large upholstered chair behind it.

I fiddled with the silver necklace around my neck as I sorted through my correspondence, and the small butterfly pendant was, as always, inexplicably warm between my fingers. I had bought this pendant from another Curiosity Shop here in Elora before it closed down. Most of our curious merchandise came from The Faraway North, a kingdom blessed with ceaseless magical resources, and I always liked to think that my little pink butterfly had traveled all across the Realm and seen all the marvelous places I'd only ever read about in books before it finally found me.

"Hey, look at that," I chirped, spotting my favorite oracle deck nestled next to the register. "I haven't done a reading in a while, have I?"

I left the pack of letters aside and got my hands on the deck. I shuffled the cards for a few seconds, then closed my eyes, sucked in a long, centering breath, and plucked one out of the bunch.

I took a peek.

Hmm, how odd. The Stranger.

A little prediction scribbled its way in golden letters along the vivacious animation of the card—this was a very curious deck, after all—and I waited patiently for it to conclude its message before reading it.

A handsome Stranger will walk into the Shop today. Do not entrust him with your heart.

I jumped off my seat with a cackle, flicking the lucky card in the air. "You see that?" I exclaimed at the Shop. "I knew I was going to make a sale today! I knew it!" Merrily, I twirled around myself, clutching the card to my chest. "Gods, I'm so excited. But why would I ever entrust a customer with my heart?" The cauldron frothed in response. I shrugged, chuckling. "I think the oracle is in a silly mood today."

Now all I had to do was wait. And I was excellent at that.

I used to think of life as the anxious waiting before a major happening, the days no more interesting than an assortment of distracting tasks to pass the time. Until, somewhere along the way, I realized that this profound something was never going to happen, and all these distractions—the small, unnoticeable things—were the very point of life.

For a little while, I busied myself with brewing some ginger and lemon balm tea while reading today's paper. The usual articles about the Dreadful Mundane were plastered all across the front page, and some news from the North, the title THE PRINCE OF brOKEN HEARTS SOON TO RETURN TO THALORIA screaming at me in bold, black letters.

Too uninterested—and admittedly too thrilled to keep still and read right now—I opted for writing a reply to my mother's latest letter. According to it, they were doing very well in the West. Money was a little tight, but they didn't mind because, as stated by Father, they were getting old, and when you were old, you were happy just watching the ocean and the trees and the albatrosses flapping by on the frothy skyline. They missed me and wished for me to join them soon, but they were also very proud of their Little Starshine for not giving up on the Shop.

"I promise to never, ever give up on you," I whispered to it, my chest hurting from a strange, oppressive feeling that I couldn't quite name. Not sadness or even wistfulness, just an inglorious, deep-rooted ache. "How could I? You're the most interesting thing about me, anyway."

The bells jingled on the door—a short, gleeful ringing that made my heart lurch to my stomach and every muscle in my body twitch with excitement.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.

Here it is.

It's happening.

"Hi—Hello—Welcome to The Little Shop of Grand Curiosities!" I choked out all in one breath as I sprung to my feet so fast that I almost spilled my tea all over Mother's letter.

The man who walked into the Shop was indeed very handsome. Troublingly, jarringly handsome to be exact. Tall and built, with broad shoulders and a striking face that belonged to a storybook prince.

His skin was the color of burnt sugar. His hair was midnight-black, and his eyes were thundercloud-grey. He had a strong nose, a chiseled, square jaw, and a pair of sinfully full lips. If the most sizzling summer night had a face, it would be his.

But as beautiful as the card had predicted, there was also something very, very curious about this young man.

For one thing, he was completely out of breath, panting from what seemed to be simultaneous exhaustion and relief. And his eyes, albeit mesmerizing, were devoid of… something. Something important.

And the most curious thing of all? The stranger was without a question, not from Elora.

His black garments were so elaborate and out of fashion—the man was wearing a cape for goodness' sake—that I could have sworn he was from The Faraway North. And this, I believed, was extraordinarily strange because no one in their right mind would ever leave the wonderful North just to travel to dusty, old Elora.

There was no magic veil separating the North from the other kingdoms of the Asteria Realm, but there was still a certain mystifying element to it. It was the kind of place you had to live and not simply read about in stories. Magic, oftentimes, demanded to be experienced like this, fully and presently. Even maps of The Faraway North tended to be unreliable. In a way, the North was the closest thing we had in this world to a real-life fairytale.

"Gods, that was close," the man sighed to himself, leaning back against the shut door.

I cleared my throat. "Are you okay, sir?"

The stranger met my gaze. Nonchalant. Cold. Unimpressed. Then a clever little smirk popped on his face. "Sure, darling, I'm fantastic," he drawled, his voice low and rich, if not a bit suggestive.

"Can I help you with something?" I offered in a pleasant manner. A note of tension burrowed between my shoulder blades, but it was probably just nerves. I really, really wanted to make a sale. It wasn't even about the money. I wanted to prove that the Shop wasn't finished yet. That magic in Elora wasn't dead. And that this part of myself still had a reason to exist.

"No," came his curt reply.

He unglued his back from the door and raked a hand through his messy hair, smoothing back some insolent locks.

"Oh, well, you can look around as much as you like. Everything is fifty percent off."

The stranger raised his dark brows. "I'm not here to shop, darling. I'm just hiding from the creatures."

I frowned at him, alarmed. "What creatures?"

"Believe me, you do not wish to know."

Now, that was not only rude but wildly unacceptable, wasn't it? Who came into a Curiosity Shop to hide?

I squared my shoulders and raised my chin. "This is not a hiding place, sir. You can't hole up in here and bring in gods' know what manner of trouble. I must ask you to leave immediately."

To my immense displeasure, the stranger did the exact opposite. He sauntered inside the Shop, his heavy leather boots making the cherrywood floorboards creak, and stopped right in front of my desk. The plants on the shelf above stretched their saggy leaves toward him, curious and a little bit excited.

"Apollo," he said.

"What?"

"My name is Apollo, not sir." His eyes darted over my body, leaving an unspoken comment of the utmost impropriety. "Unless you like calling me sir, then I'm perfectly content with it."

Every ounce of blood in my body rushed straight up to my head. I curled my fingers into fists and strode around the desk. "I beg your pardon!"

Apollo's lips twitched with wry amusement, his eyes sparkling, his head cocked to the side—the portrait of schoolboy impudence. "Begging? Already, darling?"

"I—What—Who do you think you are?" I squealed.

"I think I'm Apollo Stranger. Who do you think you are?"

I blinked, retreating. From this distance, he was so very tall. It made me nervous. He made me nervous, and no man had the right to come into my Shop and make me feel like that. "I—I'm Nepheli Curiosity."

He rolled his eyes. "Why do Curiosity Shop owners do this? Every single one of you has the same ridiculous last name. Aren't you afraid you're going to end up marrying your cousin or something?"

I grabbed from the little shelf next to my desk a tiny viridescent bottle and offered it to him with a look of chill disdain. "Four drops on a piece of clean paper, and it will show you your entire family tree. Sixty percent off if you take it now and promise to never come back here."

"How charming," he mocked, grasping at his heart. "Now, darling, tell me, is this the only Curiosity Shop in Elora?"

"Yes," I grunted.

"Since when?"

"Three years ago."

"And where did all their merchandise go?"

He asked a lot of specific questions for a man who had accidentally walked into a Curiosity Shop, didn't he?

And then I realized…

"You can drop the darlings and the clever smiles now. You don't have to flirt with me to get what you want. If you tell me what you're looking for, I'm happy to help you out. There is no reason to be embarrassed about it."

To my absolute delight, Apollo's haughty expression faltered. He rubbed the nape of his neck. "Sorry, darling. A bit of a bad habit, I'm afraid."

I scowled at him, crossing my arms over the bodice of my dress. "Flirting is not a habit one should so carelessly cultivate. It's insulting when it is disingenuous. And I told you to stop with the darlings."

He blew out a long breath, his eyes hunting for something around the Shop.

"I'm guessing it is of a personal nature—the thing you're looking for?" I persisted. "Because I do have a potion for excitement that has some very interesting effects on men. It will do the trick, I promise."

He shot me a truly scathing look. "I don't have cock problems, darling."

Exasperation fizzed through my bloodstream. "Then what do you want? I told you this isn't a foxhole. You can't hide in here all day and waste my time. You either buy something or you leave."

He ignored me, scrubbing a hand along his jaw in contemplation. "Are you sure there are no other Curiosity Shops in Elora?"

"If you don't believe me, then, please, go look for them yourself. Don't let the door hit you on the way out, yes?"

Apollo gritted his teeth. "Well, that's fucking disappointing."

"Excuse me?"

"This is a rather pathetic Shop, isn't it? I mean, you barely have anything truly curious here. No mystery boxes in sight, and a whole bookcase over there without a single spell book on it," he scoffed, gesturing to the other side of the Shop.

The bookcase caught the light with something like irony. The hues of the wood were the ones of the seaside; grey-blues and sun-bleached browns. It looked as if it had washed up on the shore of some faraway land one day and had traveled all across the Realm looking for its everlasting harbor to finally find it right here, in this warm little corner of the Shop.

"It is a magical bookcase, if you must know," I said, barely able to hold back a curse. "And don't you dare call my Shop pathetic again. You're pathetic. Look at you, six feet tall and hiding in here like a scared little boy."

"I'm actually six-five," he wryly mused.

"Congratulations, what do you want, a medal?"

He chuckled to himself as though I'd said something witty and strolled toward the bookcase. "So, how is it magical exactly?" he asked, brushing two fingers along a shelf.

I had the instinct to slap his hand away, but I managed to contain myself. Someone had to maintain a level of propriety here, and it was obvious that it wasn't going to be him.

"You can ask for anything you're interested in, and it will create a book for you." I cleared my throat and faced the bookcase to demonstrate. "For example, let's say: I would like a book on how to weave a proper flower crown."

After a few moments, a green picture book emerged on one of the shelves, providing me with the exact information I had requested.

"Fascinating," Apollo sighed under his breath.

He crouched down and stared at the bookcase very intently for a moment, studying the knurls and rings of the wood as sun-beamed specks of dust danced in the air above it.

Then he whispered something to it.

This unnerved me greatly because his expression turned somber, almost harsh, and whatever he requested, the bookcase was unable to procure, which had never happened before as far as I knew. There were, of course, limits to its magic, but even I wouldn't know what those limits were. Magic wasn't something that could be defined so easily. It changed from person to person and object to object. There was the magic of places and things, such as this bookcase and this Shop. There was the magic of potion-makers and seers—magic that some humans possessed. And then there was the pure, unbridled magic of witches and the fairy folk, of which we had none in the South.

Whatever Apollo had requested from the bookcase, it had to be magic beyond its capacity, and I didn't like the thought of that at all.

"What did you say to it?" I demanded.

His head jerked back to me as if he'd forgotten I was there. He straightened up and gave me a dangerous little half-smile, which I didn't appreciate at all. There was a wild, reckless quality to it—the smile of someone who fantasized about doing terrible things to you and didn't mind you knowing it. "I just asked what is Miss Curiosity's favorite way of pleasuring herself."

To my complete and utter horror, a small, pink book was produced by the bookcase. It materialized out of thin air and fell flat on the top shelf with a scandalous little thud.

I scrambled for it, gasping in shock, but Apollo was swifter and snatched the book right away, only to hold it high above his head.

"Give me that! What are you, a child?" I squealed and fumbled like an idiot for the book, jumping up and down with my hands in the air. "Give me that, now! What kind of person asks such a thing about a complete stranger?"

Perhaps this wasn't the best time to note this, but Apollo Stranger, albeit an ill-mannered, arrogant, man-child menace, smelled spectacular, like spice and woodsmoke and the grass after rain.

"I really like this bookcase," he announced, laughing a low, gravelly laugh. "I think I'm going to buy it after all."

"The bookcase is not for sale, you obnoxious prick!" I growled. "The book you requested is, and you cannot buy this one!"

"I'll give you a whole gold mark for it," he bluntly offered.

I scoffed in outrage and brushed down my skirts. "You can't put a price on dignity."

"I'll give you three," he bartered.

"You're perverse."

"I have a long journey ahead of me, and I'm in desperate need of entertainment," he argued.

"You're still perverse."

"Five gold marks, then."

How did this prick have so much money? And five gold marks were a lot of money. I would be covered for at least one more month in Elora, a little less if I bought a pair of new boots and a strawberry cream cake.

Gods, how I missed cake.

I had to admit that, although mortifying, and considering my little and rather unimpressive experience on such matters, the book was probably nothing too disgraceful.

Someone must have said at least once in the entire history of the universe that dignity was overrated. What, no? Oh, well. Perhaps I was the perverse one, then. But tonight, I would feast on frosting.

"Seven marks," I gritted out, my face uncomfortably warm. "And you better not expect a receipt for this."

Apollo, now known as the Rich Prick from the North, smirked like a devious house cat at me. "Deal."

We went back to my desk, and I began wrapping the book with a sheet of sparkly tissue paper, half-regretting my decision already.

"Shop's not going too well, huh?" The Prick felt the need to point it out.

"What gave it away?" I wryly retorted, handing him the book.

"Why, though?" he persisted, fumbling through a pouch for my seven gold marks. "I mean, we don't have Curiosity Shops in the North but they're still very popular in the East."

I gaped at him, shocked that I didn't know this. I knew some things about the North through history books and, of course, the papers, but a place this magical was also very elusive. It liked to keep secrets. And I was a Curiosity. Secrets were the bane of my existence.

"Why don't you have Curiosity Shops in the North?" I asked a little desperately.

Apollo shrugged. "The whole kingdom is a Curiosity Shop, I suppose."

A sudden, breathtaking daydream came and stole my mind away, filling my thoughts with over-bright images of fairies and castles and enchanted forests. How lovely would it be to live in such a wondrous place?

Sometimes, I would indulge in these fantasies, fancying myself a great wanderer of the world. I would get this funny feeling deep in my gut—a homesickness for a place I'd never been—and I would dream and plan and wish for impossible things. And then I would remember the Shop and the daydreams would die like a flame underwater. I could never leave Elora because I didn't even know how to be myself without the Shop. The shameful truth was that I would rather be extraordinary somewhere mundane than risk being ordinary somewhere magical.

"You okay down there, darling?" Apollo's deep voice swam up from the tide of my thoughts.

I sniffed and tucked a few locks of hair behind my ears. "I'm fine. Have a safe journey," I said dismissively and busied myself with placing the coins into the register.

"You didn't answer me, though," he prodded. "What happened to the other Curiosity Shops in Elora?"

"People here aren't curious anymore. The magic in this city is thinning," I said in a cool, matter-of-fact manner, despite the tightness in my throat.

Apollo stared at me for a moment, his eyes so deeply grey they looked almost black. "Perhaps that's for the best."

"Excuse me?" I scoffed.

"Curiosity can be dangerous," he said.

I gave him a withering look. "It's better to have something dangerous than to have nothing at all."

Suddenly, the door flung open—the bang as loud as quiet went my heart. Dark, amorphous lumps of… something slinked into the Shop, their bodies grimy and sluggish like overlarge worms.

With a yelp, I grabbed my parasol from behind my desk and raised it before me like a weapon. "What—Apollo—What is happening?"

Apollo whipped back his cape, revealing an intricate leather baldric that extended along his chest and hips. The leather sheaths were full of swords, daggers, and hunting knives and—oh gods. He was an assassin. I'd let an assassin into my Shop.

He unsheathed a long, curvy dagger and twirled it in his hand with infuriating carelessness. "I bet you wish you could take back your earlier statement now, darling," he said, and he lunged at the creatures, wielding the dagger in deft, sweeping movements. But my gods, there were countless of them, squeezing out of every corner of the Shop like sentient mold. They slithered around, knocking down vases and crystals and bottles, everything clanging and cracking and shattering on the floor.

"No, no, no!" I gasped more in disbelief than anything else.

This had to be a nightmare. A horrid, hyperrealistic nightmare—

The cauldron howled from the other side of the Shop, trying to warn me about something. Out of nowhere, one of the creatures toppled on the desk before me, spattering everything with its grey, glossy slime.

I beat my parasol down on it, smacking it again and again, only for it to reform its boneless blob of a body around the lacy fabric. "Die, you supernatural cockroach, die!" I hysterically screamed at it.

The creature swung its tail and knocked down the oil lamp from my desk. For a crippling, dreadful second, as I heard the rough shatter of the glass against the gnarly floorboards, I imagined the whole Shop going down in flames and froze under the weight of my dismay.

But, thank the gods, Apollo was quick. He stepped on the wick and stomped the flame out before spinning around to shout at me in warning, "Nepheli, up!"

I craned my neck. Another creature was crawling on the shelf above me and was about to land right on my head.

I popped my parasol open just as Apollo came and snatched me around the waist. He shoved me behind him and slashed the air with his dagger, trying to hold them back as more and more of them crawled out of the shadows.

"We need to leave. Now," he panted. "Where's the door?"

"Are you blind?" I squealed, flicking my parasol shut so I could use the pointy end again.

He glared at me over his shoulder. "The other door, Nepheli."

Oh, no.

No. No. No.

Just, no.

I had not been entrusted with the Shop's care only to abuse it like this. Of course, there was another door. Every Curiosity Shop in the world was built upon sacred ground. It was what made the Shops curious in the first place. But these doors were not meant for humans to use. These doors were remnants of the Old World, when gods and titans lived among mortals. It was not only my duty but also my honor as a proud Curiosity to guard the Shop's Celestial Door with my life if need be and to never, ever, ever let a human pass through it.

A creature sprung in mid-air, making a horrible screeching sound, and Apollo lurched forward to gash it in half with his dagger, only for another and another and another to follow. "A little faster, please," he snarled, going for the kill again.

"You can't use the Door. It's disrespectful to the gods," I heaved, shaking from head to toe. "Not to mention that it can be very dangerous."

Apollo swiveled with a flourish and met my panicked gaze. For a second, I feared he might slit me in half like a creature too. "I can be very dangerous, Nepheli."

With my heart pounding like a broken drum in my ears, I stole a guilt-ridden glance at the purple taffeta curtain behind my back.

Suddenly, the whole Shop tilted to its side as Apollo grabbed me around the waist with one arm and tossed me over his shoulder.

"What are you doing, you bastard! Let me down!" I screamed, jabbing at his back with my parasol. I tried to kick my knees into his sternum too, but his arm tightened around the backs of my thighs and immobilized me further as he continued to march straight down the Shop.

At the unmistakable swish of the curtain, my entire life flashed past my eyes. "No, Apollo! Wait!"

I knew exactly what the pointer inside the engraved disk on the Door showed. It hadn't changed directions for as long as I'd been alive. The larger, blue needle was pointing North. But the smaller, secondary needle was not pointing at land or sea.

"Apollo, wait, we're going to—ahhhh!"

Oh, yes. We fell from the sky.