13

Ihad to be dreaming. Perhaps I had fallen asleep on my desk at the Shop and this was all some wild product of my subconscious, a fanciful scene to help me escape the mundaneness of my life. Because, honestly now, what were the odds of me actually being in a spirit's house talking to a butterfly-winged weaver as we passed room after room full of marvelous curiosities?

And the cottage was without question of ineffable magical beauty. I was so overwhelmed that I didn't know what to experience first. The colors, the textures, the smells. Each cozy alcove boasted upholstered armchairs and wooden tables abounded with twinkling mushroom-shaped lamps and curious little knick-knacks. Cherrywood shelves and cabinets displayed a plethora of books, potions, serums, talismans, and artifacts, everything looking both incredibly valuable and perfectly absentminded, almost mislaid. Cups of tea and stray bookmarks. Crooked picture frames and loudly ticking clocks. The clocks were perhaps the most interesting part, for none of them agreed on the time. Every rhythmic tick-tock suggested something different, as if the days here, colorful and curious, meandered to an unbound, time-bending version of the world. A jumble of flowers dangled from the ceiling, along with strings of feathers and crystals, sparkly candles, and garlands of opalescent marbles—the scene was uncanny. The whole cottage smelled of rosemary, oranges, and wine, and the temperature was deliciously balmy, the kind of warmth that could lull you into the easiest sleep of your life.

It had to be a dream. Or perhaps I was still trapped in Fairyland, and I was hallucinating it all while my physical form withered.

"Are you okay, Nepheli?" Agathe's sweet voice came from the top of the staircase. Mushrooms were growing on the steps, sprouting from between clusters of soft, green moss. I grabbed onto the railing and hopped around them, trying my best not to stomp on the little things. I was afraid they might be sentient beings. So many curious things have happened to me lately that I started to rethink my definition of the impossible.

"I'm just wondering if this is all real," I panted, finally reaching the top.

Agathe pinched my arm.

I cried out, astonished at how strong the tiny weaver was.

"See? Real," she chirped and dashed down the long, dim-lit hallway—much longer than what the outer structure of the cottage indicated.

I followed, seized by a sense of blissful enclosure, as though nothing bad could ever happen in the strange pathways of this place. Then, we entered another room, passing through a snow-white arched door, and my mouth fell open all over again. The bedroom bore cream-colored furniture with delicate golden carvings and gorgeous sky-blue wallpaper. Actual clouds hung from the frothy ceiling, casting a discreet yellowish light over the lush four-poster bed in a perfect balance of opulence and whimsy.

"It's exquisite," I sighed, craning my neck to take it all in.

"We'll share the room if you don't mind," Agathe said as she gestured at the small walnut-shaped bassinet perched on the windowsill with quaint lacy curtains framing it. "I always sleep by the window because the starlight replenishes my magic," she explained.

"I really, really don't mind," I squeaked, trying and failing to contain my excitement. I had no idea how to conduct myself in front of her. Weavers weren't simply magical, after all. They were magic itself, and I was more than unprepared for such an incredible opportunity. My head was a mess, and my dress was dirty, and I did not seem to be able to recall any of the thousand questions I'd wanted to ask her.

Agathe went to lie down on the bed, where she stretched out her spotted wings and folded her tiny arms behind her head like a pillow. "You don't have many weavers in the South, huh?"

I approached but refrained from sitting down, hating to dirty the beautiful powder-blue bedding. "Not anymore," I sighed as I leaned against one of the bed's poles. "After the Dreadful Mundane spread in the South almost every magical being left for other kingdoms."

Her periwinkle brows drew together. "The Dreadful Mundane?"

I frowned back, feeling as perplexed as she looked. "It's a sickness. It has drained the South of its magic. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it. The papers in Elora can't stop talking about it."

An endearing little laugh left her florid lips. She shook her head, and pink dust speckled the sheets. "Oh dear. There is no sickness in the South, and certainly not one that drains entire cities of their magic."

"But…" I stammered, confused. "I've seen it with my own eyes. No one cares about magic in Elora anymore. In fact, I own the last Curiosity Shop in the entire kingdom."

"The one who seeks magic will always be able to find it, Nepheli," Agathe said enigmatically, and when I failed to respond, she clarified, "Curiosity is a choice. And a very hard one at that. Magic does not come without its own pitfalls and perils."

Nervously, I hooked a finger under my necklace. "Yes, I'm starting to get that."

"Well, the Southern Kingdom is mostly populated by humans, and humans like safety and comfort. You like stability and predictability, and planning ahead. Uniformity makes better sense to you than unbridled, inexplicable wonder. To accept such strangeness," she vaguely gestured toward the window, and another thin layer of glimmering dust peppered the air, "you have to open your mind and heart so wide that it starts to hurt. Because it hurts to grow, doesn't it?" She considered, shrugging her little shoulders. "But, of course, this is not up to us weavers to decide. Every being will carve its own path and grow in its own way, and we have to respect that. We magical creatures are drawn to the North because this is the land where the gods were born. There's always going to be magic here. It's embedded in the soil. It spills down from the sky when it rains. And although traces of it will always exist in the rest of the world, like your Curiosity Shop, it is only natural where humans thrive for magic to wane because, in a way, they're perfect opposites."

I blinked at her, utterly and thoroughly gobsmacked.

I tried to recall all those endless articles about the sickness, always speculating and dissecting it to pieces, yet unable to find its root. It finally dawned on me that this was our way of making the truth more palatable to us. We blamed a fantastical sickness when, in reality, we as humans made a conscious choice every day not to see the magic in the world.

I met Agathe's gaze, my heart thrumming in my ears. "Maybe a few weavers could help Elora become magical again. We once loved magic. So maybe we can learn to love it again. We can change," I said desperately, clutching the pendant in my fist so hard that the skin of my palm started to burn. "People can change."

Agathe's lilac eyes softened. "You can't force people to change, Nepheli. You can only show them kindness and acceptance and understanding. And if they wish to change, then they will do it in their own way. I'm more than four centuries old, and if there is one thing I know, it is this: If you always try to force people into seeing the world the way you do, you will never love anybody. You will only love the pieces of yourself you find in others."

I flinched at her words, despite their gentle delivery.

Was this what I was doing? Was I only seeking to find myself in other people? Was this the reason I was so hopelessly alone? I called to mind what Apollo had said to me earlier, You're so good that I'm afraid you're no good at all. Were my boundaries really so austere that I had left no space in my life for something different and no way to see the world through somebody else's eyes?

The thought suffocated me. I felt humbled and embarrassed. My face grew so hot that I wanted to fling the window open and stick my head out into the chilly night. "I didn't realize how selfishly I've been thinking all this time…" I muttered. "Everyone in Elora does seem pretty happy with how things are."

"But you don't," Agathe observed.

"I'm…" I hesitated. "Well…"

"You're a Stareater."

Not this again.

I groaned, exhausted. "I do not eat stars. I accidentally swallowed some stardust when I was little."

Agathe grinned conspiratorially. "In the North, we don't believe in accidents," she claimed. "Every human here has a bit of magic inside them. It's why they always return to the North. The magic calls them home. Perhaps it called you too. Perhaps it was destiny that brought you here, after all."

"An inconsiderate brute—that's what brought me here," I deadpanned.

Agathe flew to me, her wings beating so rapidly behind her back that a sweet-smelling breeze wafted into the room. She placed her small hand on my collarbone and permeated me with her magic. A warm, fluid sensation overtook me. Something jolted inside me in response, and I flinched back from shock. But Agathe didn't budge. She pressed closer, her brows threading in concentration, then raising in surprise. "Do you know where the stardust came from?"

I considered it for a moment, raking up my memories. "My parents bought it from a common stardust collector. But I have no idea where the star fell."

Agathe narrowed her eyes at me, pondering. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

At once, jolly excitement sparked in her face. "A star fell twenty-seven years ago just outside Thaloria, and the merchants went absolutely bonkers for it. Stardust collectors came from all over the Realm to get a little piece of it. I bet the stardust your parents bought came from this very star."

"Really?"

"Certainly," she reassured, nodding to herself. "No star has fallen since. I remember when it fell distinctly because Queen Eloise gave birth to Apollo that night."

Out of everything—and there was a lot—this little piece of information bemused me the most, and I staggered with a gasp. "What?"

Agathe gave me an all-knowing, self-amused look. "Destiny, Nepheli, weaves people's lives together, whether they believe in it or not. You say a mistake brought you here but mistake is just another word for fate. You see, sometimes the stars work to separate people, and other times they conspire to unite them."

I snorted. "I don't think the stars are rooting for me and Apollo, Agathe."

"Well, this star is certainly rooting for you," she argued. "It lives vicariously through you, doesn't it?"

It was true that celestial objects couldn't really die. The stardust should have killed me, but it changed me instead. It had nested somewhere deep inside me and became a part of me, a new vital organ. But to say that it was living through me the same way magic lived through people was something else entirely. It would mean that I myself was… well, magic.

Agathe said something I didn't catch in the bustle of my thoughts. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Has it manifested, yet?" she repeated. "Your magic, I mean."

"I don't have any magic." She shot me a chiding look, and I amended quickly, "Okay, technically, I have but I can't do anything with it."

"Have you tried to do magic and failed?" she prodded.

"No," I admitted grudgingly. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

She grumbled under her breath in an exasperated, old-lady manner. "Well, isn't this what Academies are for?"

I averted my eyes, not knowing how to explain to someone like her that I'd allowed my sense of responsibility to grow greater than my heart's desires. I loved the Shop, but oftentimes this love was the anchor that pulled me down to that lightless, cold place where dreams went to die.

"I've made you sad," Agathe noticed apologetically.

"You didn't, really. It's just… a lot to take in."

I released a breath and, finally, slumped on the bed, unable to hold on to my feet any longer. Frazzled, I stared at the frothy canopy as equal parts of anxious excitement and tremendous confusion paraded around my head, a marching band of thoughts. The fluffy clouds on the ceiling reminded me of the seaside, and I started picturing a small boat slamming into a terrible squall, left with no choice but to brave the angry waves. I knew exactly how that poor little boat felt.

Then, all of a sudden, it dawned on me…

I propped on my elbows and met her gaze. "Agathe, do you know what I can do with it? The magic, I mean."

Agathe smiled a brilliant, mischievous smile. "You can shine."

I pouted petulantly. "That's not ambiguous at all."

She laughed. "Well, maybe you should stay and find out for yourself."

"Stay where?"

"Here, of course. In The Faraway North."

The notion was as outrageous as being a vessel for a half-dead celestial object. I'd always been so adamant about not leaving the Shop, that I'd never seriously entertained the idea of moving to the North. At this point, I couldn't even imagine what Thaloria might look like. Would the myriad of stories I had read do it justice, or was it a place as dangerous as the forest that surrounded it?

I supposed there were plenty of things I could do with my life here. I could become a witch's apprentice, a potion-maker, or even attend university to study history. Or I could simply open a new Shop. I could call it Starshine and fill it with all kinds of starry curiosities.

The possibilities were endless. But I wasn't. And that scared me—the impermanence of my condition. I only had so many years ahead of me and so many things I wanted to do with them. It was impossible to choose to be one person when life was so interesting and intricate. There were so many people I wanted to be and so many lives I wanted to live. And in the end, I found comfort in the familiar. With that, at least, I already knew the outcome.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and admitted both to Agathe and myself, "I could never leave my Shop."

Agathe stared at me intently. "But you could leave Apollo?"

A sort of panic descended on me. I actually felt my left eye twitch. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, aren't you two—"

"No!" I squealed, launching to my feet. "No, no, no. It's not like that between us. I hardly know him. We're just…"

"Traveling companions," Agathe wryly offered.

"Yes."

"I see." She pouted her lips, looking strangely disappointed. "So you don't like him."

An excruciatingly vivid image of Apollo barging into my Shop with his easy charm and dangerous smile sparked like a firework in my mind. My heart, for no good reason at all, started beating very fast. "Apollo…" I paused, struggling to find words capable enough of describing the breathtaking paradox that was Apollo Zayra. "Ever since I met him, all kinds of terrible things have happened to me. My Shop was attacked by vengeful guardians, and I fell from the sky, and twice people have tried to get their hands on my hair. But Apollo… I don't know…" I bit into my lower lip. "For a heartless brute, he isn't terrible, I suppose. He's… well, he's funny and adventurous and fearless. And wildly unpredictable, which—and this might come as a surprise—is not the worst thing in the world. I've never met anyone like him."

The moment I noticed Agathe's satisfied smirk, I regretted every single word that had just left my mouth.

Was my description of him too generous? Did I sound infatuated?

Am I infatuated?

Gods, what was I thinking? I just needed some tea. And a good book. And a week-long nap. That would clear my head.

Agathe must have read my mind because she chirped just then, "Okay, you're starting to look a little green, so why don't I bring up some tea and biscuits while you take a nice, warm bath, yes?"

She flew to the other side of the room and opened the door to the adjoining chamber. Pink tiles, floral wallpaper, and a giant brass bathtub caught my attention.

"Do you know your measurements? I should start with your dress for tonight as well."

My head whipped back at her. "My dress?"

A little silver sewing needle materialized at her fingertips, and I had the incomparable pleasure of watching a weaver sew magic into life.