“If you’re thinking about turning the market invite down, it’s a terrible idea.” Moira poured herself another cup of tea. “Caelan might have secured the invite, but he doesn’t get any of the extra money you’ll pull in.”
“Who knows?” I muttered. “Maybe he takes kickbacks from all the vendors.”
“Like a wolf mafia?” Ash drawled.
“I’ve seen stranger things.”
The market would be great for our shop. Practitioners visited from all over the state, and few people could pass up fresh flowers when they spotted them. Since it was a magical market,I could enchant the bouquets I sold, and people could request specific charms. This might lead to more business and more connections in the magical community.
As much as I hated that Caelan pulled some strings, Moira was right. Saying no out of stubbornness would be foolish.
“Fine,” I sighed. “We’ll do the market.”
At my words, Moira and Ash hooted. “Finally!”
“But,” I interrupted their celebrating, “all of you have to work late until market night.”
“We planned on it,” Moira said.
Around lunch time,another delivery truck pulled up, this one labeled with the local luxury furniture maker’s mark. Two burly men hopped out, one with a clipboard, and headed toward the door.
“Must be the replacement table,” Ash said. “Want me to intercept?”
I’d spent most of the morning working in the back enchanting bouquets and had only come out to get another cup of coffee. “I’ll take care of it. The table has to be made in a specific way, so I’ll send it back if I need to.”
Ash nodded. “You should know the furniture maker is a dryad. Doubtful you’ll need to send anything back. He’s well-versed in Floromancy.”
Many years ago, I commissioned a well-known Amish furniture maker to create a massive wooden table for me. The wood had to be untreated and unstained, sealed with only natural materials like oil and beeswax. I refused to work on any projects involving flowers or plants on a chemically treated workspace.
The craftsman had asked no questions about the reasons why and seemed to appreciate the parameters. He charged me afair price and delivered a stunning table two months later. The legs and supports were made of stainless steel, but the main workspace was a large piece of mahogany, polished to a high shine and treated with beeswax and olive oil.
I cherished the table and brought it with me when I moved. When Caelan destroyed it, a little piece of my past had died with me. The maker was only in Washington for a brief time before he moved out to be with his family in the Midwest. Tracking him down might prove difficult.
“I really loved the table I had.”
Ash gave me a sad smile. “I know you did, but I think you should give this one a chance. I know his work. You might be surprised.”
I nodded and followed him to the door. “I hope it’s not too expensive.”
Ash snorted. “Oh, it will be. This guy has a waiting list a year long. He must have set everything aside to work on this project.”
Ash didn’t see my wince. I could see my bank balance going up in flames.
The men entered, their eyes lighting on me as soon as they walked in. “Miss Quinn,” the taller one asked. “We have a delivery for you.” He handed the clipboard over for my signature.
“Do you have a bill?”
They exchanged a glance. “We do not.”
“No bill, no signature,” I said sweetly.
“Ma’am, we’re under strict orders to deliver this to you today.”
“And I need a bill.” I smiled. “It’s easy enough. Just send me the invoice the maker sent the Shifter Lord. Once I have it, you’re more than welcome to come in and drop off the table.”
We stood there in a polite stalemate until the second one nudged the first. “We have a tight schedule today, Rick. Just send it to her.”
I smiled at the guy who was not Rick.
