It seemed a little too much of a coincidence that the second he arrived back in Graves Glen after nine years away, everything went completely sideways, and while Vivienne had never struck him as all that vindictive, she had left him to be killed or eaten or run over yet again last night.
All of which he probably deserved, but that was not the point.
Now, he looked at her and asked, “Do you sell a scrying mirror in this store by any chance?”
From behind the counter, Gwyn snorted. “Yeah, right behind our jars of eye of newt. What are you, a thousand years old?”
Scrying mirrors were a little old-fashioned, even for witches, but so was Rhys’s father, which meant that they were one of the better ways to communicate with him.
“I think there actually might be one in the back,” Vivienne said, setting down her box of skulls. As she did, several of them opened their jaws, letting out a sort of creaking groan that made the girls over by the grimoires jump then burst into giggles.
“Seriously?” Gwyn asked, leaning on the counter. “We have a scrying mirror and I didn’t even know it?”
“I found it in some antique store in Atlanta,” Vivienne replied before glancing over at the customers, then back at Rhys.
Moving a little closer, she lowered her voice and said, “You can’t use it in here.”
Mimicking her whisper, Rhys replied, “Wasn’t going to.”
She frowned a little, a wrinkle appearing between her brows, and Rhys’s fingers itched to reach out and touch it, smooth it away with his fingers.
As that was a terrible idea, he kept his hands firmly in his pockets.
“You good out here?” Vivienne asked Gwyn, who gave her a thumbs-up.
“Now that I have more noisy skulls to sell to noisy kids, I am set.”
Folding her arms over her chest, Vivienne looked at him, and after a moment, jerked her head at the curtain in the corner. “Come on.”
Rhys followed, and when she pulled back the curtain, he expected to step into a storeroom of some kind, some dusty shelving, a bunch of cardboard boxes, much like the back room at Llewellyn’s pub.
Instead, he immediately found himself in a circular chamber, the walls a warm, honey-colored wood. Heavy iron chandeliers held fat candles that cast the entire place in a sort of cozy glow, as did a series of stained-glass globes affixed to the walls, spilling colored light onto the comfortably shabby rugs on the floor.
All around the room were a series of beautifully carved wardrobes, and Vivienne walked to the nearest one now, opening it and muttering to herself.
“This is . . . quite something,” Rhys said, looking around, and when Vivienne looked back over her shoulder at him, her expression was a little softer, a little more familiar.
“Aunt Elaine likes things to feel homey,” she said. “Why have a boring, depressing stockroom when you could have this?”
Then she looked around. “I mean, it does sometimes make me feel like I’m in a video game of The Hobbit, but still.”
Rhys huffed out a laugh, and she smiled at him.
Just for a second.
One of her front teeth had the tiniest chip in it. He’d forgotten that. He’d loved that. That little imperfection in that sunny smile.
Then she turned back to the wardrobe and Rhys cleared his throat, moving back slightly.
“And if customers come back here?”
Vivienne reached farther into the wardrobe, digging in its contents. “They don’t,” she said. “Slight repelling spell on this part of the store. Elaine tweaked it so that they don’t feel uncomfortable or scared, they just . . . don’t want to walk in.”