Into the Bargain: A Clandestine Magic fairy tale by Colleen Cowley

Author:Colleen Cowley [Cowley, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Slender Sky Books

CHAPTER 6

She set off the next day, determined to squeeze what enjoyment she could from the limited time she had left. That seemed precisely the resolution to ensure very little enjoyment would be had, but the morning exceeded expectations. Even cleaning the omnimancer’s office was pleasant with the right company.

“This,” his assistant said, gesturing at the very large and very gilded mirror he was dusting, “simply should not be allowed.”

“Too gaudy?”

“Too everything.”

She smiled at him as she swept the floor with her borrowed broom. “We must make allowances, though. How else is Omnimancer Porten supposed to determine who’s the fairest of them all?”

His soft laughter was like a cup of tea, spreading tendrils of warmth through her body. “I’m not sure it would occur to him to ask the question when he thinks the answer self-evident, but now I’m going to be in danger of snorting whenever I see him looking into it.”

“My apologies.” She’d swept her way closer to him without quite meaning to, that part of the room already done. “There are other types of magic mirrors you could imagine instead. A scrying glass for seeing what’s to come, perhaps. Better?”

“Oh, far worse.” He wagged his feather duster in her direction. “Makes it sound as if we can’t change our future.”

That hit a little too close. She’d tried to change her fate, after all, and what good had it done her? Porten wasn’t coming back in time. All she’d changed was her view of the world.

And her view of what sort of man she’d like, if she were allowed to choose.

If she had any power whatsoever, which she did not.

“A portal, then?” she suggested, turning to sweep industriously in the corner so she didn’t have to look at him.

“Mm. Where would it go?”

She considered this. “A castle choked by thorns. A cottage with a golden flute. A pond that transforms the drinker.”

He didn’t immediately reply. She turned despite herself and found him looking at her with his head cocked, dusting forgotten. “Sounds vaguely alarming.”

“Fairy tales often are,” she murmured. “Much like real life.”

This time his laugh was like a sip of red wine, just as warming but with bitter notes. “Yes.” He took a sharp breath as if he had a comment to add about that but then simply repeated, “Yes.”

She looked at him over her broom. He looked at her over his duster.

“When’s the last time you’ve danced?” he asked, such an abrupt switch of topic that she tripped over her reply.

“I—um … five-and-a-half years.”

“What?” The duster fell from his hands, making a soft landing at his feet. “You’re not going to get an offer from Porten if you can’t dance, for pity’s sake!”

“Slanderer! I certainly can dance.”

He waved a hand as if batting this defense away. “You could dance, at one point, and have probably long forgotten. Hang on.”

He opened a closet door and rolled out a phonograph, making her freeze up. Was he—was he really⁠—?

He was. At the unmistakable beginnings of the Blue Danube, he held out a hand.

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