Chapter 3 The Fae Who Hated My Tea

Riley's POV

The silver coin was still in my pocket when I opened The Remedy & Ruin the next morning, which seemed like a poor omen considering my last mysterious visitor had left me a note promising to return. I had spent half the previous evening trying to decide whether the coin was enchanted, ordinary, or simply expensive enough that I should stop touching it with sticky fingers, and in the end I had gone to bed with the uncomfortable certainty that tomorrow was going to be interesting.

It was.

The bell above the door rang just after opening, and a young man stepped inside. I recognized him immediately from the academy café, standing there with the same composed expression, the same immaculate clothes, and the same cup of tea in his hand.

I looked at the cup, then at him, because apparently he had decided that entering a potion shop while already carrying a beverage was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. "You brought tea into a potion shop," I said, and his gaze moved calmly over the shelves before returning to me.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted tea."

I stared at him for a moment, wondering whether he had always been this difficult or whether he had been practicing specifically for me. "That clears up absolutely nothing."

One corner of his mouth moved, although I could not tell whether it was amusement or irritation. "I was told you make restorative potions."

"I do."

"I need one."

That sounded simple enough, except the fae had said it in the same tone someone might use to request a new pair of shoes. There was no visible embarrassment, frustration, sadness, or even curiosity beneath his words, and that alone made me suspicious.

"What kind?"

"Something that helps with concentration."

I folded my arms. "You're at Silverbrook Academy. Half the students here need that."

"I am aware."

"Then you should know I have several options."

"I was hoping for something stronger."

I studied him more carefully, because most people gave me something to work with even before Heartcraft touched them. A nervous gesture, a tight smile, an uneven breath, or a flicker of embarrassment usually revealed more than their actual answer, but his face remained perfectly calm.

I reached for his emotions gently, expecting the familiar impressions to rise beneath his words. Instead, I found nothing, and the absence startled me enough that I pulled my magic back.

I tried again, carefully, without pushing.

Still nothing.

The emotional impressions I usually sensed around people were simply absent. There was no bright thread of anxiety, no ache of sadness, and no restless knot of frustration waiting beneath his words, only an impossible stillness that felt less like silence and more like a locked door with no handle.

The fae noticed. Of course he noticed. "Is something wrong?"

"No."

His eyebrow lifted, and I sighed because apparently my face was a terrible liar even when my mouth was not.

"Fine. Something is wrong, but it is not your fault. You're difficult to read."

"I have been told I am difficult in several other respects."

Despite myself, I almost laughed, but I turned toward the shelves instead. I selected a small blue bottle and placed it on the counter between us.

"This will help with concentration without making you feel like your brain has been scrubbed clean."

He looked at the bottle suspiciously. "Have you tested it?"

"On myself."

"And?"

"I remembered every assignment I was supposed to finish."

He considered that. "That sounds unpleasant."

"It was."

That earned me a clearer flicker of amusement, and for some reason, I noticed it. I hated that I noticed it, because I had known him for approximately five minutes and already he was becoming an inconvenience.

He stepped closer to the counter. "How much?"

"Three silver."

He placed the coins down neatly, then looked toward the shelves again and lingered over the Heartcraft bottles. His expression remained composed, but there was enough curiosity in his gaze to make me wonder what exactly he had expected to find in my shop.

"What do those do?"

"Those are emotional blends."

"Do they work?"

"Usually."

"Usually?"

"They help people with what they are actually dealing with."

His expression changed so slightly that I almost missed it. "And if someone wants something else?"

"Then I tell them no."

"Even if they can pay?"

"Especially if they can pay."

His eyes returned to mine, and something about the silence between us felt sharper than our conversation had been. I had the strange impression that he was testing me, although I had no idea why.

"You turn away customers?"

"I turn away bad ideas. There is a difference."

He looked around the tiny shop, taking in the crooked shelves, the handwritten labels, and the purple stain I still had not completely removed from the ceiling. "You seem confident for someone operating out of a room with a damaged ceiling."

I put a hand over my heart. "You came here for a potion and insulted my ceiling within five minutes."

"I was observing."

"You were being rude."

"Those are not mutually exclusive."

I stared at him, and he stared back with such complete seriousness that I finally laughed. It was only a small sound, but his expression softened for half a second before settling back into its usual calm.

"What is your name?" I asked, mostly because I suddenly wanted to know.

"Ryan Reed."

Of course he had a name that sounded as though it belonged on an academy notice. I gave him mine, and his answer made me pause.

"I know."

I frowned. "How?"

"You own the shop."

"That does not explain anything."

"I asked around."

The answer should not have bothered me, but it did something strange to my stomach. I ignored that immediately and busied myself straightening the bottles on the counter.

"Why?"

"I wanted to know whether you were competent."

"And?"

He picked up the blue bottle. "I have not decided."

I narrowed my eyes. "Then perhaps you should take your concentration potion somewhere else."

He looked toward the door, then back at me. "I think I will keep it."

"Your faith in my competence is touching."

"I did not say I had faith in it."

I folded my arms again, deciding that Ryan Reed was possibly the most irritating person to enter my shop since the purple potion incident. He slipped the bottle into his coat, and when he turned toward the door, I noticed the silver coin peeking from my apron pocket.

His gaze stopped on it.

For the first time since he had entered, his composure changed. It was barely noticeable, but I had spent years learning how to notice tiny shifts in people, and I was certain I had seen something.

"Where did you get that?"

I touched the coin through the fabric. "Someone left it here yesterday."

His expression became unreadable again.

That should not have been possible, considering I had already discovered that my Heartcraft could not reach him. Now I realized his ordinary expressions were almost as frustrating as his magical silence.

"Do you know what it is?" I asked.

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

I watched him carefully. "You hesitated."

"I did not."

"You did."

"I was considering whether answering you would encourage further questions."

"That sounds suspiciously like a yes."

He opened the door, and the morning light spilled across the wooden floor. I stopped him before he could leave, although I was not entirely sure whether I wanted an answer or simply wanted to see whether he would give me one.

"If you know anything about the coin, I would rather you tell me."

After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder. "If I learn anything useful, I will."

Then he stepped outside.

I stood behind the counter, staring at the closed door, while the bell settled into silence above me. He had been irritating, arrogant, strangely funny, and impossible to read, all within the span of a single visit, and more importantly, he had reacted to the coin.

Whatever had brought him into my shop might not have been as accidental as I had hoped. I looked down at the blue bottle he had bought and noticed that one silver coin remained on the counter.

It was not payment. It was a tip.

I picked it up and stared at it, wondering whether he had left it deliberately or simply forgotten it. Either way, Ryan Reed had given me one more reason to expect him back.

Maybe he was not coming back because he needed another potion. Maybe he was coming back because he wanted to know what I knew, and inconveniently, I wanted to know what he knew too.