The Chocolatier's Wife (64 page)

He
smiled
and
took
out
a
black
velvet
pouch,
pouring
a
few
out
onto
his palm and
showing her.
Let the negotiations begin.

When
he
left
he
was
not
as
upset
as
he
might
have
been,
but
not
as pleased
as
he
would
like
to
be. The
dressmaker
had
been
tenacious
in
the bargaining,
using
the
lowest
tricks,
with
questions
such
as,
“Surely
your future
wife
is
worth...
”
Quite
frustrating,
but
in
the
end
he
had
managed
to get
the
price
down
to
what
he
could
humanly
afford. He
had
no
idea
what he would do when his savings
ran
out, but he would deal with that then.

The
h
arbor
clock
chimed,
and
William
winced.
Tasmin
would
be
at the
shop
by
now, and
he’d
not
yet
bought
the
supplies
that
had
been
his excuse
for
going
out.
Fortunately
it
only
took
a
few
moments
to
order
some sugar,
flour,
eggs,
milk,
cheese,
and
smoked
ham,
and
request
that
they
be delivered.

The
sprites
greeted
him
as
he
stepped
through
the
door, and
he wondered
if
he
would
ever
get
used
to
being
surrounded
by
a soft
breeze every
time
he
entered
the
shop.
At
least
everything
was
in
order.
Ayers
had always
been
fairly
good
at
stowing
and
organizing
things,
it
was
one
of
the reasons
why
he’d
been
promoted
to
Master,
and why
he’d
given
into
the man’s
hints that William
should hire him.

When
William
got
into
the
back
of
the
shop,
he
found
the
cocoa
supplies were
all
neatly
lined
up
on
the
inner
pantry
shelves.
His
former mate
had even
logged
them
into
a
book.
Now
Ayers
was
staring
at
Tasmin
with
suspicion as she knelt in
front
of the pantry,
marking
the door sill with
red chalk
and
black
charcoal.
She had a
bowl next to her.

“She
says
she
wants
some
of
me
blood,
sir,”
Ayers
said, trying
not
to look
frigh
t
ened.

Since
Tasmin
had
already
described
the
spell
to
him,
William
knew
why and
thought
it
made
sense.
“Come
now, man, you’ve
given
plenty
of
blood to
the
enemy,
I’m
sure
you
can
produce
what
she
requires,”
he
said
jovially. Blood
magic was
som
e
thing
they
were
used
to; he
didn’t understand
why Ayers was worried.

Tasmin smiled
at
him,
then
went
inside
the
pantry
and
shut
the
door behind
her,
opening
it
and
coming
back out
a
second
later
and
shutting
it again,
staring
at
the
sill.
“You
can’t
see
the
markings
when
the
door
is
shut, but
you’ll
have
to
get
into
the
habit
of
not
stepping
on
the
floor
just
there, until
the
marks
fade
of
their
own
a
c
cord.
And,
of
course,
you
shall
need to keep the door shut.” She picked up the bowl, the bottom of which was covered
with
a
thick
green
yellow
liquid. “It’s
cool
enough,
now,
I
think.” She
took
up
a
copper
-
bladed
knife
with
a
creamy
white
handle.
Aside
from the
slight
twist
to
the
handle,
there
were
no
marks whatsoever.
The
tang went
through
the
handle,
and formed
a
housing
for
a
green,
unfaceted crystal on
the end.
“My athame,” she said with pride to him.

“So there’s where all my coat buttons went,” he said,
smiling at her.

She
smiled
back.
“And
they
have
served
me
well.
Now,
I
need
but
a drop
of
your
blood.
The
spell
will
then
recognize
you
and
allow
you
into
the pantry.”

The
man, who
was
still
a
sailor at
heart
with
all
the
attendant superstitions,
looked
uneasy
still.
Distrust
of
the
North,
William realized with a
tinge of annoyance.
He liked Ayers a
great deal,
but wished the man was
a
little
less
of
a
fool.
Time
must
mend
it,
or
I
shall have to
let
him
go. He
will learn,
as
he
gets
to know her,
not to believe
in old resentments.

“You
can
get
out
of
it
if
you
have
other
relatives.”
Tasmin said.
“While we
trust
you,
we
do
not
know
your
family,
and
therefore
would
not
be
able to risk
allowing an
y
one of your blood access.”

“I
don’t,”
he said,
“just do it,
if you don’t
mind,
Miss, and
get it over.”

She
pricked
his
finger, and
let
a
drop
fall
into
the
bowl.
Cecelia,
who seemed
much
more
used
to
the
concept
of
blood
binding,
was
next.
Again, blood was dripped, the blade wiped, and
she took
William’s
hand
in
hers.

It was the first
time she had had reason to look closely at it.

“Are you looking
at my future?” he teased.

“I
am
looking at
your
past.
So
many
scars
and
calluses.”
She
ran
her thumb over
them. “You have
not been kind
to your hands.”

“Occupational
hazards,
I
suppose,”
he
said,
trying
not
to
think
too
much on
how well he liked the feel of her hands cradling his.

She
took
his
blood
quickly,
and
then
her
own,
but
before
she
could
stir the
co
n
tents
he
found
himself
taking
her
hand
and
pressing
their
forefingers together.