But the real question was why someone had turned this stone into jewelry and sent it here.
Istabelle picked up the cardboard box and frowned. “There’s no postmark on the packaging.” Her gaze wandered to the velvet case. “And that has a magic muffling enchantment.”
I chewed my lip. “What are you saying?”
“Whoever sent this knew you were sensitive to magic and wanted you in particular to open it.”
My heart sank. Nobody from Logris, except Aunt Arianna and a few close relatives, knew I was here. My birthday was close, but they always sent gifts to my apartment, not the shop.
Istabelle opened the drawer, slipped on goggles and a pair of gloves, and pulled out a pair of diamond shears. My stomach trembled at the thought that she’d ignored the wire cutters and gone straight for the item that could cut through magic.
“Turn your head, dear,” she said.
I did as she said, feeling the shears slip beneath the tiny string holding together the crystals. She snipped and hissed out a breath.
“What’s happened?” I glanced down at the bracelet, which still lay in place around my wrist. “What happened to the wire?”
She dangled it between her fingers. “Unfortunately, the stones have bonded to your skin. This level of magic is beyond our capabilities. I’m afraid you’ll need to see a practitioner in Logris.”
My heart skipped several beats. Not just because I had the magical equivalent of a bomb casing wrapped around the wrist of my right arm. The thought of returning to Logris filled me with nauseous anxiety. It was where so many had witnessed that night of heartbreak and humiliation.
I shook my head. “There’s got to be somewhere else.”
Istabelle placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll have to face them sometime. We may not be magical, but we live long lives and the more time you spend out of your community, the more you’ll age.”
“Maybe I don’t want to live beyond a hundred years.”
“Perhaps not, but you can’t wait around to see what that firestone might do.”
She was right, but I wasn’t ready to face anyone from my old city. I exhaled a long sigh, trying to expel the boulders of dread weighing down my belly. “Do you have any books about firestone downstairs?”
“There are several, but I recommend you see a professional immediately.”
“I’ll…” My throat dried. The last thing I wanted to do was return to Logris. By now, everyone would have learned about my awful exit. “I’ll think about it.”
Istabelle stepped back, offering me a patient smile. “Whatever you say. I’ll come down later to relieve you for lunch.”
For the next few hours, I couldn’t stop thinking about the firestone hearts around my wrist. They weren’t a bracelet because nothing was holding them together. I slid my fingers beneath the stone, but it was like trying to separate my fingernails. The stones felt like they’d become part of my body.
In between unpacking a delivery of new books and serving customers, I tried everything I could think of to dislodge the stones. Onyx, which was supposed to remove negative attachments, didn’t have any effect and neither did any of the flower remedy samples we kept around the shop for psychic protection.
The morning raced by, and Istabelle returned to the shop floor at twelve to replenish our display of rose quartz hearts. Rose quartz was our biggest seller. It radiated a gentle, unconditional love, strengthened the heart chakra, and boosted happiness.
I wore it continuously during my first year working at the Crystal shop, drawing on its strength to help me overcome my past. Some women bought it by the pouchful because it helped the wearer attract love while enhancing self-esteem.
At twelve-thirty, Beatrice strode into the store, her chocolate-brown eyes sparkling with happiness and a chignon with loose tendrils of hair framing her heart-shaped face. She wore a navy blue dress tailored to skim her curvaceous figure.
This was one person who certainly didn’t need rose quartz, as she had no trouble attracting men.
She flashed Istabelle a dazzling smile. “Hello Mrs. Bonham-Sackville, I’m here to whisk Mera away for a long lunch.”
“Take as much time as you need.” Istabelle waved me away.
I wasn’t sure if she was talking about lunch or making a decision to see a healer in Logris about my firestone problem. Either way, I zipped around the counter and hurried to my friend.
“Thanks.” After shouldering on my leather jacket, I looped my arm through Beatrice’s, and strode out into Upper Brook Street and rounded the corner to Grosvenor Square.
Beatrice glanced over her shoulder. “I booked us a table at Gordon Ramsay’s Bar—”
“Sorry, Bea,” I said with a groan. “Can we eat at mine? I’m having a bit of a problem.”
Her steps faltered. “What’s wrong?”
I pulled up my sleeve. “This bracelet won’t come off.”
“Try warm water and lots of soap.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and extracted her smartphone. “Let me cancel the reservation and get us something out of Deliveroo. Is Thai okay?”
I inhaled a deep breath, my heart melting with gratitude. Beatrice and I were so different. While she was an extraverted tax specialist who loved taking risks, I was an introverted shop assistant who liked to play things safe.
Maybe it was because of our differences that we got along. She was generous, exciting, and always willing to show me new things and places around London. I thought she liked my stabilizing influence, and knew she loved being my guinea pig for herbs and crystals and healing techniques. Whatever it was between us, we worked to create a balanced friendship.
We were about to cross the road to cut through Grosvenor Square, but I steered her alongside the Georgian houses that bordered the square, saying I wanted to take the long route.
Each of the buildings bordering the huge garden was pretty much the same: seven-stories tall, brick townhouses that contained offices, embassies, and those wealthy enough to afford an apartment in Mayfair.
Istabelle was fortunate enough to have purchased an entire floor between World Wars One and Two and had paid off the mortgage decades ago. I still couldn’t believe my luck.
“Christian’s been texting all morning,” Beatrice said with a sigh.
“Christian Gray?” I gave her a playful bump on the shoulder.
She chuckled. “He may as well have been last night.”
A giggle bubbled up in the back of my throat. “No mere man could be that good.”
“He’s better,” she said with a grin. “No hang-ups, no contracts, just a night of pure pleasure.”
I thought Beatrice would divulge why he was better than the Fifty Shades hero and talk about his toned pecs, six-pack abs, and other salacious delights. Instead, she described how handsome he looked across the table in the restaurant, his impeccable manners, dress sense, and witty conversation.
My brows drew into a frown. Beatrice was the Queen of Juicy Details. I lived for her stories because of how she would bring them to life, making me feel like I was the one enjoying her exciting adventures.
All this talk of his personality made me think he’d already burrowed under her skin and was making his way to her heart.
As we reached the end of the road and rounded the corner, I asked, “Are you planning on seeing him again?”