Resolving to work harder in the future, Rowan let the matter rest, taking out the list as he checked what supplies remained to be purchased. The carriage back to Faebrook would be leaving in just over an hour, which gave him plenty of time to hunt for the last item on the list: a magic ring.

Stowing the list back inside his tunic, Rowan ambled down the street, eager to put his encounter with Sigrid out of sight and out of mind. The street was busier now, patrons crowding on the terraces of restaurants and bars as they enjoyed an afternoon meal in the sun.

Delicious aromas washed over Rowan as he passed by, the tables laden with delicious looking food causing his stomach to gurgle in protest. It had been several hours since his breakfast at the academy, and his body was eager for him to rectify this oversight.

Forcing himself to ignore it, Rowan’s newfound resolve was quickly tested as a new scent wafted by, his head turning almost unconsciously as a nearby stallowner pulled a fresh apple pie from the stone oven on a cart. Salivating at the sight, he forced himself to keep walking. He could reward himself once he was done shopping, not before.

As his stomach waged war with his mind, Rowan turned off the main road, heading down a side street to a shop that he had spied earlier while shopping. The shop in question, Magickal Fancies, was nothing special to look at from the outside, at least compared to the two magic shops on the main street. Three stories high, constructed of the same stone and woodwork that many of the surrounding buildings were made of, nothing about the shop stood out upon first glance, which was why it was strange to Rowan that he felt such an attraction towards the place.

Well, only one way to find out. With a heavy push, the door slid open, the soft sound of music greeting Rowan’s ears as he entered. The interior of Magickal Fancies was cozy, the heat from outside fading away, replaced by a subtle warmth that felt just comfortable to Rowan. Particles of dust drifted lethargically through the air, giving the room an otherworldly feeling, like a chamber caught in the eddies of time. As the door shut behind him, the dust swirled, displacing itself momentarily around the interloper that had intruded upon its sanctum.

Inside the shop, narrow pathways snaked past low tables, groaning under the weight of the items on top—powders, athames, bones, and jewels all haphazardly arranged on their surfaces. Bookshelves lined the walls, their shelves stacked with magical curiosities that glittered and glowed in the low light. Some even managed to contain books, their spines embellished with scripts and runes that Rowan could only guess at the meanings of. A staircase at the far end of the room led to the second floor, the steps lower in the middle where years of wear had caused them to warp.

The entire shop had an ethereal feel to it, causing Rowan to remain quiet as he picked his way forward, searching for an employee who might be able to help him. Finding no one, Rowan carefully raised a hand to his mouth.

“Hello?” he called out, barely more than a whisper emerging from his mouth. The only reaction he received was a slight distortion in the dust, his words causing it to tumble briefly in the air in front of his lips before returning to normal. “Hello?” Rowan attempted once more, a little louder this time. “Is anyone there?”

“Can I help you?” A tap at his shoulder caused Rowan to jump, his hip bumping into a nearby table and sending a horned skull flying. Lunging forward, Rowan barely managed to catch the skull before it hit the ground, his heart racing as he examined the morbid object. Placing it carefully back on the table, he turned to confront the cause of his near heart attack, coming face-to-face with a pair of bright yellow eyes that stared intently out at him from beneath the brim of a large witches’ hat.

“Nice catch,” the owner of the hat remarked, her tone dream-like. “Although I wouldn’t have touched it with your bare hand.”

Feeling a slight pain in his fingers, Rowan stared at his hand, his gaze darkening as he saw a small cloud of green smoke in the shape of a skull rising above his fingertips. With a frown, he pinched them together, the smoke wavering and then dispersing into nothingness as the pain disappeared.

“Interesting,” the yellow-eyed woman observed, her expression thoughtful.

Now that Rowan had a moment, he could make out her features. Short, with long chestnut-coloured hair tied into braids that fell to her waist, her hat and robes were the colour of dandelion, a soft yellow that allowed her to fade into the dusty sunbeams behind her, fabric and light blurring together, creating a haze-like quality that gave Rowan a headache as he beheld it. Focusing instead upon her face, Rowan felt a slight tug of familiarity; however, he could not quite say why.

Although her appearance seemed like that of someone in their late twenties, he sensed that she was probably older, though by how much he could not say, nor did he feel it wise to hazard a guess. Either way, she should not be someone he knew, nor should she have any cause to know him.

With a slight tilt of her head, the woman in yellow returned his gaze, her appearance cat-like as her eyes bored into him, like a predator regarding its prey. Unable to look away, Rowan stood still, feeling not unlike a mouse in a trap, though the mouse in that scenario at least received cheese as the price for its life. I should have bought that apple pie, Rowan lamented, silently wondering what was about to happen. It was as if time had stopped, the dust in the air, the music, even his own heart seemed to have stilled, as the entirety of his world became focused in those deep yellow orbs.

At last the woman looked away, freeing Rowan from the hypnotic spell she had placed upon him. As she did, time began to flow once more, the dust resuming its slow journey through the shop as the music hummed softly and sweetly within his ears, a harp, by the sounds of it. Clutching his heart to ensure it was still beating, Rowan gazed at the woman, who seemed lost in thought as she stared off into space. Was she even aware of what she had just done to him? Did she care?

I should leave, Rowan decided. Although he wasn’t sure who the woman was, he knew one thing: she was dangerous, and involving himself with her was doubly so. There were two other magic shops in Northall, he would simply get a ring at one of them.

With a frown, Rowan turned to leave, but a sudden observation gave him pause. The sunbeams were falling upon him once more, no longer blocked by the mysterious woman. Squinting hard, Rowan could just make out her form in the sunlight, before that too faded, a small updraft of dust rushing in to fill the space she had just occupied.

“Rings are at the counter. Just pick one and leave the money on the till.” The dream-like words hung in the air for a moment, before fading, the voice unmistakably that of the dandelion mage.

With nervous eyes, Rowan contemplated leaving, but disobeying a powerful mage with the ability to disappear into the sunlight seemed like a bad move. If she wanted to harm me, she would have. Doing his best to reassure himself, Rowan moved cautiously through the shop towards the counter, where a large selection of rings sat in piles, covering the wooden countertop.

Picking a silver band from the pile, Rowan yelped as a burning sensation filled his hand, forcing him to drop the ring with a pained expression. Nursing his hand, he glared at the offending band, the ring sitting innocently where he had dropped it, looking for all the world like a normal piece of jewelry and not the burning torch that it truly was.

Carefully reaching around the silver ring, Rowan picked out another, this one made of pale quartz with a garnet embedded in the center. This time, his hand felt as if it had been submerged within ice, the sensation chilling him to the bone as he dropped it back into the pile.

Once more, Rowan contemplated leaving; however, the woman’s last words echoed in his mind. If she had wanted to hurt him, there was no need to go through as roundabout a method as this. Not unless he had offended her somehow, and given that today marked his first ever meeting with her, he doubted that. Unless of course she was angry about the skull he had knocked over. But he had caught it before it broke, and it was her fault for scaring him in the first place...

Steeling his resolve, Rowan stared at the piles of rings laid out in front of him, searching for a hint to the correct choice. Rings of all sorts gleamed back at him, precious metals, gemstones, and even rings of polished and twisted wood all on full display. Until now, he had focused on the rings that seemed like they were made of cheaper materials, doing his best to avoid having to pay too much; however, it seemed that the rings were telling him that he could not be picky; he would have to try them all.

Cautiously reaching forward, Rowan picked up one of the wooden rings, a ring made of white wood, with tiny flecks of black that dotted the surface evenly across the band. Between the flecks were runes, meticulously carved into the wood and inlaid with jet, the craftsmanship exquisite.

Instead of burning or freezing, this ring gave off a growing sensation, like an enormous tree straining to burst free from its prison. Although it felt nice, for some reason Rowan still found himself placing it back in the pile. The ring felt good, but it did not feel right. Putting it aside for now, he continued making his way through the pile, relying upon the sensations he felt upon touching each ring in order to make a choice.

Half an hour later, his right hand ached, having now been subjected to burning heat, bone chilling frost, the painful, yet merciful numbing of electricity, and every sensation in between. Dozens of rings now lay beside him, three piles having produced no rings more suitable than the wooden one.

His eyes darting back to the wooden ring, where it lay atop the first pile he had delved through. Rowan was tempted to just choose it; however, once again he hesitated. The feeling it had given him when he had held it was that it would make an excellent partner for him, helping him to rise through the ranks at Faebrook and stand among the very top of his class. However, standing among his peers was not Rowan’s goal, his dream was to stand above them, and the ring of white wood would not allow him to do that.

One more pile, Rowan decided. If he could not find a suitable partner within the final pile of rings, then he would settle with the wooden ring.

Reaching into the pile, Rowan aimed for a ring of silver, its exterior polished to a mirror-like gleam reminiscent of captured moonlight. As he did so, his ring finger brushed against another, an unassuming ring of rose-like gold that rose from among the other bands, half of its shape submerged within the pile. Faint runes could be seen inscribed into the interior of the band, seeming to glow where the light touched them.

Time seemed to slow within the shop as Rowan’s finger touched the ring, a sensation of agelessness filling him. Abandoning the ring he had been aiming for, he crooked his finger, the ring hooking on and falling straight down to the last knuckle, where it fit snugly, hugging his hand like a long lost friend.

Instantly, Rowan knew this was the one. If some of the other rings had felt decent, then this ring felt perfect, its warm colour suiting his hand perfectly. Neither too gaudy nor too subdued, the ring was one he felt confident wearing. It was unlikely he would be targeted by others for wearing it, as he would should he choose the ring he had tried that was shaped into the form of a coiled dragon, or the ring that seemed to reflect sunlight from the mirrorlike gems arrayed across its face.

Making his decision, Rowan stood awkwardly at the counter with the ring in hand. The dandelion mage had told him to leave the money on the till, but none of the rings had price tags of any sort. Reaching for his coinpurse, he pried it open and took a glance at the contents. Four Vlends and a small assortment of Dirrins and Gorrins were all that remained of his once considerable shopping budget, the money having flowed like water from between his outstretched hands as he paid for all of his various school supplies.

Before he could make a choice as to how many coins to leave on the counter, the choice was made for him, a soft yellow glow surrounding three of the Vlends and five of the other coins, lifting them from his pouch and transporting them softly over to the counter, where they fell with a soft clink.

“Good doing business with you,” Rowan called softly, slightly unnerved as he looked around surreptitiously for the dandelion mage. There was no one nearby, however, and so all Rowan could do was cast a regretful glance at the coins that now lay upon the counter. Rubbing the ring that now rested upon his finger for reassurance, he left the shop, the sunbeams dancing softly as the door swung closed behind him.

“Farewell, son of Leanan.”

A soft voice stirred the dust within the shop, the sunbeams collapsing like water that flowed upwards, disappearing into the floorboards above as the shop whirled, the interior shattering like a mirror as a new room appeared, the orderly shelves and floor full of customers a far cry from the empty shop Rowan had just departed.

Unaware of the happenings behind him, Rowan hummed a jaunty tune as he headed back for the main street. His purse was a little lighter than he would have liked, but still heavier than it could have been, and a certain stall-owner’s wares were calling his name. Salivating at the thought, he quickened his step. Apple pie waited for no man.