The pirates celebrated until they made berth that evening, carousing on both decks every moment they got. By this point, Ambrose was used to their loud shanties and drunken dances, and knew when he could bow out and when he had to make an appearance. In the moments that he could disappear, he gravitated towards Eli, who could do nothing but smile at him.

“Is it sinking in yet?” he asked as Ambrose passed off his bottle of rum to Banneker. It didn’t matter—Dawn came by and pressed another one into his hand a moment later. As she cheered and swung off, Ambrose leaned on the railing of the ship.

“Is what sinking it?”

“The treasure. The end of your contract.” Eli leaned onto the wood next to him, still beaming. “The fact that we’re sailing to port right now with enough gold to buy you five potion shops.”

Ambrose smiled. Even if he walked down and checked the stores himself, it would still sound like a fable. “I’m afraid it hasn’t sunk in yet.”

But reality slowly came around as the Claw swayed into port overnight, letting him sleep off his lingering aches and wake up to a new and no longer impossible task—looking for a shop.

“I think you’ll like Scarsport.” Eli nodded to the town before them, all terraced cobblestone above a sparkling teal bay. “A pirate haven, to be sure, but quieter than the others. It’s beautiful, it’s out of the way, and there’s plenty of legitimate business alongside the shadier fare.” He nudged Ambrose. “Not that you wouldn’t fit in in a place like Tortuga, at this point.”

Ambrose grimaced. “I’ll take quiet and legitimate, thank you.” As the gangplank lowered to the dock, he held out his elbow. “Accompany me on land, captain?”

Eli kissed his cheek. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Their search led them to two streets—Rosemond and High Vine, the latter ironically being the lower of the two. They explored High Vine first, a cluster of quaint, modest little shops. These were the sort that Ambrose had envisioned for himself, at least to start out in, and one store at the end of the row was selling.

“Are you sure?” Eli asked quietly as he wandered about the place, his gaze lingering on the cramped stairways and narrow windows. “It’s a little small, don’t you think?”

Ambrose tilted his head side to side. “The shelves need some expanding, certainly. And I’d add more light in here, to make the space feel bigger. But…” He pointed into the workroom. “The stonework is nice, isn’t it?”

Eli took Ambrose’s hand and rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. “I may be biased, but I’m of the opinion that you deserve more than nice.”

“You are quite biased, and,” Ambrose opened his notebook, “I could make my gold stretch very far here. Look, with that treasure, I can more than manage that asking price—“

Eli gently set a hand over the notebook. “Why don’t we take a walk around Rosemond Street?”

Ambrose gave him a look. One glance up at Rosemond Street had told him there was nothing there for him. At least, nothing he could afford.

“It can’t hurt to look,” Eli insisted, and after taking the seller’s information, Ambrose followed him up the avenue.

Rosemond Street was indeed everything Eli had promised Scarsport was—beautiful, calm, and filled with simple, legitimate businesses. A tavern to the right, an inn to the left, artificers and apothecaries and milliners…

And in the middle of the row, its bay windows overlooking the ocean, was an empty shop, sprawling and filled to the brim with sunlight. The owner, a squat old woman with glasses covering half her face, was more than eager to show the two handsome men around and point out the various accoutrements of the place.

“Magic lanterns,” she said, tugging on Eli’s jacket as he admired the complex ironwork surrounding the crystals on the wall. “Got them installed last year. Excellent for reducing fire risk in a, what did you say it would be, darling?” She turned to Ambrose.

“Potion shop,” he said quietly, as if saying such a thing in the space would make it disappear.

“Potion shop, how wonderful!” She clapped. “I do love that, we’re sorely in need of one around here. The neighbors have been asking for a potioneer for a long time.”

“Oh, have they?” Eli slid a hand around Ambrose’s waist, and though he was keeping a calm front for the proprietor, Ambrose could see him almost vibrating with excitement. As soon as the woman ducked into another room, he grabbed Ambrose’s wrist and beamed. “Ames, look at this place.”

Ambrose tried to bite back a smile and failed. “I’m looking.”

“It’s perfect for you.”

“We haven’t looked at the numbers yet,” he said, then fumbled. “I mean—I haven’t looked at the numbers yet. I’m sure I can’t afford it—“

“Then let’s go find out.” As soon as the woman returned, Eli spun round and began talking to her. Ambrose swallowed and retreated into the shop’s back room, his hands suddenly shaking. He didn’t want to know the numbers, didn’t want to go through that sort of disappointment.

The crystals in the room flared on in a gentle yellow as soon as he entered, revealing a part of the shop that the woman had bragged about, but not yet displayed—a shell mosaic along the back wall, where a cauldron would go. Iridescent waves rolled across the stone, catching the light in a dozen different ways as Ambrose dragged a finger across the shells. What a lovely thing to admire while he brewed.

God, the price of this place was going to rip his heart out.

“Thank you!” Eli was saying cheerfully to the proprietor as Ambrose drew his hand away. “I’ll look over this with my associate.”

“Take your time!”

The bell above the door tinkled—Lord, even the bell sounded nice—as the woman shuffled out to greet a neighbor. Eli had Ambrose’s notebook set on the front counter, and was jotting something down.

After flipping a few pages and checking his work, a smile spread across his face again. Ambrose’s knees went weak.

“Does it include,” he almost lost the strength to ask, “does it include the flat above it? And—and all the initial fees? And my estimate for stocking the place, and—“

Eli spun the notebook to face him, and after taking a breath, Ambrose leaned forward to look.

“Oh, God,” he breathed. He could manage that price. He could actually manage that—

He burst into tears in the middle of the shop.

“Oh, my love.” Eli wrapped him in a hug, his arms the only thing keeping Ambrose standing up. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Me?” His tears sank into Eli’s hair. “This was— this was you. You, and Sherry, and Banneker, and—“

“Because none of us would be alive without you.” Eli drew back and wiped away a tear with his thumb. “Because we love you.”

The bell tinkled once more to admit the proprietor, and as sunlight cast Eli’s words all about the polished floors and soaring rafters, embedding their meaning into the very bones of the shop, Ambrose turned to the woman with a tearful smile. “I’ll take it.”