The lantern and lark

There are three things you should know about me. One, I am a witch. Two, I am a very bad one. Three, I turned the mayor of Willow Creek into a goose on my first day in town. I did not mean to. He had been kind enough to walk me to my new shop in the snow. I only wanted to say thank you with one tiny spell. "HONK!" He followed me down the street, flapping and furious. "I am sorry!" I called over my shoulder. "I will fix you tomorrow! I promise!" I did not blame him for being angry. A few minutes ago, he had been a very important man in a very nice coat. Now he had feathers. Under the funny part, I felt a little sick. What if I could not undo it? What if he stayed a goose forever because of me? A kind man had helped me, and I had paid him back with feathers. That was the story of my life. I tried to help, and something always went wrong. I stopped at the end of the road. My fingers were numb. The key in my pocket felt heavy. A crooked little shop stood in front of me. Its sign hung by one chain and creaked in the wind. It read: The Lantern and Lark. "This is it," I whispered. "My last chance." No one had ever wanted me. My old teacher once told me I was not a witch at all, only a girl who made messes. I had packed my bag and left that same night. Then a letter found me. A woman named Hazel Quinn, someone I had never met, had left me this shop. I still did not understand why. I took the key from my pocket. Before I could turn it, the lock clicked by itself. The door swung open. Warm air rushed out. It smelled like cinnamon and old books and rain on a window. I stepped inside slowly, as if I might wake something. Shelves climbed to the ceiling. They were full of jars, candles, and tiny glowing bottles. A fire crackled in a little stone fireplace. In the corner stood a broom with its bristles puffed up, as if it were annoyed with me already. On the counter sat a fat brown teapot. I let out a breath. It was the loveliest place I had ever seen. "You are late," said the teapot. I screamed. "Oh, do not scream. It is rude." The teapot shook its lid. "I am Pickle. That grumpy thing is Grump, the broom. Welcome home." "You talk!" "So do you. Mostly nonsense." "HONK!" The goose marched in behind me and shook snow off his wings. "And who is this?" asked Pickle. "The mayor," I said. "It is a long story." "Hazel said you would be a disaster." My heart sank. "You knew Hazel?" "Everyone knew Hazel." "Then why did she leave this shop to me? She never even met me." Pickle was quiet for a moment. Steam curled from its spout. "She said you were kind," it said at last. "She said kind was rare." I did not know what to say. Nobody had ever called me kind. They called me clumsy. They called me trouble. I looked down at my boots. "I think she made a mistake." "Hazel never made mistakes." Pickle poured itself a cup of tea, which was a very strange thing to watch. "Sit. You look tired." Grump swept a path across the floor to a soft old chair by the fire. I stared at it. "Is that for me?" The broom rattled, as if to say, Obviously. I sat. The chair was warm, as if someone had been waiting in it. The goose settled on the rug beside me with a sigh. For the first time in a long time, my shoulders came down from around my ears. "You can stay as long as you like," Pickle said gently. I swallowed. "Nobody has ever said that to me." "Well. Now somebody has." I tried to turn the mayor back that evening, just once. There was a puff of smoke. When it cleared, he was still a goose, but now he wore a tiny hat. "Better," said Pickle. "He looks official." I laughed so hard I cried a little. It felt good. Later, the wind began to howl. Snow beat against the windows. I stood to light the old lantern that hung by the door. As soon as the match touched the wick, the flame flared bright blue. A strange warmth ran up my fingers and settled in my palms, as if the flame knew me. I pulled my hand back and stared at it. Nothing looked different. "That is not good," Pickle said slowly. "That lantern only does that when..." The door burst open. Snow blew across the floor. A tall man stood on the step. He wore a long dark coat, and frost shone in his black hair. His ears were pointed. His eyes were silver, and they were looking straight at me. "Who owns this shop?" His voice was cold as winter. My mouth went dry. "I do. Please close the door. You are letting out the heat." He stepped inside. The door shut behind him without a sound. "My name is Jasper Thorne. This shop stands on fae land." "It stands on Maple Street." "It stands on land my people owned for a thousand years." He looked at me as if I were a stain on his boot. "You have until winter ends to leave." "Leave? I only just got here!" "Then you have until winter ends to unpack." "You cannot do that!" "I just did." I stood up. My knees were shaking, but I did not sit back down. This was the first place that had ever wanted me. I was not giving it up to a rude stranger. "Do you always scare people in their own shops?" "Only the ones who break things." He glanced down at the goose. "Is that the mayor?" I blinked. "How do you know?" "He is wearing the chain." I looked. He was. Jasper turned to leave. He took hold of the door and pulled. It did not open.