Whenever the shop bell chimed, Eda liked to guess: Had they come to trade with their coin or their soul?

She considered their newest customer as he stumbled in, shaking rain from his ­fur-lined cloak.

He hovered by the door uncertainly.

Wealthy, she decided. Skittish as a dog.

This was promising.

“Welcome to Shaws’ Antiques and Curiosities. Can I help you?”

The gentleman stared at her. Eda smiled back. She was used to smiling when she did not feel like it. Ben always said a kindly face was difficult to mistrust.

“I…” The stranger swallowed. He looked around the shop’s interior: the towering shelves that brushed the ceiling, the low chandelier, the assortment of rugs strewn across lacquered floorboards. Cabinets and brass globes and strange pots littered the edges of the room, leaving meager space to wander. If Lawrie were here, he’d enthusiastically regale the poor man with the origins of all their stock, right down to the hinges on the doors.

Eda tried again. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

The man pulled off his brimmed bonnet to reveal tidy chin‑length hair. “Is there anyone else here? Any other patrons?”

“No, sir. You’re our last customer of the day.”

Not that there’d been many. A snub-nosed woman spent an hour sniffing around their collection of antique tea sets, and a pair of academics purchased a tome from the Old Weslic collection. But no one else had crossed the threshold.

Eda suspected this man wasn’t interested in teapots or dusty books.

He approached the counter, splendid in buckled shoes and velvet doublet. His face was ­ nondescript—but the wild look in his eyes struck her with eerie familiarity. She’d seen it before, a hundred times in a hundred different faces.

“I need a mirror with no reflection.”