Free The Real Boy by Anne Ursu

something for you? Do you know the source of the hives?”
    Callie’s eyebrows knotted together. “Barrow ivy.”
    “I see. That will require something special. We’ll put something together for you. And,” he added, a smile creeping across his face, “where is Madame Mariel?”
    Callie’s hand flew to her neck. “Tending to the family,” she said. “The hives, you see.”
    “Ah,” said Caleb. “Yes, very dedicated, our Mariel. Let me see what I can make for you.”
    Caleb turned. Oscar watched. Callie was regarding the magician with the oddest expression, like he had words on his back she couldn’t quite read. It was how Oscar felt all the time.
    The front door opened then, and two City girls walked in, older girls about Wolf’s age—one with tumbling black curls, the other with silky straight hair, and both with faces that seemed sculpted. If Wolf had been here, he would have started panting.
    The girls parked themselves in the corner by some potions and were chirping back and forth about an appointment with Madame Lara, the soothsayer.
    Caleb tossed an “I’ll be back with you soon, Miss Callie” over his shoulder, then circled over to the girls. He greeted them, his voice now rich as well as enchanting. And soon both of them were gazing up at him, eyes sparkling like jewels in candlelight.
    “You went to see Madame Lara, eh? Did she have good fortunes for you both?”
    The girls giggled again. “Yes,” said Curly Hair, “but she sent us here for some love potion. She says we’ll need it to get our heart’s desires.”
    “Madame Lara is wise,” he said. “I can help you with that. But would you like something to help give you guidance in your endeavors, too? In case you need some direction when you cannot see Madame Lara?”
    Both girls gasped. “Soothsaying?”
    Caleb grinned. “Of a sort. Madame Lara is the one with powers. But I can help you tap into your own”—he tilted his head—“instincts.”
    “Yes,” said Curly.
    “For both of us,” said Silky Hair.
    “It’s a very special potion,” Caleb said, leaning in close, softening his voice like he was telling a marvelous secret, one only everyone else in the shop could hear. “I’ll have to prepare it.” He grinned again with one side of his mouth and then, without changing his gaze, called in the direction of the back room.
    “Oscar, are you there?”
    Oscar nodded. But nods communicate little when someone is not looking at you. He took a deep breath and stepped into the doorway. “I am,” he squeaked, keeping his eyes down.
    Caleb looked back. “Please bring up some cherry bark and belladonna,” he called. “I have a special item to make.”
    Oscar smashed his lips together. That wasn’t for Callie.
    “This is exciting,” Curly gushed. She turned toward her friend, and as she did so her velvet bag swung around and hit the shelf of dark glass vials behind her, full of carefully prepared tinctures. A whole flock of them came tumbling off, plummeting down, exploding as they hit the floor. Oscar put his hands to his ears and yelped. Crow appeared in the doorway, lantern eyes big, ears thrust forward.
    Splinters of glass flew everywhere, and puddles of thick liquid spread out to meet one another. Silky screeched and picked up her deep red skirts—now dotted with splashes of tincture of camellia. She looked at her friend, aghast.
    Curly Hair stepped back. “Really,” she said to Caleb, jewels dimming, “you should shelve these more carefully.”
    Callie made some kind of small noise then, but Oscar didn’t have time to parse it. He was too busy thinking that there was nothing wrong with the way the tinctures were shelved, as long as no one hit them with her purse. As he informed the girls, apparently, because they both snapped their heads to look at him.
    “Oscar!” exclaimed Caleb.
    Well, it was true.
    The girls’ eyes fell on Oscar, then darted to Crow, who was still standing as if she did not know whether to