Six

The First Heist

Fin had been nine years old the first time she’d found the tea shop. It had taken her a year. Mostly because she wasn’t looking for it.

It had been a cold autumn day. Mist clung to the ground and fog to the trees, and the grass was stiff with late-morning frost. Fin wore her heaviest coat; it was secondhand, the fabric thick and rough. It looked like some kind of army coat, and when Fin put it on, she imagined herself as a spy or warrior. Someone fearless.

Eddie had asked her for a favor—Aunt Myrtle had some books that needed to be returned to a friend. He’d been sidetracked rescuing a lizard caught by the neighbor’s cat. So Fin followed Main Street away from the big house, the paper bag full of borrowed books tucked against her chest. She walked by Mrs. Liu’s home; the older woman was sweeping redwood needles from her porch. Mayor Downer was on the other side of the street, surreptitiously glancing around before taking a ruler to someone’s lawn, measuring the height of the grass. She’d been sending out notices to townspeople who had overgrown lawns, but most of those official-looking letters ended up in the trash. A few ravens sat on a roof, watching sunlight glint off the ruler.

Even after a year, Fin still didn’t feel like she entirely belonged in Aldermere. She loved it—the magic and the strangeness—but she still felt slightly out of step with all of the town’s other residents. She glanced up at the street signs.

Oak Street. That was where Eddie had said to go. That’s where Talia’s tea shop is right now.

Talia. The moment Fin thought the name, it was as if a heat wave rose from the pavement. The air rippled, and then she saw it for the first time.

The sign for Talia’s tea shop was only a few feet away.

It was true, then. The tea shop was magical.

Fin had pushed open the wooden gate and walked up to the front door. There was the usual flutter of fear when she knocked at the door, but this time it was accompanied by a little eagerness too. She liked uncovering mysteries, and this tea shop promised all kinds of mystery.

“Come in.”

The tea shop looked like an old apothecary’s shop, full of old jars and vintage furniture. Fin tiptoed inside, the bag of books clutched tightly in her arms. “Hello?” she had said tentatively.

A woman behind the counter had gray hair and a stripe of red-orange lipstick across her mouth. She must have been Talia. When she saw Fin, she nodded. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” said Fin. “I—I brought these.” She shoved the bag onto the counter and Talia reached inside, pulling out a paperback.

“Oh, Myrtle sent you,” Talia said a little more warmly. “Are you her niece?”

“My mom and I moved here a year ago.”

Talia nodded. “And why did you come in here?”

Fin frowned at the bag of books. “My cousin Eddie—Aunt Myrtle asked him to deliver these, but he was busy—”

“I didn’t ask why Edward didn’t come in here,” said Talia. There was no sharpness to her words, but Fin felt scolded nonetheless. “I asked why you did.”

Fin shrugged, unsure of what else to do. “I—he asked me to.”

Talia set the book down, then leaned over the counter. Her eyes were bright and keen, like those of a bird. “I’m going to tell you a secret. No one comes in here unless they have a reason. And no one stays away unless there’s a reason. There’s always a reason.” The way she said it reminded Fin of how Mom had uttered the rules of Aldermere.

“Is it true?” asked Fin abruptly. Before she could lose her nerve. “That these teas are magic?”

Talia glanced over her shoulder at the hand-labeled mason jars full of dried flowers and teas. “I suppose that depends on your definition of the word.” The way she spoke was matter-of-fact, like this was a real conversation instead of an adult indulging a kid. It made Fin feel a little bit braver.

“I heard,” said Fin haltingly. “I heard that these teas . . . can change a person.”

“Is that what you want?” asked Talia. “To change?”

“I want . . . ,” Fin started, then faltered.

The truth was, Fin wanted a lot of things. She wanted more books; she wanted a certain shirt she’d seen another girl wearing at school; she wanted time to herself; she wanted to be able to ask for things without wondering if she was doing something wrong; she wanted Mom to be home more; she wanted—

“Everything to stop being scary,” she finally said.

Talia nodded. Then she reached for one of the mason jars. Fin watched, unsure but fascinated, as Talia measured out a scoop of brown-leafed tea. A heavy mortar and pestle sat atop the counter. It was made of some pink crystal—rose quartz, she would later learn. As she worked, Talia spoke. “I cannot make the world less scary,” she said. She talked like one of Fin’s teachers, as if she was imparting a lesson. “But according to some, fear is rooted in the self. I can help with that.” She spooned the tea into the mortar. “But there’s a cost. There’s always a cost.”

Fin wilted. “I don’t have any money.” Mom didn’t make enough to give Fin an allowance like Eddie had—and Fin had stopped asking for one, because it made Mom look sad.

“You can’t trade money for magic,” said Talia. “Not real magic, anyway.”

“Then what does it cost?” asked Fin, confused.

Talia touched the edge of the mortar. “A memory.”

That couldn’t be right. “Memories?”

“A single memory,” Talia corrected. “You get to choose. But you should know, the bigger and more important the memory, the longer the magic will last. You give me the memory of you picking weeds out of your aunt’s garden, and the magic will last maybe two or three days. But if you give me the memory of an important day, the magic can last as long as a month.”

“I get to choose?” said Fin. That didn’t seem so bad. Everyone had things they wanted to forget. For a moment, that memory of Mom and Aunt Myrtle discussing Fin flashed into her mind—Mom saying that they’d moved because a parent saw something at Fin’s school. She could forget that, if she wanted. But no, she decided. As much as that memory prickled at her, she had to hold on to it. If there was some great flaw inside Fin, something that drove Mom to move again and again, then Fin should know. It was the only way she could try and change herself.

“Yes, you will choose.” Talia’s voice was a little warmer, more understanding. “Magic isn’t something you can force upon a person. Pick your memory, and the magic will do the rest.”

Fin hadn’t chosen many things in her life—a few outfits, that succulent she’d owned in Modesto, what used books she picked up at the store. But big decisions—those were out of her hands.

Again, her mother’s words had come back to her.

“Don’t look for the tea shop.”

Mom had told her not to do this. But Mom was normal; she didn’t understand.

“What do I do?” Fin had asked.

“Whisper the memory into the mortar,” said Talia. “I won’t listen. I don’t need to know. Then I’ll brew the tea and you will drink it here.”

Fin had been too short to reach the counter. She stepped atop a three-legged stool, forearms flat against the counter, as she stared down into the mortar. The tea leaves were curling and brown and they smelled like spice. Fin closed her eyes and whispered a memory.

She didn’t know which one. It was gone the moment it passed her lips.

The tea had tasted a little bitter and sweet. Talia asked her if she wanted milk, but Fin refused it. She drank it down in three scalding gulps, the way she’d first dunked her head beneath water at a swimming lesson. Best to get it over with.

The tea warmed her from the inside out. She felt lighter, as if she’d dropped something she hadn’t realized she was carrying. She tried to think of something that scared her.

Goldfish. Big, bulgy-eyed goldfish. She wasn’t even sure why she was scared of them, but she was.

When she conjured the image, there was no accompanying rush of nerves. Her heartbeat didn’t quicken, her fingers didn’t twitch. It was just a thought—and for once, it held no sway over her.

She walked home, her steps light and chin held high.

Fin had been so absorbed in her own happiness that she barely noticed Mayor Downer shouting at a raven, a ruler clutched in its beak.

Friday after school, Fin sat at the table in the big house and listened to Aunt Myrtle bustling around upstairs. She was packing a bag for her trip to Eureka, telling Eddie that he needed to remember to water the pitcher plants she kept on the kitchen windowsill. Mom had gone to her night shift at the inn. Fin worked on math homework; it kept her out of the whirlwind of packing and reminders. Finally Aunt Myrtle kissed Eddie goodbye, waved at Fin, and drove away in her rusty Ford Fiesta. She would be back on Sunday, she told them both. And Mom would return from work early Saturday morning, probably to sleep for most of the day. Dinner was leftover mac and cheese made with strange white cheeses and homemade egg noodles.

Eddie went out into the yard while Fin remained in the big house, pretending to look through the bookshelves for at least half an hour. That seemed like enough time. Then Fin pulled on her heavy army coat and stepped quietly out the front door. The crescent-moon key was in her jeans pocket, but she still touched it to be sure it was there. She glanced from side to side, then hurried across the yard.

“What are you doing?” asked Eddie.

Fin jumped.

Eddie stood under the shadow of a redwood. He had a small blue-bellied lizard carefully held in one hand. The lizard looked rather resigned about the whole thing.

“Nothing,” she said.

Eddie raised both brows. He’d spent hours trying the one-brow thing—Fin knew because she had once watched him when their Wi-Fi was down. But he’d never managed. So two-brow incredulity it was. “Where are you going?” he said.

“Nowhere,” was her reply.

Eddie looked at Fin. So did the lizard.

“All right,” he said.

Fin began walking. Eddie followed after.

She stopped. So did he.

“What?” she said.

“You’re doing nothing at nowhere,” he said. “Sounds like fun. I’m coming.”

She glared at him. Fin didn’t make a habit of glaring, but Eddie was safe. Eddie was family. And besides, she knew the glare would have absolutely no impact on him. Disapproval slid off him like oil across a hot skillet.

“Come on,” he said. “With Mom off to Eureka and your mom working, I’ve got no one to talk to. I promise whatever this is, I won’t tell anyone.”

She considered. Eddie liked to talk, which meant he wasn’t ideal for keeping secrets. But she also didn’t know how to leave him behind.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m going to the tea shop.” She began walking again, and Eddie fell in step beside her, the lizard still in hand.

“You want to see if Talia’s back? She isn’t. We would’ve heard.”

It was true. The only force in Aldermere as powerful as magic was gossip.

“No,” said Fin, and hesitated. “I still have her spare key and—and I never got the tea I need to help me with the science fair.”

Eddie blinked. “You’re going to steal it?” He sounded more impressed than reproachful.

“No,” said Fin. “I’m going to pay for it. But—I mean, I’ve seen Talia prepare it before. I’ll just do it myself, take it home, and drink it.”

“Are you sure you can do that?”

“Talia sends tea home with people,” Fin said, a little defensively. They walked down Main Street, past the Ack and Mrs. Brackenbury’s porch. Mr. Bull was napping on the front steps. “I know that Mr. Madeira keeps some on hand for his wife.” Fin had heard other people say that Mrs. Madeira had dementia. It wasn’t something medicine could fix, so Mr. Madeira found a different solution. It was whispered, far away from the inn’s kitchen, that Mr. Madeira was trading some of his own memories so his wife could keep hers. “And Mrs. Liu has some for her arthritis. Talia probably never sent any home with me because she knew that Mom doesn’t like the tea shop.”

Eddie absentmindedly wiped dirt from his fingers onto his already-muddy jeans. “I never really talk to Talia much. I mean—I don’t even know when you started going to the tea shop.”

“Yes, you do,” said Fin, raising her eyebrows. “You sent me there.”

“I did not,” said Eddie. Then he appeared to think it over. “Did I?”

“It was the time Aunt Myrtle wanted you to return romance books to Talia but you had a lizard rescue.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said brightening. “The neighbor’s cat, Tobin, got ahold of him.” The lizard currently in Eddie’s hand glanced around dejectedly.

The day was a bright one, the autumn sunlight streaming through the overhead foliage and illuminating dust motes and pollen. A few cars were parked outside Brewed Awakening—Fin glimpsed a car full of camera equipment and frowned. Likely a Bigfoot hunter or one of the other cryptid chasers. They were more worrisome than the hikers. They’d also probably find that locals would be less than friendly once they started trying to hunt for monsters in the woods.

Fin veered left onto a gravel side street, and the tea shop came into view. It looked as it always did: an old Victorian house, with peeling paint along the eaves and overgrown ferns at the porch. Fin ducked into the shadows and picked her way through the ferns to the back door. Fear tingled up her fingertips and wrists, a fluttering sensation that made her light-headed. She felt as though the whole world was watching, waiting for her to break the rules.

There was a moment of quiet. Fin looked at the door, then at Eddie. Eddie had one hand in his pocket, and the other held the blue-bellied lizard. “You really going to do this?” he asked.

Fin closed her eyes. She thought of words like “counselor” and “disorder.” She thought of Aunt Myrtle quietly telling Mom that Mom wasn’t the person she hadn’t wanted to see again. She thought of all the little sharp edges inside her, the ones she could never make fit, no matter how hard she tried.

The name plate on the door was small and metal. TEA SHOP, it read.

Fin slid the key into the doorknob and twisted it.

The door opened easily, and they stepped in.

The interior was dark, and it took a few seconds for Fin’s eyes to adjust. The scents of Ceylon and old wood settled her, and she breathed a little easier. Things would be better soon. She would be better soon.

Eddie shut the door behind them. It was dimmer than Fin remembered, and the shadows made everything more ominous. Fin didn’t dare turn on a light, just in case someone saw.

“I’ve never done this before,” said Eddie. “What does Talia usually do?”

Fin thought about it. “She would get the tea down, put it in that mortar, I’d whisper in the memory, then she’d put everything into a tea ball. I’d drink it here, then I’d go home.”

The shelves behind the counter were stacked full of mason jars, each hand labeled with a different blend. Fin’s gaze slid past the sunset orange of rooibos, an Earl Grey studded with lavender, delicate blossoms of chamomile, curling peppermint leaves, dried fruits, rich brown mattes, and stalks of lemongrass. Some of the jars held desiccated honeycomb, and one even contained a spider that might or might not have been alive.

Fin ignored them all, her attention on a jar of Ceylon. It was what Talia always used for her tea, and Fin wasn’t sure if the blend made a difference. She glanced around; she’d never been on this side of the bar before. There were shelves full of random objects: scissors, wooden boxes, a metal pail with FOR ASHES scribbled across the front, balls of twine, a single knitting needle, and finally a wooden footstool. Fin dragged the stool over, then rose on tiptoe, fingers straining for the jar.

“You want me to grab it?” asked Eddie.

“You’re shorter than me,” said Fin, arm burning as she reached even higher. “Don’t think you could—ah!”

Her fingers nudged the jar and it fell forward, tumbling end over end. Fin caught it—barely. She clutched it to her stomach, heart thudding in her chest. When she could breathe properly again, she stepped down from the stool and set the jar on the counter. She measured out the tea—enough to fit into a steel tea ball, she hoped. When Talia did this, it all looked effortless.

Eddie tucked the lizard into his shirt pocket. His wiry arms were used to reaching for tree branches and rocks, and his palms were creased with calluses. He picked up the jar and managed to slide it back into place with a well-placed jump.

“Can you stand over by the chair or something?” said Fin.

Eddie frowned at her. “Why?”

“Because it’s awkward if someone’s listening,” said Fin.

“Tell you what,” said Eddie. “I’ll stand guard by the back door. Just in case.”

Fin waited until he was gone. The memory wouldn’t have to be a very big memory—just enough to last until the science fair.

She leaned over the mortar and whispered to the crystal.

The memory was lost the moment it passed her lips.

She straightened, relieved as if she had set down a heavy load. There were a few tea balls beneath the counter and she reached for one.

Something moved outside the window. A shadow fell across the dirty glass.

Her heartbeat picked up, fear making her fingers unsteady. Someone was outside. If they peered through the dusty windows, they might see her.

She scooped the tea into a stainless-steel ball, scattering Ceylon leaves across the counter in her haste. She snapped the ball shut and crammed it into her pocket, then rushed toward the back room. Eddie leaned against the frame of the door, the lizard peering out of his shirt pocket. Fin hissed at him, “There’s someone out there. We need to go now.”

Together, they rushed outside. Eddie held a hand over his pocket as he went down the porch stairs, and Fin pulled the door shut behind them. She used the crescent-moon key to lock it, then stepped away.

“This way,” Eddie whispered, and hurried behind the neighboring house.

Some of the homes were tangled in the redwood forest; the trees loomed high overhead and the undergrowth crept in around the buildings’ foundations. The foliage would hide Eddie and Fin from view, but vetch and long grasses dragged at their arms and legs. It felt as if the very forest was trying to get her caught. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and the silver tea ball in her pocket was a heavy weight.

Eddie led them unerringly through the edges of the forest, weaving in and around a few older trees, their roots protruding through the dirt like half-submerged fingers. Before she had lived in Aldermere, Fin had never realized the way the redwoods shaped the world around them. They could block out enough light to cast the world into shadow and churn the ground into new shapes—and when they fell, they created a whole new landscape.

Eddie turned right, and then they came out along the sidewalk. Fin glanced up and down the street, but there was no one. Only Mrs. Brackenbury a few houses down, sitting on her porch swing with her ancient bulldog napping at her feet.

“You sure you saw someone?” asked Eddie, frowning.

Fin remembered the shape of the shadow—narrow shoulders and long head. “Yeah. Someone was by the front windows. I hope they didn’t see me inside.” She thought of word getting back to Mom and shivered, despite the warm sunlight.

“Probably just someone trying to see if Talia’s back,” Eddie said dismissively. “Hopefully they won’t try to force open the locked door. Having the tea shop vanish now would be . . . bad.”

Fin realized what he was thinking.

Talia lived in the tea shop. So when the tea shop vanished, Talia was always inside it. She could step outside, take note of her new address, and tell someone. Word would trickle out until people could find it again.

But if the tea shop vanished with no one inside—

“Would anyone ever find it again?” she asked. “If Talia wasn’t in the tea shop when it vanished?”

Eddie shrugged. “No idea. It’s never happened before.”

A chill unfurled somewhere behind her belly, a niggling dread that she tried to push away.

“Come on,” said Eddie. “We should get home before Mrs. Brackenbury asks us in for cookies or something. I heard she’s telling anyone who stands still about the mugging, and while she’s nice, Mr. Bull always drools on my shoes.”

Fin nodded and followed as he turned down the street. She glanced over her shoulder one last time as they rounded the corner.

The tea shop stood there, as solid and still as ever. Windows opaque and dark.

No sign of anyone at all.