“Greta!” Magnus dropped to kneel beside her on the floor.
“I didn’t mean to break it—I’m sorry,” Greta breathed, head bowed as she cradled her injured hand.
“It’s all right, it was a cracked vase Aunt Rosa gave me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have used it.” He looked to the door. “I could fetch my aunt—”
“It’s but a small cut,” Greta lied, biting her lip to subdue the pain. “I’m fine.”
Magnus stared fretfully at the blood oozing from her fingers. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.” Greta’s reply was curt, but she felt a little short of breath. The tearing of cloth met her ears, and her eyes widened as Magnus lifted a torn strip from his shirt. She froze as he turned her bloodied hand over in his, dabbing carefully at the cut with some cotton he’d pulled from the table. She found herself studying his features as a lock of dark hair fell over his eyes as he wrapped the strip of cloth around her wound.
“There.” He pulled the fabric around her hand and made a knot. “Is that too tight?”
She inhaled sharply, but not out of pain. She felt her heart hammer as his warm golden eyes took her in. “Greta?”
All at once, she came to her senses. She pulled her hand from his and cradled her wrist. Scrambling to her feet, she murmured, “I—I have to go.”
Once she’d reached her bedchamber, she fastened the door behind her, leaning against it. Though she’d claimed to feel no pain, her entire hand smarted from the wound. Carefully, she unwrapped the cloth from her hand, but realized the wound did require a bandage if it was to heal. Yet she didn’t want to have to look at the cloth and remember how tenderly he’d cared for her.
Calla hopped onto the windowsill with a soft meow. “Greta, you’re back.” Her eyes flicked to Greta’s bandaged hand. “And you’re hurt!”
“It’s nothing, Calla.” Greta dismissed the kitten softly. The pain, however, still bothered her. She took a deep breath and made her decision. Holding her hand aloft, she unwound the bandage once more. Stop the bleeding, she commanded, eyes closed and breathing slowed. Heal the wound.
After several moments of silence, she gave a start. The familiar tingle of magic hadn’t spread from her heart. She opened her eyes. The wound, the blood, all of it was still there.
“Greta, your magic—” Calla began in a worried tone.
Greta scoffed, weaving the cloth around her hand again. “Gone, I suppose.” She stepped lightly to the window, seating herself beside Calla. “It’s all right. This is what I wanted, after all.” Seeing Calla’s crestfallen look, Greta forced a smile and stroked the kitten’s head with her good hand. “Besides, I used the last of my magic on you. I’ll always have you to talk to. That makes me happy.”
Calla relaxed and began to purr as Greta gently stroked her and whispered soothing words. When Calla was fast asleep on her lap, Greta cast her eyes to the rooftops outside. The wind picked up and several leaves fell from the tree just outside her window. “This is what I wanted,” she repeated firmly.
♛
The following morning when Greta came down to help Rosa in the kitchen, the elderly woman noticed Greta’s bandage almost immediately.
“Child!” Rosa clucked her tongue worriedly. “You shouldn’t work today.”
Greta’s brows lifted as she stammered, “But I’m fine, Frau Rosa!”
Rosa’s gentle expression turned stern. “Now, how do you expect to tend the store with your hand like that? You work far too hard, love. First, I’ll see to giving that wound a proper dressing, and then I want you to rest. Perhaps take a stroll around the village. The fresh air will do you and that hand some good.”
Seeing the severe look in Rosa’s gaze, Greta relented, following the elderly woman into the washroom. “How ever did you cut yourself in the first place?”
All at once, the events from the night before flashed in Greta’s mind—Magnus’ chamber, his paintings, his voice, his eyes… She shook her head. “I picked up a broken piece of glass.”
“You should have come right to me,” Rosa went on, pouring warm water over Greta’s hand. “Magnus is no doctor.”
Greta’s eyes lifted sharply. “Magnus?”
Rosa smiled knowingly. “This bandage is from the shirt I mended for him last week. I wonder if I would be able to mend it now?”
“Oh.” Greta’s face suddenly felt very warm.
“There.” Rosa tied off the clean dressing. “Off with you, then.”
Greta was about to follow her out of the washroom when her eyes cast back to the strip of Magnus’ shirt that hadn’t been sullied by the wound. Unbidden, his smiling eyes flashed through her mind. She tucked the strip of cloth into the waist of her skirt, dismissing her thoughts and hurrying out the door.
The brisk autumn wind blew her hair and her cloak about during her stroll through the cobbled streets. Try as she might, she couldn’t calm her racing thoughts—or her heart.
Her steps slowed as she saw Magnus in the shop across the way. She took a deep breath and strode quickly, hoping he wouldn’t take notice.
“Greta!” Magnus waved and hastened his steps to catch up with her.
Greta cleared her throat, pulling her cloak closer to her body. “What brings you out this early?”
“Just taking a break from my lessons.” Magnus fell into step beside her, and Greta tried to ignore the mixture of emotions she was feeling when his arm bumped hers.
“How are you feeling?”
Reddening, Greta stared at him wordlessly.
Magnus lifted an eyebrow. “Is your hand any better?”
Feeling foolish, Greta dropped her gaze. “It’s fine.”
“It may feel better with some sweets,” Magnus said with a small smile, pulling a bar of chocolate from his coat. His eyes sparkled with merriment as he stared at her.
Heart hammering, Greta wanted to turn and run from his watchful gaze, but her incurable love of sweets won out. He broke off a few squares and dropped them into her open palm. As the chocolate passed her lips and melted on her tongue, she felt her mood calm. “Thank you.”
Magnus’ face broke into a grin. “You’re very welcome.” They walked along in amiable silence, the dried leaves crunching beneath their boots. “Has Aunt Rosa sent you on an errand?”
Greta shook her head. “No. She told me to take the day to rest my hand.”
“I can’t think of anyone who deserves some respite more than you, Greta,” Magnus said seriously. “You work very hard.”
Greta smiled at his praise. “Well, there’s always work to be done.” She found herself relaxing. “What are you studying today, Magnus?” But he had stepped ahead of her, staring at the balcony of the shop next door. Greta followed his stare to see that a flower pot was inching over the edge. She saw with panic that Frau Minna was sweeping the stoop below.
“Look out—”
Magnus darted under the line of the flower pot and pushed Minna out of the way. “What in the world…?” Minna began to cry out, until the deafening crash hit her ears. Her eyes widened as she stared at the wreckage on the street. “Why, young man—that pot could have—and you…”
Greta watched for a moment as Magnus spoke with Minna before she lifted her eyes to Ludwig, who was perched on the florist shop’s roof watching the scene unfold. She set her jaw and hurried to the side of the shop and up the winding staircase.
“Ludwig!” she cried when she reached the roof, storming toward him. “You could have killed that poor woman. What in the world were you thinking?”
Ludwig tucked his knobby knees under his pointed chin. “Come now, Greta, just having a bit of fun. It’s been days since I’ve played with the mortals.”
Greta could practically feel her temperature rise as she seethed with anger and disbelief. “Your cruel stunts aren’t what anyone would call playing. Mortals can’t heal themselves the way goblins can!”
Ludwig’s bright orange eyes narrowed as they settled on Greta. “Why didn’t you stop me
, then? Had to let that uppity mortal do it for you. Too good to use your magic?”
She inhaled sharply, a weak and powerless feeling washing over her. Nevertheless, she stood her ground, lifting a finger threateningly at him. “Don’t let me catch you doing that again.”
Ludwig eyed her bandaged hand. “And too proud to even mend your wound? If you bleed like ’em, suddenly you’re one of ’em?”
Greta made a disgruntled sound, turning her back on the goblin to watch Magnus speak with Frau Minna in the street below. She smiled to herself, grateful Magnus had noticed the flower pot when he had.
“Maybe bleeding isn’t the only way you want to be like the mortals,” Ludwig said shrewdly as he watched Greta. “No wonder our little Greta doesn’t go with goblin lads. She wants the mortal boy to love her, so she tries to pretend she’s not different from them.”
Feeling her cheeks grow hot at his accusation, Greta tried to form a quick retort to deny his words.
“Greta,” Magnus called as he hurried up the wooden stairs.
Greta felt her heart give a funny leap at his voice, and she hoped with all of her might that he hadn’t heard what Ludwig had said.
When he reached the rooftop, Magnus approached Greta. “What happened? I was wondering where you’d run off to…” He paused, his eyes landing on Ludwig. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize you weren’t alone.” He held out his hand to Ludwig. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, good sir. My name is Magnus.”
Ludwig recoiled, hopping off of the ledge and adjusting his long silken sleeves. “The—the mortal can see me?”
Greta scowled at him, but Magnus chuckled amicably. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I can. I’ve seen you around quite often, but never had the chance to introduce myself.” His hand was still extended to Ludwig in greeting. The goblin stared into Magnus’ golden eyes, frowning thoughtfully. Grudgingly, he clasped Magnus’ hand for a long moment, before recoiling as if he’d been burned.
Magnus cocked his head, clearly puzzled. “I promise being mortal isn’t catching,” he teased in a light tone.
After staring at Magnus several moments longer, Ludwig at last turned his pensive gaze toward Greta. “You’re even blinder than I thought,” he whispered hoarsely, turning on his heel and disappearing into thin air. What he had meant, Greta hadn’t the faintest idea. Magnus wasn’t blind to magic like other mortals, as he had clearly just proved.
“He seems… interesting,” Magnus remarked with a chuckle. “Does he prefer to stay perched on rooftops to watch us mortals below?”
“That and drop flowerpots on their heads,” Greta replied, forgetting the odd exchange they’d just had for a moment.
“That was him?” His features paled as he realized the seriousness of the situation.
“Yes, Magnus. Ludwig could have killed Frau Minna,” Greta said severely. “This is why I don’t like to associate with other goblins. They use their powers to make mortals suffer.”
“While I see your point of view, Greta, I know not all goblins are like that,” Magnus replied gently.
The wind picked up, strands of black and green hair whipping in Greta’s face. “How do you know?”
Magnus gave a soft smile, lifting his hand to push the hair behind her pointed ear. “Because you’re not.”
Heart hammering, Greta followed Magnus down the staircase, Ludwig’s words ringing in her ears.
♛
The following days were spent avoiding Magnus at every turn. Her hand healed, but slowly, and a knot formed in Greta’s stomach as she thought about what it all meant—her magic, Magnus, what Ludwig had said—but she tried to dismiss those ridiculous thoughts. She’d renounced her heritage long ago; the butterflies and the racing heart had everything to do with losing her magic and nothing to do with Magnus.
Due to her injury, Rosa had encouraged her to refrain from work as much as possible to speed the healing along, which gave Greta bounds of free time she was unaccustomed to. Magnus had seemed eager to accompany her when she went on walks in the village, so she’d taken to spending her afternoons and evenings holed up in her bedchamber with nothing but Calla and her swirling emotions to keep her company.
“Why do you look so sad, Greta?” Calla asked her one evening after Greta reached the staircase landing on the way to her bedchamber.
Greta stared down the hall at Magnus’ closed door. The lantern light shone through the keyhole and under the doorjamb, showing he was there. “I’m just tired, little one.” A part of her longed to draw nearer, to—
Greta’s heart leapt when his door opened, and he poked his head into the hallway. “I stopped in Frau Nina’s sweet shop on my way home,” he began, not looking Greta in the eye, “And I realize I purchased far too many chocolates. Would you be interested in some?”
It was a feeble attempt at conversation that Greta saw through straight away. Yet she couldn’t bear the thought of another evening spent holed up in her bedchamber. She cursed the fact that Magnus was privy to her love of sweets. “I suppose I might.” She tried to keep her voice nonchalant as she approached his chamber.
Greta slowly unwrapped the chocolate Magnus handed her as she stood before his easel, trying to ignore her thrumming heart. As she let the sweet treat melt in her mouth, she stared at the village scene. “You finished the candy maker’s shop!” she exclaimed, turning to Magnus with a smile.
Magnus smiled back, but he seemed different, somehow. For the first time, Greta noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “Have you been sleeping well?” she asked.
Magnus shrugged, perching on the stool. “I really wanted to finish this piece, but I haven’t cracked it yet.”
“Why do you work so hard on something like this?” Greta wondered, genuinely confused. Wasn’t art just meant to be leisure? She’d always thought him work-shy, but the hours he’d spent on these paintings showed otherwise.
“Because it makes people happy,” Magnus replied simply. “Beauty… art… can breathe magic into life. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s frightening.” He rose to his feet, stepping closer to Greta. “When my father died, my mother was so sad every day. She tried hard to be strong for me, but it was as if a part of her had died with him.” He lifted the gold pocket watch at his belt and ran his thumb over the face, and Greta realized it must have belonged to his late father. “My father painted in his spare time and taught me to paint when I was a child. At first when he passed away, I wanted to throw away all of my paintings, because the thought of painting without Papa hurt so much.”
“What stopped you?” Greta asked softly.
“My mother loved his paintings,” Magnus said, lifting his eyes to look at Greta. “She loved my paintings. I couldn’t take them from her. When I finally decided to take it up again, my mother began to smile again. Each time I painted something for her, it made her happy that I was carrying on his legacy, and we both felt closer to him. Whenever I would feel sad about my father, I would just envision us side by side, working on a canvas.” Magnus smiled, his honey eyes lighting up. “It was… magical.”
Greta exhaled, thinking about her own magic, or lack thereof. “Magical…”
“Your magic is also a wonderful gift, Greta,” Magnus whispered, staring into her eyes. “Like giving Calla the power to speak. You bring magic into mortals’ gray and dull lives. You shouldn’t hide who you are because some goblins squander their gift.” He shook his head, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “That’s… that’s life, isn’t it? Mortal or goblin. You choose how to make use of your time—and your talents.”
Greta found his words resonated with her. Maybe she’d been wrong—about her magic, other goblins, Magnus—everything. Yet the stubborn streak in her made it irresistible to add, “I understand that your paintings and schoolwork are important to you, but family should be, too. Why don’t you repay Frau Rosa and Herr Ernst’s kindness by offering more help?”
Magnus chuckled incredulously, lifting his eyebrows. “You never give u
p, do you? But you’re right. I don’t want to take advantage of them.”
Greta smiled, turning her attention back to the village scene. Staring at the painted version of herself, taking in her tiny goblin features, she gave a shuddering sigh.
“Are you all right?” Magnus asked in alarm.
Greta bit her lip. “I just have a lot weighing on my mind,” she whispered. “That’s all.”
“You work too hard,” Magnus said seriously. “You’ve wound yourself too tight with everything you do—you need something to relieve the tension. Painting always calms me—have you ever tried it?”
She shook her head wordlessly, taking the paintbrush Magnus offered her and positioning herself in front of the canvas.
“Painting isn’t really all that hard,” he said softly, stepping closer to her so that he was looking over her shoulder. “I just watch the world as it goes by, and let it flow through my brush.” His hand curled around hers, moving the brush across a blank part of the canvas.
Greta turned, her face so close to his, she became lightheaded. Eyes locked with his, she vaguely felt a tingling in her fingers as she distractedly moved the brush against the surface.
“You’ve got a knack for that,” Magnus said with admiration. Greta finally tore her eyes from him to look back at the canvas. Where she thought she’d made a simple brush stroke, a detailed rooftop with curvature had appeared. Did I…?
“Keep going,” Magnus urged, withdrawing his hand from hers to rest it on her shoulder. “Add whatever you’d like.”
Greta frowned, wondering what she—a complete novice—could add to the beautiful painting. She cocked her head as she studied one of the painted shops. “There should be flower boxes here.” She gestured to the upstairs balcony with the brush. In a flurry of glimmering dust, tiny flower boxes with red and pink blooms appeared on the canvas. She gasped. “By the stars!”
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