Chapter 1 The Grieving Coat

The coat growled at Nora Carter, and she froze with one hand still resting on the counter, certain for a moment that she'd imagined it. Then the sound came again, low and irritated, rising from the black coat lying in front of her like something alive and unhappy about being handled.

Nora looked up slowly at the man who had carried it into her grandmother's old laundry. He was tall and impeccably dressed, easily the most intimidating customer she'd ever had. His dark hair was perfectly combed, his expensive clothes free of wrinkles, and his expression suggested he had little patience for anything that wasted his time.

"Does it always do that?" she asked, nodding toward the garment.

His jaw tightened before he answered. "It started this morning."

His voice was deep and calm, though the coat seemed to have tested his patience for longer than a morning. Nora glanced around the nearly empty shop. Broken baskets lined one wall, three enchanted washing machines occupied the corner, and her grandmother's faded sign hung above the counter. This was supposed to be her first real day of business, and her first customer had brought her a possessed coat. Wonderful.

She picked up the garment carefully, and the fabric felt strangely warm beneath her fingers. Magic rushed through her hand before she could brace for it, and she saw a garden bathed in silver moon. The man stood under an enormous tree, younger and laughing beside someone whose face she couldn't see. Then the garden emptied. He stood alone under the tree, gripping the sleeve of the same coat, and grief flooded through Nora until she pulled her hand away..

The man was watching her when the vision cleared, his expression guarded in a way it hadn't been a moment before. "You saw something," he said.

Nora swallowed. "I saw the reason your coat is upset."

His eyes narrowed. "My coat is upset?"

"Very."

He looked at the garment as though considering whether to throw it into the nearest fire. Nora suspected that would only make things worse. She set it gently on the counter instead. "It doesn't need cleaning."

"That's why I'm here," he said, brow furrowing.

"I know. But it isn't dirty. It's carrying an emotion."

He said nothing for several seconds, then leaned slightly toward the coat as though daring it to prove her wrong. "It has been through three cleaning specialists, and none of them could fix it."

"Did any of them ask what happened to you while you were wearing it?"

The question caught him off guard, and his expression hardened before he answered. "No."

"That's the problem."

His gaze stayed fixed on her, which made her nervous, but she refused to look away. She had met fae before, yet something about Ramon felt different. His presence seemed to fill the little shop.

"Can you fix it?" he finally asked, quieter now.

"I can try."

He nodded once. "Do it."

She carried the coat to the restoration table, aware of his eyes following her the whole way. "Most people call me Nora," she offered.

He looked confused by the introduction. "Why are you telling me that?"

"Because if I'm going to repair your coat, I need to know your name too."

He paused, then stepped closer. "Ramon Warren."

The name tugged at something in her memory, though she couldn't place it. Ramon noticed her expression shift. "You know who I am?"

"No. I'm new in town."

"I know," he said, and when she looked at him sharply, he added, "I knew your grandmother. She mentioned you."

That stopped her cold. Her grandmother had been gone three months, and Nora had avoided Moonvale because returning meant admitting there was no one left to tell her what to do next. Now a stranger stood in her shop telling her that her grandmother had spoken about her.

"What did she say?"

Ramon's expression softened, just slightly. "That you were stubborn. Several times."

Nora laughed before she could stop herself, and the sound seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised her. She turned back to the coat before either of them could dwell on it, placing it beneath the restoration lamp and letting her magic settle into the fabric.

Restoration magic didn't force things to change. It guided them back toward what they were meant to be. Nora had always considered it unimpressive. Other witches summoned fire or bent storms. She fixed cracked cups and stubborn coats. Her grandmother had always insisted that restoration mattered, but Nora had never believed her until now.

"Ramon," she said. "Did you lose someone while wearing this?"

His face went still, and she almost apologized for asking, but his eyes answered before he did. "Yes."

"Then that's what it's holding onto. Let it go."

Her magic pressed deeper into the fabric, and the coat shuddered once before a soft golden glow spread across the black material and stilled. When she lifted her hands, it wasn't growling anymore.

Ramon touched the sleeve cautiously, then ran his fingers over the fabric a second time when nothing happened. His shoulders eased. "What did you do?"

"I restored it. That's what my magic does."

He studied her for a long moment, curiosity and respect replacing his earlier suspicion. Nora suddenly realized how close they were standing.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You smiled."

"I assure you, I didn't."

"You're a terrible liar."

For one strange, suspended moment, neither of them moved, and then the washing machine behind her let out a loud metallic bang that made her jump nearly out of her skin. Ramon turned toward it. "Is it supposed to do that?"

"No. My grandmother believed enchanted appliances developed personalities."

"Does this one have a personality?"

"Unfortunately. A bad one."

That earned her his first real smile, brief but unmistakable. It changed his whole face, making him look less like a man carved from stone. She cleared her throat and held out the coat. "Twenty silver."

He set a gold coin on the counter instead, and when she tried to push it back, he shook his head. "Keep it. Consider the rest compensation for the emotional damage."

She laughed again, and this time he didn't try to hide his own smile at all. He picked up his coat and walked toward the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"I have more clothes," he said, glancing back at her from the doorway. "Enough to keep you busy."

The bell chimed as he stepped outside, and Nora stood behind the counter for a long moment, staring after him. Her first customer had brought her a grieving coat, paid her in gold, and promised to return tomorrow. She looked at the broken machines and unpaid bills and felt a small flicker of hope.

Then the washing machine rattled violently behind her.

"Don't you dare," she warned it.

It spat out a single black sock, which promptly twitched, righted itself, and began crawling across the floor toward the front door. Nora closed her eyes, accepting that saving her grandmother's laundry was going to be harder than she'd thought, and the grumpy fae was probably about to make it worse.