Lake Manderley was an unbroken sheet of slate. Even the floating lanterns barely caused ripples across the serene surface. The lead tracker and her page approached the narrow boat. Scanning for surveillance, Jackson climbed in. Silencely, her page untied the boat’s rope from the lake’s edge.

Dickens climbed in and they pushed off. They’d identified the thief and uncovered the traitor but the talisman was still missing. The one clue pointed here. With a scrimshaw eyepiece, Jackson watched for attack. Fracas, who Jackson referred to as the thieving rat bastard, had many accomplices. Silently Dickens rowed.

Jackson stole a glance at her page. Up until a few days ago Dickens was a playful pup. Asking silly questions and treading on her heels, Dickens had been the quintessential novice. Now he seemed older.

Jackson didn’t know how to talk to him about his grandmother or his new found power. This is why she read mysteries not people. She spied on Dickens; his shoulders slumped with each stroke.

Glow from the building at the lake’s center blazed. Closer and closer, the floating lanterns swarmed their boat like fireflies. The boat bumped the shop’s dock. Dickens tossed the line.

They climbed the carved stone steps. Taking to the air, the lanterns lit the way. At the door, Dickens gasped. Even the tracker found herself smiling. The door opened. Petrichor like ambrosia flooded their senses.

“Welcome to Hearts’ Desire, the bookstore at the center of magic,” Jackson said.