“What’s it for?”
I stared down at the food in front of me. She had said her name was Midon, but I wasn’t sure if I trusted it. She had also told me about how the shop had been passed to her by her father when he’d fallen ill, and that at one time, Midon, her mother, and her father had slept in that one room.
But I was finished listening to pleasantries. Something about her was so enchanting that it was almost impossible to tear away from her silk-spun stories.
Midon sighed. “It’s a catalyst.”
“What’s that mean?”
She traced patterns into the wooden table with a long nail. It took a long moment of silence before she sat forward and met my eyes. “It means it’s useless except to the witch who made it.”
I slumped. “So no one will ever buy it?”
“Well…” She bit her lip.