EMBER’S POV
“You don’t tell us you can tell life from death,” Penelope says, and she draws a stool up to her side of the counter and lowers herself onto it, slow, folding her hands like a woman settling in to enjoy something. “You show us. It’s the only test we’ve ever set, it’s older than the shop, and we have watched a great many people fail it.” She nods at her husband’s busy hands. “Penny’s going to make you a few things. And then we’ll find out whether you understand what you’ve been asking us to sell, or whether you read a book and got brave.”
The old man works fast. That’s the thing that prickles at me, the speed of it, the way a man who looks a hundred years old moves like water.
A pinch from this drawer, a measure from that jar, his back half to us so I can’t see his hands clea
