But the blare of her phone stole her opportunity. Ben? She whipped it from the pocket of her jeans, gaze immediately connecting with the screen.

Not Ben. Her sister’s name and photo lit up the screen. Rude, perhaps, to answer it when she was with a potential customer. But Lilian usually texted, rarely called. Which meant this might be important. Besides, did the man from the wardrobe really count as a customer at this point?

She tucked her phone to her ear. “Hey, Lil.”

“You have to come home. Right now. No, not home. The hospital. They’re taking her to the hospital. She’s already in the ambulance.”

Her sister’s words tumbled over each other, and Indi’s grasp on her phone tightened. “What? Slow down.” Was that panic in Lilian’s voice? Lilian never panicked. Home. Hospital. Ambulance. She . . . who?

Her breath left her lungs as the face of the woman who’d raised her rose in her mind.

“It’s Maggie,” Lilian confirmed. “She collapsed. Neil said . . . he doesn’t think she was breathing and . . . you have to come, Indi. Now.”

“O-okay. I will. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Lilian was talking again—but she couldn’t register the words. Not with the fear coiling inside her, not with the sound of a siren in the background of the call. Not Maggie. Please, God. You can’t take her from us. You can’t take her from me.

“A-are you okay?”

She whirled to face the man from the wardrobe again. When had Lilian ended the call? When had Indi stuffed her phone back in her pocket?

When had she given the tears permission to finally escape? “I . . . I . . . Maggie.”

The man’s jaw dropped. “Maggie? Maggie Muir?”

She should probably wonder why he was looking at her like that, gray eyes wide. She should wonder why he’d just said Maggie’s name in the same peculiar tone he’d said hers earlier. She should wonder all over again who he was and what he was doing here.

She should move. Grab her heels, her purse, her car keys. Get to Maggie as soon as she could. Because Maggie could be . . . might already be . . . no. She shoved on a shoe even as she scoured the store for her purse. She’d left it behind the cash register counter, hadn’t she?

“By the way, you never said which Narnia book was your favorite.”

What? The man’s face was blurry through her onslaught of tears. She struggled to slip on the second shoe, her whole body trembling.

“You started to say earlier, but then you cut off.”

He moved closer to her, the concern in his expression breaking through her clouded vision. He’s trying to calm you down. The strange, blushing man from the wardrobe is trying to help.

She sniffled then took a ragged breath. “The Magician’s Nephew. That’s my favorite.”

“Mine too. I’ve always loved a good origin story.” He reached up to pull his tie free and held it out to her. When she didn’t take it, he nudged it closer. “I don’t have a handkerchief.”