It felt like an invasion of sorts—an explosion of all the pictures she had ever painted, back in their cottage by the sea. The characters brought to life with a few strokes of a brush, immortalized on the side of a cup, or recreated as a soft toy to be taken to bed and cuddled through the night.

“I…” Emily began, then looked behind the counter, past the monogrammed boxes wrapped in brown paper and tied up with striped ribbon, to where a birdcage still sat. Inside of it remained a trio of yellow canaries. Without thinking, she went around the counter and up to the cage, opened its door, and stroked the breast of the nearest bird.

Once upon a time, Emily had come here with her grandmother, asked if the canaries were real and why would someone put them in a cage? Her grandmother had told her about how canaries were used in mines as warnings of poisonous gas leaks, that if they stopped singing, the miners knew death was trying to sneak up on them. Emily had cried herself to sleep that night, thinking of those birds and wishing she could somehow rescue them all.

“Can I help you?”

Emily turned to see a young man standing in the archway that connected the children’s section of the shop to the storeroom at the back. He was wearing a black shirt with a badge, stating that his name was Chris and he was here to help. He was also carrying a stack of books while staring at her with both annoyance and intrigue.

“You’re not supposed to be round there,” he said, waiting for Emily to remove her hand from the cage and step aside. He dumped the books onto the counter and made a point of checking the till.

“We’re here to collect something,” Tyler said as he stepped forward with a smile.

“Ground floor.” The shop assistant began to sort the books into smaller piles.

“It’s for her.” Tyler nodded in Emily’s direction. “From Catriona Robinson.”

The assistant’s head jerked to attention as he looked from Tyler to Emily, to the display behind him, then back to Emily once again. He began to hop from foot to foot and wiggled his fingers in the air as a slow grin emerged on his face.

“Oh my,” he said, clasping Emily’s hand and shaking it with might. “Oh my,” he repeated as she pulled her hand away and folded her arms tight across her chest. “This is just way too exciting,” he said, taking a step toward Emily, his eyes darting about her face, resting momentarily on her scar. “We were all told this might happen, but is it true? Are you her granddaughter? Are you really the granddaughter of the Catriona Robinson? I mean, you must be, right? Otherwise why would you be here? I’m such a fan of your work, by the way, both your work and hers, God rest her soul. Amazing. Extraordinary. I can’t believe this is happening, my friends are going to be so jealous.”