Barclay scanned the collection. Some of the algae resembled seaweed, but others looked like little more than speckles of color in the water, all clumped together. Her trove struck him as pleasantly familiar. Then he realized it reminded him of Master Pilzmann’s mushroom caves in Dullshire. He scolded himself. That was in the past now.

“Do all these plants have special uses?” he asked.

“Most do. I’m sure you recognize all the jars of Gunkwort that we use for healing. But some other specimens I keep for study. Like the Fire Coral. That one’s dead rare. Took me almost a year to find it.” She pointed to a tank at the very end. The dull gray coral inside didn’t seem to deserve such an interesting name. “And of course, you might also recognize this one next to it.”

She nodded at the tank filled with white, foamy seaweed, which rose up and down as though breathing.

Root whimpered and backed away, and Barclay shivered. “That’s the weeping tide.”

“Yes. I keep it in the shop, but it’s not like the rest of my collection. For one, it’s a Trite class Beast—it has Lore to it, but not enough for anyone to bond with it. Not that you’d want to!” She chuckled, and Barclay tried not to look disturbed. “It also doesn’t seem to consume sunlight like other algae. As far as I can tell, it only eats meat.”

Ansley pulled out a dried sardine from her apron pocket and waved it at Barclay. “Would you like to feed it?”

Barclay hesitated. “I don’t know if…”

“Oh, it’s all right. I know not everyone finds my work interesting.” With slumped shoulders, she tossed the sardine into the tank. The weeping tide foamed and gurgled. A moment later, the bones of the sardine drifted to the water’s surface.

The front door burst open, and Barclay slammed into the weeping tide’s tank. He watched in horror as it wobbled and knocked into the one beside it. One at a time, the tanks teetered and crashed to the floor. Glass shattered everywhere, and water and algae swept across their feet.

Most shockingly, the Fire Coral—no longer submerged—burst into flames.

Barclay yelped and lunged out of the way of the weeping tide, not wanting to lose his toes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t— I just—”

“I’ll get my oven mitts!” Ansley shouted, rushing to her desk.

Root barked at the weeping tide seeping across the floorboards. For a plant, it moved fast. The white froth on its top swelled, like a rabid animal.

“What was that?” Tadg called from upstairs.

“Nothing, dear!” Ansley yelled, brandishing a pair of pink oven mitts.