Epilogue
The bookstore had been left open. The priceless first editions were there for anyone to find. In her haste to return Lucine’s book of spells to Sephy, Dora had forgotten to shut the door. So it stood, uncloaked, unable to vanish again.
The woman had been sitting on her porch with an ice-cold glass of peach tea, rocking back and forth in the chair that had been in her family since she was born. The wood smoothed to a silky finish by all those hands that had gripped the arms as they rocked in it for hundreds of years. She loved this chair and thinking about her ancestors all sitting doing the same thing on a warm, muggy New England day made her wonder what they had been like.
She was tired. The recent stress she’d been having was taking its toll on her, even though she knew she was better off alone than being married to him . At least she had this house for now. He had packed his bags and left two days ago without saying a word, but she knew his silence wouldn’t last and he’d be back to fight for what was rightfully his. She was his wife of ten years; she should be entitled to half of everything including this house that they had got into debt over their heads for. Anger bubbled inside her. She’d found the messages on his phone from another woman.
She felt herself drifting off and, as she slipped into a deep slumber, she found herself walking into the forest that backed onto her property. She felt as if she was being called into the dense, dark woods by something that whispered to her in hushed tones she couldn’t understand. She had to see what it was.
Her bare feet were crunching through the dropped pine needles and twigs, but it didn’t hurt – dreams were like that, you could cut your head off and walk around with it in your hands and not feel a thing. But she couldn’t help thinking that if she was dreaming would she be having conscious thoughts? There was a tugging sensation in her chest, it felt as if an invisible rope had been tied around her and she was being dragged towards something, she had no idea what until she saw the small wooden shack. The door was sagging badly and was slightly open, showing how dark it was in there, and she heard the whispering coming from inside.
You should get the hell out of here, do not go inside of that building , a clear voice of reason told her, but this was a dream, and she could do what she wanted, so she did.
She walked closer to the cabin, or whatever it was. It was old and the roof was covered in leaves and there were brambles all around it. It looked like the kind of place a fairy tale witch would live in, cooking over an open fire with a huge black cauldron, green smoke coming out of the chimney.
She paused outside the door; it was too dark in there; her flesh had broken out in goosebumps yet still she felt no real fear, only a need to go inside.
‘I’m coming inside, is that okay with you? I won’t hurt you.’ She laughed, what if whatever was in that cabin wanted to hurt her? She had no cell phone or flashlight with her, but she knew she was going inside and she did. Stepping over the threshold, she inhaled the deep earthy smell of the forest, but she also smelled books, paper and ink.
It smelled as if she had stepped into Barnes and Noble.
Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she smiled to herself to see the shapes on the shelves all around her. Books, there were lots of books. She liked reading but wasn’t obsessive over it and wondered why of all things she would dream up a bookstore in the middle of a forest.
The whispering stopped and she turned to see a cold blue light glowing from the pages of a book in the far corner. The light pulsated and she reached out to it. As her fingers touched the light the air around them crackled with static and she pulled her hand back, afraid she’d been electrocuted. She had never seen anything like it and if a book could do that in the middle of the forest on its own, she might have just found the answer to her problems, it might be worth a lot of money. Stepping closer, she jabbed her hands into the light and watched as tiny red and purple fireworks began to fill the air. Grabbing the book, she held it tight to her chest and ran out of the cabin back through the trees.
She jolted awake and was sure she could smell singed flesh; she was still in her rocking chair on her porch but what was that smell?
Lifting her fingers, she saw that the tips of them were red, the skin burned with little blisters. She wondered what the hell she’d done in that nap to have caused this and then she looked down at her dirt-covered feet. There were pine needles between her toes.
As she bent down to brush them off, she noticed the thick, heavy, leather-bound book on the floor beneath her chair. Etched into the cover in blood red were the words ‘ The Book of Black Magic ’.
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