Chapter 9
Nightjar Divination was nestled above Sedgwick Cove's only bookshop.
It would be easy to miss, if you didn't know where it was, which seemed to be the way the Nightjars preferred it.
An old, creaking sign hung up above the awning for the bookshop, but nearly all the paint had worn away in the harsh, salty breezes off the ocean, and no one seemed to feel the need to repaint it so that people could actually read it.
As I squinted up at it now, all I could make out was the vague outline of a stack of tarot cards, and the barely visible curling tail of the "j" in "Nightjar" in faded purple script that ended in the faint rendering of a bird wing.
It was the rare tourist with the kind of intrepid curiosity to lead them up the rickety stairs into the Nightjars' shop, which was probably a good thing, for it was the rare tourist who would want the kind of reading that the Nightjars were reputed for giving.
When I went to Eva that afternoon to ask her to cover for me, she immediately tried to talk me out of it.
"If I were you, I'd dive a little deeper into your training before you get a reading up there," she had said, and I was surprised to see her suppress a shiver.
"Why?" I ventured to ask.
"Granny Nightjar is... eccentric," Eva began, and when I looked unimpressed, she went on. "Okay, yes, pretty much everyone is eccentric in Sedgwick Cove. I don't mean in that funny, kooky way, like Lydian. I mean she's... spooky."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're going to have to do better than that," I said.
Eva thought about it, twirling the end of one long braid around and around her pointer finger as she searched for the right words. Finally, she said, "You know how Xiomara can tap into the spirit world when she does readings?"
"Yeah."
"Well, Granny Nightjar is constantly tapped in. Like, hardwired. She never comes down from that shop—I don't think anyone's seen her out on the street in daylight for at least ten years."
"She comes out at night?" I asked.
"Well, people claim to have seen her at night, but never close enough to be absolutely sure," Eva said.
"But it's really more about the readings.
They aren't fun or lighthearted, the way people usually like to engage with tarot.
They're much more cryptic and... immersive.
Really, it's only the locals who go to see her, and even then, only when they're really desperate for an answer to something that no other type of magic has been able to reveal. And then there's the payment."
"The payment?"
"Let's just say that Granny Nightjar doesn't take Venmo," Eva said, smirking, and when I looked mystified, she said, "She requires payment of something completely random.
It could be a trinket or a photograph. Sometimes she demands hair or a fingernail clipping.
She decides the price, but not until after your reading.
And if you refuse to pay it..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
"And if you refuse to pay it...?" I prompted, intrigued now.
Eva looked directly at me, and there was no humor in her expression now. "Then you're indebted to Granny Nightjar."
I didn't ask for clarification. I'd read enough fairytales to know there was something inherently dangerous about entering into a bargain with a witch, especially one you were planning to renege on.
“So why are you going to see her?” Eva asked.
I should have realized the question was coming, but I didn’t want to answer it. Eva saw my hesitation and frowned.
“You know you can trust me, right?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said quickly. “It’s… it’s not about that.”
“Isn’t it? This is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks,” Eva pointed out. “You’re leaving texts unanswered. You’re bailing on plans. What’s going on?”
I shrugged. “I’m just… overwhelmed, I guess.”
“Friends can help with that,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, I know,” I lied, because friends couldn’t help. Not with this. The only hope of help I had was Granny Nightjar.
Now that I was entering the bookshop, I wished I'd asked a few more questions.
I reached down and rested my hand on the large canvas bag I had slung across my shoulders.
Along with the mirror from my bedroom, which I had carefully wrapped in a sweatshirt, I'd stuffed a number of other random items inside it, hoping one might suffice as payment to Granny Nightjar.
I didn't know if she'd accept any of them, or what I'd do if she decided none of them were good enough, but I'd just have to wing it.
At this point, I was desperate enough to put myself in this situation that felt more folk tale than real life because the consequences, whatever they might be, still frightened me less than what may or may not be waiting for me in that mirror.
A pleasant, apple-cheeked woman smiled at me from behind the counter of the bookshop. "It’s Wren, isn’t it? Wren Vesper?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said warily.
A lot of people in Sedgwick Cove were afraid of me because of my recent encounters with the Darkness.
My magic, which I barely knew how to control, had nonetheless been an impressive display, and many of the other covens had been reluctant to interact with me since.
I had no idea how to convince them that I, a virtual outsider despite my Vesper name, was one of them, and would never trade the safety of Sedgwick Cove for a deal with the Darkness, and so I didn’t bother to try.
This woman didn’t look afraid. On the contrary, she was looking at me with a perfectly friendly smile, her bright blue eyes clear and open. I felt my lips curve into a tentative, answering smile.
“Welcome to the shop. I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before,” she said.
My cheeks burned a little. “I did stop in when… when I first moved to town.”
“That wasn’t a rebuke, my dear,” she said, her smile widening.
“I’m glad to see you. Your grandmother was a regular customer.
She used to come in on her way to Shadowkeep most mornings, and we would enjoy a cup of coffee and chat about what we were reading.
I miss those chats very much. I’m sure you must miss her, too. ”
“I…” I swallowed suddenly against a lump in my throat. “Yeah, I do.”
I felt blindsided by the sudden trigger of those emotions, and I began to dread that she was going to press the matter, but she gave me a knowing nod, smiled, and then said, “And what can I help you with today?" she asked. “Are you looking for something in particular, or are you just…looking?”
"No, thanks. I mean, I’d like to stay and look around, but…" I said, a bit reluctantly. I wished I was just here to browse the books, but I had other business to attend to. "I, um... have an appointment upstairs.”
The woman's cheerful smile slipped just a little, and now she looked at me with mild concern. "Oh. I see. Well... best of luck to you."
I stood there for a moment, hesitating. Worries and questions danced on the tip of my tongue, and I fought the impulse to unload them all in rapid succession upon this poor unsuspecting woman who looked at me with so much genuine motherly concern.
After a few awkward moments, I mastered myself, nodded my thanks, and walked straight for the door at the back of the shop, before I lost my nerve.
The door was hidden at the end of a long, narrow row of books labeled "Spirituality and Meditation.
" There was no sign on it, but I knew it was the right door as soon as I placed my hand on the loose brass knob; a faint pulse of magic hummed like a familiar song against the skin of my palm.
Surprisingly, the sensation didn't heighten my anxiety, but soothed it.
I knew that energy: it was the connection to the element of spirit, and it gave me the tiny boost of courage I needed to turn the knob and open the door.
A very narrow, very steep staircase extended up into the shadows.
A single brass sconce on the wall provided the only light, which suffused the tiny space with a sickly glow from a green glass shade.
Faded damask wallpaper peeled away from the yellowed plaster walls, hanging down in curling strips.
I swallowed hard, that tiny boost of courage snuffed like a candle.
It took every ounce of my resolve to put one foot in front of the other, putting the creaking steps behind me one by one, until I stood at the upper landing, a second door in front of me.
It was painted a deep green, and the words "S.
Nightjar" were stamped into a small brass plaque affixed to the paneling.
I raised a hand to knock, but the door opened before my knuckles could make contact.
Leila stood there, smiling at me.
"You came," she said, her voice musical with surprise.
"Of course I did," I said. "You told me to. I... had an appointment."
Leila pressed her lips into a knowing smirk. "That doesn't usually matter much."
I thought about how much resolve it had taken just to get to the door, and understood what she meant without asking.
"Come in!" Leila said, motioning for me to go through.
I relaxed slightly when I stepped not into Granny Nightjar's studio, but into a warm, bright entryway covered in framed family photos.
A pile of shoes lay just inside the door, all jumbled up against an umbrella stand shaped like a sunflower in full bloom.
Leila gestured to the pile, and I hurried to kick off my shoes.
Then I shrugged out of my coat and hung it on one of the many mismatched doorknobs that had been affixed to the wall to serve as coat hooks.
"Do you want to hang up your bag?" Leila offered, pointing to another doorknob.
"No," I said quickly, pulling it close to me. "It's... sort of the reason I'm here."