2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Present day
W illow fastened the trademark silver cat charm and blue ribbon around the package with a flourish and finished the sale. She forced another smile at the next customer while sneaking a look at the clock. Only half an hour to go until she could lock the door, but every minute dragged for a lifetime, as did the mellow song in the background. Next year, she’d play popular Christmas music with lyrics. Rosa, her assistant, might hate her for it, but at least she could sing along rather than strain to guess what the tune was supposed to be. As the door swung open, the bell jangled, bringing in a blast of icy air. The woman she’d just served stepped aside to allow another in. The shop floor had seen a steady flow of customers all day.
The golden glow from a traditional gaslight acted as a beacon to all who stumbled down Black Cat Alley. It guided them to their reward for walking off the beaten track and following their instinct rather than any advertisements. The cream-painted compact building stood proudly between its encroaching neighbours, and the worn flagstones in the small courtyard still glistened with frost and ice. The Enchanted Emporium, painted in silver followed by a sprinkling of stars, stood out against the midnight-blue shop frontage, and a sign with a silhouette of a large cat sitting on a crescent moon swung in the gentle breeze. Two small trees stood sentinel to the entrance, and their twinkling fairy lights bounced off the crystals hanging in the bay window as part of the winter display while the A-board declared the shop’s wares: Lotions, Potions, and Tea .
Rosa approached the recent arrival, a young woman in an expensive red coat who scanned the store with her nose in the air. Great, a snobby customer to end the day. But the shop would work its magic. It always did. Especially this time of year when it was dressed to impress inside and out with glossy green foliage and red berries, which complemented the lady’s shoes perfectly. A tiny fir tree sat on the counter decorated in natural cones, orange slices and cranberries adding to the festive aroma. Its fairy lights reflected in the surrounding glass jars, polished until they gleamed.
‘Can I help you?’ asked her assistant.
‘No, thank you,’ came a curt reply.
The American drawl Willow detected surprised her. Not by the accent, but why a sophisticated, high-heeled-Jimmy-Choo-shoe-wearing tourist would be in the small coastal town in the depths of winter so close to Christmas. Summer, yes, but in winter it was unheard of. Besides, those shoes were a health hazard on the cobbled streets in normal weather, never mind when it was icy. She must have a death wish. Willow realised she was the only one to think so as she saw Rosa’s glazed expression when the woman barged past. Shoe envy. At five foot three, her assistant had an unhealthy obsession with any shoes that could make her taller. She would be adding those to the top of her virtual wish list.
The woman walked around the Emporium, and Willow wondered what would make her stop and widen her eyes with glee. There was always something, a moment when the store performed its magic and drew the person in: a candle, trinket, wand, or crystal ball, and it revealed more about the customer than talking ever could. This customer ignored most shelves but lingered at those devoted to a range of tea. She trailed her fingers across the rows of jars containing unique blends personally selected by Willow for their taste, herbal properties, and ethics.
‘You can try some if you like.’
Rosa collected a glass pot full of amber liquid warming on a teapot holder and poured some into a small espresso cup with a saucer. No plastic cups for Willow’s clients.
‘How can a customer have the full tea experience from a plastic cup?’ Willow explained when Rosa moaned at the washing-up. At their first meeting, Willow knew her employee considered tea as just tea. It was something you grabbed a box of at the supermarket, and when you fancied some, you threw a teabag into a mug of boiling water before adding milk minutes later. There was no finesse in her tea-making technique as evident when, as part of the job’s interview process, Rosa made Willow a brew. Only politeness made her not splutter.
‘You have a steep learning curve ahead of you when you work here,’ she’d said. ‘Your tea is atrocious.’
Rosa’s hard work and determination paid off to become a valued employee and she now readily accepted the truth in Willow’s favourite saying: ‘Tea is a little bit of magic, available to everyone.’ There was still much for her to learn. The intricacies of tea were an art form she’d yet to master. The Emporium’s unique selling point was the complimentary sachet of tea given with every purchase and hand-picked from the small old drawers running behind the counter. The opportunity to discover what they needed in life via the tea chosen drew even the reluctant customers in. Some locals remained afraid of the Emporium’s owner due to the folklore surrounding the once-abandoned shop. Both tingled with magic, and while the witchcraft products, proudly and elegantly displayed, encouraged some visitors, others told themselves it was a quirky gift shop while buying their herbal remedies and birthday cards.
For Rosa, the knack and ability to match tea with the customer remained elusive, so she stuck to the more generic messages. Everyone needed happiness, calm, and hope.
The aroma of cinnamon and cloves wafted up from the tea Rosa held—Christmas in a brew. It relaxed even the most stressed customer, and they’d had many over the last week. ‘It’s perfect on a day like today. It will help you warm up.’
‘No. Thank you.’
The woman moved on to the collection of beauty products. It was there Willow saw it. The lady in red reached for a jar from the Wishing Spell range, her eyes wide and expectant.
The magic was complete.
***
Tap, tap, tap on the parquet floor announced her arrival at the counter.
‘Is this the ‘original’ Wishing Spell range?’
‘Of course.’
‘Only online it said it was out of stock.’ The woman stared at her accusingly.
‘Well, it was, but I prepared this batch earlier. And—’
‘You’re Willow Anderson.’
‘I am.’ Willow’s stomach churned with trepidation. What now?
‘Oh, my gawd! I need a photo. No one will believe it back home when I tell them, and Clara will be ecstatic that I’ve bought this direct from you.’ The fa?ade of superiority slipped to reveal the customer’s childish excitement. She produced a mobile, and click , took a selfie holding the prized product. Willow’s bemusement fell into shock when strange arms embraced her and another shot was taken with the glass jar held high.
‘Thank you sooo much. My friends will be sooo jealous. We talk about your products all the time and Clara will wish she’d come for this herself rather than send me. Sabrina never got a photo.’
Everything slotted into place. Sabrina Williams, celebrity, model, and now successful actress was the reason the tiny shop had customers worldwide and why Willow couldn’t keep up with demand for the bewitched beauty products and oils. After a chance visit, the American-based actress gave an interview declaring an enchanted moisturiser and tea from the Emporium’s Wishing Spell range had rescued her scandalous career. Orders worldwide flooded in, rescuing Willow’s own teetering business and the boutique shop flourished.
Willow deftly wrapped the small bottle in silver tissue paper dotted with blue stars before placing it in a now-famous box tied with a blue ribbon and silver cat charm. She slipped it into a bag with a complimentary sachet of tea for Clara. On impulse, Willow reached behind her for a second pre-wrapped package and selected another sachet from a drawer.
‘This gift and the tea are for you. Only you. Drink it when you get back, boiling water—no milk,’ she said, adding them into a separate bag.
‘Really?’ The woman couldn’t hide her delight.
‘Really. Now, have a happy Christmas.’
‘So, what did you give her?’ Rosa asked when the bell signified her departure, and both watched her treacherous walk across the courtyard, swinging her bags.
‘Only a bath soak to remove the day’s negativity.’
Rosa burst out laughing. ‘You do know who that was. Or at least, who she works for, don’t you?’
‘Well, I assume for someone called Clara.’ Willow shrugged while tidying the counter. The lull of customers Willow desired was here.
‘For a supplier of the rich and famous, you really do need to read the papers, or at least follow Instagram.’ Rosa loved the celebrity pages full of gossip, but her boss was nonplussed with it all.
‘One celebrity, Rosa, just one.’
‘Well, make that two now. She must work for Clara—the Clara! Rival of your best mate Sabrina. Whereas everyone loves Sabrina and wants to be her best friend, Clara is renowned to be as bitchy as she is beautiful. That girl you served will need bucket loads of that bath soak to survive working for her.’
‘If this Clara is so attractive, why does she require a lotion created to attract the opposite sex?’
‘Maybe the men around her aren’t as shallow as they appear. But I wonder how she’ll react with it being plastered on social media right—now.’ Rosa dug her mobile out of her apron and showed it to Willow. The photo showing the beaming customer, @LibbyJ56, and Willow holding the love potion in all its glory was being reposted at an alarming rate.
‘Can we take it down?’ A nudge of anxiety grew as Willow read some comments. ‘I don’t need to be dragged into a celebrity feud or frenzy. I just want to be invisible with a few customers.’
‘No, we can’t and no, you don’t. Anyway, it’ll be fine. Clara’ll love the attention and so will your bank balance before it all gets forgotten. It’s a bit different to the last Christmas, isn’t it? What was the tea?’
‘Clara’s was to aid gratitude.’ Willow grimaced, hoping Rosa was correct and her fear of being seen was an overreaction. She sipped some leftover mulled wine brewed for the customers. ‘But LibbyJ56—to give courage to follow the heart. Give her a few hours and she’ll buy a plane ticket back home to America.’
‘I don’t know how you do it. You instinctively find the right tea for each person every time. It’s like magic. Even Amber can do it.’
‘It is magic, and I blended most of them. As for Amber, her mum was a witch. It runs strong in her blood. It’s a whisper in the air, a longing. Anyway, you’re learning.’
Rosa laughed. ‘Customers who come to me get the generic confidence boost or a good day. Unless Old Percy gives me a nudge in the right direction.’
‘See, you are learning. When you first came here, you couldn’t feel Old Percy never mind recognise when he was offering help. Don’t ever under-appreciate a good day or boost of confidence, it can change a life.’
Old Percy was the affectionate name given to the resident ghost, the elderly apothecary. He nodded, unseen by Rosa, in agreement. One day, she might see him.
‘Is it okay to sneak off early? It seems she was the last customer. My mum has Alejo, and he’ll be jumping off the walls with excitement and sugar. They’re baking gingerbread men.’
‘Of course. Thanks for your help. I wouldn’t have survived today without you, but first …’
Willow slipped into the back room and returned with a huge bag of gifts. ‘For Alejo.’ She lifted a smaller bag. ‘For your mum for being a star at minding him, and this is for you.’ A small exquisitely wrapped parcel sat among Alejo’s gifts. ‘But no peeking until Christmas Day. I will know.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ Willow froze when Rosa gave her a quick hug, but she knew not to expect one back. ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want to come to ours? Mum’ll be cooking, and she always goes overboard for the three of us.’
‘I’ll be fine. Christmas dinner is just a fancy roast, isn’t it? And I’ve made those.’ A snapshot of gravy sliding down the kitchen walls and heavy fists slamming on the kitchen table sneaked into her mind, but she forced it away. Ghosts from the past didn’t belong here. Not this year, not ever. For the first time in her forty-one years, she was in charge of Christmas, and she was determined to make it perfect. Her fridge and cupboards overflowed with food, and she’d already ticked several items on her detailed list of preparations off. She would embrace the experience rather than concentrate on the invasion of people to her home, where it was decorated to impress not just herself. Doubts crept in. Trading slouchy pjs and watching movies where others played happy families for being a hostess terrified her. Rosa’s offer was tempting; she could cancel her friends and agree to be the visitor. There would be no culinary pressure, and her flat would remain her own. She scolded herself for considering it. It would break her god-daughter’s heart and it wasn’t as if Amber hadn’t stayed over after long lunar study sessions before and Glenn had popped in a few times since their friendship grew. It would be fine. She could manage for a few hours and then her space would be hers again, with sanctuary restored.
‘After all, my attempts will easily surpass Glenn and Amber’s effort last year when the fire brigade arrived to douse out the flaming oven,’ Willow added.
‘Mmm, I wouldn’t mind a sexy firefighter to brighten up my Christmas, but not sure Mum would babysit at such short notice. But if it happens again this year, I still expect to be on speed dial.’ Rosa grinned with a faraway look Willow often saw when Rosa got lost in romantic thoughts.
‘I can’t believe you never contacted the one who gave you his number. Not even for one date.’
‘One date can lead to more and then to complications. Vincent is the only man I need,’ Willow said.
‘Vincent’s just a cat and—’
‘Merry Christmas, Rosa.’ Willow cut short the conversation they had repeated many times. Through the warped glass of the shop window, Willow watched her employee and friend cross the flagstones and disappear through the snicket.
With the door locked, Willow kicked off her shoes. All day she had longed for solitude, and now it was here. Loud songs quickly replaced the musical drone she had heard on a loop for hours and she sang along, swirling and dancing to the music while tidying for the last time that year.
The tempo of the music changed, allowing Willow time to pause. She nibbled a leftover mince pie that Rosa had put out for the customers and sipped some more mulled wine. The shop was everything she’d imagined it could be on the day she viewed it, from the colour scheme to the cat logo inspired by Vincent.
Where was that cat? It was unlike him to not be winding around her legs, catching stray crumbs. He had been with her from the beginning and had seen the store transform with her. The old dark interior was full of light despite keeping most of the original oak fixtures, and the old till gleamed. They only used it as storage, but during the night she could hear its distinctive ting as Old Percy continued his ghostly duties. She’d hidden her true witch self for many years, the shop gave her the opportunity to step away from the shadows and embrace the magic which ran through her being. Cauldrons, athames, crystal balls, and even broomsticks, made to order from a talented witch she had befriended, stood proudly among the rows of glass jars containing specialist herbs and tea. It still made her chuckle seeing the shock on non-magic customers’ faces when they read the labels of Eye of Newt and Bats’ Wings before they read the more recognisable and mundane names of wild mustard seed and holly underneath. Her idea of making magic acceptable to a wider audience worked by introducing specialist teas and, of course, the famed Wishing Spell range: handcrafted cosmetics and candles with added spells to be used daily, including the popular moisturiser, with a confidence spell woven into the mixture.
The Yule decorations and lights added an extra sparkle and fragrance she loved. A small Christmas tree stood on the counter decorated with cones, dried fruit, and berries. Willow favoured natural decorations except for a lone vintage bauble. She made it spin, remembering all the trees it adorned in her childhood. The one ghost she wished would visit never did, but she spoke to her, anyway.
‘Merry Christmas, Mum. Next year will be a good one, don’t you think? Things have come together.’
Would her mum be proud of the success? She hoped so, despite her mum’s negative view of magic. She knew her mum would change one thing. ‘I know you’d like to hear gossip about my love life and the patter of tiny feet, but I’m happy. You’ll just have to accept the Emporium and Vincent are my babies.’
Arms stretched, Willow spun round on her stockinged feet and danced to the quickening beat of the music. Talking of Vincent, where was that he?
A loud knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. A dark shadow loomed behind the closed blind. Willow swallowed the rising apprehension, acutely aware of the Emporium’s isolated spot, and whoever was behind the door emitted anger in waves. She edged towards the counter and retrieved a small vial she kept for emergencies and unlocked the door. The blast of cold air and the tall man standing there shocked her.
‘I believe this—’ he paused, grappling to find the words to describe the enormous ginger cat squirming in his arms, ‘—monster belongs to you.’
‘To be fair, he believes I belong to him, but yes, he lives here. He doesn’t need an escort. He knows the way home.’ Fear dissipated; she slipped the vial in her pocket but her own anger rose. Vincent might be large, unruly at times, but he was no monster.
‘He does when he appears in my house and refuses to leave. He’s stalking me.’ The man’s rant continued, but her attention was on her cat and his was on the shadow moving at the edge of her vision. She recognised the glint in his eyes, a look she knew too well. Shit, Black Cat!
‘No!’ she yelled. The warning came too late. Vincent’s hackles rose. He launched himself from the stranger’s arms into the shop, hissing at the ghost cat that taunted him. The force propelled the man backwards. His windmilling arms failed to gain his balance.
Crash .
Willow’s suppressed giggle escaped with a splutter when she visualised several cartoon birds flying around the prone man’s head. He was as tall and broad as his shadow suggested, but he lost any sense of menace as he lay spreadeagled on the tree, previously standing guard near the door, tangled with fairy lights. She was amazed Vincent could floor this giant.
‘Sorry, it’s not funny.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Any residual laughter disappeared with his icy glare and tone of voice.
Willow resisted the temptation to leave him there and offered her hand to help him up. As soon as he grabbed her hand, she felt it. The tingle. An electrical pulse ran up her arm. What the hell? Who let go first she couldn’t recall, but if it was him, did he feel it too? What did it mean?
The flurry of questions stopped when Willow’s body lurched forward. She screamed as the ground got closer in slow motion yet speeded up, making it impossible to break the fall. Pain exploded in her head as she hit the cold flagstone, then nothing. Everything went black.