23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘ Y ou’re not still interfering, are you?’
Behind Amber, the bed shifted and creaked and a folder jabbed her in the back as Jack edged closer to her. His open textbooks were strewn across the duvet while she’d stacked hers neatly beside her on the floor. Beetle snoozed, curled tight on her lap. Amber flipped the laptop lid down too late. He had already seen the open web page.
‘I’m not interfering.’ She paused, fumbled for the right words. ‘I’m just tweaking things in favour of the preferred outcome.’
‘You’re cancelling your dad’s date. What’s wrong with her?’
‘I don’t want a stepmother only seven years older than me.’
‘What? You can’t expect everyone he dates to be in it for the long term. It’s not all about fairy tales and weddings. He deserves fun, spontaneity, a laugh. And she has some interesting attributes.’
‘So, you’re saying he’s looking for one-night stands—that’s gross.’ Amber cringed, thinking about her dad and what was her name being together. Emily-May. Her interesting attributes were obvious in her low-cut top. Were they even real? Her dad and her would not get together if she could help it.
‘Willow will be much better …’
‘Stop it. Just stop it now.’ Jack’s voice rose with an unusual flare of temper. ‘You’ll be making love potions next. Christ, you have, haven’t you?’
‘No, of course not!’ she said, relieved the tab showing the browser’s results for love potions had closed earlier. She wasn’t lying. She had done nothing, but not because of morality; she lacked the ingredients and was convinced the perfect spell lay out of reach, locked behind the old door in Willow’s workroom. If fate didn’t make Willow and Glenn see their potential, she was prepared to give more than a little nudge.
A textbook behind her banged shut, waking Beetle. Jack stood, sending a sprig of rosemary floating to the floor. She offered it back to him as he threw his belongings in his rucksack.
‘I don’t want it. It stinks.’
‘It helps you concentrate and remember things.’
‘Headache-inducing more like. A few leaves won’t make me pass these exams. It needs a miracle.’
‘Well, I can blend some …’
‘I said no. I don’t want your potions or candles to light. I just want …’ He stared at her for a moment. The air tensed and time paused as she waited for him to continue. What did he want? He sighed, hoisted up his bag on his shoulder, and left without saying goodbye. She swiped away a tear as his footsteps thudded down the stairs and the front door slammed. It was all right for him with his perfect family. His happy secure parents and two younger brothers. And his warm and loving house which always felt like a refuge when she visited, especially in the early days of their relationship, when Glenn’s alcoholism was at its worst. The constant hubbub of chaos underpinned by unconditional love fascinated her. She relished the noise his brothers made chasing round the kitchen table while his mum cooked homemade meals, and even when the baby screamed, it felt like paradise. Jack had no worries. Unlike her newly stitched-together family, whose strength had yet to be tested. She couldn’t take the risk. Glenn needed someone like Willow, not some blonde-haired Clara wannabe with sly feline eyes. A few dates with her would lead to heartache for her dad and his wallet, Amber decided. She finished cancelling the arranged date and blocked her. It was better this way.
She was doing her dad a favour. A huge favour.
The silence in the house was unnerving. Beetle’s attempt to lighten her mood by scurrying up her arm to nudge her face, failed. She never rowed with Jack. Jingling her bracelet, she couldn’t believe it was only two weeks since their Valentine’s Day celebrations. How had things spiralled out of control? Not just their relationship, but Willow, too. Jack had always been her dependable rock but recently they clashed over everything from the amount of study to do, date nights, her matchmaking scheme, and now even her use of magic. If only she could put her finger on why. She twirled the rosemary between her fingers before picking off the leaves one by one.
He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. Confetti of green leaves surrounded her. He loves me.
Well, he has a funny way of showing it . One reason she loved him was his acceptance of who she was. He’d always believed in her magic and encouraged her when fear made her retreat from her emerging power, but his rejection exposed another crack between them. The other was Willow. When she tried to explain her concerns about her mentor, he accused her of relying too much on her perceived intuition and not on the facts. Glenn hadn’t helped, either.
Distracted, he readily believed the lies Willow told, but Amber knew something was wrong.
Very wrong.
***
Two weeks before, Amber’s first clue something was amiss was seeing the ghostly black cat sitting in the Emporium window among the display of candles and tea. Mr Marley in Willow’s lounge window, watching her cross the courtyard, confirmed her unease. He tipped his head to greet her. Of all the ghosts, Mr Marley was the most aloof and ethereal. Yet she could see his solid form as clearly as the customers walking by. In the past, his faint outline only appeared when he dragged his wife away if her opinionated and busybody tendencies threatened to hurt someone, except the time she saw the couple embrace under the mistletoe. A scene she found sweet, an example of genuine love lasting across time and space. To her surprise, when she considered finding true love, the dark-haired stranger on the beach appeared instead of Jack. Was he the one? Her guilty heart leapt at the idea, but no matter how hard she tried, he remained impossible to find. Maybe he was a tourist visiting for the day. Whoever he was, she knew she had to see him again.
A wave of tension hit Amber when she entered the store. It overwhelmed the benefits of the calming music and fragrance of teas and herbs. Amber noted Rosa’s strained smile and flushed face as she served a regular. Mrs Hartley-Booth. Tall and slender, with a harsh face, she was a customer Rosa and Amber both tried to avoid, and often bartered jobs so they weren’t the one faced with her moans and quibbles. She required perfection only Willow had a chance of achieving. It was sod’s law; she was here on a busy day, but it explained the number of people waiting.
Amber rushed into the back to retrieve the midnight-blue apron emblazoned with a Vincent’s silver silhouette Willow insisted all staff wear. Compared to the spring day outside, the room’s arctic temperature made her gasp. Shivering, her frozen hands struggled to tie the apron around her waist. Old Percy stood guard at the window, ignoring her in favour of watching over the small garden. What was the matter with them? She hadn’t seen Mrs Marley, but she suspected, like the other ghosts, she would be more visible than usual.
She slipped beside Rosa and beamed at the next customer; relieved Mrs Hartley-Booth was striding across the courtyard, looking triumphant. Together they served the customers with a flurry of fingers, tying bows and adding charms to the trademark boxes until the crowd dwindled to a lone woman browsing. Not for the first time when there was a rush, Amber cursed Willow’s demand for high standards and attention to detail. It would be easier if the products were placed in a bag and be done with.
‘You gave Hartley-Booth a discount, didn’t you?’
‘Ten percent off for loyalty. Wish she’d find somewhere else to go. She takes the biscuit with her demands,’ confirmed Rosa.
‘That’s why she comes. Shops in York wouldn’t stand for her nonsense, but for some reason, Willow tolerates it. She is too nice for her own good. Where is she?’
‘Flu. Got a text from her this morning to open up.’
‘Flu? She looked fine yesterday.’ Amber stared at her colleague. Willow was never ill.
‘She looked peaky when I left. As pale as I imagine the ghosts are.’
‘Maybe not. They’re different today.’ The Emporium was different and not just the temperatures in the rooms.
‘Well, she chose a good time to be ill. It’s been madness all day. Even Percy has abandoned me today. No nudges or drawers creeping open to show me the right blend to give people. Nothing. I’m so glad you’re here. I can finally go for a wee.’
Amber sent her off for a break and mulled things over. Flu? Maybe, but her intuition screamed not. Rosa rushed into the store, giddy with excitement reminiscent of Alejo’s excessive buoyant energy.
‘I saw him. I saw Old Percy. Fancy, today of all days, I get to see my very first ghost. Is it always that cold when he’s around? Does that mean I’m becoming more like you? A sensitive? A witch?’
No , it confirms Willow doesn’t have flu and the ghosts are absorbing energy so they can manifest and keep guard. The only thing Amber couldn’t understand was why.
Over the next few days, Willow ignored texts and refused to answer the flat door, pleading the contagious nature of her illness. Rosa left soup or an aromatic dish outside the flat’s door daily, and Amber blended several healing remedies. She became increasingly frustrated that any magical attempts to connect with Willow were met with a dense, foggy barrier. No one would listen to her concerns. Both Glenn and Rosa believed everything Willow said in her vague texts. Besides the rare mumbles through the door, the only evidence Willow was alive was the creaks from the flat’s floorboards. Despite accusations she was overreacting Amber knew something had to be done. Willow wasn’t fooling her, and since it coincided with Valentine’s Day, Amber bet it had something to do with Nate. She wished Willow had never met him.
***
Glenn knocked on the flat’s door. With no response, he turned to leave, but Amber emerged from the shadows on the stairs.
‘You promised, Dad.’ Whether it was her incessant pleas or her promise to help him with a tricky customer’s garden design, Glenn had finally promised he would check Willow in person.
‘And you are supposed to be at work downstairs.’
‘Please, Dad. I need to see she is okay.’
He knocked again.
‘Come on, Willow. I need to see your face and make sure you haven’t joined the other spooks of this place. I’m not leaving until I do, and I have enough provisions to keep me happy on the stairs for …’
The door creaked open. Amber crept forward. Willow’s pale, gaunt face with dark shadows under her eyes made her doubt her intuition and concede the mundane rational explanation of the flu was correct after all. Glimpses of the usual clean but homely flat showed disarray and the stench of old bins drifted down the stairwell.
‘Go to work, Amber,’ Glenn said. ‘I’ve got this.’ She protested; she could make a healing brew, she could— It was then she saw it. Without a word and with tears blurring the steps in front of her, Amber fled down the stairs, slamming the connecting door to the shop behind her.