24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
A dull grey light shone through the window. From the sofa, Willow could see the faint glimmer of the Marleys standing there, looking out over the courtyard. His arm wrapped round his wife in a tender embrace. True love lasting through time . Willow swallowed to dislodge the aching lump in her throat and bit her lip, but tears continued to fall onto Vincent lying beside her. Was it only yesterday the exchange of messages between her and Nate dismantled her resolve to keep him away and made her hope a relationship with him was possible? It seemed longer, hazy and fading like a dream as you woke. The spell had failed.
Rafe’s hatred pushed against the protective barriers placed along the property boundary: how long they would hold? She wasn’t sure. If one spell failed, why not all? Anger blended with her escalating fear. She couldn’t even go to the police; the evidence was burned to ash. Like the rest of my life . Willow sank further into the cushions, deflated and tired.
Nate’s name flashed on her vibrating phone. Her finger hovered over the accept call until it rang off. Throughout the night she had typed variations of I need you before deleting them. Would he come over the Moors in a Land Rover rather than a stallion to fight her demons and hold her like the Marleys? Willow never saw herself as a damsel in distress, she was always ready to fight her own battles, but now? She would welcome the help, but ask someone for it? Never.
Her phone pinged again. A photograph of two doorstop slices of toast oozing with cheese appeared. Her stomach turned and her heart splintered more than she thought possible. Only a few hours before, she was happy. The laughter of children and hubbub of locals getting on with their daily routine drifted through the cracks in the old windows. I’m late. I need to go to work. Her leaden legs refused to cooperate, and her racing heart warned of another imminent panic attack. It would only take a glimpse of his poison, an angry customer, or Rosa’s friendly chat to strip away the remaining protective layers Willow had built around herself to reveal the beaten, vulnerable child beneath. Exhaustion overwhelmed her.
After a quick phone call, Willow curled on the sofa wrapped in the quilt, where she stayed.
The fall into depression surprised her. It grasped and dragged her down before she knew what was happening. Lost in the dark, she found herself alone in an uncharted alien world of sludge and grey. Adrenaline-fuelled anxiety had always kept it at bay, forcing her to take midnight walks, work harder, or flee when threatened. There was always someone to turn to and help keep the dark away. Marian, her mum’s best friend, opened up her home when at sixteen she arrived on her doorstep with her rucksack and sleeping bag, unable to live with Stuart, her stepfather, any longer. Louise, the sister she never had, always had her back when Willow confided in her. Grief and their absence compounded her distress.
Doubts of her magical ability confounded her state of mind. Every word, taunt, and accusation people had said ricocheted around her head as she tried to focus on protection and calming spells. The loudest voice was Clive, just as it was when she first opened the Emporium and he encouraged petitions and active campaigns to close the store.
As days progressed, the flat chilled and the Marleys’ presence grew stronger. Willow saw every wrinkle beneath Mrs Marley’s meticulous make-up when they stood over her and the multiple snags in Mr Marley’s jumper told her a dog once lived in the flat. Luckily, it had not joined its spectral owners; Vincent’s relationship with one ghost animal was enough to contend with. Had Black Cat retreated into the shadows, she wondered, or was he ruling the roost downstairs while his nemesis was protecting his witch? The archaic heating system struggled to warm the building, so Willow dragged her duvet onto the sofa, watching endless movies. They refused to soothe her mood, but they distracted her from any noise her anxiety could grab and twist into something to fear. When the fire died down, Willow wished her uncurled hand would release a ball of energy to produce witch fire, a talent she lacked despite the many lessons Louise gave her. ‘Maybe it’s not in your genes,’ her friend exclaimed, but Willow knew Grandma Jax could do it and her father. One more failure to add to the list. Willow’s talents with herbs, tea and, insight into people’s needs paled against Louise’s ability to manipulate the elements and courage to experiment with all magic despite disastrous results.
‘How am I expected to teach your daughter, Lou? I’m failing her like everything else.’ There was no reply. Amber was one of a kind. It was obvious when Willow met her for the first time. Her scrying and spell making ability were exceptional without instruction, but there was an undercurrent waiting to be unleashed. The escapade with soul walking a couple of years ago confirmed it. Only time would reveal if Louise’s prophecy about her daughter’s powers were true, but she needed more guidance than Willow could give. Another failure and a broken promise.
Her only escape was sleep. While nightmares plagued her at night, triggered by the clunks of the pipes, creaks of the beams, and clawing of birds on the roof, the soothing sounds drifting from the shop in the day lulled her to sleep, taking her to the place she wanted to be.
Speedwell Cottage.
***
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Willow hid under the duvet. Another repetition began. Firmer and more determined than before. She preferred Rosa’s tentative knocks and Amber’s muffled cursing to these. They were easier to ignore and the reward of hot food on the doorstep was always welcome, even if her appetite fled when she brought a spoonful to her mouth. She turned up the volume on the romcom playing on repeat. Mrs Marley shook her head before becoming engrossed in the goings-on of Colin Firth and the housekeeper on the TV screen. If Willow had known her penchant for movies, she would have left them playing while at work.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
‘Come on, Willow. I need to see your face and make sure you haven’t joined the other spooks of this place.’ Glenn’s continued speech convinced her he meant business. He would not leave until he saw her.
Sighing, she dragged her duvet around her and padded to the front door, where Vincent was already waiting. He reached up towards the handle, letting his view be known. Her company bored him. Willow fiddled with the chain and deadlock, opened it a crack, to see Glenn and Amber in the shadows. Vincent barged past her, opening it further. He sped down the stairs, eager for escape and to stretch his legs, knowing his witch had company.
‘Jesus! You look like hell, no wonder you’re not downstairs. You’d scare your customers away. And your kitchen—it resembles my student days,’ Glenn remarked, but Willow didn’t hear; she saw Amber’s face transform from relief to betrayal as she looked over Willow’s shoulder. Willow’s sludge-filled mind delayed her ability to call out and explain before the sound of stomping boots descending the stairs echoed in the stairwell. The bottom door slammed shut. Glenn didn’t flinch at his daughter’s departure, but continued to study his friend.
‘Flu has a habit of flooring you.’ Willow longed to rush after her apprentice, but what could she say to make it better? Explanations wouldn’t ease the tension; the truth would cut deeper.
‘Flu? Are you sure? Amber said—’
‘Flu! Snot, cough, fever, the works.’ Her fingers instinctively crossed behind her back.
‘You should have called.’
‘I texted.’
‘In a house full of spooks who near enough serve customers and answer phones that is not reassuring.’
‘Only Old Percy does that, and he pulls the phone out of the wall not …’ Willow registered the concern in his face and guilt sneaked in. First Amber and now him, pulling her emotions in ways she couldn’t deal with. ‘Look. I’m okay. Alive, so you can go now. I’d hate to spread my germs.’
His foot prevented her from closing the door. ‘Actually, I fancy a cuppa and you look like you could do with one. By my reckoning, you won’t be contagious now. So, no excuses, I’ll make it. Teabags?’
Giving up, she allowed him in and followed his gaze to Rosa’s box of Yorkshire tea near the kettle. He’d discovered her guilty secret.
‘Are these teabags? You never use teabags. They are environmentally unfriendly, and they take the magic away from the process—’
She swiped them from his hand and hugged them protectively. Now was not the time to explain that they reminded her of Nate and their first night together. Bittersweet memories in a sea of horror.
‘I don’t need a lecture.’ Willow placed them in the cupboard along with the mug she’d raided from the Emporium’s stock advertising the store. Another notch in her rigid tea beliefs. She conceded Nate was correct. Builder’s tea did taste better in a mug in times of crisis.
‘No—’ he nodded, taking a step back and an exaggerated sniff, ‘—but you do need a shower or, even better, a soak. Wash your hair. Get changed. You stink.’
Running her fingers through her hair, she cringed at the greasy texture, allowing it to stick up in tufts. She screwed up her nose, aware of the stale odour wafting up from her days-old pyjamas stained with the wine she’d spilt while crying. Alarmed, words failed her.
‘Just go. I’ll put the kettle on.’
***
‘Feel better?’ Glenn asked when she returned, wearing fresh leggings and a clean, sloppy jumper. One chosen in haste, so she didn’t slip on the jumper Nate left, despite his lingering scent being overwhelmed by the staleness of the last few weeks. If Glenn wasn’t there, she doubted her resolve.
‘I do. Thanks.’ Acknowledging the pleasure she felt taking a hot bubble bath. The relaxing bath oil from the Wishing Spell range didn’t proclaim miracles, but her knotted muscles loosened and the tension in her shoulders eased. The floral scent encouraged her to submerge deeper into the water, removing grime and a layer of fear. She had tried before to shower but, naked and vulnerable, every noise or creak escalated her anxiety. It could have been Rafe invading her home, as he had her mind. The Marleys’ attempts to reassure her with Mr Marley guarding the door outside and his wife soothing her with her words failed. It was easier to avoid bathing altogether. With Glenn in the flat, she could relax.
‘You didn’t need to have tidied up. I would have done it—eventually.’
Glenn shrugged and leant back on the kitchen chair at the table that was now clear bar the makings of tea. ‘Consider it paying a debt. You did it for me many times, as I recall. Besides, days-old lasagne is no diet for a handsome Maine Coon. The red paw prints made the kitchen look like a crime scene.’
The kitchen was transformed. Gone were the collection of the drabbest cups she had used; the mouldy casserole dishes and bowls of uneaten soup which joined the colony of fungi were washed, and the bins taken out. The room sparkled. An open window circulated the air, dispersing the heavy cloud of depression. The saltiness of the sea and the call of the seagulls flying outside woke her senses, and the atmosphere shifted upwards.
‘Thank you.’
‘Flu takes it out of you. The flat would still be a hovel next week otherwise. If it was flu.’ Glenn poured dark amber liquid from a teapot into a brightly coloured cup and pushed it towards her, urging her to sit.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She sank into the chair opposite, focusing on the rising steam from her cup and the aroma of the well-chosen blend instead of the look of concern in his eyes.
‘Amber wasn’t convinced it was illness that’s locked you away and don’t tell her this, but she’s rarely wrong. Not about emotions and stuff. But there is also that …’ He pointed over her shoulder at the mirror. The same mirror covered by a scarf that had caused Amber’s storming down the stairs. Like his daughter, he knew what it meant. He had seen it all before.
‘Worried Amber would spy on you, were you?’ he pried directly.
‘More concerned she’d be worried if she saw the flat in a state,’ explained Willow. And ask questions I’m not prepared to answer. When witches entered the shop, a gentle hum vibrated in the air. The frequency differed depending on the witch’s power and experience. It was how she recognised hereditary witches from novice ones discovering their skills, and differentiated those unaware of their latent nature and customers intoxicated by the town’s gothic atmosphere but whose purchases would remain in cupboards gathering dust. The connection allowed her to customise her service to fit with their needs. It was different with Amber. Amber was different. She didn’t only feel the electrical pull to interpret and unpick, she could amplify it, to delve deeper into that person. With Amber’s ability to scry and tap into people’s lives using reflective surfaces, Willow had no choice but to cover them and block her. She couldn’t risk her having access to her fears and memories. Maintaining the mental barrier was exhausting, but if Willow’s suspicions were correct, Amber didn’t need mirrors for the connection. If she tried, kinship and focus would be enough.
Glenn placed his hand over hers. ‘I know I’m not Louise or even female, but I consider you my friend. My only friend. If something’s going on, I’m here. To listen, to fight if needed, or even just wash up.’
The words Willow longed to speak stuck in her throat, as she knew they would. As much as she wished she could tell him the truth, the years of keeping secrets, shame, and fear forbade her. Instead, she sipped her tea. She focused on every detail—the aroma, the swirl of the liquid, and the drop dribbling down the side to the saucer—when her hand shook. Placing the cup on its saucer, she studied the man in front of her. Her friend whose frown lines were deeper than she remembered and circles under his eyes reflected his worry about her. The Marleys, clutching each other, hovered in the doorway, waited for her reaction.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed her chair back and strode to the mirror and whipped the scarf away. The ghosts nodded and their solid forms faded. Whatever danger remained, Willow knew one thing: even with her secrets, she was not alone.
Glenn’s visit gave Willow the impetus she needed. She uncovered every mirror, revealing the physical toll the last few weeks had on her complexion and weight. Her grown hair curled over her ears, revealing the blonde roots she wanted to hide. Only those closest to her would not believe she was recovering from illness. Natural light flooded the flat when she drew back all the curtains, and her mood lifted. A chink of light had broken through the gloom. She dragged her fusty bedding upstairs to the laundry basket, and layers of dust covering all surfaces were wiped clear. The sharp fresh sea breeze, gulls calling, and the general murmur from the town drifted through the open windows, making her feel alive. Exhausted, she sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.
Once she heard the shop’s lock click closed and Rosa tottered down Black Cat Alley, Willow forced herself down the stairwell. He is not here , became her mantra. The icy patch on the ceiling was no longer contained in a small area, but crept down the walls. Shivering, she walked past; it was a problem to be considered another day. With regret, she returned the teabags to Rosa’s hiding spot along with a note of apology, but she wasn’t surprised to see a fresh box. While the cat was away, the mouse will play and all that . She smiled. There would be a backlash from her staff after they heard of Willow’s hypocrisy. Old Percy scrutinised her every move and lingered in the workroom’s doorway when she opened it for the first time since the card’s arrival. She stood speechless. Was this how the shoemaker felt when the elves finished the exquisite shoes for the king?
Amber had cleared away the evidence of her last spell; the room was spotless. Freshly made potions lined the correct shelves, the aroma of fresh tea blends filled the air, and new Wishing Spell candles hung in their racks. A list of stock they needed to order lay on the bench alongside several packages ready to post. Her young apprentice had picked up the reins of the business and carried on. A rush of pride and love for her warmed Willow and made her smile. Despite the hurt she’d inflicted on Amber, she still devoted her time to the Emporium for her. Thanks to her efforts, Willow had a business to return to. I hope it didn’t interfere with your revision. Willow glanced at the calendar and calculated how many days, weeks, she had lost in the void. Shit! Her exams. Had she missed that? Drowning in her own sorrow, she hadn’t been there for an important time for Amber. Her mocks could impact the university she chose. Who else had she let down?
***
Willow checked her phone while the tea brewed in the pot. A bright yellow teacup promised her hope she didn’t feel. There were no new messages or calls from Nate. He had given up, and knowing it was for the best didn’t stop the pain. Another person she had hurt, except, unlike Amber, she couldn’t apologise to him.
Someone rapped on the door, and Vincent became animated as the aroma of fish and chips wafted into the room. Willow opened it and Rosa, with an excitable Alejo, bustled in with warm paper-wrapped packages and a bunch of flowers.
‘Sorry to drop in unannounced and uninvited, but Glenn said you needed feeding up. Thought you’d want a change from Mum’s Spanish fayre, and no one can resist chips.’
And she couldn’t. The salty taste and dripping vinegar sent her taste buds into a frenzy. Her appetite came back in an instant. The vibrant daffodils placed in a jug on the table added brightness to the kitchen, as did Alejo’s endless chatter and wonder at being in a witch’s home. Having the duo in her personal space differed from being in the shop, but Willow found she didn’t mind. She welcomed the company. Rosa gave the love sent from well-wishers, the gossip including her sighting of Old Percy and how people stopped her in the street asking about Vincent, concerned they hadn’t seen him on his daily walks or visits to their homes for titbits.
‘You would never guess he’d do that, would you?’ Willow said as Vincent vocally demanded Alejo share his fish. Giggling, Alejo obliged.
‘He’s been missed and so have you. I’ve missed you.’
‘And Amber?’
‘She’s worried about you, obviously, and is quite a bossy madam when you’re not around, but she worked hard.’
‘I saw. You both have. I don’t know how to repay you.’
‘You haven’t seen the overtime sheet yet. It will make your eyes water. We’re just glad you’re getting better.’
Once dinner was eaten, they shared a tub of ice cream after Alejo insisted everyone needed pudding. Conversation continued until Alejo yawned. It was past his bedtime.
Rosa rummaged in her bag and pushed a box of Yorkshire tea across the table. ‘For emergencies. And don’t apologise—it’s nice to know behind all the witchiness and perfection you’re human after all.’
Every day Willow got up, applied make-up to disguise the sleepless nights and forced herself to trudge down the stairs to the shop floor and face the customers. Amber boosted Willow’s protection spells around the building with her own enchantments, easing some anxiety. Cocooned in the Enchanted Emporium, there was no more contact. Maybe the banishing spell had worked after all.
Day by day, the darkness retreated with the help from her friends. Every evening either Glenn or Rosa and Alejo arrived to share dinner, ensuring she ate. The ghosts faded as the company of the living replaced the dead. Old Percy resumed his supervisory role of Rosa and ghostly stocktaking, while Mr Marley vanished with a roll of his eyes when his wife insisted on watching a repeat of Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth. Willow knew things were more acceptable when she came home to a warm, empty lounge.
To her relief, Black Cat was nowhere to be seen, but apart from her scheduled shifts in the Emporium, neither was Amber. She continued to work hard and was pleasant to Willow, but avoided spending time alone with her. She’d even declined extra spell lessons, citing revision and seeing Jack. The rift forming between them needed healing. Willow had let her down once; she wouldn’t fail her again.