29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
F rom her bedroom window, Amber watched Glenn dig over the border, getting ready to plant the tray of bright primroses and seedlings they had nurtured since spring. They always did it together. A shared love of gardening bonded them while they healed their relationship, and the garden flourished under their care. Her favourite time of the year was passing while she was cooped up studying. She longed to close her laptop, pull on some tatty clothes, and join him. They rarely spent time alone recently. His visits to Willow, long hours at work, and her study always got in the way. And secrets. Despite Willow’s assurances, she still had not told him about her tattoo. She had to soon. She couldn’t expect Willow to keep quiet and he was asking questions about why she insisted on wearing long sleeves in the blistering heat. The newly healed dragonfly looked better than she expected. There were no regrets. Every time she trailed her finger over the delicate lines, she remembered Artie’s touch and smile.
To Garth’s disapproval, she had returned to Bones Ink several times; Artie’s smooth voice and ability to soothe her fears drew her there. He understood her and her art. With his encouragement, she produced a portfolio of work, and a couple of his clients had commissioned a bespoke design. The buzz she had from seeing her art on someone’s skin was addictive. As with tea blending, it was instinctive to add an intention, a spell, for that person alone to give them what they needed. A sigil for protection hidden in the leaves of a flower, or healing drawn in the scales of the mermaid’s tail. If she could ink the person herself, the options to help were endless. Better, though, she didn’t need a degree to learn. With her ability to study waning at least there was a backup plan when results day would confirm her fears. She doubted she would pass her exams. Until then, Bones Ink was another secret to keep.
She pulled out a cream envelope from her sketchbook addressed to Willow Anderson.
All day she carried it with her, waiting for the opportunity to pass it on, but when the time came, she couldn’t do it. The Willow she knew and admired was back, chatting with customers and even walking up onto the headland. What right did she have to pull the rug under her again? It didn’t take a crystal ball to see her friend’s face crumble or hurtle back into depression once she read the letter.
Amber unlocked the concealed drawer in her apothecary’s box and retrieved the bundle wrapped in silk and herbs. Once a quick fresh protection spell was cast, she unwound the fabric. Hatred and anger spewed into the room despite her attempts to neutralise its source, several envelopes matching the one in her hand. Every one identical. The same brand of envelopes, font, and no clues to the sender.
The first one had arrived while Willow was sick. On her way to the Emporium, she discovered the new postman leaning against the alley wall clutching several letters to his chest. Beads of sweat beaded on his grey skin while he struggled to breathe. Amber pulled her phone out to call emergency services, shocked someone not much older than herself was having a heart attack, but as she approached him, she felt it. The pulse of an activated protection spell pressing against him, barring entry. As she guided him to sit on the edge of the kerb away from the ginnel, she scooped up the letters he dropped. All were addressed to Willow. He quickly recovered. Confused and embarrassed, he refused help beyond a drink of water from a nearby shopkeeper. Dehydration could do strange things, he insisted, but he never did the round again nor ignored the rumours of spooky goings-on in Fenwick’s Yard. The Enchanted Emporium protested when she took the mail in, and she cautiously sorted them. Bills, invoices, and junk mail. There was nothing to provoke a reaction until she saw it. It wasn’t magical, but the negative energy was palpable, and the hatred it emanated made the back of her neck tingle. She ripped it open. The words made her sick. Everyone knew about internet trolls but to hold a penned letter spewing vile rants about the evil of witches and her mentor felt more personal, more threatening. Unsure what to do, she shoved it back into the envelope and her bag. It was a one-off, something she didn’t need to worry about or concern Willow with, she decided, but they kept coming. Most days, the regular postman whistled as he walked through the ginnel and across the courtyard. If it was quiet, he chatted to Rosa over a cup of tea. This day, he came in silently. While Rosa served a customer, he approached Amber, asking for Willow. When she explained her illness, he looked sheepish. A few moments passed before he said there was a letter he couldn’t deliver. He’d left it in the prearranged place for Willow to collect, like the old days. Her puzzlement showed. After checking the conversation would not be overheard, he explained further. When the shop refused mail by magical means, he would leave them with a neighbouring shop who were happy to act as a go-between. When Amber collected the now-familiar letter, everything slotted into place. The discovery of the remnants of a failed banishment spell in the workroom, Willow’s absence, and the ghosts being on guard duty. The more her concerns for Willow’s welfare were dismissed, the harder it was to confide in someone, and she didn’t want to betray her friend’s trust. It had snowballed out of control. Her only solution was to track down the perpetrator and make them stop. If only she knew how.
More conventional means of ticking off suspects revealed no answers. As much as she distrusted Nate and blamed him for being the catalyst for the year’s downfall, this wasn’t his style. With no further evidence, she had reached a dead end. Scrying gave nothing away, nor did her mum’s Book of Shadows and journals she had inherited. Like love spells, finding the origins of letters was not on her mum’s agenda. The Cobble’s grimoires might have a spell she could adapt, but without the key, it was impossible. Beetle might be the ultimate thief with his ability to sneak into the smallest space, but it would be a recipe for disaster, adding him to the vicinity of Vincent and Black Cat. The sooner Willow and Glenn realised they were made for each other, the better. Her dad would protect her.
***
Amber jolted awake with a gasp. She sipped some water, hoping it would ease the rolling wave of nausea. Jack had ignored her. He saw Amber standing in the shop doorway and turned away, continuing his walk down the street, pushing Joe in his stroller and attempting to control the squabbling twins. She wanted to run over and wrap the boys into an enormous hug as she always did and be part of the group, but she couldn’t. It was just a dream. But as much as she told herself and repeated the phrase over and over, she knew it was a lie. It was more than a dream. It was his dream.
They’d discovered her ability to dream walk into his dreams by accident. All couples dream about each other. This particular day Jack had recalled his latest dream, and she finished it, describing every minute detail from the colour of the buildings to the coin he discovered on the dusty road. Amber witnessed it all from a window and he’d seen her. The following night, he dreamt the same landscape and when he acknowledged her standing in a doorway, they discovered they could consciously interact and mould the dreams to their wishes. Who needed to worry about curfews and rules when anything was possible as they slept?
His refusal to interact hurt more than his distancing in actual life. She could rationalise that with exam pressure and family commitments, but this was different. Meeting in his dreamscape was their time to relax and have fun. Whatever was going on with his life, as far as she was concerned, with this snub, their relationship was over.