30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
‘ T hanks for that. Tea?’ Willow served Glenn a glass of iced tea from the jug she’d placed on the small patio table moments before he phoned, declaring he was on his way with two bags of compost he had over-ordered for a job. She didn’t believe for one minute his reason for visiting. If anything, he could have used them for his garden but now her friends deemed her recovered enough to remember to eat, the routine of nightly visits had slipped by. Surprisingly, she missed it.
‘No worries. It’s better you use them than the faff of returning them to the supplier.’ Glenn sank onto the wobbly garden chair. Straight from work, he looked exhausted and the usual exhilaration of doing a day’s work in a job he loved was tainted with concern. She waited for him to speak, knowing silence would encourage him to offload more than questions. Like father, like daughter.
She sipped her drink, welcoming the refreshing coolness. Summer had arrived early, with blazing temperatures. How Glenn worked in it, she didn’t know. The flowering wisteria offered them much-needed shade in the small kitchen garden. She used every available space for plants she could harvest for the Enchanted Emporium’s remedies and spells. Under her care, it flourished, providing her with a feast of colour and scent while wildlife buzzed with activity. An abundance of butterflies covered the buddleia and bees enjoyed the lavender and a brave bird hopped close to the slumbering Vincent sprawled on the patch of catnip she’d grown for his benefit. It was her oasis after long hours at work.
‘I’m giving up dating,’ declared Glenn.
Willow whipped round to look at him. This was the last thing she was expecting.
‘Can I ask why? I thought things were going well. I mean, you haven’t met the woman of your dreams, but it sounded as if you were having fun.’
‘I was, but it doesn’t matter. It’ll wait. I’m worried about Amber. I need to focus on her right now.’
‘Now she has her exams and reduced her hours, I’ve hardly seen her. It’s revision or Jack. During her last shift, she was panicking about this week’s exams, but she’s worked hard. She knows that deep down, so she’ll be fine. More to the point, what are you concerned about?’
‘Jack? Well, this week, that’s up in the air. She has ignored any message and calls from him and when he couldn’t get through, he phoned the landline. I had strict instructions to say she was out.’
‘It’ll be a tiff and blow over, judging by the heart doodles I found on the invoice forms. They are teenagers, it happens.’
‘I know, but there is something more. I think she’s self-harming or has lost weight and has an eating disorder.’
‘We are talking about Amber. The girl who has been known to eat tea round yours and then go to Jack’s for more. What made you come to that conclusion?’
‘She’s evasive, avoiding me and always wearing long sleeves. It happens. I’ve read up on it and with the childhood she has had, dealing with me, maybe—’
‘Stop! Right now. I can safely say she doesn’t have an eating disorder nor is she self-harming.’
‘But it’s summer. She should be wearing short sleeves like normal. You know what it is, don’t you?’
Willow nodded and squeezed his arm. ‘I do. I wish I could tell you, but you know I can’t break my confidence. Our relationship took a battering with my depression but talk to her. She wants to tell you but doesn’t know how and, for goodness’ sake, when she does, remember your fears and give her a big hug.’
Her heart tugged at the relief showing on his face. ‘You’re a good dad and you will deal with this teenage stance of independence, like Louise would have done.’
‘Thank you, I think. I just worry there will be a repeat performance of two years ago.’
‘She has grown to be a confident young witch with an excellent head on her shoulders. She may have her teenage trials, but she wouldn’t put herself in danger. Not again.’
***
‘Beetle! Where is it?’
Amber’s dragonfly bracelet was missing. The last time she had it was a week ago when she threw it across her desk in disgust after Jack’s betrayal. She needed it. Her exam was hours away and whatever she thought of Jack it would bring her luck. A heap of discarded books, paper, and clothes piled into a higher mountain as she checked everything on the desk and floor. Beetle appeared from her college backpack carrying her house keys.
‘Oh, no you don’t.’
Her attempt to grab him failed as he darted across the room, dragging her keys in his mouth. He squirmed away to slip into his den under the bookcase.
‘Beetle, bring them back.’ Despite Amber lying on the floor chirping to lure him out, it was no use. Once he ferreted his treasure away, he would not voluntarily give it up.
‘Okay. Have it your way.’
There was one thing he loved more than his hoard: fresh egg yolk. With him distracted by the treat and safe in his cage, Amber pulled out his stash. Odd socks, lipstick, pens, scrunched-up paper, her keys, and the missing dragonfly bracelet. She released the breath she didn’t know she was holding. A wave of regret washed over her as she slid it on her wrist. It was only months since Jack and she were happily planning the summer. How could it have fallen apart so quick? Enough, you don’t need him.
Artie listened to her and understood her far more than he did. Any spare time she had, she gravitated to Bones Ink. The creative atmosphere ignited ideas for her own work and when Artie set her challenges to push her designs out of her comfort zone, she was in her element. A brief description given, her hands itched to draw her interpretation. If she could prove she was skilled and determined enough, maybe he would consider taking her on as his apprentice.
She rummaged in Beetle’s nest some more; make-up sponges, hair bobbles, and a leather strap. She recognised it instantly, and Jack was forgotten. It must have slipped from Artie’s hair when Amber made an impulse visit to the parlour with Beetle hidden in her bag. Once he took a shine to an object, he was determined to nab it by whatever means. People didn’t call ferrets little thieves for no reason. Holding it in her fingers, she could see Artie deep in concentration while he tattooed a client’s arm. Would he ignore her in his dreams like Jack did? Did he even think of her beyond an interested artist? He was only nine years older. Age meant nothing, did it? There was a spark between them. She felt it as they spoke, and he would not spend time with her if he didn’t think there was something. Maybe he dreamt of her like she did him; the thong could provide a connection she needed to walk into his dreams. It was tempting to try, but despite what Jack thought, she had red lines she refused to cross. Family and friends were off limits. At times, when the emotional connection lured her in without her trying, she walked away.
‘I wouldn’t be able to do it, anyway. I don’t know him well enough.’ But what if she could? What if psychometry worked alongside dream walking?
The idea formed. Scrying had failed to find the person writing the letters. A thick fog blocked her view. The person knew how to push a witch away, but people’s defences came down in sleep, they might let her in. A tweak of doubt urged her to reconsider. Two years ago, she’d nearly died after inexperience with magic and astral projection led her to danger. For weeks she ended up in intensive care, hovering between life and death, unable to return to her body. She’d promised she wouldn’t do it again, but dream walking was different. The risks would be less, surely. She didn’t need to interact with the dreamer; watching from afar would be enough to see who it was. It would be minutes. Seconds. Any dangers were minimal, and she wouldn’t be breaking any promises. The result would be worth it. Excitement grew; she needed to gather objects to practise with but first she needed to do her exam.
***
Amber could walk into Jack’s dreams with ease. His consent and the bond they shared meant it took seconds to see him waiting. All she needed to engage and manipulate a dream was for the dreamer to bring her into their mind’s narrative by acknowledging her. A nod, facial expression, or a word in her direction was enough. Otherwise, she remained a bystander watching the scenes unfold behind a looking glass. Connecting to a stranger’s dream proved more taxing. A collection of random objects she picked up around town lay on her desk. A bookmark from the library, coffee cup from the beach, receipt, and a baby’s sock.
The baby was the easiest and most fun to use and she didn’t have to wait until night-time to try it out. Locking her bedroom door, she held the sock in her hand while allowing herself to drift off. The toddler sat in the crib watching the mobile and smiled as soon as she saw Amber in the corner. With a flick of her hand, Amber made the toys jiggle and dance to a soothing melody of ‘Clair de Lune’. Giggles encouraged her to conjure more magic until she heard a woman’s voice, and the child woke, thrusting Amber back to her reality in an instant.
Adults were harder, requiring her to push through a dense barrier. The effort showed with the dark shadows forming beneath her eyes and constant yawning during the day. As she browsed the different dreamworlds, she concluded people were either stranger than their daily fa?ade or more mundane. From elaborate tales of espionage and deceit to witnessing the methodical making of a coffee, the human mind conjured up it all. Labyrinths of corridors were a popular dream leading to endless rooms of different sizes, but nightmares were the worst. When they belonged to children, their readiness to see her allowed her to lead them to safety. Adults were different; she stood helpless to change the horrific scenarios, and she never wanted to think about the images a teenage boy conjured after she used his dropped Coke bottle. Ew!
The time came to use the letters. With additional protection spells, Amber slept. There was nothing. Did this person ever dream? It seemed not.