A Blend Of Magic

32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

A mber and Rosa served the steady stream of customers. To Amber’s relief, many were regulars who knew what they wanted, or tourists interested in grabbing a famous Wishing Spell candle or tea rather than requiring in-depth knowledge and time. Fatigue wore her down, and she doubted she could hide her impatience for dithering customers much longer.

‘So, does he know yet?’ Rosa asked, looking at the dragonfly prominent on Amber’s bare arm. It was proving a talking point for many.

‘Who? My dad? Yeah, it all came out, so no more jumpers in June,’ Amber replied, keeping a close eye on two girls she recognised from college browsing the shelves.

‘That’s a relief. It must have been a worry. Keeping secrets always is. I remember having to tell Mum I was pregnant with Alejo. Every time I tried, I visualised her anger, her disappointment, and backed out. It took me six months and by that point she had noticed, anyway. That was my only teenage rebellion.’

Amber always struggled to remember Rosa was only in her early twenties and as close to Willow’s age as she appeared. Their lives were a mile apart.

‘I think I’d rather confess to having a tattoo than pregnancy,’ Amber conceded.

‘I bet your dad preferred it too.’

‘Yeah. He thought I was self-harming and ready to demand I go back to counselling. Only showing him the tattoo convinced him otherwise.’

Glenn’s reactions had surprised her. One evening, he insisted she help in the garden and show her arms. His relief was clear as she rolled her sleeve to reveal the dragonfly, and the rage never came. He adored the design. With warmth he said words Amber treasured. ‘You are so like your mum. She would be proud of you.’ They worked side by side in the garden, and he shared memories of Louise’s plan of having a tattoo. One she had also designed herself only to bottle out as she sat in the chair. Later that evening, he found her mum’s sketchbook so she could see the design herself. With a tweak here and there, Amber could see how to develop it and vowed to herself to have it inked onto her ankle as her mum had planned. The gap between father and daughter narrowed.

As Rosa said, she felt lighter, but a heaviness surrounding her relationship with Willow remained. She missed their chats, her lessons, and hearing stories of Louise. When her dad spoke of her, a raw pain reflected in his eyes, but Willow chatted as if Louise had just popped into the next room. Soon . She’d be able to have that back soon. Her hopes of discovering the person behind the letters were fading. The dream walking had so far come to nothing. It was as if he didn’t exist, or was a witch performing magic to block invasion. Plan A of matchmaking took priority and today, Willow’s spontaneous retail therapy provided the helping hand she needed. It was fate. Once she knew Willow was safe and Glenn happy, things could return to normal. No more avoidance of lessons or sneaking to Bones Ink. No more secrets.

Under the pretence of harvesting some herbs for Mrs Pugh’s tonic, Amber slipped into the Emporium’s garden. It wasn’t a colossal lie. She was gathering herbs but for her own devices. Vincent wound his large, lumbering body around her legs, hindering the progress through the abundance of plants vying for space in the small garden. It was a witch’s oasis and contained all she needed for the love spell she’d discovered online. Her mum’s notebooks and grimoire failed to provide her with any clue on matters of the heart; Louise’s priority was nature, raising the elements, and latterly teething and childhood nightmares. Not much use, Mum .

A flash of movement in the upstairs window caught her eye. Mrs Marley looked down. That was all she needed, a snooping ghost spying on her. Forcing a smile, she waved, and the figure melted away. Phew. She was safe, but for how long, who knew? Ever since Willow took her under her wing, there was an agreement Amber could help herself to what she needed, but if she knew which herbs were being taken, she would put two and two together, thwarting Amber’s plan. The cat continued to nudge her.

‘Vincent! Enough. I haven’t got time.’

He flopped down on a patch of flattened herbs before rolling on his back and purring, intoxicated by their aroma and the heat of the sunrays catching his orange fur.

‘Yes. Catnip is needed. If it works on you, I guess it works on humans too.’

Amber shrieked as Vincent swiped his clawed paw at her hand. Droplets of blood rose to the surface of the scratch; she hastily sucked it. Had he figured it out? She shook her head.

‘You’re just an oaf of a cat protective of his precious catnip.’ She pushed him out of the way to snip off the leaves, surprised as always at his weight. ‘Don’t look at me like that. This is no worse than your meddling at Christmas.’

Her conscience niggled when he strutted away with his tail high in the air. Thank heavens he couldn’t talk. Besides, she had to do it. This was for her dad and for Willow.

Amber returned to find Rosa on the phone.

‘No. That’s fine. Amber’s here and she’s nodding. She agrees.’

She raised her eyebrows, mouthing, ‘What?’ as Rosa continued to speak.

‘Will do. Have fun.’

Rosa hung up. Amber strode across the shop floor with a sense of trepidation as she glimpsed Black Cat strolling across the courtyard. ‘What’ve you agreed to on my behalf?’

‘Only to feed Vincent. I’m locking up as Willow’s bumped into an old friend, so will be late home.’ Rosa buzzed with excitement at the potential for gossip tomorrow. ‘I wonder who it is? Does she know anyone in York?’

Amber shrugged. ‘Probably someone from her uni days. She studied there.’

‘Really? I didn’t know that.’ Forget tomorrow, Rosa latched on to the possibility of gossip today. ‘What did …?’ Amber heard her frustrated sigh when a customer arrived. Saved by the bell . Talking about Willow’s life, knowing how little she shared, felt a betrayal of trust, and she didn’t want more guilt. Black Cat slipped in before the shop door closed. He’s a sign . Today things will change , and with the final ingredients securely in her rucksack, Amber was certain her potion would set the course.

***

‘Hi Vince. Your owner’s abandoned you for a night out on the town. But here’s your dinner.’ He appeared when Amber shook the cat biscuits but kept his distance. ‘Still angry at me? Well, the feeling’s mutual. I’m doing what’s right for both of them. You had your turn with Nate and now it’s Dad’s time.’

It felt odd being in the flat alone, the atmosphere stilted; even the Marleys were absent. Yet there was a sense of being watched, of something holding its breath to see what she would do next. Nothing. I’m doing nothing . Not yet anyway. The essence of Willow was everywhere, from the extensive collection of teacups to the mementos from her travels, including the blanket she brought back from Peru draped over a kitchen chair. Maybe when she got together with her dad, they would travel to far-out places. Na, they’re both too much of homebodies now. Amber knocked the table as she walked by, sending a magazine to the floor. As she placed it back, she saw it. A large ornate key. This had to be to do with the change in fate Black Cat had hinted at earlier. A large grin formed on her face. With Vincent happily munching the food in his bowl, Amber slipped it into her pocket. Forget Pinterest and other online searches. If she wanted a spell guaranteed to work, the answer lay in the Cobble.

The key lay heavy in her hand. A faint tingle of magic forced her to question her actions. She looked over her shoulder and listened for any sign she shouldn’t proceed. There was nothing. No creaking floorboards, slamming of doors, or ghostly interruptions. The scratch smarted as she placed the key in the lock. Am I really doing this? Hell yes! An image of her dad sitting alone flashed into her mind. Despite Jack’s disapproval and the dire warnings drummed into her at her first magical lesson, that love spells were the most dangerous to perform, this was the only way her dad and Willow would see each other the way Amber knew they should. Her attempts at more traditional meddling had failed, but she knew there was a chemistry between them. Okay, she admitted there was no explosion of passion when they looked at each other, and not even a fizz when they sat nearby, but all that would change with a forceful push. She would have a stepmum of her choosing by the end of the year, one who fit into the family dynamics and wouldn’t push her out, one who would care for her dad and bring security, not upheaval, and definitely not a bimbo extraordinaire with pumped-up breasts and mouth like Emily-May. Glenn would, in turn, support and protect Willow from mortal dangers. The house would be full of love and laughter.

The lock clicked, and she heaved the creaky door open. Her nose tickled, a sneeze threatened, and her eyes stung as dust motes danced in the air, disturbed after years of settling on the surfaces. She located a lantern on a hook by the door, and with a roll and flick of her hand, a blue ball of energy bounced from her fingertips to the wick. The resulting golden flame illuminated the tiny room.

‘Wow.’

Amber wished she could think of a more appropriate word, a clever word fitting her amazement at the sight before her. How could Willow not use this room? This was a witch’s paradise. A low hum of residual magic radiated from the walls. Whatever potion she created using a spell here was bound to have the potency required. All doubts faded as her excitement grew. She was in the Cobble.

A mishmash of ancient shelves lined the room above a stained workbench. Some were driftwood and hastily put up, but someone had clearly handcrafted others with care and love. She ran her fingers over the intricate runes and symbols carved into them. Rows of medicinal bottles and jars filled many of the shelves, their yellowing and peeling labels hidden under layers of dust and grime. The small window gave little light despite the blazing summer sun outside, thanks to the maze of cobwebs created by several spiders, and the creeping ivy outside concealing the room from the garden.

An iron cauldron stood empty on the workbench, along with candlesticks smothered with melted wax, and a pestle and mortar. Abandoned poison bottles, parchment and quill gave the impression the first witch long ago was disturbed mid-spell. Amber spied the book she had glimpsed previously and bent forward to read the spell on its open page. Fog of discretion. She knew it. Willow had used old magic to cast the mysterious fog. The room wasn’t as disused as she’d thought, but Amber still couldn’t understand why Willow hadn’t used old magic to banish the person behind the letters. Behind the threats. The rule of three? The same reason she had not attempted it herself. Would she pay a price for her planned love potion? If she suffered heartbreak to get Willow and her dad together, it was a price worth paying.

She set aside the book, her attention drawn to others, crammed onto a shelf in the darkest corner of the room. Light from the lantern failed to banish the shadows there, heavy with an oppressive magic. Whoever this space belonged to, they hadn’t shied away from using dark energy. A tremor ran down her back as she trailed her hand over a cracked leather spine. This was the one. She eased it out. The air shifted, magic crackled, and a sudden sense of being watched made her turn. No one was there. Logic told her to be fearful, but curiosity took its place. The old witch still remained. She felt her presence, her impotent resentment.

‘I’m just borrowing it. I’ll return it shortly. I promise.’

Amber needed better light to see. ‘I’ll sit just outside this door so you can see me. I’m only looking.’ She took the lack of response as a grudging agreement and backed out of the room. Cross-legged, she sat on the workshop’s floor, and gingerly placed the ancient tome near her in full view of the Cobble. Time stood still while she studied the yellowed pages and faded ink. Handwriting styles had changed over time as different witches had added their own sketches and notes. Symbols and formulas she didn’t understand littered the parchments, but there were place names she recognised: Streonshalh, Eoforwic, and Elfaen. She murmured the words.

‘Can I just ask you a question?’ she asked the void of the Cobble. The door slammed shut. ‘I guess the answer is no, then.’

Amber returned to her quest. At times, images manifested before her, snatches in time showing different hands flowing across the page—wrinkled hands with swollen joints, slender smooth ones, and the most recent wore an impressive engagement ring. All were left-handed. She scrolled through the abundance of love-related potions, lotions, and amulets. Ways to attract a lover, binding one to you, or how to lure someone away. They were all there. She discounted those which were too complicated, impractical, or disgusting. Who would ever believe giving their potential lover menstrual blood in coffee was the way to passion? She needed a vegetarian option.

She continued. They already sold Aphrodite’s tea in the shop, but getting her unadventurous dad to drink apple tea would require another spell. It was either Yorkshire tea or nothing in his eyes. ‘Love. I need a spell to amplify love.’

A slip of paper peeked from the bottom. She flicked to the marked page and grinned.

‘Perfect.’ It was subtle, flavourless, and the ingredients were readily available in the garden and hedgerows. Notes in a fresher ink filled the margin with slight adjustments and tips, and Amber jotted these down in her notebook along with the spell. She closed the book, dislodging a letter. Dated 1921 in faded ink, it pleaded Vi not to use magic but to leave matters of the heart to fate alone. It was signed your loving sister, Kate .

Amber wondered whether Vi had followed the advice. A postscript gave the answer written in the same handwriting as the matchmaking and heart-breaking witch.

My dearest sister,

I’m sorry your warning has come too late.

A girl needs to have some fun. Be nice. You may be my bridesmaid.

Your loving sister, Vi.

Amber traced the loops and swirls of the words, allowing an image to emerge. The music of the Charleston filled the room with a joyous laugh. It was the owner of the engagement ring. With an endorsement like that, Amber had to try it.

Thanking the guardian of the Cobble, she reluctantly returned the book. If her calculations were correct, this month’s new moon was on Friday only days away, making it the ideal time to brew this spell. Black Cat was right, things were changing. Everything would be okay.