39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A mber waited until she heard the gentle snore from Glenn’s bedroom. He’d arrived home looking drained and tired, but he assured her Willow was fine and stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Amber only hoped he was telling the truth. She wished she could sneak into the Cobble for the Mend a broken heart brew the engaged witch had marked as a perfect cure. Instead, she wished upon the lone shooting star streaking across the black sky.
New moon, the ideal time for spellmaking and, being Friday, Amber prayed to Freya, the Lady of Love, to make this potion work. The look on Willow’s face when she saw the Facebook post was still fresh in her mind. How dare Nate break her heart? After all that was happening, he did that. She hated him. The possibility of a revengeful hex was considered, but he wasn’t worth it. He deserved Rebecca McLeod with the high- maintenance life and opinions. But if she ever saw him again, she’d make sure he felt the same crushing pain as Willow.
Her space was prepared in silence. Textbooks stacked haphazardly were pushed into the corner and tubes of paints and pencils thrown into a drawer. Opening the Old Apothecary box, Amber paused, fascinated by the contents. Her own Enchanted Emporium. Not for the first time did she trail her fingers over the bottles, wondering who they belonged to, but Willow’s cleansing had wiped the energies clean. Shame, she thought, they might have given her guidance or a kick to make this spell work. She cast a circle, lit a pink candle, and ticked off the list of the spell’s ingredients, including the fresh catnip. On this private occasion, she hoped to feel a connection with her mum, but there was no additional hum of a spirit close by. She was alone.
The scratch on her hand still stung when she unscrewed a glass vial, making her curse that cat. Was this Vincent’s way of warning her to stop? She groaned and slammed her hands on the desk in frustration. The pewter goblet wobbled precariously, forcing her to grab the cold stem before it fell over. Water sloshed onto the desk and a drip rolled down the metallic curved cup. Amber drew the goblet closer, watching the water settle, mesmerised by the movement.
In the goblet’s depth, an image emerged of Willow sitting in deep concentration staring at her laptop, her hand clutching a locket worn around her neck. She looked up, her forehead furrowed as she sensed she was being watched. Amber jolted back on her chair, snapping the connection. This was a sign. She’d bought the locket with her dad the first Christmas they were all together. On one side there lay a photo of Willow and Louise from their student days, and the other was Glenn and Amber. She’d worn it ever since. Willow was the glue holding the trio together, facilitating healing and a future. Her resolve boosted, she knew bringing Willow and Glenn closer was the correct way to go; with this potion’s nudge, they would be the family they were destined to be.
The crunch and grating of the pestle grinding the herbs against the stone mortar calmed her and pushed away her final doubts. A pinch here and a dash there. She whispered her incantation, adding the dry ingredients to the brew simmering over the camping stove borrowed from Jack’s dad. Once cool, she decanted the clear liquid into small glass vials. It was ready. Now all she needed to do was slip it into the lovebirds’ drinks and make amends with Jack. The next stages would work better with two people.