48. Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Eight
T he beer flowed, and people huddled in crowds, laughing and talking around a small bonfire. The bass of the music from someone’s Bluetooth speaker acted as the heartbeat of the party with the regular whoosh of the sea hitting the shore. Amber slipped her boots off, allowing her bare feet to sink into the golden sand, watching the people mingle. When Artie invited her, she’d jumped at the chance, but doubts formed. She didn’t belong, not fully. Amber loved the conversations with Artie about art, tattoos, the world, and he didn’t flinch at her witchy quirks she accidentally revealed, but his friends were older, working or not, and treated her as a kid. And that’s how she felt, a child out of her depth. Home appealed, and she longed to talk to Glenn and for him to make things better. She’d messed up. Big time. Had he noticed she’d gone yet? She hoped not. Artie’s invite had delayed her plan to be miles away by now.
She sat down to watch the sun’s daily farewell. The bright colours were forever changing, proud to show its power and glory. Unlike Willow, who loved the moon, the sun’s energy with its changing canvas and artistry attracted Amber. The summer had started with such promise and hope. It should have been the best one yet. Three months of no education or revision pressure; it was her time to have fun with Jack. To work and save money for their travels. All her plans had crumbled, and it was her fault. She turned on her phone, debating whether to text Jack an apology, explain, and confess how badly she had behaved. All she wanted was for her dad and Willow to be happy. The kiss was supposed to seal the deal and when she’d seen Nate walking on the shoreline, a spike of anger and fear flared. His presence would ruin it all. The lie about her dad’s relationship slipped out before she could stop herself. Such a small lie, but it snowballed into a tangled mess of shame and deceit. His face had crumpled at the news. The enormity of her lie crushing her was made worse by the recent posts on Rebecca’s newsfeed with another man as her husband. She’d completely messed up.
A woman she recognised waved to her, calling her over. Amber brushed herself off. It was time to have fun, in the hope it would wash the sadness away.
Amber swayed in time with the music, her body relaxing more as she gulped another mouthful of beer. The first sips tasted bitter, making her splutter. How could her dad have consumed so much of this stuff? The answer came as a calmness washed over her and she felt a disconnection from her thoughts. She was in her body, but not. Not too dissimilar to dream walking, but she was awake in her own life. She welcomed the numbness from pain. All she had to do was listen to the music. Artie’s laughter drifted across the crowd and, like the moth to the bright moonbeams, she weaved her way through the sweating bodies towards him. She giggled. He was her moon. Jack didn’t matter. Artie had invited her to the party and given her a place to stay. He cared. He’d make everything okay.
‘Oh, here she is. My prodigy.’ Artie draped his arm around her, making her swoon. ‘I’m glad you came. Grab yourself another drink.’
Introductions made, a new confidence emerged as she spoke about her designs to interested bystanders. Why did she think she didn’t belong? They listened; Artie listened. In the light of the bonfire’s flames, Amber studied him. He was more handsome than before, but fuzzy around the edges. I’m drunk , she decided, and I like it.
A stunning woman approached, snuggled in a picnic blanket. Artie’s eyes lit up as she kissed him on the cheek, and he wrapped his other arm around her. ‘Chloe, there is someone I’d like you to meet. Amber, this is Chloe, my business partner and fiancée.’
‘I’m thrilled to meet you.’ Chloe held her hand out to Amber and awarded her with a radiant smile. ‘Artie’s talked about you and your designs non-stop. It’s lovely to finally put a face to the name. And I’ve an idea I’d love to discuss with you for when this one is born.’
Amber’s heart imploded at her words and the sight of Chloe’s round stomach. Not only was Artie in a relationship, but he was also about to be a father.
‘I need to go.’ Artie’s friends let her pass, and she fled further down the beach.
***
Cursing, Amber berated herself. He didn’t see her as anything but a child. He never had. She headed towards the sea, away from the crowd. She sank onto the sand, cradled her legs, and allowed the tears to flow. The shock of Chloe’s arrival, the waves lapping over her feet, and sea air, cleared some fog clouding her thoughts. A fool. She was such a fool.
The back of her neck prickled. Someone was watching from the beach huts. She turned. Bloody Clive . Goddess, he is creepy . No wonder Willow disliked him, though the feelings were mutual with his tales of devil worship and Hell he spewed whenever he saw her. Amber chuckled every time she passed the estate agent’s with the witch ball hanging in the window and the horseshoe above the door designed to keep witches away. They meant nothing, a false hope to make him feel better. A witch could enter and purchase a property from him, and he wouldn’t even know. He arrogantly strolled around the town, in his highly polished Italian-made shoes, bespoke suits, and slicked-back hair, as if he should be adored. He tracked her as she stood and walked along the shoreline. It didn’t surprise her when she heard and felt the thump of his footsteps behind her.
‘You look like you have the world on your shoulders. Awful day?’ he said, approaching her. ‘Why not have another beer? It helps you relax.’
He was being nice. Why was he being nice? Where were the anger and declarations of abomination? ‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘You’ll feel better.’
Amber’s eyes blurred and struggled to keep him in focus. Swaying, she prepared to argue, but resigned, she just took the beer and took a long swig.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
She shook her head. Nothing made sense. He continued to speak, and his nasal whine mellowed. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as she thought. Attractive in a way Artie never could be. A breeze picked up, whipping her hair across her face; she swiped it away.
His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, twisting it to reveal her dragonfly tattoo. His face filled with a white rage.
‘It’s you! You’re the witch who has been haunting my dreams.’