49. Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Forty-Nine
N ate watched Vincent’s emotions flick from overjoyed to see Willow to concerned and on guard in an instant. The witch and her familiar were clearly attuned to each others moods, and he knew it would take a while to get used to the close bond. Glenn remained at his home in case Amber returned, as the police assured him she would. The hope she’d be at the Emporium faded when they came back to darkness.
‘Tea,’ Nate said, sliding the cup over to Willow sitting at the table with several cream letters in front of her. She paled, reading each one. They were vile rants and threats, and each letter began with Dear Goldilocks .
‘I don’t understand why she has them and they weren’t delivered to you. Or why she didn’t give them to you?’
‘Protection. They wouldn’t have been able to get to the Emporium because of the property’s protection spells. I cast them after the first letter, and she bolstered them up while I was ill. Unlike the first letter, he posted these. My guess is he tried to hand deliver the second one, but the spells repelled it, so he used the postal service, assuming the postal workers to be immune.’
‘But they’re not?’
‘No, but ever since I moved in, our regular post-person developed a system which has worked for years. He must have told Amber about it, allowing her to intercept the letters. When we first opened, I had a flurry of letters objecting to bringing magic to the area, especially with the shop’s terrible reputation. Some were horrid. A similar protective spell was cast. Any letters unable to pass through the alley are left with a neighbouring shop. The Emporium doesn’t react well with negative energy.’
‘What happens if they try to deliver?’
‘With my spell, a sense of unease, extreme anxiety and nausea. Enough to warn people to back off. Amber’s spell, I’m not sure. All I know is it’s more powerful than mine.’
‘She’s that good?’
‘More than she knows, which concerns me. If she has tried to deal with this on her own, I dread to think what she could’ve done.’
‘Her disappearance may be unconnected. It looks like she’s run away.’
‘But where to? Something’s not right. What happens if Rafe has found her?’
Rafe. ‘Shit.’ Nate scrambled for his phone and opened his emails from Parson’s Investigations. The report of Rafe Amenábar, forgotten in the excitement of Speedwell Cottage and lust. He scanned the document, his hold on his phone tighter the more he read.
‘It isn’t him.’
‘What?’ Willow looked up from the altar she was creating on the coffee table with crystals, a shell filled with water, candles, and other artefacts he didn’t recognise.
‘Speedwell Cottage wasn’t the only thing Parson’s Investigations were looking into. After you shared your story, I thought it would help you to know where he was. If he was still a threat. This is the report.’
Willow grabbed his phone, and while she read, he scanned the room. It had changed since he was last there. A large map of the Yorkshire Moors covered part of the wall. Pins dotted the potential places of Speedwell Cottage where Willow had checked and dismissed. Mexenby was nowhere to be seen. He peered closer, finding Fetherby, its nearest village, and tracked the main lane with his finger and smiled. It truly was hidden in plain sight, with Mexenby tucked away in the central crease. So easy to miss. Thank goodness Parson’s had found the old rental advert in an archived local newspaper. Was Amber another case for them?
‘He’s in prison.’ Willow’s voice shook, Rafe’s life in black and white bringing the fear back.
‘Yes, for GBH of his current wife and assault on his previous one. Your Zugarramurdi witches were right when they said you had a lucky escape. With his grandmother dead, the Amenábar estate is run by his sister, Anna.’
‘He could still be pulling strings inside jail. If he saw the photo, he could—’
‘He didn’t see the photo, Willow. Scroll down to the amendment on the last page. He lost his sight in a violent attack in his last jail. Witches aren’t the only people to hate him.’
‘But if it’s not him, who has Amber?’
Nate wasn’t sure anyone had Amber, but the threat to Willow was closer to home than a Spanish jail. Someone who knew her hair formed ringlets when it grew like the fictional thief. From her uni days? He sank down beside her on the floor to comfort her, but Vincent had the same idea. Leaping off the sofa, he dislodged the pile of scrapbooks perched there, and a box of old photos, obviously part of Willow’s search for Grandma Jax’s cottage. Letting Vincent soothe Willow, Nate gathered the scattered images up. Faded ones of the Emporium before she weaved her magic and made it into a success. They documented its revival.
‘When was this?’ He showed her one of her standing by a more sprightly Mrs Ramsey in front of the shop with its peeling paintwork but sparkling windows.
‘When I first returned. She wanted to know what I’d bought. And …’ Fear crept across her face. ‘My hair was longer. In the excitement of owning the shop, I forgot to cut and dye it. My roots and curls show. It could be anyone local.’
‘We need to update the police. And Glenn. Is there anyone you remember from that time you befriended? Those trolls, did you—?
‘Paint. I decorated the shop myself; it got everywhere in my hair. The night after that photo was taken I shaved it off when—’ Willow paused, grasping a memory. ‘No, it can’t be. He’s annoying, but a harmless creep.’
‘Who?’
‘Clive.’
‘I disagree, Willow. He was full of malice that night in the pub. He hates you. Most places in town embrace the gothic atmosphere. Mercer’s is a different story. It’s the only estate agent’s I know that takes active precautions against witches.’
‘It’s all talk. He wouldn’t risk doing anything.’
‘Are you sure? What did he do to make you cut your hair?’
‘It was a misunderstanding. I wasn’t lying about the paint in my hair, it was a nightmare, but soon after I moved in Clive paid me a surprise visit. Surprising because when I viewed the property, I could’ve sworn he feared the place, and he lost out on the commission because of his attitude. But he acted nice, charming even, so much I agreed to meet him at the pub after he said he’d found some information about the history of the place. It was an okay evening. I met some locals, except he was under the impression we’d been on some sort of date. When we left the pub, he tried it on. I rebuffed him but then he touched my hair. I reacted without thinking. The memories of Rafe overtook me, and I kneed him in his groin. As soon as I was home, I cut my hair. He has disliked me ever since. Later he was part of the campaign to close the shop until he became convinced I’d cursed him. His belief in hexes is quite handy as he stays out of the way.’
‘So, nothing happened until Christmas?’
‘Only glares and snide comments as he crossed the road to avoid me. I scare him.’
‘What changed?’
‘Nothing except you.’
The fire died down, leaving a chill in the air. Nate hoped it wasn’t an unseen ghostly presence. Who haunted upstairs? Mrs Marley? He couldn’t remember. He covered Willow with a blanket while she slept on the sofa, Vincent tucked in next to her, providing comfort and security. Overwhelming exhaustion hit after she’d performed a location spell with limited success. All she could detect was water, which being on the coast gave little information. Was she still in Whitby or had she travelled elsewhere? In desperation, Willow attempted scrying. While being more Amber’s expertise, it had worked when Amber got into strife before. Images shimmered in the black mirror, showing water lapping over sand, a dragonfly tattoo. A man’s hand. Willow’s shock broke the tentative connection. Repeated efforts failed, but she kept trying until she keeled over.
Not prepared to leave her, he updated Glenn and hoped he’d persuade the police to search the beaches.
The banging on the shop door vibrated the old windows, waking Willow. Nate rushed downstairs first, trembling as he ran through an ice patch near the counter. ‘Not now, Percy,’ he muttered before taking stock of what he had said. He was talking to a ghost!
Willow threw him the keys as she entered the shop. He unlocked and opened the door.
There stood Amber, propped up by a man at least ten years her senior.
‘Oh my Goddess, what’s happened?’ Willow sprang into action, wrapping her arms around the sobbing teenager who looked younger than he remembered, like the child she’d only recently left behind. Her pale skin was nearly translucent in the light of the old gas lamp, emphasised by the dark streaks of mascara and eyeliner. Amber crumpled against Willow, unable to speak for shivering. Nate noticed the dried blood beneath her laddered tights and her grazed elbows. He saw red.
‘What have you done to her?’ he snapped, taking in the stranger’s dark clothes, tattoos snaking up his arms and neck, and his ponytail. If this man had hurt her—
‘Nothing, mate. It wasn’t me. I just brought her home. She’s had too much to drink,’ the man said, cradling his hand, bruises forming at his knuckles. ‘And as for him, we sorted it.’
‘It’s true,’ whispered Amber. ‘Artie saved me.’