CHAPTER THREE #2
‘I did. Nighthaven is a lot quieter than what I’m used to.
’ The coven tended to keep odd hours, with some of its members being practically nocturnal, and with rituals often being held at night, keeping a steady sleep routine wasn’t something Nyssa had managed.
Not to mention that, even when she did find the time for sleep, she was often kept awake by the bustle of traffic outside the covenstead walls, the pervasive racket only serving to amplify her own anxieties as she constantly replayed the day’s mistakes or worried over an upcoming spell.
Nyssa had expected her recent, most spectacular failure to have kept her awake last night, but the moment she’d crawled beneath the soft sheets of her old bed and laid her head on her pillow, sleep had claimed her.
Nyssa had forgotten how much better a good night’s sleep could make her feel.
She’d awoken without her usual headache and devoid of the sense of dread that had been slowly eating away at her for months now.
Even Nyx, who had spent the night curled between Nyssa’s legs, seemed more energetic.
When Nyssa had left that morning, her familiar had been happily bouncing through the long grass in chase of a particularly large dragonfly.
‘Mmm, it’s so peaceful, isn’t it? When I first got here, I thought I’d miss the noise of city life, but I had the best sleep I think I’d ever had!’
Nyssa hummed in agreement. Her attention had already been taken up by the various shopfronts situated in the town square.
She recognized all of them, from the sky-blue painted Fresh Goods store to the old, leather-smelling bookshop with its rickety sign and large, panelled windows.
Next to it was the plant shop, Nature and Nurture, where the seemingly never-ageing elf Nyssa remembered to be aptly called Azalea caught her eye and offered a warm, inviting smile.
‘Nyssa! My gosh, it is you!’ the elf said as Nyssa drifted over.
Her outfit was almost as colourful as the array of marigolds, lavender, roses and lilies carefully displayed on oak shelves, and Nyssa couldn’t help but notice that the streaks in her fair hair were almost the exact same shade as the bundle of marigolds she gathered in one hand.
‘Here, have some fresh marigolds on the house. I know they were Lisabeth’s favourite. ’
Azalea shoved a bundle of the bright, sunset-coloured flowers into Nyssa’s hands before she could protest, and the musky, earth-rich scent of her reminded her so strongly of her grandma that all she could do was whisper, ‘Thank you.’
After exchanging pleasantries with Azalea, Nyssa was led away by an eager Liora to the very bakery where the bard had procured Nyssa’s cinnamon bun.
Madame Jeanne, an unusually tall, elegant, middle-aged woman with a strong French accent, let out a gasp of pleasure when Nyssa stepped over the threshold.
‘What a delightful surprise!’ the baker said, enveloping Nyssa in a tight, cinnamon-scented embrace. ‘I am so sorry about your grandma’s passing, ma chérie.’
‘Thank you, Madame.’ Nyssa awkwardly pulled back from the hug. ‘It’s … really good to see you.’
In fact, Nyssa was surprised by how good it felt.
How familiar. For the past few months, she’d felt so off-kilter, as if she was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit into the life she’d made for herself any more.
But being back in Nighthaven … it was like a different puzzle piece of her had been found in the depths of the box, one that easily slotted back into its rightful place.
Nyssa wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.
‘We can’t stay long,’ Liora piped up from her place by one of the bakery’s large glass cabinets, her wide, owl-like eyes fixed on the array of shiny, baked goods before her. ‘I’m taking Nyssa on a whirlwind tour of the town.’
‘Are you, now?’ Madame Jeanne’s lips twitched. ‘Well, a whirlwind tour requires fuel, does it not? Here …’ The baker went behind the glass cabinet and selected two fresh cinnamon buns layered with icing. ‘Take these for later. My treat.’
As much as Nyssa savoured the thought of having another cinnamon bun to tuck into later on, she couldn’t shake the feeling that people really needed to stop giving her free stuff.
She was about to open her mouth to politely insist on paying, but Liora got there first, taking the bag of baked goods from Madame Jeanne with a smile bright enough to hurt.
‘Thanks, Madame J! You’re the best! We’ll come back soon! ’
Nyssa made a mental note to repay her with some sort of potion or charm the next time she visited (assuming, that was, she could create one without it being a disaster) and let Liora lead her to their next tour stop.
The second Nyssa saw the rickety wooden sign above the old, beamed building, she groaned. ‘Does Gaius still own the place?’
The grumpy old warlock had been running the apothecary for longer than Nyssa had been alive, and all she could remember about him was the way he’d glower at her whenever her grandma would bring her in and tap his ‘Do Not Touch’ sign if she dared look at something for too long.
‘He does! Lisabeth told me he’s owned the place for almost fifty years.
Can you imagine?’ Liora pushed through the apothecary door before Nyssa could answer.
The sharp, out-of-tune bell above it let out an obnoxious clang that had the silver-haired warlock looking up from the tome in front of him with a glare straight from Nyssa’s memories.
It took him a second to register who she was. When he did, he let out a small grunt, tapped his ‘Do Not Touch’ sign, and went back to reading without a word.
Liora rolled her eyes in his direction. ‘I guess even the reappearance of Lisabeth Hawthorne’s infamous granddaughter isn’t enough to cheer him up.
Maybe that’ll change once you give him some money.
It usually does.’ Liora looped her arm with Nyssa’s and led her to one of the cabinets, where an array of dried herbs and essential oils in small glass jars were on display. ‘So, what do you need?’
A visit to the apothecary had been one of Nyssa’s favourite pastimes. But today, none of the giddy excitement at the prospect of new ingredients to add to her repertoire bubbled to the surface. Instead, the thought of using her magic again only made her think of Noah.
She quickly mumbled the excuse that she’d return when she’d had more time to settle in and knew precisely what ingredients she needed.
In truth, the idea of doing any kind of spell right now made her stomach churn.
The people of Nighthaven were good people.
People who had come to this small town in search of safety.
Nyssa couldn’t afford to make any magical mistakes here.
And so she left the apothecary empty handed, and like clockwork, that pesky inner voice reared up: How are you going to improve if you can’t even practise?
‘Hey,’ Liora’s voice cut through Nyssa’s own internal one. ‘You doing all right?’
Nyssa forced her lips into a smile. She had barely been back in Nighthaven for twenty-four hours, and already she was starting to let her emotions show. ‘I’m fine. Did you say Gwen’s was next?’
‘Yes, you’ll love her! She couldn’t afford a space in the square, so her shop is just down this way.’
Liora linked arms with Nyssa and started leading her down a cobblestone alleyway that seemed to go on for miles.
The buildings were narrower here, the beams and bricks older and less evenly spaced, as if whoever had been constructing them had placed them all on a slight angle.
Overall, it gave the street the impression of being a little crooked, and Nyssa stumbled more than once on the uneven cobbles as she hurried to match Liora’s surprisingly fast pace.
Nyssa could see what she assumed was Gwen’s tea shop just up ahead, a lovely, two-storey white-stoned building with black beams around the windows and doors, with more than half a dozen sun- and windchimes hanging in the window.
It was as beautiful as the rest of Nighthaven, and yet it was the building next to it that caught Nyssa’s eye.
There was nothing particularly special about it. The windows were boarded up, and the off-white bricks were in dire need of a fresh lick of paint, but the dark beams and the circular window just beneath a pointed, slightly crooked roof gave the building a strange sort of charm.
Nyssa paused in front of it. There was something about how rundown the place looked, how …
in need of some love and care, that made her feel an odd sort of kinship with it.
She didn’t know how, but she could feel how exhausted the building was.
How lonely. Something stirred in the depths of her chest, a strange sort of knowing that made her fingertips tingle with magic, and suddenly a memory flared to life behind her eyes, one of her looking up at this very same building with childlike wonder and telling her grandma that they had to go inside.