CHAPTER NINE
Nyssa hadn’t spent a Samhain without her coven in over a decade.
Even before she’d been appointed head mage, the holiday had been spent preparing for the coven’s yearly All Hallows’ Eve ritual.
Her days had been filled with research and quiet meditation, followed by an evening in the covenstead ritual chamber with her fellow mages at her side.
It felt … odd to wake up with no ritual to prepare for, and, after putting out her offerings on the altar in the attic, Nyssa had simply sat beside the fireplace in her grandmother’s living room, a mug of tea in hand and Nyx snoring on her lap.
That was how Liora found her. The bard let herself in through the back door, a whistle on her lips that had Nyx’s ears perking up before Liora even appeared in the doorway.
Normally, Nyssa would have been annoyed at the interruption to her peaceful morning, but she’d become so accustomed to Liora’s bright presence that the cottage often felt too quiet without her.
‘Blessed Samhain!’ the bard sang, placing a bag of what Nyssa could smell were cinnamon buns down on the coffee table, along with a large, gap-toothed pumpkin that Nyx immediately jumped off Nyssa’s lap to sniff. ‘Do you like Mr Plumpkin, Nyx? I knew you would!’
Nyssa bookmarked her page and got to her feet, an eyebrow arched as she took in Liora’s rather … childlike design. ‘Mr Plumpkin?’
‘Yeah! I used to bring one for your grandma every year, and she’d put it outside her door. I know she isn’t here this year, but … it felt wrong not to bring one, you know?’ A rare sadness passed over Liora’s expression, one that had Nyssa gathering Mr Plumpkin into her arms.
‘He’s perfect. Come on, let’s put him outside before we get started.’
Liora beamed, and together they made their way to the front porch.
Her grandma’s cottage was likely too far out of the town centre for many trick or treaters to come knocking, but in witch tradition, the pumpkin was meant for more than that: it was a tool for protection, and one which told any ancestral spirits they were welcome on the night the veil was at its thinnest.
‘Blessed Samhain, Grandma.’ Nyssa placed the pumpkin down beside the door, her hair stirring in a gust of wind that smelled suspiciously like her grandmother’s magic.
Liora wasn’t a witch, and so the scent wouldn’t be something she could pick up, but the bard still looked skyward and said: ‘Blessed Samhain, Lisabeth.’
Nyx let out a small meow, her tail swishing, and Nyssa scooped her up into her arms and gave her a lingering kiss on the head.
The three of them stood that way for a few moments, before Liora’s stomach gave a loud, gurgling rumble that had them both laughing as they went back inside to claim their cinnamon buns.
‘Okay, so how does this work?’ Nyssa asked once she’d taken her last bite. Liora hadn’t brought any ingredients or tools with her other than her lyre, which she only reached for after she’d methodically wiped any lingering icing from her dainty fingers.
‘So, the earbuds are great, but just in case you ever forget them, there are a few things you can do to shield yourself against the lyre’s magic. Now, I only tell these secrets to a very select few people, so consider yourself lucky!’ Liora said.
‘I am truly honoured.’ Nyssa’s tone was mocking, but deep down, she meant it; she hadn’t known Liora for that long and yet the bard had deemed her special enough to teach her tricks to. It’s probably just because I’m Lisabeth’s granddaughter, she thought.
Or maybe, another voice said, one that sounded suspiciously like her grandmother, it’s because you’re worthy of her friendship?
‘You are. So honoured,’ Liora agreed, and Nyx let out an affirming chirp as she curled up and pressed herself against Liora’s thigh.
‘See? She agrees with me. Okay, so, first things first, you need to focus your mind. Find an anchor point for your thoughts and feelings, like … a person or an object, or even a memory.’
That sounded fairly simple. Not unlike how the coven taught meditation for their spell work. ‘I know the perfect choice.’ She smiled, settling her gaze on her beloved familiar.
Liora started off slowly, plucking each string with a gentle touch that coaxed the magic inside of the lyre to life. It was a quiet song, almost mournful in its lingering, aching notes, and Nyssa suddenly found her eyes filling with tears.
‘Focus on Nyx,’ Liora instructed, continuing to play, ‘on every feature and detail. On how she makes you feel instead of the music.’
Nyssa blinked and did as Liora instructed.
In the early-morning light peeking through the large, bay window of the living room, Nyx’s fur had an almost golden shine to it.
Her ears, which were currently twitching in the direction of Liora’s lyre, were a little longer and more pointed than most cats, a feature that matched her long, slender tail and body perfectly.
Nyssa had known from the moment she’d lain eyes on her – a small, chaotic kitten of just ten weeks with a fondness for nibbling on fingertips – that she was the familiar for her.
She’d taken one look, and all of her worries had seemed just a little more manageable.
It still felt that way to look at her now, over a decade later.
Warmth spread through Nyssa’s chest, the urge to pick up the cat and breathe in a whiff of her comforting scent flooding through her, and suddenly, Liora’s song didn’t seem so sad any more.
The tears threatening to fall from Nyssa’s eyes had disappeared.
‘How do you feel?’ Liora asked, once the song came to an end.
‘Good. Once I focused on Nyx, the effects of the song’s enchantment fell away.’ At the sound of her name, Nyx let out a small chirp, as if to say, You’re welcome.
‘I knew you’d be a natural! We can try again at the tavern tonight during my performance! Oh, speaking of, I’ve got to shoot off for practice! I’ll see you there at eight?’
‘I’ll head into town with you. I told Gwen I’d relieve her before the afternoon rush.’
Together, the two of them (plus Nyx, who settled into Nyssa’s satchel without being invited) strode into town, their pace leisurely as they enjoyed the cool, crisp autumn day.
The leaves of the trees around Hawthorne Cottage were an array of dark oranges and rich, earthy browns, some of which had made their way to the ground and crunched satisfyingly beneath Nyssa’s boots as she walked, and she was certain she saw the glimmer of pixies weaving in and out of the trees from the corner of her eye.
The faint aroma of pumpkin spice and sweet toffee hit Nyssa as they reached the cobblestone alleyway that would cut through to the town square, and soon, the occasional spark of pixie light shifted into that of the warm, welcoming glow of shop and café windows.
Liora and Nyssa parted ways at the town square’s fountain, which, like the rest of the town, had been decorated for Samhain.
Half a dozen pumpkins of varying colours had been placed at its base, each hand-carved by a Nighthavener, and cat-shaped fairy lights had been woven through its iron-work fence.
Everywhere Nyssa looked, townsfolk were stopping to peer in windows, or nibbling on one of Madame Jeanne’s treats, and Nyssa’s heart ached with nostalgia as she remembered Samhains when her grandmother would take her to drop off a handmade protection charm to each establishment.
Maybe I’ll do that next year.
Except … she wasn’t going to be here next year. Not if she passed her trials, anyway.
Ignoring the pang that particular notion sent through her, Nyssa made her way to Teas and Tales, where she relieved a rather flustered-looking Gwen – the poor elf had been serving customers all morning, while also keeping an eye on her nephew Felix and his group of friends who had camped out in a corner of the café on some particularly comfortable sofas.
The café was far busier than usual for this time of day; almost every table was full, the rumble of laughter and conversation intermingling with the rattle of dice and clinking of teaspoons on mugs in a way that made Nyssa feel oddly excited to get to work.
She spent the afternoon serving Gwen’s Samhain tea blend – an intoxicating mix of roasted barley tea with notes of apple, rosehip and cinnamon – and explaining to Felix and his friends how to play her grandma’s enchanted version of chess.
By the time the sun started to set and the café cleared out, she was so exhausted that all she wanted to do was go home, curl up by the fire, and get back to the latest instalment of Enchanted Thorns.
Mreow.
Nyx pawed at the flyer on the counter top, the one advertising Liora and Swyn’s performance that evening, and Nyssa let out a small, resigned sigh. Her quiet evening would have to wait.
‘I’m closing up now,’ she said to the one remaining customer, a teenage half-warlock named Torin with a mop of unruly dark hair and a pair of glasses constantly perched on his sharp nose.
‘Oh, yes, sorry, Mage Hawthorne.’ He began to stuff the book he’d been reading into his bag. ‘I … must have lost track of time.’
He was one of Felix’s friends, but he hadn’t left with the rest of the group. In fact, he’d been spending more and more time at the café lately, often staying until it closed. Even now, as he gathered his things, his movements were slow, as if he wanted to drag out leaving as long as possible.
Nyssa didn’t know if it was her witch instincts, or the fact that he suddenly reminded her of Noah, but she found herself asking, ‘Is everything all right, Torin?’
The warlock’s pale cheeks flushed. ‘Y-yes! Why do you ask?’ He let out a nervous chuckle. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his nails were bitten down to the quick. He was slim, too. A little gaunt in the cheeks.
‘You just seem to be hanging around here a lot, is all,’ she said, ‘and you don’t seem in a hurry to go home.’