Chapter 5
Non
I woke to the incessant buzzing of my alarm, although it sounded more like an air raid siren with how sore my head felt.
In my many years of excessive alcohol use, you’d think I would have experienced the worst of a hangover. But this one…this one felt like fresh hell.
Peeling my eyelids open felt like ripping apart Velcro, and I was convinced all moisture had evaporated from my body. Rolling onto my stomach, I blindly fumbled around to see if drunk Non was clever enough to at least grab a cup of water before passing out last night.
Turns out she wasn’t.
A small part of me was glad of the volume of alcohol I consumed the night before; any memories after downing two-thirds of a bottle of gin at The Pig were a blur.
The missed calls from Elis on my phone, however, told me I must have done something idiotic. Needless to say, I wouldn’t be returning those calls anytime soon.
As I was about to place my phone aside and indulge in some self-pity, it chimed, and a notification banner appeared at the top of the screen.
Don’t forget! Sunday morning shift at Cawdor Café!
Of course, I’d done the exact opposite of what my reminder told me to do and bloody forgot.
Kev, landlord of The Pig, had asked me a few weeks prior if I would cover a few shifts at his sister’s cafe in the centre of town.
The last of those shifts was this morning—starting in twelve minutes to be exact.
With no time to shower and wash the booze and guilt off, I quickly threw on the pair of black jeans and tank top I had worn the night before. Vigorously spraying myself with perfume to hide the shame, I grabbed my bag and ran out the door.
The early hour meant Glad and Mum were still sound asleep, so I didn’t have to fight off Glad, who inevitably would have forced me to eat some marmalade on toast before leaving.
Being awake so early on a Sunday was a regular occurrence as of late.
Elis would usually kick me out early, so I’d often found myself walking home before the sun had come up.
Taking a detour through the cemetery, I would stop and visit Catrin, make sure she had fresh flowers, and sometimes even fill her in on the sordid details from the night prior.
But with only four minutes until my shift started, I didn’t have time to stop and chat. Pressing a quick kiss to her gravestone as I passed by, I sprinted towards the centre of town.
Cawdor Café was your stereotypical café, and Kev’s sister, Karen, had been running it for years.
Probably serving some of the same food since the nineties and, no shocker, the usual clientele were the arseholes who keep the seats warm at the Pig night after night. You couldn’t have paid me to eat there.
I made it in record time with one minute to spare. Thankfully, the regulars didn’t queue outside like they did at The Pig.
The entire place only sat twenty people, so it was only me working the front until Kev’s niece took over at midday.
The usual stench of cooking fat hit my nose first when I unlocked the door. Kev’s family seemed to have an affinity for businesses that produced stenches that clung to my hair.
I chucked on my apron and started organising the stacks of mugs before the early morning rush.
From behind, the bell of the door rang out, causing me to jump. I could have sworn I’d locked the door behind me when I came in.
“We aren’t open yet,” I called over my shoulder at the old bugger who ignored the closed sign.
“Surely you can make an exception for your dear old Granny?” a voice crooned from one of the booths.
I spun around as a cloud of white mist slowly dissolved, and the form of my grandmother emerged, seated like she owned the place.
My mouth fell open, but not for the reasons any normal person’s would have.
Witnessing my grandmother’s magic was old news; my childhood had been filled with parlour tricks and floating objects.
What shocked me was that she was sitting right in front of me in Caerglan.
After I specifically told her never to show herself here ever again.
“What the fuck do you want?” I snapped.
“Does a grandmother need a reason to visit her only grandchild?” Her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“No, but the term grandmother is far too wholesome to describe you. You’re more the hexing children rather than the teaching them to knit type.”
She dismissed me in her usual style with a wave of her hand and began stirring the cup of tea that appeared from thin air. It was the exact same teacup and saucer she would summon every Sunday when I was young, never lowering herself to use the crappy mugs the café supplied.
Tiny purple flowers were intricately hand-painted across the rim and trailed down onto the matching saucer. The edges were dusted in gold leaf, the same colour as the matching spoon she used to stir the tea.
She stirred her tea clockwise—always clockwise. Turning anything in the direction of the clock was meant to invoke good things in life. I suspected that today, she was trying to invoke the strength to deal with me and my foul mouth.
She stopped stirring and tapped the gold teaspoon twice on the brim of the cup before setting it down. “I can see that in my absence, your manners have become non-existent. So let’s get to the point of my visit, shall we?”
She threaded her withered fingers together and levelled me with an icy glare, one that dropped the temperature of the room significantly.
“What happened in the pub last night, Non?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
I managed to mumble something that resembled I don’t know, nothing, but my response was so unconvincing that not even I believed it. Granny picked up her spoon again and started stirring her tea as she waited for a more adequate response.
“I’m going to ask again, for the final time. I expect the truth. Need I remind you that I have a knack for knowing when you’re lying?” She raised a knowing brow. “What happened at The Pig, Non?”
I let out a long breath and took a few seconds to think of my response.
Whether it was her magic or I was just a terrible actress, she’d always been able to tell if I was lying.
After many painful smacks on the knuckles with her scalding teaspoon, I’d learned that mixing a bit of truth in with the lie tended to throw off her spooky senses.
“No lies here, Granny dearest. I drank so much that I have very little recollection of anything that happened after leaving the park. My best guess is that I managed to out-drink half of the town and did something reckless that has tarnished the family name. Now you’re here to punish me.
” I picked up my cloth and started wiping down tables so she wouldn’t see how much my hands trembled.
She was quiet for a few moments, but I could feel her beady eyes boring into the back of my skull. The clinking of her teaspoon resumed as she turned the words over in her head.
“My Coven got word there was some kind of mass explosion of power last night. Wielders were able to narrow down the location to this area. Initially, we thought a rival Coven was behind it. But then I received word from my sentries that you had been injured.”
I huffed out a small laugh when she used the term ‘sentries.’ What Granny really meant was the spies she had keeping tabs on me.
I wasn’t entirely sure if they were actual people watching me at all times or if she sent possessed crows, but either way, I always had this gross feeling someone was watching me.
And it was no surprise that it had something to do with my grandmother.
“Well, your little witchy friends got it all wrong, Granny” I spun around with my arms out wide.
“As you can see, I am injury-free. And you know as well as anyone, there’s not a lick of magic in me.
No need to worry—I haven’t ruined your big, bad, wicked Witch of the North reputation.
” I wiggled my fingers in her face but didn’t get so much as a smirk from her.
Throwing my cloth over my shoulder, I made my way to the back of the cafe.
Putting space between us was wise because her tolerance of my attitude was usually pretty thin.
I heard Granny mutter something under her breath in Welsh—because all magic was cast using the mother tongue—and I instinctively threw my arms over my head, readying myself for whatever was about to happen next.
But it didn’t come. No smack to my knuckles, pinching my sides, or pulling my hair.
As I turned back around to the front of the café, Granny was still sitting exactly where I’d left her, fingers interlocked on the table and the same unimpressed look on her face.
“Sit, Non,” she commanded, and a chair flew across the room toward me.
My legs began moving of their own volition; Granny had a knowing look in her eye that told me it was her doing.
I reluctantly took a seat in the chair opposite her.
With a wave of her hand, the blinds in the front window slammed shut, and the Open sign flipped over to display Closed.
Somehow, the relic of a television hanging above the till flicked on and started playing.