Chapter 8 Jack
Jack
I’m taking in the chalkboard sign from out front of my shop when Rosie’s door opens, the bell over it chiming and pulling my attention across the street.
Yes, that’s why my head snaps up the second it opens, definitely not because I’ve had an eye on it the entire time, trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious woman. And even if that was the case, it would simply be because I’m eager for my next lesson in witchcraft and the supernatural world.
I’ve spent every night since I found out magic was real reading through my favorite books with new eyes, trying to decide what’s real and what’s not.
Are vampires real? Gargoyles? Zombies? Her cat that follows her around—can it talk?
Does it have magic? My mind can’t stop thinking about possibilities, and despite playing it cool, I’m eagerly awaiting our next adventure to grab an ingredient so I can try and find out more about this world I didn’t know existed until recently.
She smiles and waves, and I return it, sliding the sign into my store before stepping her way.
“Rosemary,” I say with a nod. I haven’t seen her since the last day of our dew collection.
I’ve been busy preparing for an in-store event I’m hosting in a few weeks, managing new inventory, and getting ready for the town’s fall festival, which is next week.
I take her in now as I move across the cobblestones to her, trying not to notice her sultry makeup that isn’t her norm (not that I’ve taken note, of course) or the way her long strawberry blond hair cascades over one shoulder, but I do note the long coat that covers the dress I assume she’s wearing beneath, leaving her long legs bare in the crisp fall air.
For some reason, it irritates me, the idea that she’d be uncomfortable.
“Well, hello to you, Jack Attack,” she says with a raised eyebrow. I glare at her, and she smiles. “You call me Rosemary, I call you Jack Attack.” I roll my eyes. “You got anything on tonight?” I’m across the way when she asks, and I shake my head.
“No, why, do you have anything… going on?” I ask, looking around to check if anyone is nearby.
She grins then nods, tipping her head into the store and opening the door.
I follow her in, once again shocked by how similar her layout is to mine.
The cash wrap is built into the left side of the room, with stairs behind it leading to her home upstairs.
Bookshelves line the walls, and a mishmatch of other bookshelves and tables is neatly arranged in the center.
Even though mine looks different, the layout is identical.
On the back wall is a pink door that I can guess leads to a stockroom and the HVAC and building’s appliances.
Before I can say anything about it, though, a sharp chill moves through me, and a moment later, my grandfather is hovering before me. My heart pulses heavy, both with the startling cold and the continued shock that my dead grandfather is here.
I’ve seen him a few times in the window, drifting along, waving at me, but I haven’t been back here since that first night, partially because Rosie hasn’t asked me over, but also because I’m still unsure of how I feel about talking to the ghost of my grandfather.
Most of the time, it still feels like some chaotic dream.
But if magic is real, I suppose he is too.
“Uh, hi,” I start, unsure of how to communicate with my dead relative. “Grandpa.”
“Jacky, my boy,” he says, a wide smile still pulling at the same familiar deep lines he had before passing. “How are you? Well fed, it seems.”
“Well fed?” I ask, and Rosie lets out an aggravated sigh, digging through a purse on the counter of the cash wrap.
“He has an obsession with what the living eat. I’ve had three square meals, two snacks, and dessert every day since he arrived.”
“Skipping meals is unhealthy, Rosemary.” She glares at my grandfather, and I fight back a laugh, watching her exasperation with him.
It’s similar to the way my mother would look at him when he moved in with them the last year of his life.
Even when he was growing weak and losing some of his memories, he loved to tease, taunt, and prod.
My parents still live one town over, though I don’t see them too often.
I was always much closer to my grandfather than I was to them, and once he was gone, it didn’t feel like we had much in common other than blood.
They’re both social butterflies, always hosting elaborate dinners and going to parties or events, something I very much do not enjoy.
I’m much more of a quiet-night-in type of person, something they just don’t understand.
“So is going to bed uncomfortably full,” Rosie groans.
“Maybe it’ll finally put some skin on your bones!” he says, and Rosie rolls her eyes. I fight the urge to let my eyes roam over her body, but even without looking, I know her curves don’t lend any credibility to his claims.
“I think it’s obvious from my ass I’ve been feeding myself properly all my life, Phillip.”
I lose the battle not to take her in, and it seems I’m caught when the deep laugh of my grandfather fills the room and a blush burns over my cheeks. I look up and see Rosie smiling.
“You two going out tonight?”
“We’ve got plans,” Rosie says, mysteriously.
“Not really a date night outfit, Jack,” he adds with a wide grin, and even if there was any confusion about whether he was truly my grandfather or not, it would be gone now.
My grandfather loved nothing more than poking fun at me and getting under my skin.
I look down at my green Gaming Den hoodie and khakis, not seeing much of an issue with it before realizing he’s baiting me.
“Oh, leave him be, Phillip. We’re going to get another potion ingredient,” Rosie says with an eyeroll.
“An ingredient? What’s next?” I ask, trying to change the subject to something easier, though I don’t miss the irony that witchcraft and curse-breaking potions are an easier topic right now.
Rosie pulls something out of her bag before she hands over a slip of paper written in curlicue handwriting.
As my eyes scan it, I realize it’s the recipe for the potion, and the first item beneath a vessel touched by the departed and dew from the days before, of, and after the waxing crescent moon is two ounces of the most expensive liquor from your local tavern. My brow furrows in confusion.
“Tavern? I don’t think we have any nearby.”
“The bar on the outskirts of town is as close as we’re going to get, so we’re heading there.”
I give her a dubious look. “Should we really be cutting corners? I don’t think this is the right time to—” I’m cut off by her words and an irritated glare that doesn’t hold the heat I would expect.
“Which one of us knows magic?”
“Allegedly, you,” I say with a smile, unable to stop myself from poking at her a bit. She gasps in faux outrage.
“Allegedly? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I smile at my well-placed barb. This feels like more even footing; in our small interactions over the years, she’s loved to tease and poke at me. I’m learning, and I love it just as much. “I conjured your grandfather, Jack.”
“Allegedly,” I say with a shrug. “I wasn’t actually there for that.
” She smiles and shakes her head, and I think she is enjoying it just as much as I am.
My grandfather looks from me to Rosie, and a mischievous smile I’ve seen before spreads over his face.
It was the one he used a lot when he was trying to convince my mom and dad to let him take me on some wild adventure.
He’d start by suggesting something so totally outlandish that when he suggested his real idea, they would jump at it.
“Oh, this is fun. You know, your grandmother and I were like this, always arguing back and forth. Kept things interesting.” That grin spreads further, and dread curls in my gut as he floats to Rosie.
“You know, if I recall, my boy always had a thing for redheads. This could be a good time—” I glare at my grandfather and cut him off before he can continue, before Rosie has something new to tease me about.
“Okay, on that note, it sounds like we have a tavern to find. I’ll drive,” I say, turning toward the door. “I have to get my keys and lock up.”
“I’ll come with and we can leave from there,” Rosie says, lifting a bag over her shoulder and turning to Percy, pointing a finger at the cat. “You stay here. Be good.” The cat blinks at her, but she nods, seeming to take that as a response.
“Don’t hurry home! Take her out for a proper meal!” my grandfather calls after us. I roll my eyes, opening the door. And I could be imagining it, but there’s a self-satisfied smirk on my grandfather’s lips as I wave to him, holding the door open for Rosie as she walks out before me.
“You’re not going in there,” I say twenty minutes later as we park outside of the old, run-down bar on the outskirts of Heartwood Hollow.
“It looks like you’d get caught in a bar brawl the second you step in there.
” While I knew of its existence, I’ve never actually ventured out to this side of our very small town, never needing to, and right now, I’m grateful.
It looks so run-down; if the lot were empty, I’d think it was permanently closed.
“It’s not as bad on the inside,” she says, and finally, I stop looking at the health code violation and turn to her. She’s staring at the building like it’s bringing back a flood of memories, and my brow furrows.
“You’ve been in there? Were you held at gunpoint and forced inside?
” In disbelief I take in the pastel colors of her outfit, her coat long forgotten in my backseat, a floaty dress that ends just above her knees, with long sleeves and a scoop neck, and a pair of pretty heels with flowers on them, her red hair flowing down her back in soft waves.
Rosie Mayfield is not a biker babe, not in this lifetime.
“My ex owns the place,” she grumbles, still glaring at the run-down building.