Chapter 2
Grace crossed the threshold of Lavender Locks behind Caroline and was immediately wrapped in the scent of pine, vanilla, and fresh-brewed espresso.
Someone had threaded the entire entryway with fir boughs—Grace could practically taste the sap in the air—and hung them with fairy lights, which glimmered even in daylight.
The effect was both over-the-top and perfect, as if the shop itself had thrown on an ugly Christmas sweater and preened in the mirror until it liked the look.
The salon buzzed with the white-noise chatter of women in various stages of beauty metamorphosis, punctuated by the muted snips of shears and the mechanical sigh of hairdryers.
Stylist chairs circled the floor like Christmas village displays, each surrounded by a flurry of foil wraps and mirrored reflections.
Grace caught sight of herself in one of the full-length mirrors by the front desk and saw that her cheeks were pink from the wind, and her brown hair static-charged and a bit too long since her last trim.
She tugged at the sleeve of her wool coat, suddenly self-conscious, and tried not to look like someone who had almost cancelled this appointment twice.
"Melissa!" Caroline called, waving to a young stylist folding towels behind the counter. "Start the kettle, will you? And tell the girls the Queen of England’s here for her weekly grooming." She gave Grace a wicked sideways grin. "Or at least, the Queen of Sussex County."
Melissa, barely out of her teens and still green enough to flinch at Caroline’s brand of affection, nodded. "Of course, Ms. Shepard. Good morning, Ms. Baker."
Grace managed a smile. "Hi, Melissa. How’s your December so far?"
"Busy! So many people wanting festive hair for the holidays. I’ve already done three silver-blonde makeovers this week. And one poor guy who tried to dye his own beard and came out looking like a zebra."
Caroline snorted. "Did you save his dignity, or at least his ego?"
"Both," Melissa replied, brimming with pride. She vanished into the back, presumably in pursuit of Caroline’s tea.
Grace shucked her coat, letting the salon’s warmth thaw her bones.
As she followed Caroline through the forest of wreaths and tinsel, her eyes adjusted to the layered light, overhead track bulbs, pink lamps on every station, and the cold shimmer of actual magic that hummed just below the surface.
Grace had learned to spot it: a faint prismatic haze clinging to the walls, a subtle static charge when you brushed too close to a workstation.
To most customers it would register as nothing more than a trick of the bulbs or a product of over-caffeination, but for someone with psychic sensitivity, it was as obvious as a siren.
"Have a seat, love," Caroline said, sweeping a hand toward the styling chair closest to the window. "I’m going to work a miracle, then hustle you out in time to get ready for the tree lighting. Unless you want to join me in terrorizing my other clients?"
Grace sat, smoothing the cape Caroline draped around her like a ceremonial robe. "I’m happy to be your test subject. Just nothing too drastic, okay?"
"Trust me, you need an event hairdo. Bryant is going to lose his shit."
Grace almost choked. "It’s not a date."
"That’s not what he told Rick Dalton," Caroline sing-songed, grabbing a comb and sectioning off Grace’s hair.
"He said, and I quote, ‘I’m escorting Ms. Baker to the Winter Ball because she’s a danger to herself and others if left unattended.
’ Which, frankly, is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard come out of a man’s mouth, but I can see how you’d take offense. "
Grace tried not to blush, but her skin was traitorous. "Bryant doesn’t say things like that."
"Not around you. But around other men? Please. They’re like dogs in a park. They can’t help but piddle on every bush to mark their territory." Caroline used her comb to untangle Grace’s strands with brisk, confident tugs.
"Would you like a peppermint tea or something stronger?" Melissa asked, suddenly appearing at her shoulder.
"Tea’s perfect," Grace replied, smiling.
Caroline disappeared to fetch her own drink, leaving Grace momentarily alone with the reflection of herself and Melissa. The stylist worked with practiced delicacy, untangling the lower half of Grace’s hair and misting it with water before clipping it up in sections.
"Are you excited for the ball?" Melissa ventured, nervously twisting a lock between her fingers.
Grace considered. "I’m more excited about the tree lighting tonight. I’ve never lived somewhere that takes holidays this seriously."
Melissa grinned. "Wait until you see what Olivia did to the town square. She made the whole place look like Narnia. There’s even fake snow cannons set up for midnight. It’s wild."
Grace smiled, but as Melissa leaned in to brush stray hairs from Grace’s neck, their hands touched. A cold, electric snap zipped up Grace’s arm. Her vision tunneled, then bloomed with an image that was so sharp and so sudden it left her breathless.
She saw Melissa standing alone behind the reception desk, the clock on the wall blinking 7:32.
The salon was dark except for the blue glow of the screen, and in the silence Grace could hear the dull hum of the streetlights outside.
Melissa’s hands shook as she popped open the cash drawer, counting out a handful of bills, first with nervous precision, then hurriedly, glancing over her shoulder.
She folded the money into her pocket, then opened the ledger and carefully erased a line from the daily register before writing in a new number.
Her face was pinched with something beyond anxiety.
When she was done, she stared at her reflection in the computer screen, her eyes ringed with tearful purple shadows, and whispered something Grace couldn’t make out.
The vision dissolved as quickly as it had come, and Grace was back in the salon, the hum of dryers and faint croon of "Last Christmas" on the stereo filtering back into focus. Her body was rigid in the chair; she realized she’d dug her nails into her palm, hard enough to leave half-moons.
Melissa was oblivious, running a brush through Grace’s hair with gentle, even strokes. "Sorry if I’m tugging too hard," she said, sounding sheepish.
Grace forced a breath through her lungs. "Not at all," she managed, and in the mirror she saw her face had lost all color.
What was she supposed to do with this information? Drop it in Caroline’s lap and ruin a girl’s life? Confront Melissa, who might have a reason for what she’d done? Grace barely knew either of them, not really. She was the new girl here, the outsider. It wasn’t her job to play judge and jury.
Still, she couldn’t shake the residual chill. The afterimage of Melissa’s haunted eyes lingered in Grace’s mind like the taste of burnt coffee.
"All set," Melissa chirped, fluffing the towel around Grace’s shoulders. "Ms. Shepard’s coming back now—she’s got the magic touch when it comes to long, beautiful hair, so I’ll let her work her wonders. Do you need anything else in the meantime?"
"I’m fine, thanks."
Melissa retreated to another station, leaving behind the faintest trace of perfume and the ghost of that desperate look.
Caroline reappeared, balancing two mugs and a phone wedged between her shoulder and ear.
"Grace, you’d better brace yourself," she said, flicking the phone off and setting the mug on the counter. "There’s talk of a snowball fight tonight in the square. Harper’s already placing bets on who’ll get the first hit on Fire Chief Dalton. "
Grace managed a tight laugh. "My money’s on Anna."
"Mine too," Caroline smirked, then studied Grace’s face. Her voice softened. "You all right? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Grace searched for a lie but came up empty. "Just a headache," she said, massaging her temple. "Probably nerves about the ball."
Caroline didn’t look convinced, but she accepted it. "That’s what happens when you let men get into your head. Consider this a distraction." She sectioned off Grace’s hair and began snipping with quick, confident motions, the scissors a comforting staccato in the background.
Grace stared at her own reflection. The thought gnawed at her: she’d always wanted her visions to mean something, to help someone. But what if sometimes they only caused trouble? And what if doing nothing was just as bad?
Caroline caught her eye in the mirror. "Don’t overthink it," she said, as if reading Grace’s mind. "Tonight you’re going to look incredible, and everything else can wait until tomorrow."
Grace nodded, because that was easier than the truth.
But as the scissors flashed and the lights twinkled and the world spun on in its comforting holiday daze, Grace’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Caroline watched Grace’s reflection with the unblinking focus of a scientist about to dissect a rare insect.
Her fingers kept working, deftly weaving and snipping, but she didn’t bother with the usual small talk.
When she finally set the scissors down, her gaze flicked to the pale line of Grace’s jaw, the tension held in her shoulders.
"You going to tell me what’s really going on, or should I start guessing?" Caroline asked, voice low enough that only Grace would hear.
Grace’s first instinct was to deny everything, to let the moment pass and hide behind her old habits: deference, misdirection, apology. But her relationship with Caroline was too important for that. She moved to a new place. It was time for new habits too.
Grace cleared her throat. "I—" The rest caught in her chest. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, cape crinkling around her. "I had a vision. Just now, when Melissa was doing my hair."