Chapter 6 #2
I popped the rest of the scone onto a plate, and then poured myself a cup of coffee.
By the time I finished the scone, Rhi’s intentions were flooding through me.
I looked around the cozy, sweet-smelling kitchen, feeling like I could cheerfully hug every single piece of furniture and appliance, just for existing.
In the back of my mind, I knew it was just the spell, but it was pleasant all the same, feeling gratitude rather than the marrow-deep anxiety that I knew was waiting in the wings, ready to take center stage again the moment the charm wore off.
“Oh, before I forget, I pulled these together for you,” Rhi said, and I jumped as a stack of heavy books thudded down onto the table beside me, upsetting my coffee mug.
“Oops, sorry,” Rhi tutted, pulling a dishcloth from the waistband of her apron, and using it to mop the dribbles of coffee up off her nice, clean table.
“What is all this?” I asked, sliding the books toward me.
“I thought they might be a good place to start,” Rhi said. “You know, for your research.”
My heart sank. That’s right. Everyone else in Lightkeep Cottage thought I was going to be spending my time poring over books to unravel the mystery that was the Darkness. I’d have to keep that charade up if I was going to avoid getting caught doing my real research.
“Oh, great, thanks,” I said, and thanks to the lingering effects of the scone, I actually sounded like I meant it, because Rhi beamed.
“And I know we talked last night about getting you access to whatever resources the Conclave has on the Darkness. I’m going to get started on that for you today.
I’ll be meeting with Xiomara to come up with a strategy.
She’s by far the most likely to agree that you need access to whatever they have, and I also think she might have a better idea of how to get past Ostara if she tries to gatekeep. ”
“It’s kind of wild,” I said, “that Ostara would want to keep that information from me. I mean, wouldn’t she want me to be as well-armed as possible, for the sake of the town?”
Rhi’s smile was a little sad. “Yes and no. I think there’s a little piece of her that hopes, if the Darkness triumphs, it will be at the hands of a Vesper this time. It’s not right, or fair, but I think it’s probably true.”
“That’s kind of… well, screwed up, isn’t it?” I asked.
Rhi blew out an exasperated breath, puffing out her cheeks. “It sure is. But then, ever since Sarah betrayed them, the Claires have been a bit screwed up.”
“Do witches believe in therapy?” I asked.
Rhi threw her head back and laughed. “Would you confide any of this to a therapist?”
“Huh. I guess not,” I said. “Not unless I was looking to get committed. But still. Ostara’s got some serious baggage to unpack.”
“Indeed, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. Try not to worry about her, Wren. The rest of us are all here to help you, honey,” she said. “You’re not in this alone.”
I just nodded, swallowing my real feelings along with a large gulp of coffee. No, I wasn’t alone exactly, but there were parts of this I would have to do on my own. I crammed the remains of the scone in my mouth, and scooped the books up into my arms.
“I’ll take these with me. They’ll help me pass the time at Shadowkeep,” I said.
I paused on my way out the door. The mirror still sat in my bedroom, covered up again with my discarded laundry.
Did I dare just leave it there all day, unattended?
Would my family be safe? I hovered with my hand on the doorknob, considering.
Then I turned to face the living room and made a “psst-psst” sound between my teeth.
“Diana? Diana, are you in here?”
The ancient and fluffy white cat appeared on the back of the sofa almost instantly, glaring at me with her one eye as though offended to be summoned in such an undignified manner. I held out a hand.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t mean to… I guess the whole ‘psst-psst’ thing is a bit beneath your pay grade, huh?”
Diana inclined her head, and I took that to mean that she accepted my apology.
I closed the distance between us, perching myself on the edge of the couch, and putting my face very close to hers.
She went very still, waiting. I darted my gaze toward the kitchen to ensure Rhi wasn’t close enough to overhear, and then whispered, “There’s a mirror in my closet.
I think I… connected with something through it last night.
You know the something I’m talking about. ”
Diana yawned as though to say, “Yes, yes, of course I do, get on with it, human.”
“I’m not sure if it’s… safe. Will you watch over it? Make sure that whatever was in that mirror last night stays on its own side of the glass?”
Diana flicked her tail once, twice. Then she leaped lightly down from the sofa, gave one long look at me from over her shoulder, and vanished up the stairs.
I felt a weight lift somewhere inside my chest. If there was one creature in the house, human or familiar, that I could trust to keep watch while I was gone, it was Diana; and I knew she’d enlist Freya’s continued vigilance as well.
In other news, I thought to myself, I talk to cats like they’re human now.
As frantic and crowded as Shadowkeep could get in the lead-up to Halloween and during the summer tourist season, there were also long stretches of the year when Sedgwick Cove was more ghost town than witch town, and that included the whole of the long New England winter.
Now that the weather had turned and the temperatures had plummeted, there were whole days when we saw barely a customer in the lower level of the shop, where it was sometimes my incredibly boring job to work the register.
Now that the snow and ice had turned the streets and sidewalks treacherous, I usually walked into town rather than risk my life on my bicycle. I didn’t mind the walk, especially today. I needed to clear my head, and nothing cleared the head like an icy cold breeze off the North Atlantic in winter.
The sea, as it crashed and frothed like a thing possessed, was mesmerizing to watch.
I think most people, when they think of the ocean, think of bright cloudless skies and sunny beaches; but every coastal New Englander knows that the real beauty and power of the ocean was best appreciated in the winter, when the water turned to an angry wall of froth, and the clouds hung low and iron gray in the snow-scattered sky.
The wind wasn’t unbearable today, so I decided to walk along the beach for the first part of my route.
I veered left off the road, avoiding the nearby boardwalk in favor of a narrow foot-worn path through the seagrass down to the beach.
The sand had a thin, sparkling layer of frost—the seagrass was stiff with it, its usual careless dance in the wind turned to a stilted thing.
The tide was going out, exposing an ever-widening stretch of darkened sand dotted with clumps of wild, tangled seaweed.
I wove between them, watching the icy tide lick and bite at the edges of the beach, and the waves cresting with bubbling fury out beyond the jetties.
My memory reeled back to the previous summer, to the night I walked right into that sea, like I almost had so many times before in my childhood dreams and, just once, in my waking childhood.
Last summer, I had not stopped. I had not been rescued.
I’d walked inexorably onward, sure I would not emerge again.
Looking at the water now, I didn't understand where I had summoned the courage from. I hadn’t had to look for it.
It had simply been there, burning inside me, guiding my decisions without my conscious thought.
Now, I walked right down to the edge as the memories pulled me, like the moon on the tide, and let my feet sink slightly into the soft sand, let the tide lick at my boots.
I wished I could find the same courage now, the overwhelming kind that would mean I wouldn’t run from that mirror sitting in my room, but hang it fearlessly back on my wall, and stare into it until I willed it to show me the answers.
Something clunked against the toe of my boot, and I broke from my reverie to look down.
It was a piece of sea glass, one of the biggest I’d ever seen wash up on this beach.
I watched it swirl and tumble a bit in the froth for a few seconds before I bent down and scooped it into my palm.
I examined it. It was a stunning turquoise blue, cloudy and frosted.
Its shape was oblong, wider at one end and coming to a softened point at the top, like a teardrop.
I turned it over against my skin a few times, mesmerized, before dropping it right into my coat pocket, and stepping away from the water.
I would add it to the shelf above my desk, the altar that I had been slowly building up over the last few months.
I could picture just where I’d place it, in front of a framed photograph of Asteria, nestled against a glossy black crow feather that had drifted down from the sky right into my lap as I studied a book about herbs.
This sea glass felt like it had come to me in much the same way, a sort of gift from the natural elements I was trying to channel my magic through.
With the weight of the sea glass tucked safely in my pocket, I turned back toward the dunes, and trudged back up to the main road.
Downtown looked like a New England winter picture postcard.
Snow frosted the roofs and windowsills of the houses and shops, which stood shoulder to shoulder along Main Street like they were huddling together for warmth.
Low heavy clouds sagged in the sky, promising more snow, and making it feel as though the sun had never bothered to get out of bed today.
Golden squares of light shone out onto the sidewalks from shop windows, each one stretching out like an extended hand, an invitation promising warmth inside to passersby.
Well, a singular passerby—the street was deserted, apart from me, and that suited me fine.
I didn’t want to make small talk with anyone and pretend I was fine.
I was afraid that if someone asked me how I was, I might just blurt out everything I was holding tightly inside of me.
As I passed Xiomara’s Cafe, I stopped to peer in the window.
It would still be several hours before she opened, but I knew she was already back in the kitchen chopping and prepping and barking orders at whichever of her family members were helping her that day.
I knew Eva had the day off because Wednesday was when she worked nearly the whole day with one of her mentors.
Eva had recently qualified as a waterworker, and that meant a whole new level of intensive magical training.
She was one of the only people I knew who was more stressed than I was about what she was learning, though from what I could tell, she was making far more progress than I was.
I peered through the window a little longer, but I didn’t see Bea or her mom, so I hurried on toward Shadowkeep, the wind whipping my hair around my face and numbing the tip of my nose.
As I reached the gate, I froze, my hand resting on the latch. The shop should have been dark, but there was a dim light shining through one of the windows upstairs.