Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
LIORA
Will you snap out of it?
How long could I sulk for? It just wasn’t in my nature to linger in this sodden state of sadness for so long.
By Sunday afternoon, even I was sick of myself.
I’d spent most of Saturday night hiding behind astrology charts and cleaning my bathroom so intensely with the hope that maybe I could scour out the image of Torin’s face when I’d asked for space.
Kicked puppy didn’t even begin to cover it.
So when my phone buzzed before my lunch shift on Sunday with a message from Agnes, I nearly kissed it.
Come by my shop after your shift today. Bring your laptop. And Bracken! Tell him to come too.
I stared at the message, chewing my lip.
Is this a social call or a professional consultation?
Her reply came back almost instantly.
Yes.
I huffed out a laugh in spite of myself.
“Looks like we’ve been summoned,” I told Bracken, who was currently flopped on the arm of the couch like a tiny, judgmental fur stole.
“Is there food?”
“Likely just biscuits.”
He flicked his tail. “I accept.”
“But how will you get there? I can’t take you to my shift.”
“Och, lass. Plenty of time for me to run into town while you’re at work. I know where the bookshop is. I’ll see you there.”
It looked like I wasn’t getting out of this one.
Which was probably good for me, because otherwise I’d just come home and question my life choices, holed up in my bedroom all afternoon.
Hastily agreeing, I grabbed my laptop, popped it in my bag, and then drove to work.
Torin seemed fine with me driving during the day, and it was a welcome relief instead of having to ride next to him and worry over any awkwardness I’d created by asking for space.
My shift was busy, but normal, and despite how much I listened, I didn’t hear one person whisper about me and Torin or bring up Avery’s name at all.
It seemed that Graham’s shout to the crowd had done its job.
Maybe, just maybe, people believed the truth because they knew Torin … and they were beginning to know me again too.
I still couldn’t believe that Avery had shown up.
Out of nowhere. She’d walked right in and dropped a bomb on my head in the middle of an already tricky week.
That was how the universe worked, though, wasn’t it?
And typically, these things came in threes.
Which only introduced a whole different worry to consume my thoughts during work.
By the time my shift was over, I was pretty much done peopling for the weekend and looking forward to some quiet time with Agnes.
Crossing the street from the pub to Bonnie Books, I glanced down the road toward my sister’s flat.
I should just go talk to her.
This was stupid. She was entitled to her feelings.
I’d changed our pattern on her, hadn’t I?
She was used to being the one who looked after me.
And I’d taken that from her. If the situation had been reversed, I would have probably felt much the same.
Resolved to stop by after hanging with Agnes, I opened the door to Bonnie Books and laughed as Bracken darted between my feet.
“Oh hi, I didn’t see you.”
“A crow followed me. His name is Murdoch. He says he’s worried today.”
“Och, really? Why?” My eyes darted out the window to the loch.
“Says he feels it in his feathers.”
Not sure what to do with that, I walked inside.
It was a cheerful shop, and had only grown more cozy since the last time I’d seen it.
It smelled like paper, woodsmoke, and the faintest hint of cinnamon.
A fire crackled in the fireplace, and bookshelves were set up in little areas around the room, with chairs that invited you to nestle in and relax.
Pretty rugs were thrown over the wood floors, and the arched windows gave a view of the pub and the loch stretching out behind it.
The wee bell over the door chimed as I stepped in, the crisp autumn air giving way to warmth and lamplight.
“Liora?”
“Aye,” I said, pulling the door shut behind me.
“Just throw the lock behind you!” Agnes called. “Then come on back.”
I wove my way through the stacks, Bracken scampering along beside me.
Agnes was in the nook at the back, where she kept a mismatched cluster of armchairs and a low coffee table for book clubs and gossip. In the middle, a squat teapot had been placed with a platter of biscuits next to it.
She was curled into one of the armchairs, legs tucked under her, wearing paint-splattered trousers, auburn curls escaping a flower clip in her hair. A book lay open, face-down, on the arm of the chair beside her.
She looked up as I approached, sharp gaze scanning my face.
“Right,” she said. “You look like you’ve been run over by a herd of disgruntled coos.”
“Good to see you too,” I said weakly, shrugging out of my coat.
“Sit,” she ordered, pouring tea. “And tell me why Torin’s been moping around the town like someone stole his favorite axe.”
Heat rushed to my face. “He hasn’t.”
“Oh, he has,” she said dryly. “We’re not blind, Liora.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“And while I do find watching men sulk vaguely entertaining, I’m more concerned about you. Something’s off. So.” She handed me a mug. “Spill.”
I took the tea, wrapping my hands around the warmth, and sank into the opposite chair.
Bracken hopped down to the table and immediately began investigating the biscuits.
“Those are comfort food,” Agnes told him. “For Liora. You can have crumbs if she says it’s okay. Also, nice to meet you.”
“Tell her I prefer seeds or something of that sort.” Bracken chittered, and I smiled.
“He says he prefers seeds.”
“I’ll see what I have in back in a bit.”
“So.” Agnes gave me an encouraging smile. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I hurt my sister’s feelings. And she wasn’t entirely wrong to be worried about me.
And then I kind of froze Torin out all week, which is why he’s been moping about, and then Friday night I told him I needed space,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
“And now everything is murky and muddy and I don’t know what to do. ”
“Let’s unpack that a bit more slowly,” she suggested.
I let out a shaky breath. “Zara and I had a big fight.”
Her brows went up. “But you two are like”—she pressed her hands together—“super close.”
“Maybe too close,” I muttered. “She’s furious with me. And she’s right.”
“About?”
I stared into my tea. “Not telling her things. Like that I was hooking up with Torin. And about a truth spell I screwed up. Or even not telling her about me being a chartweaver.”
Agnes whistled softly. “Right. So. Those are not minor omissions.”
“I know.” My throat tightened. “I should have told her. She’s my sister. We tell each other everything. But I was afraid if I said it out loud it would all … evaporate. Or she’d give me The Talk.”
“The Talk?”
“About how I rush into things. How I don’t think. How I blow up my life and then expect everyone else to help me pick up the pieces.”
“Is that what you expect?” Agnes asked quietly.
I swallowed. “It’s what she thinks I do.”
“And what do you think you do?”
I stared at her, caught.
Because the ugly truth was, a part of me agreed. There were times where my optimism just failed me completely and I was convinced I was the absolute screwup who left a trail of messes across Scotland like glitter, clinging to everyone unfortunate enough to know me.
“I guess I am messy. Maybe that’s just my lot in life.”
Agnes tapped her fingers against her mug, thoughtful. “I think you’re giving yourself too much credit, darling.”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
“Other people are not puppets,” she said. “They make their own choices. Avery chose to weaponize your reading instead of taking responsibility for the cracks in her relationship. That’s on her. Not you. The trolls on TikTok are just shitty people.”
“But I’m the common denominator,” I protested.
“You’re the common witness,” she corrected. “There’s a difference. Look, I’m not saying you don’t contribute to the chaos. You probably do.” Her mouth curved. “But you also care deeply about other people and want to help.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Zara doesn’t see it that way.”
“Zara is scared,” Agnes said simply. “She’s watched you get battered by life more than once.
You come back, you’re happy, things are finally going right—new power, new place in the Order, new fella—and from her point of view, it probably looks like you’re standing in the middle of a lightning storm holding up a metal rod. She’s bracing for the strike.”
“That’s a poetic way to say she thinks I’m an eejit,” I muttered.
“She thinks you’re vulnerable,” Agnes corrected. “Sometimes fear for someone comes out sideways as control or as criticism. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. It means she loves you so much she’d rather push you away than watch you get hurt again.”
I took a shaky sip of tea, letting her words sink in.
“And Torin?” I asked, voice small.
“Torin,” she said slowly, “is a walking tree with feelings. Deep ones. He’s been half in love with you since before you left, whether he admitted it or not.
Now that you’re back, there’s finally a chance to see what that could be, and he’s all in.
And then Avery shows up, the old wounds get poked, your sister’s upset with you, and you ask him for space.
” She lifted a brow. “Of course he looks like a kicked puppy. His worst fear is probably losing something he’s finally let himself want. ”
Guilt twisted in my gut. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“I know.” Her gaze softened. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think asking for space was wrong. Boundaries are not punishment.”
“So why does it feel like I’ve ripped his heart out and thrown it in the loch?”
“Because you care about him,” Agnes said simply. “And because you’re used to seeing yourself as the villain in everyone else’s story. Try reframing.”
“Reframing,” I repeated faintly.