Page 33 of The Clifftop Cottage

She wasn’t afraid of Margery. That would be ridiculous.

Before she could overthink it, the door creaked open.

Margery stood there, smiling. “Well, if it isn’t my returning customer.”

Erica hesitated. “Hello,” she said, suddenly feeling like she’d been caught doing something she hadn’t meant to do. “I was just … walking past.”

“And you weren’t sure about coming in?”

“Well, no, I just⁠—”

“Mmm.” Margery’s mouth twitched. “Not here for a love potion, are you?”

Erica blinked. “Sorry?”

Margery stepped aside with a theatrical little bow. “Perhaps not. But maybe I can tempt you with something far more dangerous. Tea.”

On the counter sat two heavy ceramic mugs, deep turquoise and slightly misshapen, like they hadn’t quite decided what they were. The glaze shimmered like sea glass.

“You’ve timed it nicely,” Margery said, already moving behind the counter. “I’ve just brewed a pot.”

She pressed a mug into Erica’s hands. It was warm and oddly comforting.

“Don’t be put off by the design,” Margery added. “My partner, Rosa, is a sculptor. Very talented. Still negotiating with gravity.”

Erica snorted before she could stop herself.

Margery retrieved two folding chairs from beside a velvet-draped mannequin and unfolded them. Erica sat. The chair gave an alarming creak.

“It’ll hold,” Margery said cheerfully. “Most of the time.”

Erica raised the mug to her nose. “What is it?”

“Rose-hip, honey, and cinnamon,” Margery said. “A little floral, a little spicy. Definitely not poisoned.”

Erica raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Also, good for the nerves.”

“I don’t have nerves,” Erica said automatically.

Margery smiled over her own mug. “Everyone does, dear. Some just pretend very convincingly.”

Erica took a sip. The tea was warm and gently sharp, softened by honey. She felt something in her chest loosen, just a fraction.

Margery settled back. “So. How’s the clifftop cottage?”

Erica hesitated. “It’s … quiet.”

“It’s quite the place. I was delighted when I saw it had finally been restored. You know, I used to play there as a girl.”

Erica raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh yes. Back then it was nothing but a ruin. Crumbling walls, half-fallen beams, the sort of place you were told never to go, which of course meant we went every chance we got.” Margery smiled at the memory. “We’d sneak through the gaps in the fence like we were explorers. Heroes of a very small, very muddy kingdom.”

“And you weren’t scared?”

“Terrified,” Margery said cheerfully. “But fear has a way of making things feel alive. Especially when you’re young.”