Page 67 of Rewitched

Ariadne blinked at her. “Since when?”

“Since forever, probably,” Belle said, unreasonably. “Maybe I don’t need to tell you anything and everything that’s going on.”

“I never said you did. But it’s kind of a given, at this point. Or so I thought.”

“I’ve just been feeling differently recently. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Ariadne swallowed, her voice very small. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Okay. Have a good day.” Belle grabbed her bag from the back of the door and shut it behind her, leaving Ariadne standing alone in the flat.

Of course, Belle felt like she might vomit at any moment for the rest of the day.

There was a tremor in her hands and no inclination to eat. She had achieved approximately nothing useful at Lunar all day because she’d spent the whole time hating herself and worrying that Ariadne would never forgive her. She felt terrible. She would buy a bottle of wine on the way home, some of those honeycomb things that Ari liked, a bunch of flowers to help her grovel for being such an arse.

And then there was the Rune thing. She’d assumed at first that not being able to stop thinking about the man was down to how much he’d infuriated her when they first met. Or the simple fact that he was her first real magical encounter. But there’d been plenty since, and still…Now was not a good time to be falling for somebody, let alone somebody like him. She could not have chosen a worse time or a more incompatible person. Not that that was what was happening here. Absolutely not. She could not and should not even be thinking about that with everything else going on.

Belle leaned heavily on her right hand, pushing up her face into her eye socket with an elbow propped against the till. The day’s biggest challenge should have been ensuring that the paper Jack-o’-lanterns were matched up properly with the fairy lights beneath them, strung across the ceiling in a pretty sweep. In actual fact, staying awake was proving the much larger problem. It had taken her third cup of coffee to bring the realisation that she was wearing her jumper back to front.

“One too many last night, Belle? Right there with you, darlin’.” Christopher’s voice felt like a sledgehammer to the brain, snapping Belle out of her unsubtle nap. Worse still, he placed both his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them tightly.

Monica did a terrible job at hiding her disgust across the shop floor.

Belle grimaced a polite, tight smile, shrugging him off. “Just not sleeping too well,” she said.

“Not pregnant, are you?” Christopher said, momentarily looking genuinely concerned. “Let me know before we get sucked into maternity pay. I’d get pregnant for that.” He guffawed, glancing at Jim for camaraderie.

Jim looked baffled.

“Do you need something, Christopher?” Belle looked at him through pinched eyes, retying the bow around her apron to resist the urge to strangle him. Her tiredness had led her to bite even Ariadne’s head off that morning, so she couldn’t be held responsible for what might happen to Christopher. Her finger itched to send out some form of receding hairline spell.

“Just a catch-up with my diamond girl. I can’t resist those jeans.” He winked, making her skin crawl.

“I don’t have the time or energy for pretending you’re not grossly offensive today,” Belle replied before she could catch herself.

Taken aback, Christopher’s expression changed. He could normally rely on her to take it on the chin, to laugh along, to roll her eyes in an “oh you” polite kind of way. He mopped his forehead on his forearm, ran his tongue over his teeth, pushed back his oiled hair. “My office in ten.” He clicked his fingers at the rest of the team. “I want to see everyone in there. Put a Closed sign up. Anyone who doesn’t come armed with how they’re pushing sales is going to need to explain in extraneous detail to me why they’re so useless and why I shouldn’t fire them on the spot.” He stormed off without so much as a backwards look. Belle rocked back on her heels and stared fixedly at the spiral staircase while counting to ten.

“Belle…”

“Don’t.” She held up a hand to Monica. “I’m too tired for his shit.” Then she instantly felt guilty, seeing the expression on her junior’s face. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. It’s been a long week.”

“He gets more repugnant by the day,” Monica said sympathetically, offering out the biscuit tin to Belle across the till. Belle nodded, stifling a yawn as she took a chocolate chip cookie. “Do you both have something you can bring to him?” she asked Monica and Jim. “It doesn’t have to be great, he’ll hate everything we say, anyway.”

“We have a ton of ideas.” Jim nodded, chewing on his pen. “But he’s not going to like them. They’re all lovely and charming, for one thing.”

“Today’s not the day for creative joy. Just lay down and let him bulldoze over us so we can get back to doing what actually needs doing. I’ve got this. Maybe.”

IT WAS NO real surprise that Christopher gave less than zero concerns to everyone’s overly long to-do lists, arriving late to the meeting that he’d demanded before launching into a miserable tirade about performance reviews and verdicts on Lunar being a directionless mess, with a need for corporate thinking. He visibly enjoyed dismissing each and every new idea that was brought to the table, grinning with untouchable arrogance as he did.

“What have you lot even been doing lately? Not working hard, that’s for sure. All I’m seeing is a load of hipster guff. We’re trying to make money here.” He sliced one side of his hand onto the other palm for effect.

“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you,” Belle said, trying to stay calm, “the reason Lunar has been a community favourite for so long is the…the magic of it. And you’re stripping every last bit of that away. The value is in the details that we’ve created, the special feeling when you walk through that door. Everything that you’re dismissing.”

“The only value we need to worry ourselves with is financial. You’re already on thin ice, Blackthorn. Do not push me.” Christopher pointed at her.

“Christopher, these are beautiful ideas and good investments,” she argued back. “Violet would love them.”

“My mother is not in charge anymore. I am.”