Page 18 of Board Games and Broomsticks

Mr Lefton was peering around the shop over the rim of his large, round glasses, his lips slightly puckered in a way that reminded Nyssa of a duck. When his gaze finally landed back on her, he let out a small huff of air. ‘It’s … not what I was expecting. I’d have done things a little differently, but that’s neither here nor there.’

His dismissal brought back a rush of the shame Nyssa had managed to quell over the last few weeks. Her cheeks heated, her magic tingling in her fingertips as she pressed them tightly to her palm, fighting the urge to retort, What would you have done differently?

Keep it polite, Nyssa, her former coven leader’s voice cautioned. Appearance is everything.

But beneath her shame, Nyssa was angry. She’d poured so much of herself into this café, and she wasn’t going to let some eccentric old man take that away from her.

She was considering how she might ‘accidentally’ have one of her enchantments jump scare him when Nyx, who had been curled into a ball on one of the window seats, hopped down from her perch and promptly coughed up a furball on to Mr Lefton’s polished shoe.

The sound the estate agent emitted was somewhere between a wail and a gag. He shook the offending furball from his foot, cheeks ruddy with rage, and glared at Nyssa as if she herself had essentially vomited on his being.

Nyssa coughed to hide a laugh as Nyx rubbed against her legs. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Lefton – she must have eaten something she shouldn’t have. Here,’ Nyssa quickly willed her magic towards one of the dishcloths behind the counter, enchanting it to come and wipe the remaining fur and witches-knew-what off of Mr Lefton’s shoe. ‘There, all sorted!’

Mr Lefton’s cheek twitched. ‘This is precisely why pets should not be allowed in any establishment which serves food. Do you have the required permit?’

Nyssa bristled at Mr Lefton’s haughty tone just as Elowen appeared at Nyssa’s side, her smile so forced it actually looked painful. ‘Actually, Nyx is a familiar, not a pet – they don’t fall under the same category.’

Nyssa mimicked Elowen’s polite smile. ‘If you require the paperwork registering her as my familiar, I can fetch it whilst you take a seat.’

Nyx jumped up on to the armchair closest to Mr Lefton and lazily began to lick a clawed paw. The estate agent grimaced before clearing his throat. ‘Actually, I must be going, things to attend to and all that. Just have a copy sent to my office by the end of the week.’

‘Will do, Mr Lefton. Thanks for stopping by.’

The door had barely closed behind him before Nyssa, Elowen and the rest of the customers at Teas and Tales burst into laughter.

‘I’ve been waiting so long for someone to put that man in his place,’ Elowen said once they’d all settled down. ‘Never thought it would be a cat, though. Good job, Nyx.’

Nyx responded with a proud chirp, and the same warmth Nyssa had felt towards Elowen on the night she’d shared her past with Nyssa spread through her chest. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for having my back.’

The laughter in Elowen’s eyes faded, replaced by something Nyssa couldn’t quite name. ‘Of course.’

As much as Nyssa would have liked to appreciate the moment, to perhaps lean in and brush her knuckles against Elowen’s sharp cheekbone, she was quickly pulled back into the fray of serving and chatting with her customers. The afternoon passed as swiftly as the morning had, and Nyssa returned home that evening feeling exhausted but happier than she had in a long, long while.

So when she saw an owl perched on the rickety old gate at the end of the garden, an envelope held in its beak, the sense of dread which rose within her wasn’t as strong as it could have been.

Nyssa approached the owl with her palm out. It dropped the envelope with a small chirp, cocked its head at Nyx, who stared up at it with her tail wagging, and then promptly flew off into the inky night without so much as a backwards glance.

‘Well, I guess we’re doing this,’ Nyssa said, swinging open the gate and beginning to walk towards the front door. She brushed her thumb over her coven’s wax seal, which broke easily beneath her nail. Nyssa paused, her heart rate quickening as she withdrew the letter within.

Mage Hawthorne,

As per previous correspondence, details of your first trial – the trial of the Mind – are as follows:

Enclosed in this envelope is a cursed object. In order to pass the test, you must overcome its defences and unravel the curse. This trial is meant to test both your magic and your ability to master your greatest fears. In order to succeed, one must be strong of mind.

On behalf of the coven, I wish you all the best,

Blessed be,

Edith Kelster

Interim Head Mage of The Coven of the Sacred Owl

Some of Nyssa’s earlier apprehension began to sink in as she withdrew the cursed object – a delicate, iron ring woven to resemble thorns – and held it in her hand. She started to tremble almost instantly, the anxiety and fear she’d felt about using her magic for the first few weeks in Nighthaven returning with a vengeance.

You can’t do this, her inner voice mocked. There’s no point in even trying. You’re weak.

Nyssa was about to give in to the voice, to throw the ring down the garden’s old well and accept her fate as a failure, when the fallen autumn leaves at her feet began to swirl in a breeze that carried the gentle scent of her grandma’s magic. Nyssa’s own magic stirred in response, bringing forth the same sensation she’d felt after successfully casting her enchantments at the café. And as it did, the ring in her hand turned hot enough to burn.