Page 23 of Board Games and Broomsticks

‘It did.’ The smile that overtook Elowen’s face had Nyssa returning it with one of her own. Elowen had believed in her, and Nyssa had come through. If she could learn to keep her emotions separate from her magic, then perhaps she’d be able to practise freely again after all.

‘I knew you could do it!’ Elowen said, and before Nyssa could truly process what she was doing, Nyssa pulled the elf into her arms, encircling her trim, toned waist with a tight grip.

‘Thank you for believing in me,’ she whispered, her chin resting on Elowen’s shoulder. She sucked in a deep breath, letting her scent – woody with a hint of spice and something that reminded Nyssa of the forest after it rained – envelop her.

After a brief hesitation, Elowen’s arms came up to wrap around Nyssa’s waist, her touch so gentle it sent goosebumps along Nyssa’s spine. ‘Of course.’

Nyssa would need to return to the front of the café soon. Clara deserved an explanation (and probably the bribe of free cinnamon buns for life) for what Nyssa’s wonky enchantments had put her through. She’d also need to clean up, somehow re-enchant everything, and come clean to Alaric.

There was so much to do. And yet for now, all Nyssa could focus on was Elowen’s embrace. On her scent in her nose and the brush of her fingers against her back.

Nyssa’s problems were far from resolved. But with Elowen holding her like this, the prospect of solving them didn’t feel quite so daunting.

Let Edith delay things as long as she wants; right now, maybe this is where I belong.

CHAPTER NINE

Nyssa hadn’t spent a Samhain without her coven in over a decade.

Even before she’d been appointed head mage, the holiday had been spent preparing for the coven’s yearly All Hallows’ Eve ritual. Her days had been filled with research and quiet meditation, followed by an evening in the covenstead ritual chamber with her fellow mages at her side. It felt … odd to wake up with no ritual to prepare for, and, after putting out her offerings on the altar in the attic, Nyssa had simply sat beside the fireplace in her grandmother’s living room, a mug of tea in hand and Nyx snoring on her lap.

That was how Liora found her. The bard let herself in through the back door, a whistle on her lips that had Nyx’s ears perking up before Liora even appeared in the doorway. Normally, Nyssa would have been annoyed at the interruption to her peaceful morning, but she’d become so accustomed to Liora’s bright presence that the cottage often felt too quiet without her.

‘Blessed Samhain!’ the bard sang, placing a bag of what Nyssa could smell were cinnamon buns down on the coffee table, along with a large, gap-toothed pumpkin that Nyx immediately jumped off Nyssa’s lap to sniff. ‘Do you like Mr Plumpkin, Nyx? I knew you would!’

Nyssa bookmarked her page and got to her feet, an eyebrow arched as she took in Liora’s rather … childlike design. ‘Mr Plumpkin?’

‘Yeah! I used to bring one for your grandma every year, and she’d put it outside her door. I know she isn’t here this year, but … it felt wrong not to bring one, you know?’ A rare sadness passed over Liora’s expression, one that had Nyssa gathering Mr Plumpkin into her arms.

‘He’s perfect. Come on, let’s put him outside before we get started.’

Liora beamed, and together they made their way to the front porch. Her grandma’s cottage was likely too far out of the town centre for many trick or treaters to come knocking, but in witch tradition, the pumpkin was meant for more than that: it was a tool for protection, and one which told any ancestral spirits they were welcome on the night the veil was at its thinnest.

‘Blessed Samhain, Grandma.’ Nyssa placed the pumpkin down beside the door, her hair stirring in a gust of wind that smelled suspiciously like her grandmother’s magic.

Liora wasn’t a witch, and so the scent wouldn’t be something she could pick up, but the bard still looked skyward and said: ‘Blessed Samhain, Lisabeth.’

Nyx let out a small meow, her tail swishing, and Nyssa scooped her up into her arms and gave her a lingering kiss on the head. The three of them stood that way for a few moments, before Liora’s stomach gave a loud, gurgling rumble that had them both laughing as they went back inside to claim their cinnamon buns.

‘Okay, so how does this work?’ Nyssa asked once she’d taken her last bite. Liora hadn’t brought any ingredients or tools with her other than her lyre, which she only reached for after she’d methodically wiped any lingering icing from her dainty fingers.

‘So, the earbuds are great, but just in case you ever forget them, there are a few things you can do to shield yourself against the lyre’s magic. Now, I only tell these secrets to a very select few people, so consider yourself lucky!’ Liora said.

‘I am truly honoured.’ Nyssa’s tone was mocking, but deep down, she meant it; she hadn’t known Liora for that long and yet the bard had deemed her special enough to teach her tricks to. It’s probably just because I’m Lisabeth’s granddaughter, she thought.

Or maybe, another voice said, one that sounded suspiciously like her grandmother, it’s because you’re worthy of her friendship?

‘You are. So honoured,’ Liora agreed, and Nyx let out an affirming chirp as she curled up and pressed herself against Liora’s thigh. ‘See? She agrees with me. Okay, so, first things first, you need to focus your mind. Find an anchor point for your thoughts and feelings, like … a person or an object, or even a memory.’

That sounded fairly simple. Not unlike how the coven taught meditation for their spell work. ‘I know the perfect choice.’ She smiled, settling her gaze on her beloved familiar.

Liora started off slowly, plucking each string with a gentle touch that coaxed the magic inside of the lyre to life. It was a quiet song, almost mournful in its lingering, aching notes, and Nyssa suddenly found her eyes filling with tears.

‘Focus on Nyx,’ Liora instructed, continuing to play, ‘on every feature and detail. On how she makes you feel instead of the music.’

Nyssa blinked and did as Liora instructed. In the early-morning light peeking through the large, bay window of the living room, Nyx’s fur had an almost golden shine to it. Her ears, which were currently twitching in the direction of Liora’s lyre, were a little longer and more pointed than most cats, a feature that matched her long, slender tail and body perfectly. Nyssa had known from the moment she’d lain eyes on her – a small, chaotic kitten of just ten weeks with a fondness for nibbling on fingertips – that she was the familiar for her. She’d taken one look, and all of her worries had seemed just a little more manageable.

It still felt that way to look at her now, over a decade later. Warmth spread through Nyssa’s chest, the urge to pick up the cat and breathe in a whiff of her comforting scent flooding through her, and suddenly, Liora’s song didn’t seem so sad any more. The tears threatening to fall from Nyssa’s eyes had disappeared.