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“Can I hold your hand?” he asked.
“Of course,” I answered, feeling awkward, like we were two teenagers on our very first date. When he took my hand, I reveled in the feeling of how well we seemed to fit together. Like the final two pieces missing in a puzzle.
There was something off, though. The feeling that I’d forgotten something nagged at me, keeping me from being able to fully enjoy the evening. I frowned, trying to remember what that thing was.
Andre must have felt my unease, because he stopped and turned so that we were now facing each other. “What’s wrong, Poppy?”
“I…I’m not sure.” The fog lapped a little higher. I could feel it, cool against my calves, pressing against the fabric of my jeans. “I just have this strange feeling that I forgot something.”
Andre just patted my arm and started forward again.
When we passed my shop for the fourth time, there was an old leather-bound book leaning in the front window where my display of sun protection and insect repelling potions should have been. It was a beat-up old thing, the spine cracked in two places, pages all but falling out. The tattered red ribbon bookmark was limp against the shelf, and for some reason that made a little ball of ice form in the pit of my stomach.
Ouire.
I sucked in a breath, feeling cold down to my toes as the answer dawned on me and my stomach dropped. Finn. I was supposed to pick Finn up after school. I washourslate! The sky was dark, for heaven’s sake! How could I have forgotten my son?
Andre watched impassively as I fumbled my phone out of my coat pocket, and my heart sank when it alerted me that I had dozens of missed calls and text messages.
“Mom, I’m waiting out front,” Finn’s first message read.
The second one, Finn again. “Mom, where are you? Is everything okay?”
How could I not have picked up my son? How could I have forgotten?
“I have to go,” I gasped, the first hot tears streaming down my cheeks.
My hands felt clumsy as I tried to dial the phone, the numbers wouldn’t hold still long enough for me to hit them. I had to call Finn, to tell him I was on my way—to ask him where I should pick him up and to tell him how sorry I was. How could I have forgotten him?
A sob caught in my chest and I shot upright in bed, my sheets tangled around my legs. My chest heaved, tears still leaking from my eyes. The room was dark, not even a sliver of moonlight coming in through the window. The tiniest flicker of orange light from the sheltered tea light in the diffuser was the only bright spot in the room, and the dancing flame just made my panic spike higher.
It actually took me a few seconds to realize that it had all been a terrible dream. I couldn’t stop myself from jumping out of bed and hurrying into the hallway to crack the door to Finn’s bedroom open.
Finn was sleeping soundly, his mouth open a little to drool on his pillow. He looked younger when he was asleep, his face relaxed, and seeing him there, right in front of me, finally helped to calm my racing pulse.
Thank God it was just a nightmare. Thank God none of it was real.
I closed the door as quietly as I could, and almost sagged to the floor.
Finn was okay. I hadn’t left him somewhere, forgotten and abandoned. He was fine, tucked into his bed, safe and sound.
The guilt still dragged at me, like barbed wire around my heart.
After a few long minutes, I managed to stumble my way back to my room, but I knew sleep would elude me—if not for the rest of the night, then at least for the next couple of hours.
The scent of lavender lingered on the air like a ghost, courtesy of the wax melt I’d popped into my diffuser earlier. The wax was now reduced to a golden puddle in the top basin, the tea light I’d left burning to keep it warm was holding out surprisingly well for something so small.
Normally forDreamtime Oil, I would have anointed a candle and left it to burn through the night, guaranteeing me a peaceful rest. It was just, after all the nightmares I’d been having, I hadn’t been able to leave a candle burning unattended through the night. What if the dreams were some kind of warning or premonition?
Foresight wasn’t one of my gifts, but with all the wonky things that had been going on with my magic ever since I’d joined the coven, I wasn’t willing to risk Finn’s or my safety, or our home, just in case the dream was more than just the mutterings of an anxious subconscious.
So, I’d added some of myDreamtime Oilto a little bit of wax and popped it into the diffuser. The oil had always helped me to have a good night’s sleep, keeping my dreams sweet and easy, or just velvety darkness until I opened my eyes in the morning. I didn’t know what had gone wrong this time. Maybe I’d gotten the potion wrong? Or something had changed when I’d added it to the wax?
I stumbled into the bathroom to splash some cool water onto my face to wash away the sticky tear tracks still clinging to my skin. Yeah, there was no way I was getting back to sleep. Even glancing at my bed had that same nauseating blend of panic and guilt that had swamped me in the nightmare, and the idea of lying down again made my heart pound.
I figured I may as well get up and do something productive. I still had a few supplies at the farmhouse that I could use to get some work done. It wouldn’t be much, but anything was better than empty shelves and no stock. With any luck, my emergency order would arrive later in the day and I’d be able to make what I needed, both for the shop and the festival.
I got dressed quickly in my comfiest sweats and a Christmas sweatshirt before heading downstairs. It was a sweatshirt Marty had given me, but I tried not to think about that.
