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“Hey, little guy.” She reached up to gather the cat in her arms, scratching him between the ears. “Youdidn’t mop the floor, did you?”
It wasn’t entirely improbable. She’d heard of cat familiars that could shape shift into human form—usually for nefarious purposes. But Zephyr was just a regular cat.
Then it occurred to her. Astrid said her colleague's son needed a job and she would send him over. She didn’t just give the guy a key, did she? People in this town were pretty friendly, but that was taking it a little too far, in Willow’s opinion.
She reached for her cell phone to call Astrid, but the screen was doing something weird.
“Darn cell service,” Willow muttered under her breath. Then, after trying to find reception all over the room, she unlocked the front door and went outside, where her phone worked immediately.
“Hmmm.” Willow looked up the exterior of the building. “Must be all the brick.”
She tapped on Astrid’s contact who picked up immediately, and after the usual greetings, Willow asked her if she’d sent her colleague's son to work.
“I’m so sorry,” Astrid said. “I meant to tell you this morning, but Nadine was so upset about her son, I didn’t want to say anything else about it.”
“Nadine’s son?”
“Yes, he’s the boy I was going to send to work for you, but he’s been such trouble lately, he flat out refused. I’m sure it’s no reflection on you. He’s just being difficult, you know, and doesn’t want anything to do with his mother or anyone associated with her. Kids these days. But I’ll keep an eye out and if I hear of anyone looking for a job, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Astrid. You’ve helped so much already. But are you sure he didn’t come by? Maybe he had a change of mind?”
“I’m sure, dear. He’s not even in Mysthaven at the moment.”
Willow thanked her again and ended the call more perplexed than before. If Nadine’s son didn’t come over, and Zephyr was certainly just a cat, who on earth mopped the floor?
Rain pelted against the windows, cleansing Willow’s anxieties after another wildly exhausting day. The bookshop was bustling with so many customers, it was a wonder they didn’t get upset with how long it took for her to serve them. But each and every person was patient, enjoying the cookies she’d baked while perusing the shelves for a new book to take home.
Now, as she lay under her covers, trying to decompress from the long day, she was grateful her business was booming, but had to hire someone as soon as possible. She rolled her eyes at herself for listening to Astrid in the first place, knowing she should have placed that announcement in the want ads days ago.
Bone weary, she nuzzled her head against her pillow, determined to get some sleep. But thoughts kept turning over in her head, how she might improve the customer experience from the moment they walked in the door to when they left—hopefully with bags of books in tow.
“I sure could use some ideas, Zephyr.”
Turning to her side, she reached her arm over on the mattress expecting to find a ball of fur curled next to her, but the cat was sound asleep by her feet.
“You’re no help at all,” she whisper-hissed.
Then, closing her eyes, she let the patter of the rain drops calm her and thanked the muses it hadn’t poured hard during the day, lest it ward off customers from venturing out.
She was just beginning to doze off, when the conscious part of her awareness noticed the din of water, but it wasn’t coming from the storm outside. Halfway to dreaming, she thought it was the shower running, but no, that couldn’t have been it. Her eyes shot open, and laying on her mattress perfectly still, she listened, narrowing down the echoing gurgle to what had to be the plumbing rattling within the house. With such thin walls, one could easily hear the humming of the water vibrating through the pipes when a faucet was turned on. But it was after midnight. And she was alone. It had to be nothing. Unless… Could it have been a leak? Did she accidentally keep the bar sink running?
Heart in her throat, she tuned her ears like a wolf towards the sound—loud banging followed by the gurgling whistle of running water. But it was the squealing of the pipes that made the hair on her arms stand on end.
Coupled with a sudden gust of wind howling beyond her window, and the boom of distant thunder, the knocks and taps of the creaky plumbing sent shivers down her spine.
Unnerved, she slowly crept out of bed, her palms sweating, her heart palpitating with a sinking sense of dread and foreboding.
As a precaution, she picked up the object closest to her—which happened to be her broom. A whole lot of helpthatwould be in this situation. But she clung to it like a lifeline and opened her apartment door, willing it not to creak, and slowly tiptoed down the stairs, one shaky step at a time.
As she descended closer to the darkened hallway behind the shop, the sound of running water grew louder. But that wasn’t the only sound. Taking the smallest steps with her stocking feet, she noticed a soft light spilling from the kitchen onto the hallway floor, and along with the steady stream of flowing water, the occasional splash, then the clang of a dish or ping of a wine glass.
Her heart lodged itself high in her throat, and she could hardly breathe as she stood stone still, back pressed ramrod straight against the wall leading into the kitchen.
It was here she wished she wasn’t such a magical screw up. If she’d only tried harder, or taken basic incantations seriously. Whatever the source of the splashing and clanging coming from the kitchen, a little bit of magic would have come in handy. If it was an intruder, it might have been easy. If it was something more sinister, well… she’d be toast no matter what she tried.
Clinging to the broom handle, she directed her thoughts to the spark of magic within her—calling upon that part of her DNA which gave her gifts in the first place. She’d always thought witchcraft was frivolous, like it was somehow cheating in life. She didn’t think it was fair to non-magical beings when warlock kind got ahead using spells and enchantments instead of good old hard work. She was often vocal about her ideals over dinner back home, and more recently, congratulated herself for her accomplishments without the aid of magic.
But right now, standing outside the kitchen in her pajamas, armed with nothing but a useless broom, she really was rethinking that high horse. If only she knew how to recreate that eyebrow singeing incident.
