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She scooped everything up while Kyle searched the whole upper floor and puzzled over when she’d brought that particular box upstairs.
It must have been on one of her previous trips.
“All clear,” Kyle said, returning to the scene. “But a security camera or two wouldn’t be amiss. Better safe than sorry.”
“Got it.”
It was times like this she wished she knew a few blocking spells for the shop. Well, sheknewsome spells, but knowing something and not screwing them up were two different things entirely.
“Tomorrow,” she thought. Tomorrow she’d get to know some of the locals and maybe find out who might be this mysterious stranger.
Then she’d go find him and kick him in the bean bags for hanging around a construction zone. What if he’d stepped on a nail and sued her?
But as providence would have it, she didn’t need to search very far. Andthatturned out to be more disturbing than she’d bargained for.
Willow Ravensong loved a good jump scare as much as the next witch, but on her first night away from the familiar and cozy surroundings of her childhood home, and away from her mother and sisters, she began to question the Wes Craven movie marathon.
Yes, this was the Ravensong women’s Wednesday night tradition: spooky movies in bed, curling under the blankets with snacks, surrounded by pillows. And her cat at her feet, while her sisters snuggled next to her, casting 4-D enchantments over the TV so images and feely things would highlight the experience. Such good times.
She supposed, as she sat on her bed, she felt a pang of homesickness—tonight being the first time she’d ever been alone. And with the nostalgia of it all, what else should she have done with her Wednesday night?
But there was no 4-D enchantment. So what was that strange tickle up her spine and the odd sense of… something in the air?
In the twilight's waning embrace, amidst the quietude of the otherwise sleepy town, she clutched her popcorn and pressed pause on the remote, thinking she’d heard a noise. But it was just Zephyr breathing, fast asleep at the foot of the bed. That, at least, was familiar.
“I can do this,” she said, thinking about how failing at this business venture was not an option. “It’s a great opportunity.”
If nothing else, she wanted to prove it to herself.
And even though the bookshop was her favorite part of the business, there was a quaint charm to the bar. Ah, that charming old thing that had the hallmarks of a Hallmark movie. By day, it was all smiles and rainbows, the kind of place a lovestruck hero might meet their match. Yet, come nighttime, it felt more like a set piece for a ghostly gala. No worries though—a sprinkle of bean bags and more fairy lights would do the trick.
And just in case, she’d call Kyle first thing in the morning to install those cameras before the grand opening.
She unpaused the movie, comforted by a lone candle bravely battling the darkness, casting shadows that danced like drunken trolls on the walls. The air hung heavy, as if even the breeze had given up on its usual routines.
Then, a sudden chill permeated the room, causing the candle's flame to shiver and bend, and the window rattled with an abrupt thud.
Willow’s head snapped up, her eyes darting outside. But beyond the window, the trees stood guard like bouncers guarding an enchanted nightclub, their branches having a serious conversation with the moonlight.
"Just a bit of wind's mischief,” she quipped, though her heart was doing the cha-cha in her chest. "Or the building's way of saying, 'Hey, don't forget I'm ancient and quirky.'"
Undeterred, she huddled under her blankets and pressed her thumb on the remote, aiming to rejoin her movie marathon. Yet, during the movie's quieter scenes—when knives were taking a break from slashing bodies and bad guys were creepily watching the main characters sleep, Willow could almost swear she heard footsteps on the stairs, or the creak of a floorboard in the shop below.
With a dismissive shake of her head, she shrugged off the disquiet as mere figments of her imagination running amok, brought on by too much cheese with her dinner, or too much butter on her popcorn.
Clearly, dairy was in cahoots with her imagination. "No worries," she thought. "Things that go bump in the night just need flashlights."
With that thought, Willow clicked on the lamp by her bedside, blew out the candle, and shut off the TV for the night, choosing a book to help her drift into an easy slumber.
She dreamt of balls in grand houses, men in top hats, and carriage rides through the English countryside. When she woke the next morning, she imagined what it would be like to live in a time when women were courted by true gentlemen instead of the types of guys she knew back in Crescent Hollow who honked when they picked her up for dates. Or surly mustached hipsters with no manners or social skills to speak of.
"No way," she muttered to herself, putting her mental foot down against the intrusion of a certain green-eyed man who'd appeared, unbidden, in her thoughts. "Not on my watch."But the brewing storm of her imagination was soon usurped by another lively idea. “What if,” she thought, “I throw a ball?”
Not just any ball, mind you, but one with Victorian opulence, where gowns swirled like autumn leaves and the air was thick with literary enchantment.
It would require quite a bit of planning which would take more time than she had before the grand opening, but a ball would be just the thing to create a buzz about the bookshop. The weekend before Halloween, she surmised, would be the perfect crescendo. What soul could resist the allure of dressing up?
As she imagined the fanciful details over her morning coffee, Kyle, who showed up ten minutes after she’d called him to install security cameras, met her at the bar.
