Page 41 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Willow

S o much of this trip seemed hard to believe. The places I’d seen, the things I’d done, the ways I’d tested my magic. The rhythm I’d slipped into. But what was hardest to believe was Oliver. And how quickly I’d both had and lost him.

When he said nothing catastrophic had happened the night we slept together, he was only right in terms of the magic. Everything else seemed like it qualified.

But he was right in terms of the magic. Nothing exploded, or caught on fire, or caused a scene. And whatever that meant... I hadn’t the slightest clue. Nor did I have the brain capacity to try to figure it out.

Priority number one was finishing the quest and turning Vera back into a person.

Priority number two was clearing my name with the media and getting the story out of the papers.

And priority number three, well, maybe that was figuring out what the hell happened that night.

And why it hurt so bad to watch Oliver leave.

Lucky for me, the next step of the quest was exactly what I needed to get myself together. If anyone could mend my broken heart and whip me back into shape at the same time, it was Granny Annie.

Communing with the dead was something she taught Ivy and me when we were in high school and lost a close mutual friend one summer.

It wasn’t a hard spell, but since it wasn’t something to be taken lightly, we spent weeks preparing.

We shared memories of Nicola, made a scrapbook of old pictures, listened to music she liked, thought about what we’d say to her if we were able to cast the spell and got a chance to say goodbye.

It was emotional, and without Granny Annie to walk us through it, I wasn’t sure we’d have made it at all.

But I could hear her voice now as clearly as I could then, reminding Ivy that none of us can escape death, so the best thing to do is honor it. To honor those gone before their time, to keep their memory alive only in ways they would have wanted.

So when we finally connected with Nicola one late summer night nearly a year after she died, we said our goodbyes with a dance party in the backyard, like we used to do when she was alive.

We put on a playlist she made when she and Ivy were getting ready for prom, and we danced in the moonlight surrounded by her spirit before we finally parted ways for good.

And since I’d spent the past year since Granny Annie died compiling all our old memories, helping Mom clean her house and sorting her things, keeping and cherishing the ones she’d always wanted me to have, wishing I could talk to her one more time, I’d hardly had to prepare for the spell at all.

I only had to lower my inhibitions and open myself to her influence, find a place she would have loved to cast the spell, and invite her in.

I could have done this at any time since she passed, but she’d explicitly instructed us not to right away. She said if we brought her back too soon, she wouldn’t get a chance to settle in wherever she was and we wouldn’t adjust to life without her.

But now, since she was the one who essentially directed me to this quest in the first place, I had a feeling she wouldn’t mind. She was probably properly settled by now, and I doubted she’d complain about an invitation to Notting Hill.

This version of the spell meant we could feel the spirit of someone who had passed only if they accepted our calling, and while they could hear us, we couldn’t hear them.

We could feel their presence, but they couldn’t say a word.

Granny Annie said it worked better this way because they’d already said all they were meant to in this lifetime, and their presence alone would guide us toward what we needed to hear.

Even if we were the ones who had to say it.

So, after a few days of essentially hiding in the flat and feeling sorry for myself despite Vera’s attempts to snap me out of it, I threw on a floor-length puffer coat, a knit balaclava I found near the door, and my trusty oversize sunnies, filled a thermos with steaming-hot coffee, and headed to Kensington Gardens at dawn.

Instead of taking the Tube, I set out on foot, planning to spend the walk mentally preparing to be with her again.

In some ways, I’d known I’d be with her since I first found the instructions for the spell, but it was easy to put it out of my mind to focus on what else was at hand.

But now, in the cold silence of the morning, I had to face it.

And even on the walk, at a time I should have felt my most alone, not a single part of me felt lonely. For the first time in months, I didn’t feel heavy or daunted or lost.

It was like she was already there.

The flower boxes on the pastel row houses that were so full when I arrived were frosted over, taken inside, changing with the seasons. Brass door knockers were covered with wreaths, string lights wrapped around the pillars; streetlights were adorned with twinkling snowflakes.

It was a sister city to the one I arrived in five months ago. While some neighborhoods were ramping up in preparation for the holidays, others were slowing down, cozying up for the winter, and I was grateful Notting Hill was somewhere in between. Frankly, I was somewhere in between.

Part of me was ready to hightail it back to LA at full speed and leave this entire mess behind me, while the other part of me was reluctant to leave the life I’d settled into here.

The long walks, the quiet social calendar, the easy routine.

My days looked nothing at all like they did at home, and had I not been momentarily heartbroken, it was possible I wouldn’t have wanted to go back at all.

It wasn’t like I could stay here. Vera would drag me back to LA kicking and screaming if she had to. And I wanted to go back, didn’t I? I had a life and a career that wouldn’t wait for me forever.

But getting this time to myself? Focusing on making sense of my magic and testing its limits? It might have been born from a massive mistake, but the learning experience was more necessary than I’d realized.

And even just admitting that felt like growth.

I couldn’t wallow in being a bad witch anymore. At thirty years old, it was a choice. If I was still a bad witch, it was because I wasn’t trying hard enough to be a good one. I wasn’t learning, or practicing, or pushing myself to be better.

And while I’d been making strides since I’d been here, I had to make the full leap if any of this was going to be worth it. I had to decide I was good.

By the time I arrived at Kensington Gardens, the sun was on her way up, painting the garden with soft, butter-yellow fingers. I couldn’t see anyone in either direction once I slipped through the gates, so I spread out my picnic blanket and settled under the biggest tree I could find.

With my back up against the trunk and my legs stretched out in front of me, I took a few deep, steadying breaths.

In the midst of the chaos, I was getting an opportunity to connect with Granny Annie.

And beyond the spell, that required my full attention.

This wasn’t something I was going to miss because I was hung up on drama I’d created.

This was an opportunity so few people were lucky enough to have, and as Granny taught us when we were young, the real magic was in the connection, not in the spell itself. And I’d be damned if I ever forgot a piece of her advice.

So, with her brooch in my hand and my eyes closed, I started the spell.

Spirit, spirit, hear my call.

Come back to me once and for all.

Grant us this one last try

To show our love and say goodbye.

A nd like clockwork, she first appeared with the wind through the leaves.

Whether I’d done a decent job on the spell or she was watching and helping me out, I couldn’t be sure, and I wasn’t sure it mattered.

What mattered was the wind that swirled around me where I sat, rustling only around the trunk of the tree.

I squeezed the brooch tighter, planting the palm of my other hand firmly against the cold ground, willing her to give me another sign.

The wind whistled a gentle melody, like a lullaby, before lifting my hair off my shoulders, out of where it was tucked beneath my hood, and letting it float around my head like a halo.

I had to stifle a laugh as the wisps tickled my cheeks, knowing she was with me.

Even as a slow tear slid down my face, my hair continued to swirl, the wind continued to sing its song, and the stillness of the morning now buzzed with unmistakable energy.

“Hi, Granny,” I whispered, smiling at the bird that fluttered across my path.

It had no business being in London in the winter, but I had a feeling I knew why it was here.

“Please forgive me for doing this spell. I have to turn Vera back into a person, and of course you’re the only one I want to commune with.

And I’m sure you know by now that Vera’s a cat, since you could always sense when I was in trouble even if you couldn’t see me, and now I feel like you can see me all the time, so I’m sure none of this is a shock to you. ”

The bird came back and landed on a low branch right above my head, quieting its wings and looking down at me. I knew I was rambling, but I also knew she didn’t mind. She was always the best listener. The kind that never made you feel like you had to say anything at all.

“Anyway, I’ve messed up. And I don’t just mean turning Vera into a cat.

I’ve messed up in a lot of ways.” The sunrise bled across the horizon, and I listened to the bird flap its wings once more.

Even if I wasn’t talking to Granny, sitting on that hill still would have felt like I was hardly on earth at all.