Page 10 of The Messengers of Magic

Chapter Eight

A fter settling her tab and bidding Ellen farewell, Adelaide made her way to the car, her small bag, the sum of all her worldly possessions, clutched tightly in her hand.

Just a week ago, she’d been complaining to Amy about her neighbor, Jean Heartgrove, splurging on a brand-new living room set from Habitat.

Jean’s husband didn’t care what she did with their house; if she wanted new furniture, she bought it.

Jeff wouldn’t even consider letting her buy a new coffee table without his approval.

It was his way of control, a constant reminder that he was the one who made the money and that she depended on him for the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to.

Playing along had been her sacrifice: nodding in agreement, letting him make the decisions.

Because in the end, she didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

Her small wage from the library was barely enough to pay even a quarter of their bills.

How trivial it all seemed now, when everything she owned fit inside one single bag.

It’s a strange irony , she thought, how we spend our lives collecting things to build a comfortable life with someone, only to lose it all in the span of a few hours when something goes wrong .

The things she’d burned in the backyard, items she once thought she couldn’t live without, like her Jane Hopkinson bag or her collection of Fleetwood Mac cassette tapes, meant nothing now. They were just things.

As she pulled out of the narrow driveway of the Emperor Moth Inn, something shifted in her.

The idea of starting with nothing no longer felt as frightening.

It felt liberating, like a blank canvas upon which she could find herself again.

After so many years of being Jeff’s wife, she’d lost sight of who she truly was. Now she had the space to find out.

As she left the village and headed toward Carolyn’s, Adelaide spotted a small pharmacy beside a post office. She almost drove past, but something made her slow down, and before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled into the parking space out front.

Inside, the harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead as she stood staring at the shelves.

Rows of boxed hair dyes stared back at her, each promising a “New You.” Her eyes drifted over each one, golden blonde, black, auburn, soft chestnut.

Her eyes landed on one: Warm Medium Brown.

It was close to her natural color, or at least what she remembered of it.

She picked it up, turned it over in her hands, second-guessing herself for only a moment before walking to the front of the store and checking out.

When she got back to the car, she tossed the box of Clairol onto the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel.

It wasn’t much. Just a box of dye. But if she was truly going to embark on this journey of self-discovery, she needed to look like herself again, not the glossy, bleached blonde Jeff had favored but the authentic Adelaide she had almost forgotten.

She started the engine, and she eased onto the road, the village fading behind her.

The road grew narrower as it wound away from the village, overhung with oak trees and skirted by wild gorse.

At first, the route seemed unfamiliar, stretching out longer than she’d expected.

Worry crept in. She eased off the accelerator, scanning the roadside, fearing she might have missed her turn.

Though the landscape hadn’t changed, the trees had grown taller, the shrubs wilder, fogging her memory.

Perhaps this is a sign , she thought. Maybe it would be best to go back to the bed and breakfast.

Just as she resolved to turn back, an old weathered road sign, partially obscured by a vine of ivy, came into view, its rusty letters spelling out Hemlock Lane.

She bit her bottom lip as she turned left, nerves fluttering as the car bumped down the lane. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and she tried to recall what little she could remember about her great-aunt.

Adelaide’s father had been an only child, and Carolyn, born from her mother’s second marriage, was only eight years older than him. They’d grown up more like siblings than aunt and nephew, their bond remaining strong over the years.

Carolyn had to be close to seventy-six by now. The thought brought a pang of sadness; her father would have been sixty-eight at the end of the year, if he were still alive. And if he were, she was certain he’d be here, visiting Carolyn, just as he always had at this time of year.

Adelaide remembered her aunt as delightfully eccentric, with her flowy, mismatched dresses that seemed to change with the seasons, her long silver-streaked hair always braided with wildflowers or twigs she’d picked up on her walks.

As a child, Carolyn had whisked her into the woods in search of fairy circles and wishing rocks, or to concoct some mysterious brew from her garden.

Her house had always been filled with the scent of herbs and incense.

She blinked and the memories gave way to the view ahead.

Hemlock Lane seemed more like a well-traveled path than a proper road, flanked by gorse and thistles so thick she could scarcely see anything beyond them.

Then, just as the road curved, the old thatched roof came into view.

As she pulled into the driveway, familiarity washed over her.

The stone cottage looked untouched by the hands of time.

The wide flower bed still encircled the house, and the massive oak still stood sentinel in the side garden, its branches heavy with age.

Even the small stone birdbath remained, its base hadn’t even a touch of moss on it.

Adelaide pulled up next to the same old Morris Minor she remembered Carolyn having years ago and shut off the engine.

She sat, drawing in a long, deep breath.

She glanced at the cottage. A warm inviting glow spilled from the windows as she tried to muster up the courage to barge in on her aunt’s afternoon.

She absently bit at her thumbnail, trying to steady her nerves, then reached for the door handle and got out of the car.

Wind chimes softly tinkled above the porch, and the scent of dozens of flowers drifted on a westward breeze.

Adelaide made her way up the small slate path and paused at the door, hand poised to knock.

But before her knuckles could meet the dark blue wood, the door swung open.

There stood Carolyn, dressed in an overly floral dress that looked straight out of the 1960s, paired with bright pink leggings, every bit as eccentric as Adelaide remembered.

Her long hair, now completely white, was braided into a thick plait that draped over one shoulder.

Her eyes, still as clear and sharp as a crystal-blue sky, were now framed by the fine lines of age.

For a moment, Carolyn simply stared, her eyes shining with recognition. Then she stepped forward and pulled Adelaide into a fierce embrace.

“My God, Adelaide. It’s been years,” she exclaimed, pulling back just enough to look her niece up and down. “Look at you! You’ve grown into a fine woman.”

“You remember me?” Adelaide asked, her voice tinged with a hint of shyness.

“Oh, of course I do. You’re the spitting image of your father. Well, the female version, that is,” Carolyn remarked with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this, without calling first,” Adelaide began.

“Nonsense. You’re family, and family is always welcome,” Carolyn interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Come in, lass.” Despite her roots in York, Great-Aunt Carolyn had acquired a subtle Scottish lilt over the years.

As Adelaide stepped inside, she was enveloped by the sweet, earthy scent of dried herbs and the lingering musk of years’ worth of incense.

The smell was so familiar, stirring something deep inside her.

Memories came rushing in, warm afternoons in the garden, whispered spells in the woods, and with them an unexpected rush of emotions.

She tried to blink them back, but the tears came anyway.

One fell, then another, until the floodgates opened.

Everything she’d held in, grief, anger, relief, spilled out all at once.

“Oh, pet, come here,” Carolyn said, pulling Adelaide into another hug. “Go on, sit yourself down over there, and I’ll make us some tea. Then you can tell me everything.” She gestured to an overstuffed floral chair nestled near the fireplace.

Adelaide moved to the chair and sank into its worn cushions. She bit at her thumbnail, willing herself to get it together. She hadn’t seen Carolyn in almost two decades, and here she was, showing up unannounced, blubbering like a damn fool.

She watched as Carolyn moved about the kitchen, her footsteps soft on the wooden floor.

She set a kettle on the stove, then reached up into the large oak cupboard, retrieving a few jars filled with dried herbs.

The house was modest, consisting of one large room that housed the kitchen, dining area, and sitting room all in one.

A gentle pop of a jar lid coming off broke the quiet, releasing a sharp, spicy aroma.

The scent curled through the space, rich with cinnamon and allspice, pulling Adelaide from her sorrows and offering a brief escape from her memories.

“Do you take milk in your tea?” Carolyn asked as she poured boiling water over a tea strainer filled with a fragrant blend of herbs.

“Yes, please,” Adelaide replied, her voice muffled by a sniffle as she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her flannel shirt.

Carolyn continued her bustling before returning with a tray. On it were two steaming cups of tea and a small plate of biscuits. “Drink this. It will help lift your spirits. Then you can tell me what’s brought you here,” she said gently.

Adelaide took a tentative sip, discovering its sweet yet slightly tangy flavor. She picked up a biscuit and smiled at the taste, lavender shortbread. Carolyn had often made them for her when she was a child.

It was then that something struck her. She looked around, noticing that the table was set for two.

“Did I come at a bad time? Are you expecting someone?” Adelaide asked, nodding toward the two place settings.

Carolyn glanced at the table, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. Then she smiled. “I was.”

Adelaide set her cup down, her stomach sinking. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She stood, already reaching for her bag. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Come now, sit down, pet,” Carolyn insisted, patting the arm of Adelaide’s chair. “It was you I was expecting.”

Adelaide stopped, then slowly sat back down. “Me?” she asked. “But… how?”

“Let’s just call it a woman’s intuition,” Carolyn smiled with a wink.

Adelaide wasn’t sure what to make of this, but figured she’d been joking. Carolyn was old, maybe she kept the table set all the time, just in case she had visitors.

Adelaide leaned back into the armchair and lifted her tea, taking another slow sip. She let the warmth chase away the strangeness of Carolyn’s words, or at least soften them for now.

“Now,” Carolyn said, settling into the matching armchair across from Adelaide. “Tell me everything.”

Adelaide took a deep breath. “Well… it all started with a letter on the kitchen table.”