Page 25 of The Messengers of Magic

Chapter Eighteen

A fter a few days of scrubbing the old stone cabin and rummaging through Carolyn’s forgotten things to brighten the space, Adelaide had turned it into something livable. It now resembled a miniature version of Carolyn’s house with a mixed array of eclectic items Adelaide had found in the garage.

A faded rag rug, woven in a rainbow of muted colors, covered the worn floorboards near the bed. She’d placed a purple velvet armchair to face the fireplace, and propped an old wooden crate on its side as a makeshift end table next to it.

Tucked away in the corner of the garage, she found a box with a collection of paintings, lamps, and throw pillows.

Most of the artwork was abstract, and she spent a while turning the canvases from side to side, trying to make sense of them.

Finally deciding that abstract art was not her thing, she placed all but one back in the box.

Figuring it was the only one she somewhat understood, she propped it up on the mantel beside a set of brass candle holders she’d found the day before.

She stepped back to inspect it. A field stretched across the canvas in golden strokes. A chapel rose faintly in the distance. It looked familiar, almost like the one outside town. She looked closer. She was sure she knew it. She just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Moving back to the box, she pulled out two matching gold lamps, bases shaped like elephants, their trunks raised high to cradle their lampshades.

They were hideous, but the cabin needed the light.

She set one on the crate table and the other on the counter below the only cupboard in the house.

The place had taken on the look of a patchwork quilt, layers of colors, textures, and cultures stitched together by necessity, but oddly charming all the same.

The box was empty now, except for two small throw pillows in a mix of colorful Indian silk.

She tossed one onto the chair, and the other onto the bed, where it landed on a wool tartan blanket in deep reds and blues.

Jeff would have hated it, and that thought alone made her smile.

Gone were the days of matching decor and a well-kempt house.

She didn’t want mundane anymore. She wanted something new.

Something that ignited a fire in her again.

She belted out the chorus to that old Queen song about breaking free, the words echoing off the walls as she scooped up the empty cardboard box. Jacket in one hand, purse in the other, she headed out the door toward Carolyn’s house, still humming the tune under her breath.

She’d decided to walk into town today. It wasn’t far, and she hadn’t yet taken the time to explore. The day was beautiful, the sun playing peekaboo with fluffy white clouds, like those in a child’s drawing, that dotted the sky.

At the bin by the garage, Adelaide lifted the lid and tossed the box in. But just as she was about to close it, she saw something peeking out from under the fold at the bottom of the box. She pulled it back out, lifted the flap, and fished out a black-and-white photo.

It took her a minute to recognize who she was looking at: a much younger Carolyn, probably in her twenties, standing next to a handsome man in the middle of a street.

Adelaide smiled. She’d never seen a picture of her aunt at that age, and there was a striking resemblance between them, minus Adelaide’s teased hair and bangs.

She tucked the photo into her jacket pocket, tossed the box back into the bin, and began walking toward town.

Gravel crunched underfoot, scattering with each step.

On either side of the road, tall grass and hedgerows formed a barrier, blocking her view beyond, so she focused on the pebbly path beneath her feet as it wound toward the paved road into town.

Though it couldn’t have been more than a mile or two, the walk felt much longer, and her feet were beginning to ache.

She must have missed the turn she’d taken on the way in.

Now she stood at a fork in the road, trying to get her bearings, unsure which way to go.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. This, right here, was a perfect representation of her life, a crossroads with no clear direction.

Hell, she didn’t even know where any of the paths led.

Staying put felt like the safest option.

But unlike the metaphor, this one required a decision.

The loch must be to her left, and therefore, the town center was likely that way too.

Just as she took a step, something flew past her face, startling her.

A large moth, nearly the size of a small bird, flitted in front of her, wings fanned wide in their autumn palette, patterned like staring eyes.

The emperor , she remembered. Just like the one encased at the bed and breakfast.

It fluttered toward the road on the right, then circled back. Again. And again. It almost seemed like it wanted her to chase after it. Ridiculous! It was a moth, not a puppy. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she should follow it.

What would Jeff have done? He wouldn’t have noticed.

Or if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have followed it.

That settled it. From now on, anything Jeff would have scoffed at or mocked her for wanting to do, she would embrace.

She would fall into her own step, and her next one was to follow that moth.

As soon as Adelaide began walking toward it, the moth fluttered ahead, weaving down the street and occasionally circling back as if to ensure she was still following.

It veered down an alleyway, leading her behind a row of homes and small shops.

Then it stopped, settling on a rusty signpost, the sign long gone.

Adelaide caught up, glancing past it. The moth had perched itself in front of an abandoned building, looking out of place on the busy street full of shops that were neatly kept.

Vines twisted up its crumbling facade, and weeds crept across the stoop.

Most of the front was hidden beneath a swath of ivy, but she could make out a weather-beaten door and a few panes of a window.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” she asked the moth, which still rested on the signpost.

It lifted into the air, fluttered around her head in darting circles, then drifted up to the building and perched on its eave.

Intrigued, Adelaide stepped off the pavement and pushed through the tangle of grass.

At the window, she brushed the ivy aside, and, using the sleeve of her jacket, cleared off a pane and peered inside.

It was full of books, row upon row of them. She wiped off a second pane and looked in again. It was a bookshop. Abandoned, as if it had been locked away from time itself. Like a time capsule. Like a secret.

She stepped back. Why had it been left like this? What had happened to close its doors? It didn’t make sense. The shopfronts beyond were well-kept, but this dilapidated shop looked as though it had been forgotten by everyone around it, darkening their prim and pretty street.

She stood there for a long moment, caught in the stillness, until a voice called out.

“Adelaide!”

She turned and spotted Carolyn waving cheerfully, her bright smile as warm as the sunlight spilling over the cobblestones.

Adelaide lifted a hand in a small wave, then started toward her great-aunt.

But she stilled, looking back to where the moth had been.

It was gone, vanished, as if it had never been there at all.

Carolyn was busy propping up an open sign outside her shop. In bold, curling letters, it announced the Purple Thorn Apothecary. Adelaide smiled. The name was whimsical and entirely Carolyn.

“I didn’t know you were coming into town today,” Carolyn said as Adelaide approached.

“I finished up at the cabin and thought I’d get a little exercise and come see you.”

“Well, you have impeccable timing. Jen’s called in sick today, and I could use a little help.”

“Sure, point the way,” Adelaide replied as she took in the exterior of the shop.

It looked like something out of a storybook: rich gray stone, black shutters and trim, and a moss-green door carved with curling vines and tiny flowers around its arched top.

It was exactly how she pictured an apothecary to be.

Adelaide followed Carolyn inside through the door that looked like it could have been plucked from one of her favorite childhood books, The Secret Garden .

Upon entering, the air wrapped around her, thick with the aroma of a thousand herbs and spices.

It was a little overwhelming at first, but as she stood taking it in, the scents began to layer and soften, melding into something deeply familiar.

It was Carolyn’s scent. The one that clung to her jumpers and lingered in her hair.

Adelaide had always chalked it up to some kind of hippy perfume or incense.

But now she realized it was the essence of the shop itself, a rich blend of herbs and spices, with sharp notes of cinnamon and allspice.

The shop’s interior was just as charming as its exterior.

Tall shelves lined the walls, filled with large glass jars brimming with dried herbs.

In the center of the room stood a massive oak table, crowded with an array of tinctures, teas, and herbal creams and salves.

The shelves were stained a rich walnut color and sat in stark contrast against the whitewashed stone walls.

From the rafters hung grapevine wreaths dressed with moss and dried flowers, giving the whole place an enchanted forest feel.

Toward the back, a long counter sat beneath a spray of wildflowers in a green glass jar, and beside it, a vintage cash register. A radio hummed softly, Stevie Nicks’s “Edge of Seventeen” filling the space.