Page 60 of The Messengers of Magic

Chapter Forty-One

I t had been a whirlwind of a week. Adelaide collapsed into bed at the cabin for the first time in three days. The date with Ewan had gone well, so well they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other, spending nearly every moment together since.

But the shop had been sorely neglected. Ewan had wanted to make the most of his days off with her: football games, long pub afternoons, late mornings tangled in bedsheets.

It was fun. Easy. But already she could feel the slide.

Another man, another rhythm she didn’t set.

Was it the men she chose, or was it her?

Maybe the problem lay in how easily she let them take the lead, falling in step without asserting herself.

That wasn’t what she wanted anymore. She couldn’t let her relationship with Ewan become a mirror of her time with Jeff.

No, next time they met up, she’d tell him what she wanted to do.

Thankfully, Ewan was working tomorrow. She needed space.

Needed to get back to focusing on the Feather Thorn if she had any hope of opening before the end of November.

The Christmas season loomed, one of the busiest times in retail, and if she was going to make any money, the shop had to be ready for holiday shoppers.

Tomorrow, she’d tackle the kids’ corner and place an order for new stock, whatever she could with what little remained of her savings.

Camie had promised to take her to a few secondhand shops outside Glasgow later in the week, ones that sold home goods.

The bookshop needed new rugs to replace the threadbare ones.

Maybe a few extra reading chairs. A small table-and-chairs set for the kids’ area.

She wanted the space to feel welcoming, a place where people could settle in, lose track of time, and breathe in the quiet comfort of books.

Her mind slowed as exhaustion weighed her down, heavy as the blankets she barely managed to pull over herself. Her limbs ached. Her eyelids sagged. She hadn’t slept properly in days, not at Ewan’s, and her body was crying out for rest.

Sleep came as soon as her eyes closed. But it wasn’t the peaceful kind. Dreams overtook her, strange and vivid. Unsettling.

She stood in the loft at the Feather Thorn, gazing down at the forest of stories below, when she noticed a man dusting the shelves in the history section.

He was whistling, a soft, wandering tune that stirred a buried memory.

Her grandfather used to hum it when she was little, though she couldn’t quite place the melody now.

The man moved toward the window, the soft rays of morning light spilling across his features.

He was handsome in an old-fashioned way, with dark wavy hair neatly brushed back, clean-shaven, but with a face that seemed etched with sorrow.

There was something about him, something that pulled at her heart. He stood there, gazing out the window, a deep sadness shadowing his expression, as if he were waiting for someone he knew would never come. She felt an urge to reach him. To offer him comfort.

She started down the stairs.

But before she could get close, he vanished. His form dissipating like smoke on a breeze. All that remained was the faint trace of cologne, the same one she’d smelled countless times in the shop.

His absence, so sudden, struck her. Grief welled in her chest. She found herself wandering the rows of books, searching for him even though she knew he was gone.

Tears pricked her eyes. Then, just before they began to fall, a gentle hand touched her shoulder.

She turned quickly, heart surging with hope, but as she spun around, the dream unraveled.

The shrill beeping of her radio alarm clock pulled her back. Adelaide jolted upright, and the dream slipped away like sand through her fingers, leaving only an ache, as though she’d lost someone dear.

She sat for a moment, tried to rationalize it; perhaps it was an echo of Carolyn and Rowland’s story, imprinted in her mind like an old photograph. A memory never lived, but still carried.

Rolling out of bed, she stood and wrapped her arms around herself.

The chill of the cabin bit through her flannel pajamas.

She shuffled to the fireplace and added the last of the logs from the dwindling pile.

Enough for one more night, maybe. It was clear now; she’d have to move into the Feather Thorn sooner than anticipated, likely by tomorrow.

Adelaide packed a few things into boxes before heading to the bookshop.

Not much, just clothes, essentials. A toothbrush.

A handful of books. She straightened and looked at the pile.

This was it. Everything that had survived the wreckage of her old life.

A pair of jeans with frayed cuffs, three T-shirts.

The only things that were truly hers were the picture of her parents and a few dog-eared paperbacks.

The rest had come secondhand or from Carolyn.

Maybe it was better this way. No sharp-edged reminders. No echoes of Jeff.

Still, he crept in. Even with Ewan, laughing at the pub, pressed close at the football match, Jeff still lurked in the corners of her mind.

His betrayal lingered like a bruise, tender and slow to fade.

The bitterness returned, sharp as ever. Had he even thought of her since she’d left?

Or had he been perfectly content, moving on with his new life with Stephanie?

Pouring her coffee, holding her hand the same way, telling her all the same stories.

Tears came without warning, and she let them fall.

She knew she needed to call the lawyer. The thought hovered, annoying and insistent. But not today.

She wiped her face on her sleeve. No more spiraling.

The Feather Thorn needed her. The November deadline was fast approaching.

There was no room for distractions, none at all.

Not Jeff. Not even Ewan. He was handsome, yes, magnetic, definitely, and she’d had more fun with him than she’d had in ages.

But the shape of her days had begun to curve around him, and that was too familiar.

Boundaries needed to be set. She couldn’t afford to lose herself in another man, especially not now.

Outside, the wind bit at the windowpanes.

Winter had begun to lick at autumn’s heels.

Too cold to walk into town today. So, she took her things to her car, started the engine, and made her way toward the village.

Rooftops blurred past in muted grays and browns.

People talked in towns like this, across counters, over fences, between sips of tea.

She had no doubt her name and Ewan’s had made the rounds.

And though she tried not to care, part of her couldn’t help wondering what, exactly, they were saying.

She’d take a break for lunch later and visit Carolyn. The last time they’d sat down together was over veggie pie. Her aunt would want an update, and if there was any news flying around, Carolyn would surely tell her.

So much had shifted in such a short span of time. Ewan had swept in without warning. She’d let herself be pulled into the newness of it all, intoxicated by the getting-to-know-you stage of the relationship.

Relationship? No, that was the wrong word. She frowned, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. They were just having fun, weren’t they? That was all. No expectations, no labels. She wasn’t ready for anything more.

The shop appeared ahead. She pulled into her parking spot beside the building and shut off the engine, breath fogging in the cold air as she stepped outside. Not quite ready to begin her tasks at the Feather Thorn, she crossed the street to the Marbled Clover to grab a little fuel for the day.

Warmth greeted her as the door swung open. Butter and cinnamon wrapped around her like a shawl, and the cold quickly disappeared into the cozy atmosphere of the bakery.

“Adelaide!” Dottie’s voice rose from behind the counter. “So nice to see you, sweetie. How’s it going over there?”

“Good,” Adelaide replied. “I’m about to go paint another wall today, but I thought I’d stop in here for a few snacks to keep my energy up.”

“Good idea,” a man’s voice called from the back room. Iain emerged, balancing a tray of steaming apple turnovers. The scent of spiced apples and caramelized sugar rolled into the room.

“Those look dangerous!” Adelaide said, her mouth watering.

Iain grinned. “You better believe it. And they taste as good as they look.” He set the tray down.

“I don’t doubt it,” Adelaide agreed. “I’ll take a couple of those, and how about some of the apple cinnamon donuts, too? I bet they’ll go great together.” She looked down at the display case where golden rings of dough dusted with sugar and spice waited invitingly.

“You got it,” Dottie said, reaching for a box and filling it up. “So,” she added, folding down the lid, “do you have any idea when you’ll be reopening the shop?”

Adelaide glanced back over her shoulder toward the Feather Thorn. “Hopefully in a few weeks. I want to have it up and running for Christmas.”

“Smart,” Iain replied. “People are already talking about it reopening, and they’ll be eager to support it.”

Dottie passed the box over the counter to Adelaide. “Here you go, love.”

“Let me grab you a fresh cup of coffee to go with that,” Iain offered as he walked into the back.

Dottie leaned in a little. “So, I’m assuming you told your aunt about the shop?”

Adelaide gave a short laugh. “Yeah, and you were right, it didn’t go down well at first. But I think she’s coming around to the idea. Mostly because she knows I’m not going to back down.”

“Well, she can’t blame you there. You sound just like her, stubborn to a fault.”

“Really?” Adelaide asked, the comparison catching her off guard. “How so?”

“I mean, look at her. She never married, and if you ask me, I don’t think she ever gave up looking for Rowland.”

“Why do you think she never gave up looking?”

“Well, for years she pestered the police to keep the case open. Wouldn’t let it go. Rumor is, once they finally closed it, she hired a private investigator. Then came the tarot cards, tea leaves… that sort of thing. She was grasping for answers.”

Adelaide’s stomach flipped. That kind of heartache, sprawling out over years, latching onto anything that might bring him back, was hard to fathom.

“Did she ever talk to you about it?” Adelaide asked softly. “You two seem like friends.”

Dottie shook her head slowly. “We’re friends, as much as Carolyn lets anyone be.

She’s a very guarded person, doesn’t let people get too close.

It’s rather sad, actually. Tends to stick to herself mostly.

I think she was part of a book club once, years ago, but it didn’t last. Some old friend from town dragged her into it, trying to get her out more. ”

The kitchen door opened again, and Iain came out with a small coffee decanter.

“I bet you’ll need more than one cup if you plan to stay over there working all day,” he said, handing it to her. “Take this, and when you’re done, bring it back tomorrow, and I’ll give you a refill.” He winked as she took it.

“Thank you. You two are the best!” She handed a pound to Dottie and gathered her things. As she turned toward the door, her gaze snagged on the photo above it. The Feather Thorn in its heyday, fresh paint, flowers in the window box, people lingering on the steps.

“I hope I can bring her back to this,” she murmured.

“You will,” Iain stated, wrapping an arm around Dottie. “You’re almost there, and by the sounds of it, it’s going to be even better than it was.”

“Pen would be proud,” Dottie added, her smile tinged with something sad.

Adelaide nodded, then stepped outside into the brisk morning air.

Just as her feet touched the cobblestones, a moth fluttered past her and toward the Feather Thorn’s shop window.

It brushed the windowpane and hovered there, wings quivering.

She looked up. In the second-floor window, something shifted.

A shadow, faint but unmistakable, moved across the dim interior.

Her heart skipped. But she didn’t flinch. She’d seen it before, that shape, that presence just beyond the glass. She’d told herself it was just her imagination. A trick of the light. Not anymore. There was something inside the Feather Thorn.

The ghost stories, the whispers about the place, they weren’t just old wives’ tales.

The shadow in the window had a weight now, a presence that curled in the corners like breath on cold glass.

It felt like someone. Another soul lingering in the mists, between her reality and the beyond.

She began to wonder if, just maybe, it was Rowland.

And that perhaps Carolyn had been right all along.