Page 87 of The Messengers of Magic

Chapter Sixty

A delaide woke with a dull ache throbbing at the back of her head. As she sat up, the room swayed around her, and she clutched at the blanket, squeezing her eyes shut. A few steady breaths and the dizziness began to ease.

She opened her eyes again, and the world had stopped spinning. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn she was nursing a hangover, but the last drink she’d had was at the pub with Camie a few nights ago.

Pulling on her old cardigan, she made her way to the bathroom. Turning on the tap, she splashed cold water on her face, then glanced up at her reflection and flinched. Two dark circles clung beneath her eyes, and her skin was pale, almost paper-white. She looked awful.

“I’ve overworked myself,” she said, trying to shake off the unease.

The smell of fresh coffee tugged her into the kitchen, and she smiled. Pen had stayed the night in the flat, just as she’d asked.

By the percolator, a folded letter rested against her favorite mug. Her smile deepened, and for a moment, the ache in her head and the weight of her worries lifted. She poured herself a cup, carried it to the table, and sat.

Blowing gently on her coffee, she took a cautious sip, then unfolded the letter.

My Dearest Adelaide,

I hope this coffee finds you in your timeline and that you are feeling better this morning.

I am worried about you and think you should take a few days to rest. It pains me to see you unwell.

What I wouldn’t give to hold you, to comfort you there in your time.

Please take it easy today, and when you read this, tell me how you are.

I’ll be sitting on the sofa with Frankie.

Yours,

Pen

When she finished reading, she looked over at the sofa, her heart swelling. What she wouldn’t give to feel his arms around her, to feel his presence beyond ink and paper.

She stood and moved over to the sofa, sensing the shape of him there, the way the air felt subtly warmer, the quiet more meaningful, and she sat down beside that feeling.

“Good morning, Pen. Thank you for staying last night, I feel better this morning,” she said, though her voice caught a little on the last word. It wasn’t quite a lie; the headache was beginning to subside, but the exhaustion was bone-deep, and she hoped he couldn’t tell.

The flat remained silent, and she wished she’d brought the typewriter up here, though she wasn’t sure if it would work outside the hidden room.

“I wish you were really here,” she whispered into the stillness, “in my time, with me.”

As the words left her lips, something moved beside her, a flicker, like a candle flame in a breeze. Out of nowhere, Frankie appeared, curled up in a tiny red ball right next to her thigh.

The little fox cracked one sleepy eye open, tail flicking lazily. He didn’t run this time; he stayed nestled beside her, his warm fur brushing against her side.

She stared at him, hardly daring to move, then slowly, she reached out, her fingers grazing the soft fur between his ears. She expected him to dart away, to vanish back into Pen’s timeline, but he didn’t. He just leaned into her touch, pressing his head into her hand as if to say, Don’t stop.

She smiled and looked up toward the space where she knew Pen must be watching. “He’s finally warming up to me.”

For a little while, the loneliness quieted as she stayed with him, stroking the fox’s soft fur. Then she blinked and just like that, he was gone.

This is madness, the whole thing , she thought, staring at the empty spot on the sofa, the cushion still faintly indented, the fabric still warm from where Frankie had been only moments before. The room felt too quiet now.

She sighed and lifted her mug. The coffee had gone cold, but she drank anyway, then walked to the window, tugging her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

“Pen, we have some sleuthing to do today,” she said, gazing outside. “As soon as Carolyn arrives at the apothecary, I’m going to her house and I’m getting into that guest room. She was tight- lipped at dinner, but I know she’s hiding something important in there, I can feel it in my bones.”

She could feel Pen beside her now, in the way the air shifted, like a presence brushing just out of reach. Her thoughts drifted to the fractured world he had described, how from this very window, half of Helensburgh no longer existed in his reality.

“I wish you could tell me if things have got worse in your timeline,” she murmured.

A faint cloud of breath appeared on the windowpane, as if the glass itself had exhaled. Then, slowly, the word SAME emerged, traced into the fog.

Stunned, she stepped back, the coffee mug in her hand tilting, a thin stream slipping over the rim as she set it down without looking. It was as if everything stilled, the air, the light, even her breath, and she could feel the veil thin as he broke through. How was Pen doing this?

“Pen,” she whispered. She reached out with tentative fingers, brushing the still-damp glass. “The same, that’s good.” She smiled. “Well, looks like we don’t need to bring the Underwood up here after all. “We’re learning, aren’t we? Little by little.”

However, her smile was replaced by a frown when her eyes flickered to the living room. One of the side tables was now missing.

“Pen, I think you should keep reading John Dee’s journal while I’m gone. We need to double down and figure this out. It’s still days from the twenty-first, and we don’t know how much more time we have.”

Another wisp of fog curled across the glass. AGREE

She nodded. “Good. Okay, I’m going to get ready. Keep an eye out for Carolyn for me, okay?”

She made her way to the bedroom, the cardigan slipping off her shoulders as she gathered her clothes.

In the bathroom, she shut the door and twisted the shower tap; the water hummed through the pipes, and steam began to fill the room.

She peeled off her nightshirt and winced.

Her shoulder ached, no, burned. It was sharp, raw, like she’d been scalded.

Turning, she strained to see her reflection in the mirror, but the steam had already fogged up the glass.

“You in here?” she whispered.

She thought of his voice in the letters, the gentleness of his concern.

The way he wrote Dearest Adelaide , like she was something precious in a world coming undone.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Pen was the gentleman he seemed to be, or if he was in the bathroom now, watching her.

The thought should have unsettled her, a man she couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, possibly standing just a breath away, but instead, it sent a warmth racing through her body.

“It’s okay if you are,” she murmured to the fog, trailing her finger through its mist.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the mirror, willing the words I’m here to appear, but none came. Of course he was the gentleman she believed him to be.

Smiling to herself, she stepped into the shower and let the hot water soak through her hair, stream down her aching spine, pour over the blistered skin of her shoulder.

It stung, but she didn’t pull away; she turned into it, letting the heat push the tension from her muscles, letting it wake her fully.

By the time she stepped into the kitchen again, she felt more like herself, at least on the outside. Dressed, makeup on, hair crimped, and bangs curled into place. She’d taken her time getting ready today, and she knew why. She wanted to look good for him. For Pen.

At the window, she spotted the Custom Teas sign out on the pavement in front of the apothecary.

“Was it Carolyn or Jen who opened today?”

A soft breath fogged the glass. Carolyn

“Perfect,” she said, grinning. “Okay, I’m heading over. That should give me a few hours before she comes home for lunch.”

A fresh swirl of fog formed. OK … then another… Good Luck!

“Thanks. You too. I hope those last few pages give us something useful. And if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll find something that will help us too,” she said, grabbing her bag and heading for the door.

Stepping out into the crisp morning air, Adelaide zipped up her coat and walked toward her car.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Dottie.

Heart racing, she quickly slipped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled away before Dottie could wave her down.

Guilt stabbed at her. Dottie didn’t deserve to be dodged like that, but she couldn’t afford questions right now.

Time was limited, and if she was lucky, she had just over two hours, maybe less, to snoop around before Carolyn came home for lunch.

As she drove out of town, her eyes caught something off in the distance.

She slowed the car, squinting through the windshield.

A giant barn off to the right, standing alone in a field of wheat.

She slammed on the brakes. That had been a forest the day before.

“What the hell?” She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Things in her timeline seemed to be catching up with Pen’s now.

Her stomach was a ball of nerves, and her mind was filling with an overwhelming number of questions. Reality was fraying at its edges, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Carolyn. About what she might be hiding. There was no reason to keep secrets unless those secrets meant something bad.

She wasn’t sure she could handle much more. The fact that both her and Pen’s timelines were rapidly shifting into something different, somewhere different, was worrisome enough.

She pulled into the driveway, parking in line with the path to the stone cabin. If Carolyn returned early, she’d claim she’d forgotten something, a book, a scarf, anything.

Flipping over the pot of dead chrysanthemums by the door, she retrieved the spare key and let herself inside.

The familiar scent of herbs and woodsmoke greeted her, and she bit her lip, guilt creeping in. Sneaking around like this felt wrong, but when time itself was unraveling, unusual measures were necessary.

She kicked off her shoes and hurried up the stairs.

She tried the guest room door, but just like before, it was locked.

With a sigh, she went to Carolyn’s bedroom.

Everything looked just as it had the last time: bed neatly made, not a cushion out of place.

It was a room preserved, unused, oddly impersonal.

It had the look you’d expect from an old woman’s room, all flowery fabrics and lace trim, but it was a far cry from the cluttered, eccentric charm of downstairs.

A wave of guilt washed over her as she began rummaging through drawers in search of the key to the guest room. However, each one came up empty.

“Where is it?” she muttered, massaging the dull throb at her temple.

Then she remembered what Carolyn had said about the beams in the house being good hiding spots.

She turned, stepped out of Carolyn’s room, and walked straight to the one beside the guest room’s doorframe.

Running her fingers along the backside of the rough, aged wood, she felt something cold beneath her touch.

A small brass key slipped from its hiding place and landed in her hand.

“Bingo.”

She slid the key into the guest room’s lock and turned. With a soft click, the door swung open, and what she saw inside stopped her cold.