Page 5 of The Redd Key (Bone Coven #1)

A s I stepped inside the eccentric shop, I took a deep breath of honeysuckle, basil, and lavender. Within me, my blood hummed with an immediate sense of coming home, the song bone-deep. The Wicker Basket had the comforting and familiar scent of warm cinnamon. Plants hung from the ceiling and the tops of the bookshelves lining the walls. Two little tables were arranged with handmade candles and pouches of herbs. At the back of the store, a couch and plush chairs sat next to a counter large enough to hold only the old-fashioned cash register.

“Have a seat, dear.” The elderly woman pointed at one of the tables. This shop was just as much an extension of her as the hand she used to light a candle before she went through a curtain behind the register. Breathing in the serene air, I finally felt safe, having put enough space between me and that she-demon at Daisy Chic. The sound of running water began as the curtain swung back into place. “Which kind of tea would you like?” she called. “I have them all,” she added with a warm chuckle. The residual frustration I felt from my encounter with the woman at Daisy Chic immediately began dissipating.

“Chamomile, please.” Shyness made the words come out like a whisper, although the woman’s aura gave off cozy grandmother vibes.

Objects and oddities filled every space in the store, and I looked around, studying the shelves as I waited. Some were full of books, many tattered and a few freshly bound. One shelf was filled with small dark bottles with minuscule labels. Below the bottles were intricately placed stones of all colors, wooden boxes of all sizes, an assortment of incense, and jars containing either sand or dirt.

“Here we are,” the old woman sighed, and she set the wooden tea tray on the table. An assortment of cookies and small cakes were situated next to the teacups.

“Thank you.” I picked up my cup, allowing the herbaceous concoction to fill my senses, “I’m Raina, by the way.”

“Anabel Morgan,” she said. “What’s your last name? This town has an old history, and I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Her voice was kind and soft, with a depth that only age and wisdom can create.

“Archer, and I just moved, but my mother was originally from here. Bronwyn Burrows.” I took a sip of the chamomile tea. It had a hint of honey and lavender.

Anabel gave me a knowing look as she sipped her tea. “I am so very sorry about your loss,” she uttered. Somehow, it didn’t surprise me that she knew condolences were in order. “I was friends with your late grandmother. Now tell me, why has your morning been so stressful that you needed our friend here, Chamomile?” She winked a twinkling blue eye.

I had the urge to tell her about the dream and discovering the cove to be real, about everything. But I just settled on telling her about the horrible witch in Daisy Chic.

“Oh, no. She’s not the best representation of what people are like here in Redd Hills. Tamara Flynt has an attitude as dark as the clothes on her back.” Anabel pressed her lips into a sympathetic smile.

“She was so awful,” I groaned, shaking my head before taking a bite of shortbread covered in chocolate. The morsel soothed my mind as I consumed it, and it was decadent . This was exactly what I needed.

“Don’t take it too personally, dear. That girl doesn’t really like anyone, especially anyone who is prettier than her.” I felt myself blush. “Please, don’t worry about her. I doubt the two of you will cross paths often.”

“Thank goodness,” I snorted. Placing my nearly empty cup on the small table, I leaned back onto the couch and continued to study the details that comprised the magical shop. Every nook held quaint trinkets and curious charms, tempting me to discover some of its hidden secret.

“Is there something in particular you are looking for here?” Anabel eyed me over her teacup. Whether or not she consciously spoke the words as a loaded question, I felt like she was asking about more than what she offered inside the shop’s walls. I shook my head, and she took a deep, resetting breath, placing her cup next to mine. “My dear, I do believe you will find more here than you could hope for.” She looked around proudly at The Wicker Basket. I ate another cookie instead of trying to find the right word. Anabel continued, “My granddaughter, Sarah, returns on Saturday from visiting family in Boston. I think you two will get along nicely.” Her smile was warm and almost reassuring, but somehow, I wasn’t convinced. “I believe you two will discover you have much in common.”

We kept on talking for a long time. Before leaving, I bought dried honeysuckle, lavender, a cheesecloth, twine, and a couple candles. When Anabel gave me a curious look, I explained I had been having “bad dreams.” Instead of questioning my explanation as many others would have done, she reached under the counter.

“Take this as well,” she said, placing a smooth, round, milky white stone in my bag. “It’s a moonstone. Place it under your pillow as you sleep. It may help you understand what’s troubling your dreams.”

“Thank you, Anabel, for everything. It has been great meeting you,” I chimed wholeheartedly.

“Of course, dear, please come by again anytime.” She gave me a warm squeeze. “Bye now, Raina.” She waved from the door.

Eamon's mouth was tilted downward as I approached him and RJ at the spot where I had last left them. “Someone didn’t find anything he liked,” he said, gesturing to their empty hands.

“It all just felt weird today,” RJ bemoaned as the three of us walked back toward my apartment. His bright blue eyes had darkened over the last hour since I had seen him. “Nothing was comfortable.” I squeezed his shoulder with empathy. It’s a sensory thing.

“I still have a few of those shirts you like,” I said. When RJ finds an article of clothing he sincerely likes, I will order multiple pieces in case they get damaged or ruined. Sometimes, if it's a type of clothing he particularly loves, I also order the next size up. Just in case. “I got them in your size and one bigger.”

“In the same colors?” RJ liked things a certain way. I assumed it allowed him to use his energy elsewhere. He was brilliant, but most people wouldn’t know it. He didn’t socialize much or even speak to people he wasn’t comfortable with, so most of his classmates (and unfortunately, their parents) thought something was wrong with him. Reagan John was simply exceptional. Being at a middle school reading comprehension level by the end of first grade, teachers pleaded with my mother to have him skip grades and enter a gifted program, but my mother refused. RJ was already being treated differently by the kids his age; she didn’t want it to become even more of an issue with older classmates. He was about to enter the fifth grade, and I could already tell the looming school year would bore him.

“Is there anything you’re excited about with starting at a new school?” I asked, quite nervous about his response. RJ’s little face intently stared up at me.

“Earth Sciences. They’ll let us explore marine life here,” he tossed out as if the question annoyed him. He tilted toward me, “What’s bothering you , Rai?”

Sometimes, it felt as though RJ could read my thoughts, and I did not want him in my head right now. “Nothing,” I sighed, “just a run-in with a terribly mean woman.” I tried hard not to visualize her, but my mind rapidly jumped to Tamara Flynt’s green eyes. In a flash, the memory of this morning took over: Tamara running up to him , and then his grey eyes looking up at me. I relived those moments in the cove; his eyes, how he touched me, his warm scent on the breeze…I shook my head, erasing the train of thoughts that had run off the track.

“But before we were shopping, you already seemed distracted. Something happened this morning, didn’t it? You saw someone.” His voice was sure of his assumptions, and my laugh of disbelief confirmed his inquiry. Though truthfully, I hadn’t met anyone other than Tamara Flynt and Anabel Morgan. But I knew they weren’t who he meant. In real life, I hadn’t met him . However, in the cove dream, the man and I had already known each other. It was all too confusing for me. I was soon rescued from coming up with some strange explanation when Eamon noticed the cat on the balcony. I was surprised to see the creature still sitting there like a little gargoyle.

“You’re not going to bring him inside , are you?” Eamon definitely knew the answer to that question.

“No.” I barely tried to hide the lie.

“Hmm,” RJ said as he looked up at the cat. The cat’s gaze locked onto my brother’s. “He’s cute,” he said, decidedly. The cat laid down, hanging its front paws between the railing slats.

“You should come by the house for dinner,” Eamon offered. “Soon,” he added when he saw the hesitation on my face. I had no plans to visit their new home. I just couldn’t bring myself to step foot in that house.

After our mother passed, Reagan John struggled. At ten years old, losing your mother is unendurable, not that a loss as such is easy at any age. Eamon called to explain how RJ tried to isolate himself, how he wasn’t sleeping, and how he stopped painting—his favorite activity. It wasn’t just RJ struggling; we all were. My stepfather Eamon, my older brother Jeff, and I hadn’t spoken about her passing in-depth, but our grief became crippling. That’s why Eamon decided to come here, so that our family could feel close to the woman who held us all together. I believe he felt that a significant change needed to happen once I dropped out of university. That conversation was brief yet painful, but Eamon understood my decision. I only had two semesters of grad school left for my Master’s in Anthropology and Archaeology. Still, in the weeks following my mother’s death, life just felt inconsequential. What relevance does a degree carry when I lost her light, the spark that drove me toward that dream.

Frankly, I adore Eamon. He never tried to replace my father and always treated my mother well, but he immediately showed up beside her. After my dad passed, I barely remember a time when Eamon wasn’t present. I don’t remember him being a friend, neighbor, or anyone of importance in our lives at all, but once Dad was gone, Eamon was always right there . RJ was born soon after.

I buried the thoughts and gave Eamon a polite smile. “I’ll think about it,” I said as I hugged the two of them. RJ waved from the window as they drove away.

Scratching the cat’s ears, I unlocked the front door as I passed him. Crashing waves resonated from the open kitchen window as I closed my apartment door. Something outside the window caught my eye, pulling me towards it, but there was no evident disturbance outside. I studied the bit of coastline I could see through the pines and noticed an area, far off, where the trees thinned. The Cove. My breath fogged the glass. The dream replayed in my mind’s eye for much longer than I wanted.

Lighting a cinnamon-scented candle from Anabel’s shop, the spicy fragrance provided me warmth down to every bone. I used unpacking as a distraction: meticulously folding and tucking away every article of clothing, placing all of my trinkets on the top of the dresser in just the right way, and arranging my journal, candles, and lamp on my spindle-legged nightstand.

At some point, all the organizing caused me to forget how unnerving it was that the cove actually existed; however, it allowed other thoughts to come forward. I began to think of my mom – just little musings at first, her brown hair, much lighter than mine, with natural highlights striped through it. Her blue eyes were as clear as the winter sky, which I saw anytime I looked at RJ. She always smelled like earth from tending to our vegetable patch. She was truly beautiful. I tried my best to remember her like that, before her illness consumed her, wilting her. It was difficult.

When my mother died, she was a mere skeleton of herself, both physically and emotionally. Suddenly, the slight cold she caught turned into a fight for her life. She lost her appetite, no antibiotic would work, the IVs for hydration did nothing to help, and she was disintegrating before our eyes. Towards the end, her skin—once as rich as honey—turned almost ashen. Her eyes darkened to slate. She smelled like earth still, but it was different: decayed, like the dirt from a cemetery instead of the soil from our garden.

The constant weight on my chest from the day my mom died pressed heavily on my sternum, making me gasp for air. My fingers met wetness as I wiped tears off my cheek; I didn’t realize I was crying. To help soothe me, I lit a vanilla candle to join the cinnamon one. I stopped unpacking, not even halfway through with the task. With my bed properly made at last, I laid down on top of the quilts. My phone read it was just after six p.m., and while in my hand, a message popped up.

“Jeff.” He sent a picture of the horizon. The grey-green water of the north shore was framed by the splintering docks. The bay was like a giant piece of sea glass opposite a grey sky. Jeff has his own ways of checking up on me. Thank goodness, he doesn’t take the older brother role too seriously, but he does let me know he cares.

Why didn’t you find an apartment, too?

I texted, knowing he would rather not live under the same roof as Eamon.He quickly replied.

Jeff:

RJ

I understood. Our little brother mattered more to us than anyone else in the world. From Jeff’s point of view, RJ was the only good thing to come from our mother and Eamon’s union. I, however, didn’t hold the same opinion since I genuinely liked Eamon, but I understood Jeff’s stance. He was fifteen when our father died, and then Eamon swooped in. That’s hard for any teen boy to deal with, and Jeff hasn’t healed an iota from that.

Rustling on the balcony drew me away from my phone. I slid the door open and stepped out. Mist clung in the air like a warm breath. I looked around to find the cat sitting on the railing. Below, the crow hopped around as the fox tried to pounce on it.

“What is it with you three?” I asked the motley crew. The crow quickly flew off onto the thick pine trees behind my apartment, and the fox chased after it. Yet, the cat remained. “And what do you want?” I raised a brow at his fluffy little face. His chartreuse eyes darted past me to the open door and back to mine. I looked over my shoulder, considering his proposal. “Come here. If you want to come inside, I need to check you out.” The feline listened . He padded over to me and allowed me to brush through his coat. “No one knew anything about you. I asked every person I saw today if they knew of anyone missing a grey cat,” I said as I searched for any signs of fleas, mites, or dirt. The cat was impeccably clean. He started purring like a little engine , and his needlelike claws got caught on my shirt as he stretched up to headbutt my face. I melted. This smokey fur baby was now mine.

The little fluffy distraction snuggled close as I carried him inside. A makeshift cat bed with a pillow inside the shallow cardboard box now took up a corner of my apartment. However, it was left untouched as the cat jumped into my bed and promptly curled into a ball, shutting his eyes. He was the image of comfort as moonlight replaced the crimson sun. Sheets of the hazy glow filtered through its curtains and shined straight into my apartment. I sat on the floor and mindlessly scrolled on my phone, initially to order a small couch. Instead, I was looking up cat names. You know, priorities.

“Ferran,” I spoke the name aloud, and the creature’s head popped up from my pillow. With a yawn, he stretched so big each of his toes splayed out. He hopped off of the bed and walked up to me. “I guess that’s it then. Ferran.” He looked at me. “It means the grey-haired, like you.” He let me pet his back before he sauntered through the moonlight and to the sliding door. I opened it enough for him to pass through, and he disappeared.

Leaving the door open, I walked to the bathroom and began my skincare routine. The scents of sea salt and pine danced in the cool evening air as the breeze flowed through my home. Their fragrance complimented the lit candles, creating a cozy atmosphere. As I scrubbed the exfoliating mask off my face, I thought about how much I felt at home here. I felt at ease on this island, connected to the land, the sea, and the air. Grounded. Lightness cradled my heart. I took a deep breath, feeling content with whatever future had been laid out before me.

Shuffling back to the bed, I looked over at the open door, wondering where Ferran had gone and if he’d ever come back. After a few moments of debating whether I should shut the sliding door, I decided to keep it open for him. At least for another hour while I continued to doom scroll.

At some point , I must have fallen asleep because Ferran’s presence woke me up with a start. Sitting up in my bed, I squinted through the darkness.

“Where are you, buddy?” I asked the void. Narrowing my eyes, I slowly scanned the room, finally landing on the balcony. Except it wasn’t Ferran’s presence in the doorway.

The curtained glass of the sliding door obscured the shadowed silhouette of a man.