part0007

Metal pans gave a thunderous applause as they came tumbling from the kitchen counter and crashing against the tiled flooring.

“Spring cleaning,” I scoffed, stepping away from the mess as my face tightened into a frown.

Retiring might have been my worst decision—ever, but it wasn’t mine to make. I was in my late forties, but I’d lived what felt like several lives. Granted, I was a witch, and that gave me certain advantages and abilities most could never dream about. That inclued a youthful Hollywood glow, which I assumed meant I’d have some form of work done. I hadn’t.

Looking at the mess. It was the first time in years I’d been living in Witchwood, a small town in the heart of Kent. My mother had given me the house when I was a young witch at barely eighteen, telling me I forge my own path.

“What’s all this racket?” Ivory’s claws tapped at the tiles.

Ivory was my familiar. A witch’s familiar was her confidant and most trusted companion. Mine was a two-foot female grey barn owl. She’d been with me for ten years; an achievement for a barn owl like her.

“Nothing, nothing,” I replied, pulling my glasses from my face. I pinched at the bridge of my nose between my eyes. “Go back to bed.”

“Not if you’ll make more noise.” She continued tapping her talons. “Well?”

“Put some earplugs in,” I chuckled.

Ivory was nocturnal, and so had I been, but that was back when I worked for the Witches Council as an investigator in magical crimes. The Witches Council were a governing body of all witches, we didn’t have many laws to abide by, you know, the usual – no murder. I loved the job, but it had meant sacrificing many relationships.

Ivory continued to yap while I stared in a daze over the mess in the kitchen. I pressed my glasses back onto my face, refocusing everything I’d pulled from the cupboards to clean. “Maybe a little magic,” I mumbled to myself.

A squawk of laughter came from Ivory. “I thought you were going human .”

I grabbed the yellow marigolds from the counter, snapping them in place on my hands. “I never said that .”

“Maybe you could use some of it for soundproofing,” Ivory said.

I waved a hand over the pans as they levitated and piled themselves back on the counter. “Once I have everything clean, we’ll sort your sleeping arrangements out.”

I’d so far sorted through my clothes, donating everything I no longer wanted or wore to the local charity shop in the town. Tackling the kitchen was the next step, and as any good witch knows, the kitchen is the heart of the home.

She clawed at the tiles. “It’ll take you forever.”

“Luckily, I have a lot of patience,” I said. “And forever doesn’t seem too long to wait.”

I resumed washing dishes in the sink, cleaning sticky residue away from the pots and plates; accumulation from years of neglect.

My one-storey two-bedroom cottage on Eden Road was large, deceptively large if you were only looking at it from the outside. I had two gardens, one on the back opening out onto the dense forest, but looking out over it from the kitchen window, the long grasses camouflaged the fence; I didn’t know where the garden ended, and the forest began. After years of abandonment, the house needed some TLC. The front garden was another story altogether, Gregory Marston, a neighbour had been taking care of that.

“Nora,” Ivory said, pulling my attention.

I sucked back a deep breath. “I thought you’d gone to bed,” I said, rinsing off a bowl. “What do you need?”

She fluffed at a wing, gnawing at a feather with her beak. “What are we doing?”

Oh–I knew what she meant. “Retirement,” I said, trying to sound upbeat about it. “We can do whatever we want.”

“It sucks,” she said, turning in a huff.

Ivory was currently living in the darkness of an old storage closet near the front door. It wasn’t ideal, but there was a perch in there; water, food, everything she needed for the time being.

I sighed. Ivory was perfect while I was working for the Witches Council, she was hungry for adventure. The familiar before her wasn’t quite a thrill seeker.

As I cleaned the kitchen, thoughts of adventure filled my mind. I’d done so much with my life, I’d seen so many things. I’d witnessed demons rise from the ground in plumes of smoke, and witches turn bad from too much power. I’d even helped with missing children cases and ghostly hauntings. Plus, I had a ninety-three percent success rate.

They told me I’d burn out if I continued.

Pulling away the plastic gloves, I looked at my hands. I had two rings on each hand, each with a different jewel, and each tapped with power. A jet stone ring gave me sight to see things that went unnoticed by many, an amethyst for protection and luck, a deep orange citrine stone for confidence and strength, and chrome blue and green chrysocolla for intuition.

Being an investigator for the Council brought great wealth to my life, not only monetary but through experience as well. The downside of dedicating my life away was that I didn’t have a husband or children.

“It’s never too late,” I said, hearing my mother’s voice in me.

I turned sharply, the voice had been eerily close to hers. My heart screeched like car tires at the thought she was here. I relaxed back on the kitchen counter. I combed back stray red hairs behind my ears. I’d so far made more of a mess.

Primrose Lavender, my mother, lived in Scotland. A stretch away from where I was, but it hadn’t always been like that, she used to live in Kent too.

With a vice-like grasp, I clutched the metal teapot, pouring water into it before slamming it on the hob. I rarely found myself alone with my thoughts and nothing on my mind to occupy them. While the water boiled, I added a sprig of mint.

Once the teapot released a whistle of steam, a relaxing rush came over me.

“Keep it down,” Ivory squawked; her voice muffled through the walls.

“I’m making tea.”

The logistics weren’t something I’d thought too much about. Ideally, I think we both preferred it if Ivory had a small shed out on the back, but by the way it was looking, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Not while it meant treading through the minefield of weeds.

“One day,” I muttered to myself. I was sure I had a spell somewhere in my book of shadows, but that was currently locked away in my bedroom.

Pouring the tea into a clean mug from the draining board, I added a heaped spoonful of honey, stirring it until fully dissolved.

Three loud thuds collided with the front door.

I jerked my head toward the sound, spilling hot tea down my white blouse, not like it wasn’t already dirty from dust. What caught me was that nobody ever visited… nobody knew I was back in Witchwood.