Page 5 of Potions and Proposals
At the centre of the library’s first floor, she lifted the reception desk’s divider and took off her pastel pink unicorn slippers. Without the lights, moonlight broke through the stained-glass windows and cast their colours over the desks and antique study lamps. She couldn’t believe it had grown so late.
“Not keeping your fluffy slippers on?”
“I doubt the founding families would appreciate them,” Lucy said, placing them on their very own shelf. They were a necessity in the chilly vault.
“The back door is locked, and everything is off. I’ll be in at twelve tomorrow, and I’ve put up a sign out front to say as much so you can tidy up the vault for our guest while I’m recovering,” Rosie said, leaning over the counter as Lucy pulled her knee-high black boots over her purple woolly tights.
“I’ll be surprised if you make it in at all,” Lucy said, jealous of her freedom.
She wrapped her multicoloured scarf around her neck.“Go ahead, I’ll lock up.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have much time to get to the temple,” Rosie pointed out, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“It’s fine, I’ll go straight from here. If I’m late again, the Crawfords and the Mathersons will hold it against me. I don’t want Mum to have to defend me again.” Lucy pulled her long maroon coat over her knitted cream sweater and black skirt, which was a little higher on her thighs this autumn than last.Funny how when you gained a few inches, clothes seemed to lose them… Not that she cared; every woman in her family was blessed with fuller curves, and she had never been taught anything other than to embrace them.
After a quick hug, Rosie disappeared out the towering front doors, the back of which were inscribed with protection spells. If the village ever came under threat, the library would be their fortress. Though the markings had long since faded, their design was a reminder of how far Foxford had come since its beginnings, and Lucy promised herself she’d do her best to be civil when the Order member visited them.
She had thirty minutes to get across town to the woods where the temple was concealed within the foot of the mountain. Her hand on the brass door handle, she realised she had forgotten about cleaning up.
At a click of her fingers, a broom flew towards her and awaited her command. The enchanted broom was two generations old. The magic usually faded from enchanted objects when the caster died, but somehow the broom remained the library’s keeper and cleaner.
“Broomhilda, you neglected the portraits this week. Tomorrow they’d better be dusted to perfection. Please make sure you remember to sweep the tunnels and the second floor.”
The broom tipped slightly, expressing its shame.
Lucy tutted. “Don’t sulk! If you do a good job tonight, I’ll enchant the mop tomorrow and you can work together.”
Broomhilda wiggled gratefully before moving to sweep between the shelves far more eagerly than usual.
Lucy removed the brass key from its hook and locked up the library behind her. She’d only made it halfway down the steps before she noticed the old defender parked obnoxiously across three spaces and groaned. What the hell was Benedict doing here?
Benedict Matherson walked around the car. “Not like you to cut it so close, pumpkin.”
He was the only person who called her by the infuriating nickname. Clenching the library key in her fist, Lucy tried not to react. His satisfied smirk did nothing to soothe her annoyance.
“Come here to ruin my day?” she asked, putting the key in her bag. Eyeing his black suit, she wondered why he even bothered wearing a black tie with a black shirt. She suspected he was allergic to bright colours, whereas she liked to wear as many as possible.
“I didn’t know I had the power to ruin your day,” he quipped, threading his hand through his raven-black hair.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I thought you’d already be at the temple, trying to convince the other families I don’t deserve to bethe next High Priestess.” She huffed, making her way down the library steps.
“Why must you always think the worst of me? Wasn’t it you who put a certain vicious fish in my fountain and disturbed my guests’ breakfast only a month ago?” He was blocking the path to her bike. The steps erased their height difference, so she at least didn’t have to stare up at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, thinking of her earlier conversation with Rosie, how she’d defended him. Now she just knew he’d been biding his time.
She didn’t like the way his eyes lingered on her. He’d been able to see through her since their childhood, when they’d been forced to spend so much time together thanks to their mothers’ odd friendship. However, past or present, whenever they were around each other, disaster struck sooner rather than later.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you with your hair down.” His eyes settled on its loose ends, curled from being trapped in her signature bun all day.
Lucy brushed them over her shoulder, wondering what he was up to. “Probably because we’re betternotseeing each other at all.”
His ocean-blue eyes narrowed at her rejection. It probably spurred him on that she was the one woman in town he couldn’t have. She wasn’t going to be another woman who fell for his long stares and solemn attitude. They were seduced by his darkness, at the thought of being with a Matherson– getting a taste of the darker side of magic.
“I was only trying to pay you a compliment. Since I’ve failed at that, I will continue with the task at hand. I was leaving the hotel and ran into Wilhelmina, your mother.” Benedict rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets.
He was plotting something. When they were seven he’d lost his favourite stuffed toy and cried until she gave him hers. Itwould’ve been a kind gesture, but when their mothers found them, he’d told them she had stolen his in the first place. Twenty years might’ve passed, but they were still getting each other into trouble.
“I know who my mother is,” Lucy grumbled.
