Page 60 of Love's a Witch
Even in the snow, Briarhaven was beautiful. And it always had been beautiful, even before Knox’s makeover. It was our mother’s hatred for Briarhaven, coupled with a difficult childhood, that had colored my memories of the town. But now, as I watched the shops opening for the day, snow being shoveled from walks, neighbors waving to one another, I realized that I might have a jaded view of a community that was trying very hard to be a lovely place to live.
The spell invoking the help of the fae had made the fine hairs at the back of my neck stand up and had reminded me that there were far more than witches who needed the protection of a place like Briarhaven. Knox had given everyone here a gift, the peace to live somewhat in the open, and had created a tourism industry on top of it.
Had I stayed up late last night cruising through the travel sites and reading reviews of tourists’ experiences here? Maybe. Was I beyond impressed with the publicity and positive coverage thatKnox had managed to achieve for Briarhaven? Sure, but I’d never tell him that. The man was already too confident for his own good.
And unfortunately, one hell of a kisser.
My cheeks flamed again, and I looked away from my sister, not wanting her to guess what I was thinking about, and focused on looking for a parking spot in front of Pixie Dust Apothecary. Pulling the car into a space at the curb, I turned it off and paused for a moment.
“You know, it’s really pretty here.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. The sun had broken through the clouds in a rare moment of no snow, and the landscape glittered and glimmered in the soft rays of light. The colorful shops stood out among the snow, like bright smudges of paint on a plain canvas, and cheerful tendrils of smoke wound from chimneys into the air. The village hustled and bustled as it woke up, and a few tourists with knit caps and wide eyes hurried across the street, pointing excitedly to a map. To them, this was a theme park—a destination—but to us it was just home.
Home.
It had been so long since I’d attached that word to an actual place in my mind, having ruled out Briarhaven as a spot to return to long ago. Now my perception was shifting, as memories sifted through like sand in an hourglass, and for the first time in ages I thought about what it would be like to stay in one spot.
To have an actual place to call home.
“Do you think we can stay?” Lyra wondered, echoing my thoughts.
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know, Lyra. But Broca wants us to try. And I’m starting to think that I want to as well.”
Lyra gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes shining.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“What? No!” I shook my head, and when she just kept grinning at me, I reached over and tugged a strand of her hair. “I just meant that I think our perception of this town was tainted by Mum and Dad fighting all the time. We were just kids, you know? Maybe we can look at it a bit differently now that we’re older.”
“And in charge of our choices.” Lyra pushed her lower lip out in an adorable pout that I was certain she didn’t even realize she did. That same pout had earned her a gold Cartier LOVE bangle from a besotted admirer.
“There’s that too. What if we need Mum’s blood to break the curse?” I spat out one of the worries circling my head, and Lyra gasped.
“I hadn’t even thought of that. Ugh, she’ll never come back here. She was so unhappy in Briarhaven.”
“We’ll find a way around it. Promise. Come on, let’s go see what Raven wanted to talk about.”
We piled out of the car and looked both ways before crossing the street. The wind was a touch gentler today. Whatever magick the Charms had worked must be helping, because the snow situation seemed to be easing just a touch. At the very least, it would make it more manageable for tourists to access the town, and for that I was grateful.
It wasn’t fun being the ones everyone in the community resented.
I didn’t mind being an outcast, but I’d rather it be because of something I’d purposefully done than something that was outside my own control.
A tinkle of bells announced our arrival as we pushed inside to see Raven pouring three cups of coffee for us. Soft Celtic music lilted in the background, and a candle, scented of cinnamon and vanilla, burned at a table in the middle of the room.
“This shop is great. I haven’t had a chance to get in here yet,” Lyra said, turning a wide circle as she studied all the bottles lining the shelves. “You’ve got ingredients for practically everything in here.”
“Part of the job.” Raven grinned at us. “Now, what’s up with you? You sent me a panicked message yesterday, then no follow-up, and today you’re being weird.”
“Bloody hell, Raven, it’s been a lot, all right?” I grumbled, gulping the coffee while Raven grinned at me.
“Och, she’s a tetchy one in the morning, isn’t she, then?”
“The worst,” Lyra agreed, sipping her own cup.
“I am not the worst. I’m just figuring a few things out. There’s a lot on my mind.”
Raven slanted a glance at Lyra, who grinned and twirled a lock of hair around her finger.
