“Good . . . you know, you should switch to hot chocolate. It’s more holiday-ish. As a matter of fact,” my gaze flicks to Coffee Haven and then back to him, “the town Hot Cocoa and Cookie Crawl will be happening soon. That’s as good a time as any to switch.”
“Have you ever done the Crawl before?” Elias asks, his booted feet on the curb, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Or is this on your ‘first time for everything’ list?”
I shrug. “Branching out, remember?”
“You need a phone, Ms. Sinclair,” he calls while crossing the street.
“Maybe I’ll get one,” I call in return.
Smiling, I turn back to the bookstore. New friends. A possible phone. Books I might attempt to read. People I want to try to talk to.
Christmas books start to pile up in the showcase window, and I briefly catch the title of one. A Christmas Carol.
My lips curl. My Aunt Eloise has forced me to listen to A Christmas Carol every Christmas for as far back as I can remember. First by reading it, and then in audio. It became tradition. I’m not sure why the book is her favorite, but by making me listen to it year after year, she’s made it one of my favorites, too.
I suddenly feel the urge to hug Eloise. For nothing more than just being her. Now that I know my powers can be controlled, I can start building an even closer relationship with her, the kind of relationship I should have had before.
Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, I am Havenwood Falls’ version of Scrooge. Only I’m not old or miserly. I’m a recluse imprisoned by fears rather than faults. My ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future are two villains, a fallen angel, and a sentient weapon.
A work truck roars to life, and I glance at the street just in time to see Elias driving off, his window rolled down. His hand lifts in a wave, and I wonder about his story.
But first . . .
Today is the first day in a new beginning.
Chapter 17
New beginnings mean less fear, right?
At least that’s what I kept telling myself when I left Main Street for the one place I felt safe enough to practice my powers. After a hug fest with my aunt, which is less weird than it sounds, I hole myself up at her shop in a space I never even attempted to enter until now.
I am not afraid of my powers. I am not afraid of my powers. Over and over again, I repeat the mantra in my head, my eyes on the walls of the back room. The reading room, my aunt calls it.
There are notebooks and pencils everywhere. It looks like a wet dream for writers. For me, not so much.
I am not a coward.
The door to the shop dings. Customers enter, and then exit. Time ticks forward.
Eloise has a client scheduled for the afternoon, and I know by the impatient way she paces the floor beyond where I stare at the wall, that I’m running out of time.
“Hey, Eloise,” a voice greets, her words chasing the door’s bell. “Harper around?”
Relief and trepidation flood my veins. Addie Beaumont. Saundra’s granddaughter.
The bead curtain behind me clicks together.
“Hey,” Addie says gently. She walks in front of me, her studiously edgy appearance a welcome one. Light brown hair fans out over a red sweater, the shirt resting over ripped jeans. A diamond in her nose winks at me when she leans down, her eyes softening behind her glasses. “Bet you can’t guess why I’m here.”
“That fast, huh?”
In her arms is a leather satchel, the bag home to a tattoo kit. Adelaide Beaumont is here to mark me. All of the supernaturals in Havenwood Falls are marked when they come to town as a way to register with the Court. It keeps tabs on the supes. I’m one of them now. Always had been, I guess.
“They definitely don’t take their time with things.” She taps me on the arm. “Where and what?” She doesn’t have to say more than that. I know how it works.
“My wrist. A quill pen.”
She chuckles. “That makes sense.”
Pulling a pad and pencil out of her bag, she gets to work sketching the design before tracing it with a purple pen and removing it.
Giving her my arm, I look away. Even if I was afraid of needles, the pain would be nothing compared to the pain I’ve already faced. To the way my heart feels now, torn between jubilation and heartbreak. New beginnings and loneliness.
Damp paper is pressed against my skin. “What you did last night was incredible,” Addie tells me.
My eyes drop to the table. “Can you help me with something?”
Addie pauses. “Depends.”
“I want to try to use my powers.”
“Now?” she asks, startled.
“No.” I shake my head, smiling. I know by the way I’ve stared at the wall for hours that I’m not ready. But I will be. “Not now. But soon.” I look at her. “I’m going to be something big, Addie. I’m going to be a part of this town. A part of this community in a way I never was before. When I’m ready, will you come? I’d feel better if there was a witch there. You know . . . just in case.”
Placing her hand against mine, she peers down at the design on my wrist, at the tattoo she’s about to start on. “You’ve had a long, hard road, Harper. A lot of us admire what you’ve been through and how you’ve handled it. I’ll be there.”
As she’s tattooing me, I stare at her. She’s strong, too. I may not know a lot about what I can do yet, but I see and feel the strength in her.
“I want to be a part of what makes this town safe,” I say suddenly.
Addie smiles. “Good. We’ll both be a part of that.”
Nodding, I shut my eyes. My time is coming.
Chapter 18
Christmas Eve
The walk-in utility closet in my kitchen makes a perfect darkroom, and I outfitted it exactly the way I need it to be.
Landscape photography is a competitive business, but I’ve managed to make a name for myself and a decent paycheck—enough for a single woman—mainly by taking pictures no one else has been able to capture. It’s easy to get unseen shots when I’m the only person snapping pictures of the mountains and landscape around Havenwood Falls for print in magazines. Most of my photographs are labeled as remote spots in Colorado with no specific name attached.
I’m careful not to snap shots of the shifters or other supernaturals that roam the hillsides. All of my photos have to be approved before I sell them, but I’ve been making a freelance cash flow from my work since my last year in high school.
A photographic safelight swings above my messy bun, the glow from the bulb turning the entire space red. My fingers clutch a pair of tongs, my eyes on a developing tray.
I get a thrill from this process because everything has to be perfect. From the water temperature to the exposure duration.
The picture I’m working on now is no different.
From developer to stop bath to fixer to the rinse, I take my time with it. Careful. Ever so careful.
The image that appears is exactly what I expected it to be.
“Why do you want that anyway?” Desi asks from my feet. For some reason, he’s taken a real interest in my photography. Maybe sentient weapons need hobbies, too.
I stare at the picture. “Because there’s nothing like framing a falling star.”
Before me is a photograph of the mountain, pine trees and snow a backdrop to a walking wall of flames.
Lucas.