A Coven of Her own Read online

  Sunny waved and peered through the pretty bull’s-eye glass panels in the door. Many of the shops had them, keeping the old-world flavor of the small market town.

  Celeste hurried over and turned the sign to “closed” as she exited the shop. Her white-streaked blonde hair hung in a heavy plait against the plum-colored crushed velvet dress she wore. Silver jewelry adorned her ears, neck and fingers, and a heavy metal belt with tiny bells hung low on her hips. Celeste made music wherever she went.

  Moments later they were ensconced in the window seat of The Witch’s Brew café, next door.

  “I’m expecting a delivery at four o” clock,” Sunny said as they took their seats, “I must keep an eye on the time.”

  “Anything exciting?”

  “A wallpaper steamer.” Sunny chuckled. “The paper practically jumped off the walls in the kitchen. Upstairs, no such luck. I’ve tried shifting it with elbow grease and stripping fluid. Steam power should help. It’s a shame to take it all off though, at least without learning more about the time it came from. There are layers of history right there.”

  Celeste smiled knowingly. “You’re just what that old house needed, someone who cares as much as your grandma did.”

  “It bugs me Gran never told me much about the history. I used to ask her and she’d smile and say, ‘the house will tell you its story when the time is right,’ like time would make all the difference.”

  Celeste’s eyes twinkled.

  “Gran was a true eccentric.”

  “You remind me of her.”

  Sunny was pleased. People didn’t often say that because she looked more like the Moroccan side of the family. “I was always happy here, just as she was.”

  “We need to find you a good Cornish husband to hold you here.”

  “I don’t need a man for that.”

  “I’m sure I could locate some good candidates.”

  Sunny shook her head. “I’m sure you could, but I’ll manage on dreams for now, thank you.”

  “Good dreams, are they?”

  Why not share? Celeste might make sense of it. “Yes, ever since I moved into the house, but they’re getting more frequent and more vivid.”

  “What sort of dreams?” Celeste leaned forward in her seat.

  “Quite saucy, actually.” Sunny chuckled. “At first they were wistful.” As she spoke, she wondered if Celeste would analyze her or laugh it off. “Last night it was as if a person materialized. Like a haunting, or as if it was becoming real.”

  “Describe him to me.” Celeste’s expression turned serious.

  “Tall, dark and handsome.” Sunny laughed. “It’s just a dream.”

  “Maybe not. There’s a lot of folklore around these parts. Perhaps your nocturnal visitor can be found there.”

  “If he’s in folklore he can’t be real.”

  “Well...” Celeste stared off into space for a moment, as if seeking the right words. “Keep an open mind. Tell me, did he try to speak to you?”

  “Yes. It was as if he was too far away for me to hear what he said. Also...”

  “What?”

  “No. It’s silly.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “It was as if he knew me, and was calling to me, warning me, maybe.” Sunny glanced away as she spoke, and noticed the ladies at a couple of the nearby tables had turned to look in their direction, as if listening in. She smiled at them and they returned the smiles. The Witch’s Brew was a bit like the Women’s Institute of Raven’s Landing and everyone was friendly.

  Willow, who ran the cafe, approached their table. Like Celeste, Willow was a crafty hippie type. She wore ethnic garments and colorful braids in her hair. She’d lived in Nepal and Thailand, and her style reflected her travels. “What can I get you ladies today?”

  “I’ll take a full afternoon tea. I didn’t have time to get lunch,” Celeste said.

  “Tea and a scone, please,” Sunny added.

  Minutes later, Willow returned with their teapots and a cake stand bearing scones with cream and jam, and cucumber and salmon sandwiches. The popular afternoon tea was the specialty of the house.

  “I keep meaning to ask who makes your scones,” Sunny asked as Willow filled the table with delicious goodies.

  “Rowena Meldrum, a young lass here in town. All of our cakes and pastries are made here in Raven’s Landing. Your grandmother used to do a lovely apple turnover we sold for her.”

  “I remember her baking. Did she use apples from her own orchard?”

  “Oh yes. You could, too. Perhaps when your renovations are done, you’ll have some time to bake as well.”

  “I’d love that. I love to bake.”

  Celeste touched Willow on the arm. “Sunny’s been having dreams about a mysterious man. Perhaps it’s Cullen Thaine.”

  “Cullen who?” Sunny asked.

  Willow lit up. “A soul lost to Raven’s Landing. Have you found him, Sunny?”

  “Only in my dreams. I take it this is another Cornish legend you’re spinning for me here?” Sunny figured they were winding her up. How could they possibly guess who the dream man might be?

  “Yes,” Celeste responded. “Cullen’s tale is a curious one. He came from a noble local family and was due to go on board a ship to the New World, but disappeared. We call him a soul lost in time, rather than a legend, in the hope his story will one day be fully discovered.”

  That made more sense. They were trying to solve an old mystery.

  “Perhaps you’ve found him,” Willow said, conspiratorially.

  Surely they were joking? But somehow it made her dreams seem more significant and tangible.

  “I’ve given you both extra clotted cream and jam for your scones,” Willow whispered, then winked.

  Celeste poured the tea. “There’s a lot of history in that house, my dear. Cornish history. I’m sure you’ll learn a lot.”

  “I’d love to know more. The cottage feels like an anchor. I’ve never had that connection until I came here.”

  “Because of your upbringing?” Celeste asked.

  “Yes. In my early years, Dad was still working as a doctor in Africa and we traveled with him. Then I went to boarding school in England and came to Grandma in Raven’s Landing in the holidays.” She skimmed past the boarding school years, as she always did. She’d been bullied because of her mixed-race heritage. It had made her strong and self-sufficient though. “This, in here, became my home.” She put her hand to her heart.

  Both Celeste and Willow beamed.

  “We need more people like you, Sunny,” Willow stated. “You have a gypsy soul.”

  “You only say that because of my background.” She’d let slip that her mum’s line came from a nomadic North African tribe. Sunny didn’t often talk about her heritage, but with Celeste and Willow it felt natural.

  “Describe your man to me,” Willow said, still lingering by the side of their table.

  “Oh, he’s my man now, is he?” Sunny laughed. “Handsome, of course. He wore old fashioned clothing, longish dark hair.”

  “Did he remind you of anyone?”

  “No, that’s the weird thing. To be honest I haven’t been out with many white guys, so it was unexpected to dream about one so vividly.”

  “But not unpleasant?” Willow qualified.

  “Oh, no, not at all. He certainly seemed interested in me.” She flickered her eyebrows suggestively. “Then again, it was a dream, not a nightmare.”

  ​”Well, aside from the man himself, this definitely indicates you have a gift. What do you think, Willow?” Celeste asked over the rim of her teacup.

  “I agree. You’ve certainly got the gift. Do you think you could bring her over to our ways?”

  “I think we could.”

  Sunny chuckled. “Stop teasing me. I’m already a local.”

  “How do you know we hadn’t something else in mind?” Celeste’s eyes twinkled secretly. “Perhaps Cullen Thaine is the key for you. You solve his mystery and we can le
t you into our secret society.” Celeste winked.

  Sunny was about to quiz them on this secret society, when Willow nudged Celeste on the shoulder.

  Celeste picked up Sunny’s teacup and swilled the leaves left in the bottom of the cup. “The signs are good, sister.”

  “You guys!” Sunny chomped on her scone happily.

  Willow picked up the empty tea tray and was about to head off when a dark shadow fell across the table from beyond the window.

  Willow gasped audibly.

  Sunny looked out the window, but the shadow had moved on. She blinked, wondering if she’d imagined it. It was too sudden, foreboding and dark to be a cloud. Besides, the sky had been clear all day. “What was that?”

  “The shadow of the raven, perhaps,” Celeste answered. Her expression showed concern. She looked at Willow in query.

  The atmosphere in the cafe had altered, the occupants falling quiet as they looked toward the window.

  “The raven?”

  “It’s called Raven’s Landing for a reason,” Celeste said in a hushed tone. “The raven’s shadow, when it falls, often signals trouble.”

  More old wives’ tales, Sunny presumed. She glanced out the window, but saw no one who might have made the shadow. At the same time, the skin on the back of her neck prickled, as if her senses were on high alert. Was it because Willow and Celeste seemed concerned?

  Just then Willow gasped audibly and moved back a pace. She nodded at the window again, her expression stricken. “Fox!”

  “Surely not?” Celeste whispered. She and Willow exchanged meaningful glances. “It’s been a long while since he’s bothered us.”

  Both Celeste and Sunny followed the line of her gaze.

  On the opposite side of the narrow street stood a tall man. He had dark hair—noticeable for its widow’s peak—with distinguished white temples. He was a striking figure, and totally focused on the cafe and its inhabitants. Undisguised appraisal marked his expression.

  The atmosphere grew intense, as if static clung in the air, and silence reigned. No traffic passed between them in the street and the clusters of passing tourists had thinned, leaving only this strange man, who was austere and yet good looking in a devilish way. He looked to be in his late forties, and wore a smart black suit and open necked white shirt. He stared at them openly, as if he wanted to be noticed.

  His gaze shifted to meet Sunny’s.

  Startled, she wondered how on earth his eyes could look that way—as if they were deep hollows of darkness. But then they altered and gleamed like a shiny steel surface before shifting again to something more human looking.

  “Try not to make eye contact with him,” Celeste whispered.

  Too late, Sunny thought, chilled.

  His mouth quirked at one side. He raised his hand, pointed two fingers at his eyes, and then pointed at the three women watching.

  “Whatever does that mean?” Sunny asked, fascinated.

  “Watching you,” Willow murmured.

  Both of her companions were riveted, as if frozen to the spot. In fact when Sunny glanced around, almost everyone in The Witch’s Brew was observing.

  “The last thing we need is him taking an interest,” Celeste muttered.

  Then he was gone, and the pavements were busy with passers by once more, as if it had never happened.

  ​”Who was that?” Sunny asked.

  Celeste reached for her tea cup again, wrapping both hands around it. “You may have heard mention of Viscount Fox. That was him.”

  Sunny nodded. She’d overheard two women discussing the local viscount in the greengrocers. They’d mentioned he lived in an old manor house up on the cliffside, on the opposite side of the bay to her cottage. The Grey House, it was called, and you could see it when you were down in the harbor, on the cobbled streets. “I thought he was abroad.”

  “He often is, but he turns up every now and then.” Celeste’s brow was furrowed and she looked concerned and distracted.

  “Like a bad penny,” Willow added, scowling.

  “Is he a real viscount?”

  Celeste nodded. “It’s a hereditary title.”

  Willow slipped away without another word and Celeste seemed lost in thought. It was most unlike her, and Sunny couldn’t help probing a little. “So he’s our local nobility?

  Celeste rolled her eyes skyward. “There’s nothing noble about him, Sunny, and don’t you forget it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  At closing time Celeste and Willow shut up shop and met in the living room at the back of Celeste’s shop.

  Wellington, Celeste’s cat, meowed expectantly.

  “Patience, please,” Celeste said to the lithe black cat.

  “Well?” Willow quizzed. “Has Fox sensed your magic?”

  “I haven’t cast the spell fully yet,” Celeste said. “I’ve only been preparing the ground. But tonight’s the night, and I don’t intend to let Fox stop me. Besides, I’ve made plenty of matches by magic and it’s never brought his shadow down over us.”

  “It didn’t bode well that the raven’s shadow fell first.”

  “I think that’s to do with Sunny. He looked at her. Did you notice?”

  Willow nodded.

  They talked it over as they mounted the stairs, heading up towards the attic. From the window there they could just about see Fox’s manor house on the hillside. There amongst the boxes of stock and packaging, Celeste had set up a telescope so they could keep an eye on his home. Once the servants started pulling back curtains and tending the grounds, it indicated he was in residence, or due.

  Celeste mounted the platform beneath the attic skylight and focused the telescope. “His Mercedes is out the front and the windows are bright.” She sighed and swatted the telescope to one side. “Damn. I haven’t checked for a couple of nights.”

  “Do you really think it’s because of Sunny?” Willow asked, as she took her turn at the telescope.

  “Has to be. I’ve been matchmaking these last ten years or so and he hasn’t bothered me—why this time? Got to be Sunny’s potential he’s drawn to.”

  “And you’re sure you sure it’s Cullen she’s dreaming of?”

  “My spell doesn’t reveal the identity of her dream man, but he’s a local man we haven’t been able to account for, and it may be him that Fox has taken interest in. He may have known Cullen Thaine at some point in the past. In fact that may be why he’s here.”

  “To cover his tracks?”

  “His dark deeds...”

  Willow looked at Celeste with a skeptical expression. “Don’t let your emotions get involved this time.”

  “You know as much as I do how hard it is when Fox turns on the charm, but I don’t intend to roll over for him, don’t worry.”

  Willow’s skeptical expression didn’t shift. “Do you think we should warn Sunny?”

  “No. She needs to discover her magical heritage for herself, otherwise it would be unnatural.”

  Willow sighed and hugged her. “Be strong. You can see this through. I have faith in you.”

  “That’s the risk with matchmaking though, especially with a lost soul, but I honestly believe Sunny is strong enough. We can only reveal the gift to those who can use it, after all.”

  “Yes, and she’s intrigued with the house, its history, and the man in her dreams. I too believe she has her grandmother’s blood, and it’s strong enough in her veins. And I’m quite sure she could deal with anything Fox might throw at her, especially with you backing her.”

  Celeste gave a relieved laugh, pleased Willow had her back. “There’s only one way to find out​​.”

  Willow smiled. “I’m glad you’re not letting Fox’s shadow get to you.”

  “No way, quite the opposite.” Celeste tossed her plait over her shoulder.

  “You’ll be working your magic this evening, sister?”

  Celeste nodded.

  “May I watch?”

  “Of course. The more the merrier.”

/>   “And more powerful,” Willow added.

  When they got down to the kitchen, Wellington, Celeste’s cat, was waiting expectantly, as if he knew it was time to make magic.

  Celeste pushed the contents of her kitchen table to one side with a swipe of her arm, and unloaded her bag of stones, pebbles and crystals, totems she invested her magical power in.

  “Sunny dreams of her man every night. Thanks to you, tokens of time, and the earth’s bounty,” she whispered to the stones.

  Wellington jumped up on to the table to watch and Willow curled up in the nearby rocking chair.

  “So, what do we think, Wellington, do we think Sunny’s ready?”

  Wellington blinked at his mistress, his gaze steadfast.

  “Yes, we thought so too.”

  The cat settled onto the table, folding his limbs under him.

  Celeste rummaged amongst the crystals and gems, and pulled out several suitable gems. “Each gem is a soul in time,” she whispered.

  Willow echoed her words.

  The cat looked on judiciously.

  She selected two gems—a pearl with a rosy sheen, and a rugged piece of dark jet—and rolled them together. Then she strung them on a silken thread, first the jet, naming it “dream man,” then slid the pearl against it, naming it “Sunny” before knotting them together securely.

  Wellington blinked and purred.

  Celeste curled the tethered gems into the palm of her hand and smiled at Willow. “Here’s to the future,” she whispered.

  Willow nodded. “The future. Whatever it may bring.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Sunny got ready to turn in for the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling she wasn’t alone in the house. Perhaps the house was haunted. Her gran had never said anything about ghosts, and neither had Celeste. The story about the missing traveler had caught Sunny’s attention though. She’d been about to ask when he’d gone missing, but the sudden appearance of the strange man they called Viscount Fox distracted them.

  She rather liked the idea of her cottage being the stuff of possible legend, but she had to admit her experiences were definitely more dreamlike than waking visions of a spirit world. Figments of her imagination, she decided.