CONQUERING SHADOWS (Shadows Book 3)

Chapter 4

The following day, Fawn and I made our way over to the bookshop in York. It had become a strange thing, this shop, a duty that had brought my coven together and connected us with Rafe's family who also liked to pitch in. Matthew had approved the name 'Callear Books' and Fawn had designed a quaint logo incorporating angel wings masquerading as book pages.

It was all any of us could do to keep Rafe close.

We were doing quite well, well enough that we'd employed Fiona and Mark, a mighty brother-sister barista duo to run a pop-up coffee bar at the far side of the shop floor.

"I've brought a sketch for the last frame. We just need to hang it on the wall over the cash register and then we're all done."

"Thank you. And who is it this time?" The shop had come with a selection of mis-matched gilt frames. For each one, Fawn had sketched out a famous literary scene in charcoal and mounted them on the dark walls. The framed pieces had drawn nearly as many visitors as the second-hand books themselves, sparking conversations throughout the day. Fawn merely blushed and kept her head down.

"Jane Eyre and Mr Rochester. It's the scene where she returns to him at the end. I know it's one of your favourites."

My hand paused with the keys jangling in the door as I remembered my much-read essay laying on my bed. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

"Something wrong?"

I turned the key in the door and pushed it open. "Not at all."

As soon as we entered, we were hit by the scent of old books and strong coffee. The shop wouldn't open for another hour yet, which was also when either Fiona or Mark would show up. Fawn bent down to scoop up a box of donations that had been left on the doorstep. When Fawn and I worked together, we'd take our time reading the handwritten notes left in the books and use them to piece together our own fictional narrative about the previous owners. We'd had everything from star-crossed lovers, to secret murderers to nursery teachers-turned spies. We realised we had quite the imagination.

"You get started on the books while I hang this picture." She dumped the box on the counter next to the cash register and started heading around the otherside before she stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned to me. "I'm so sorry, Riley. It's your shop, you do what you want, I'll do what you want. I didn't mean to be bossy."

I laughed, much more amused than offended. "Don't be sorry. I like assertive Fawn. She makes decisions for me when my mind is fogged."

Fawn proceeded to roll out her sketch using discarded books to pin down the corners that wanted to curl. Curious, I went to sneak a peek. My breath caught, not just at the obvious talent incorporated into every deliberate stroke, but at the striking familiarity of Mr Rochester as he stared ahead glassy-eyed at the ruined Thornfield.

"You've captured his likeness." I just about stopped myself running my fingers over the wild hair and strong jaw. Two months without him had seemed like a lifetime. My throat bobbed. "Jane Eyre is too fat though."

Fawn batted at my hand. "Will you stop? You're perfect. I hope you don't mind me using you as models. I obviously don't have any images of Rafe which is why his face is angled away."

"It's wonderful," I said. "Better get it on the wall before I take it home."

Fawn gave me a sad smile, but proceeded to slip the piece into the frame and secure it in place. I started sifting through the donations box, examining the inside of every front and back cover as I always did and then sorted into piles for pricing.

"Oh no," an involuntary shiver ran down my spine.

"What is it?"

I held up a brown-red fabric-bound book. "Pinocchio: The Story of a Puppet. I hate this story. It gives me the creeps."

Fawn's lips twitched as if she was trying to hide her amusement. "Anything inside?"

"Oh yes, 'Beware the lies that dance upon these pages, for in the dark, the puppet's truth twists and ages."

"Wow. That's creepy."

"Yes it is," I screwed my face up in disgust. "Maybe we start a donation pile of our own." Holding it by the corner, I put it on the table in its very own pile and slid it across as far away from me as possible.

"Just let me know when you tell Arden so I can be elsewhere. I'm still recovering from his last business lecture. Ninety minutes with slides and everything."

Fawn hung the image on the wall above the cash register, the gold frame popping against the midnight-blue walls. It hurt to look at it but I found I couldn't turn away.

"Ingrid offered to take Rafe's place," I said, my eyes never leaving the picture and the desire just to see him again whipping around my stomach.

"What? But that's good isn't it?"

"Is it?" I tore my eyes away from the haunting image of Mr Rochester and found Fawn looking at me with a mixture of concern and confusion. "I don't know. I could solve one problem and keep my promise to Matthew, but create a whole slew of others. The witches are content how things are, and the world is safe from demons."

"They'd still be content with Ingrid ruling the demons, and no change in the threat to the world. Did she say why? It's not a small thing to declare you're suddenly willing to leave the world behind."

"She cannot continue without Astrea, or rather doesn't want to. She asked that I make her existence worthwhile."

"That settles it then."

I blew my fringe out of my eyes and distractingly pondered whether I needed a haircut, so much was the mess in my head. "Does it?"

"Yes. If you want to get him, then let's go get him."

"It's not that simple."

"No, you're right. We'd have to find a different way in, then there's the problem of the time difference. But we can start looking into it now."

"The coven-"

"Answer you to, not you to them."

A glimmer of optimism bloomed in my chest and before I knew it, it was a beast with great wings hammering at my insides. "We're going to do this." I couldn't tell if I'd meant the words as a question or an affirmation for myself.

"We're going to do this. Let's get through this day first and then we can start a little research party."

I cleared my throat with a fake cough and went back to sorting through the books. "And who is invited to this research party?"

"Shut up, Riley."

I gasped. "Is that how you speak to your High Witch?" I was certain if I looked at Fawn she would have a huge grin on her face.

"I'm sorry," her words came soft and full of remorse. "Shut up, High Witch."

And I laughed at that, one that hurt my stomach at the lines of my jaw, my first proper laugh in months.