Page 14 of Board Games and Broomsticks

‘Ms Hawthorne, is it?’ he said, and even though she was taller than him, she felt as if he was staring down his nose at her.

Still, she plastered on her politest smile and held out her hand to him. ‘Nyssa. It’s nice to meet you.’

He let out a small hmm in response. ‘I take it from your surname that you’re Lisabeth’s granddaughter?’ he asked, and without waiting for a reply he added, ‘I heard a rumour that you left Nighthaven with no plans of returning. What exactly has changed?’

That’s none of your business, you judgy old grump.

‘I just needed a change of scenery.’

Another grunt. ‘Mmm, and I suppose you’re planning on staying this time, given your interest in my property?’ He gestured a hand at the old building. The smallest flash of uncertainty sparked in Nyssa’s gut. Perhaps I am being too hasty …

She thought about telling him to forget it. That he was right, and she wouldn’t be staying in Nighthaven unless she failed her trials. But the second her lips parted to do so, a breeze stirred the leaves around the shop door and ruffled the strands of hair she’d left out of her bun. The smell of old ink and leather, of sherbet-sweet enchantments, was so strong that Nyssa was a child again, staring up at the place with a strange longing she couldn’t explain.

There were some signs a witch couldn’t ignore. And this one was practically neon-bright.

‘I can assure you that if you sell it to me, the building will be in good hands.’

Mr Lefton stared at her a moment longer before letting out what she thought was a satisfied grunt.

‘I’m sure the key is here somewhere …’ he said as he dug around a ridiculously large bag. Nyssa offered her most patient ‘head mage’ smile even as impatience made her want to snatch the bag from him and find the key herself. ‘A-aha, there we are!’

He pulled the key out with a flourish, as if he were one of the charlatan mages back in London and the key a rabbit, and pushed the door with more flair than Nyssa considered necessary. The door stuck as he opened it, hinges creaking in protest, and when it finally did give way, it was to a dark, musty-smelling space filled with damp boxes and cobweb-covered furnishings. Something made a small thump noise somewhere in the darkness, and Mr Lefton let out a nervous little laugh.

‘Just the wind …’ he said, in a way that convinced Nyssa he was trying to reassure himself rather than her. Liora had said some of the locals believed the place to be haunted, after all, and by the unease on Mr Lefton’s pinched, ruddy face, he was one of them. ‘I didn’t realize it had gotten in such a state! My apologies, Ms Hawthorne. If you do not wish to continue—’

‘I do.’

Nyssa stepped around his large frame and into the old shop. The scent of ink and magic lingered in the air as she took in the building she had once been so enamoured by. The space was large and open, with a high ceiling intricately engraved with a depiction of a full moon in the night sky. And while the ancient desk from which the old owner had done her business was covered in dust and moth-eaten papers, and the old wooden floor was in dire need of a good polish, the walls themselves were still in good shape.

Nyssa’s vision from a few days before re-emerged, and suddenly the old, decrepit space before her was a fairy-light-lit room filled with tables and plush seating, and the musty smell was replaced with the intoxicating scent of her grandmother’s tea blends. She could fix up the old, boarded-up fireplace, too, and turn the large window ledges into cosy reading nooks.

‘How much is it?’

Mr Lefton was staring at the shop with his nose wrinkled, as if he couldn’t even begin to fathom what Nyssa saw in it. ‘It’s … well, negotiable, I suppose, given the shop’s state of disrepair.’ He paused, looking like he was doing some hasty maths in his head, before adding, ‘But I wouldn’t take less than 8,500 gold.’

Nyssa breathed a small sigh of relief. Nighthaven didn’t use the same currency as the mortal realm, but thankfully, the money her grandma had left her had been in gold rather than pounds. 8,500 gold wasn’t an insignificant amount, but between her grandma’s inheritance and the money she’d saved from her coven allowance, Nyssa had a fairly healthy savings pot. Before now, the thought of spending any of it hadn’t even crossed Nyssa’s mind.

And perhaps she should keep it for her retirement. She was still planning on returning to the coven, after all, but … There was something about this place – about the way it made her feel, for the first time in so long, as if anything were possible – that she was finding difficult to ignore.

A witch must always follow their intuition, her grandmother had once told her, when Nyssa had asked why she’d chosen to settle in Nighthaven rather than joining a coven; if they do not, then they risk losing themselves.

Nyssa had ignored her intuition back in the coven. Had told herself that the constant pit of worry and anxiety in her stomach and the exhaustion in her bones were simply due to a few bad nights’ sleep. And now she was suspended from her position as coven leader, banned from doing complicated magic, and uncertain if she even had a future as a member of The Coven of the Sacred Owl.

Nyssa took one last look around the shop, her magic tingling the tips of her fingers. For the first time since leaving the coven, she did not feel afraid at the thought of using it.

She felt excited.

Mind made up, Nyssa turned to Mr Lefton, who was still looking at her as if she were under the influence of pixie dust, and followed her intuition.

‘I’ll take it.’

After convincing Mr Lefton that she was sure she wanted ‘such an ancient place’, Nyssa had returned to Gwen to finalize the details over another pot of steaming tea: any profits made on her tea blends at the café would be split, and customers would be signposted to Gwen’s store if they wished to purchase tea leaves of their own. After nipping back to the cottage to retrieve some gold, Nyssa had dropped by Mr Lefton’s office to pay the deposit, and by the time she’d finished signing papers, the sky outside had grown grey and dark. All she’d wanted to do was go home to Nyx, curl up with a good romance and a cup of tea, and fall asleep in front of the fire.

Instead, she found herself sitting in The Pixie’s Grove, her ears ringing as Liora let out a loud, excited squeal.

Their food sat untouched before them, and as Nyssa stared longingly down at her generous heaping of pie and buttered mash, she wished she’d waited until after they’d eaten to break the news.

‘You did what?’