9. Wisteria

Ifeel idiotic as I chirp the words at Eli, fleeing the bar as if it were on fire. I can feel his eyes on me as I go, clutching my to-go box and hurrying outside into the brisk fall air. The coolness of it softens the flush in my cheeks a little, but I can still feel my pulse fluttering in my throat, my nose full of that woodsy juniper scent that floats around him.

I don't bother trying to get that Uber again–probably the only one here. My feet are still aching, but I opt to walk back to my hotel instead rather than wait outside the bar and risk Eli coming out to talk to me. If he did, I'm not sure that I wouldn't take him up on that proposition, as bad of an idea as it is.

The last time I got laid, the guy was a good-looking enough graduate student at the same college I got my degree from, in the English department. When he said he studied Viking myths and was doing his dissertation on them, I thought he might be open-minded enough to date a witch. I went home with him after one coffee date and a movie night, and promptly found out that not only did he not eat pussy, he came within less than a minute even with a condom, and then apologized profusely, promising to do better next time.

I decided it might be better if there simply wasn't a next time. A week later he came to my job, asking for a second date. When I said I was busy for the next few weeks, he got frustrated, and then when I told him–in an attempt to see if there was anything worth salvaging about the connection–that I was a witch, it all got so much worse.

I can still clearly hear him telling me that I was insane, that I clearly needed to be medicated if I believed that, that he couldn't believe he'd wasted his time on someone so stupid. My boss had come around the corner just then, and for one terrifying moment, I'd thought that I really fucked up. That he was going to tell her what I'd just said to him, and I'd be in so much more trouble than I originally thought.

Instead, he stormed off, and I ordered a vibrator online that night.

Eli would go down on me. I know he would.Another shiver runs down my spine as I think of that stubbled chin against my thigh, and I momentarily forget about the ache in my feet and how many blocks I still have until I get to the hotel. I don't think I've ever had really good sex. I want to know what it's like.

But I also don't want to have to constantly dodge someone in the new place I've found to call home, just because my hormones got out of control.

I glance up at the moon as I approach the hotel, wondering what the town will be like tomorrow when it's full. What is it like, to be a shifter in a place where no one looks at you differently? What is it like to be anything in a place like this? I'm on the cusp of finding out, and another shiver goes down my spine, this time for an entirely different reason. For a moment, I'm not thinking about Eli, or our interactions in the bar, or any of the various ways that I feel sure I've humiliated myself in front of him.

I'm thinking about tomorrow, when I visit my new house, and the apothecary. I'm thinking about the future ahead of me, in a place where I will never have to pretend to be anything other than my truest self. My spirits lift again, that flicker of hope returning.

Maybe, at some point, that future will include a relationship. Love, even–possibly a happily ever after, if I'm lucky. But I don't need to worry about that just now. There's plenty of time to find someone to fall for.

For now, everything I need is right in front of me. And tomorrow, my new life truly begins.

—

I wake up in the morning feeling eager and refreshed. I got a good night's sleep for the first time since I got here, with the stress of the visit with Mr. Screed behind me. I'd taken another long, hot bath and resisted the urge to unpack my vibrator afterwards, knowing I'd only think of Eli. Better not to give in to that temptation, I'd decided–and this morning, there's so much on my mind that the persistent desire that's lingered since I met him fades to the background.

I decide to pay for one more night at the hotel, until I have a chance to look at the new house and bring all of my things over. I get my breakfast to-go, grabbing a cup of coffee and a muffin, and start down the street towards the address in the residential part of Bayton, relieved to be wearing sneakers and jeans today instead of the skirt and heels I had on yesterday. It's slightly warmer, the sun out, and I shrug off my hoodie halfway to the house, tying it around my waist as I chew a bite of the cinnamon-apple muffin I took with me. This is my life now, I think as the landscape changes from stores to small houses with well-kept yards and fences. One of these is mine.

Some of them are brightly painted and others are more rustic, brick or stone instead. I find myself hoping that my aunt's will be one of those, and I bite my lip to keep from letting out a small, audible yelp of pleasure when I stop in front of the address I had written down and see a house that could have been plucked directly from a fairytale.

It's all stone, with a dark brown gabled roof and matching front porch, the fence around the small yard the same shade. I see a swing on the porch and a rocking chair next to it, the door a heavy dark wood with a pewter door-knocker in the center–notably not iron, a metal that witches hate. The edges of the stone house have moss creeping upwards, and I see ivy crawling along the right side of it, adding a dark wash of greenery across the grey stone. The grass is short and starting to fade in the chill, and I see that the turned garden beds at the other side of the house seem empty, but other than that it appears well kept.

A garden of my own. A yard. A house. It all feels too good to be true, and for a moment I can't make myself walk through the gate. I fish the key out of my pocket, swallowing hard as I tell myself to accept the gift that's been given to me, whether I feel as if I deserve it or not. It is mine now, and I don't think that my aunt would want me to walk away from it, simply because I feel guilty.

I walk up the neatly kept stone path to the front door, turning the key in the lock. The house smells faintly of herbs and vanilla when I step inside, almost as if someone was baking recently, and when I breathe in I feel a sense of peace wash over me. My aunt isn't here any longer, but it feels as if a small bit of her has lingered, telling me that it's okay that I'm here. That whatever mistakes I've made in the past, they can be righted.

I close my eyes, take another deep breath, and start to look around.

The first room I step into is the living room, a small, cozy space with a fireplace and stone hearth, a sofa and large plush reading chair already filling the space. The floor is slightly scuffed wood with a soft cream and pale blue rug spread out in the center of it, a wooden coffee table resting atop it. I'd wondered how I would feel about keeping my aunt's furnishings, but the sofa and chair are both a dark blue, with a cream-colored knitted throw blanket tossed over the back of the sofa and a soft-looking tartan throw draped over the arm of the chair. It feels warm and inviting, and I feel a smile spread over my lips, imagining myself in this room having breakfast, or reading, sitting in front of the fire. "Maybe I'll get a cat, like a real witch," I say aloud into the empty air, and then laugh, twirling around with delight as I take another long look at the room.

This could feel like home, I decide, looking out of the large window by the sofa out to the quiet street just beyond. I can hear myself think for the first time in years, can feel the soft hum of my magic just below my skin, like a soothing second pulse instead of the constant pressure of an oncoming migraine. I feel, for the first time in my life, comfortable in my own skin.

The rest of the house is equally as wonderful. The downstairs reveals a tidy kitchen with working appliances and a cozy breakfast nook by the window, and a first-floor bathroom with a narrow shower, as well as a small room that my aunt seemed to have used for storage and as a sewing room. There's an old-fashioned Singer machine on a table by the window, as well as baskets full of yarn and partially-finished knitting and crochet projects, and I file that away as a possible hobby to take up when the weather gets cold. Upstairs I find the bedrooms–one larger bedroom that must have been my aunt's, decorated in soft florals with a narrow twin-sized bed that I immediately decide to replace, as well as lovely vintage furniture that I absolutely want to keep. There's an attached bathroom with an old soaking tub and a vintage porcelain bowl sink–both utterly charming–and then a more modern bathroom down the hall between the two spare bedrooms. It's more space than I possibly know what to do with, and I can see that my aunt had the same problem–one bedroom has shelves of books, seemingly used as a makeshift library, and the other room was used for storage for the business. I find jars of herbs and folders full of recipes, boxes of business documents and other things tucked away. I spend a not inconsiderable time sitting on the floor looking through the various herbs and wondering what I'm going to decide about the apothecary, before my stomach growls and I look at my watch, realizing that it's become afternoon before I realized it.

There's a certain thrilling freedom that comes with that knowledge–it's been a long time since I've had so much freedom with my days, without worrying about work or whether I should try to pick up a shift for extra money, instead of enjoying my day off. I tuck the jars and bags of herbs away, dusting off my jeans, and resolve to spend tomorrow starting to bring my things over from the hotel. I also resolve to order a new bed with the money from my inheritance that I should have access to today or tomorrow–the biggest, most comfortable one I can find. It's the one splurge for myself that I've been dreaming of, now that I have a bedroom of my own instead of a tiny studio apartment.

Not that anyone is going to find their way into it, anytime soon.Eli flickers into my head, that wide, smirking mouth and those mischievous blue-grey eyes, but I shove the thought aside resolutely as soon as it springs up. Instead, I look up the address for the apothecary, sending a message to the number that Mr. Screed gave me for one of my aunt's employees, a girl named Penelope Adams.

Hi. This is Wisteria. Eleanora's niece. Sorry to not have texted sooner, but things have been crazy. Hope you've been caught up on what's going on? Headed over to look at the shop. Can we get coffee soon to talk about it? Thx.

I bite my lip, rereading the text before hitting send. I instantly feel uncomfortable, and entirely uncertain of what I'm really meant to be doing in this situation. I've never had employees before, and any imaginings I might have had about owning my own business had seemed so far off that I hadn't really thought about what that part might be like. Surely Penelope knows that my aunt is gone, that that's the reason the shop has been closed, but I have no idea what else she might know.

For instance, if she knows that I'm the new owner.

My phone buzzes as I walk back out to the street, and I grab it immediately. There's a text from Penelope, and my stomach tightens with anxiety. I can do this, I remind myself. Just do whatever it is that I always wished my own boss would do.

Hi Wisteria! I'm actually not doing anything, I can meet you there if you like? I can bring sandwiches. Unless you had lunch?

The entire tone of the text is so bright and friendly that I'm momentarily taken aback. I pause for a second, hesitating, and then quickly type a message in return.

Sure–that sounds good! I was about to grab lunch but I'll wait. I'll be there in about twenty minutes.

I walk the rest of the way to the apothecary, stopping in front of the small storefront. It's nestled in between a bakery and a florist, the latter perfuming the air with the scents of a dozen different kinds of flowers in baskets outside, and the other with a small kitschy sign on the door that reads closed for the moon, see you soon! The adorableness of it makes me laugh, although I'm surprised to see a business closed for the full moon.

Everything is different in Bayton.I unlock the front door, quickly typing in the security code to turn off the alarm, and let the frosted glass door close behind me. Inside, the store smells strongly of herbs, and I look around, taking in the wooden counters, the shelves and drawers, everything neatly marked and labeled in pretty script. There's a chalkboard sign hung on one wall, advertising the week's sales and specials, and stack of printed sheets with descriptions of herbs and their uses in a cursive font. Everything in the shop is neat and pretty, and it gives me another sense of the kind of woman my aunt was.

It makes me wish, more than ever, that I'd taken the time to come and see her. That I'd at least called. That I'd gotten to know her better.

The bell over the door chimes, and I turn to see a tall, willowy blonde woman step inside, a plastic bag in one hand. She's dressed in a black skater-style skirt with black tights underneath and black Doc Martens, a black lightweight wool sweater with a ghost embroidered on the front of it tucked into the skirt. When she turns to face me, I see that she's wearing thick black eyeliner and black lipstick, all of it set off even more by her pale hair and dark green eyes. I instantly feel frumpy in my jeans and loose t-shirt, faded hoodie still tied around my waist, but the smile that spreads across her face when she catches sight of me would be enough to put anyone more at ease. She looks genuinely thrilled to see me.

"Wisteria!" She exclaims aloud as she sets the bag down on one of the counters, taking another look at me. "I'd have known immediately it was you. You definitely favor your aunt. I can see it."

"Do I?" I frown, trying to think if that's true.

"Definitely." She nods sagely. "It's the nose. And maybe the chin. All good things, of course, your aunt was lovely!" She puts out a hand, nails painted with chipped black polish, the only not-put-together thing I've noticed about her. "I'm Penelope Adams. And please don't say that I look like my parents should have named me Wednesday, I hear that all the time."

"I wouldn't have dreamed of it," I assure her, shaking her hand hesitantly. "Do the tourists say that?"

"Yes." Penelope shakes her head, her long blonde hair flying as she turns back to the plastic bag. "They're insufferable. And they're even worse on days like today." She takes out three cardboard boxes and two small styrofoam cups, the smell of warm meat and cheese suddenly mingling with the herbal scent of the store.

"What do you mean, days like today?" I think of the sign on the bakery next door. "Like–on the full moon?"

Penelope nods again, opening the boxes. "Half the businesses in Bayton close on the full moon, just about. Perks of being a shifter and living here–you don't have to go to work the one day of the month when the symptoms are the worst. But that means that any businesses like ours–without any shifters on staff–that stay open get all the tourist traffic that has nowhere else to go. Here." She pushes one of the boxes towards me. "I didn't know what you'd like, so I got options. Hot pastrami on rye, a Rachel–that's like a Rueben, but with turkey–and a veggie sandwich in case you were vegetarian. Your aunt was. Are you? Vegetarian, I mean."

I blink at her, trying to take it all in. She's clearly not the silent, surly type that her goth-girl style would suggest."I'm not vegetarian," I manage. "But thank you. I appreciate the options." I peer into one of the boxes, reaching for half of the pastrami sandwich.

"Here, try this, too. The coleslaw is great." Penelope pushes one of the cups towards me, half of the turkey sandwich in her hand.

"Thanks." I frown, leaning up against the counter. "Isn't getting more tourist business good? I mean, financially–"

"Oh, sure, it's great for the shop. But they're overwhelming at the best of times. So more of them means more of–everything." Penelope waves a hand. "You'll figure it out pretty quickly. There's pros and cons to Bayton. And one of those is that while you get to live in a place that accepts you, the tourists that bring in business expect a show. Most of them are here because they find us intriguing and exotic. So when they come into an apothecary owned by a witch, they expect things to feel magical." She stresses the last word, rolling her eyes. "Most of the time, especially when it comes to hedge magic, it's really not that exciting. Which is part of why Eleanora hired me, I think."

"Why's that?" I take a bite of my sandwich. "Oh my god, that's good."

"Isn't it? There's tons of great places in Bayton. I'll make sure to tell you all of them." Penelope pauses. "I'm a divination witch. Tarot, palm readings, that kind of thing. The sort of thing that tourists think when they hear magic. So she'd have me offer my services on the side." Penelope nods towards the curtain at the back of the shop. "They love going back into the little secret room and having me do a reading for them. And they always want to buy more herbs and teas afterwards. It's a win/win." She cocks her head. "You're fine with that, right?"

"Of course." I pause for a moment, considering. "It actually might work really well with what I have in mind. I–don't know if I want to keep running this place as an apothecary."

I wait for her to protest, or show some sign that she's disappointed that I wouldn't keep the shop just as my aunt designed it. But Penelope just leans back against the counter, stabbing her fork into a small contained of coleslaw with a thoughtful look on her face.

"What did you have in mind?" Penelope looks at me curiously. "I guess I never even considered you might want to do something different. You're a hedge witch too, right? I mean–that doesn't mean you have to be into all that herb-and-tea-making stuff, but–" she trails off.

"I do like it." I think of the kitchen in my aunt's house–my new house–and all of the things I'll be able to make there. "I'm actually really excited to spread my wings a little with that now that I'm not living in a city studio the size of a shoebox. But it's not what I always dreamed of for a business."

"So what did you dream of?" There's no judgement in Penelope's voice as she scoops another bite of coleslaw into her mouth, just curiosity.

"A tea shop and bookstore." I set my nearly-finished half of a sandwich down, turning to take in the space around us. "A place where you could buy a book, and then sit down and read with a cup of tea. Somewhere cozy and relaxing and warm. And this might actually be my chance to do that." As I look around, I start to think that really could be true. I can envision what I would do with the space, how I would turn it into what I have in mind.

"That actually sounds lovely." Penelope straightens, her gaze turning keen as she follows mine around the shop. "There's nothing like that in Bayton now. And you'd still want to use my divination services?"

"I think they'd be perfect for that. A tarot reading over a cup of tea? Reading tea leaves, even, if you do that."

"I do." Penelope laughs. "It'll take a decent bit of renovating." She chews her lower lip for a moment, looking around the shop again. "We might be able to stay open during part of it, but we'll have to close for a little while–"

"I'll still pay you, for any period of time that we have to close," I reassure her hurriedly. "Plus, I might need help planning and executing all of this. So I'll still have things for you to do. But I'd never just leave you without work. My aunt left me a decent cushion to pay for everything with."

"I wasn't worried at all." Penelope flashes me another sunny smile. "Just thinking about the best time to do that. The Yule season is a little slow around here, so you shouldn't lose out on too much business. There's the tourists who come up to spend a cozy winter in the cabins near the woods, but it's not as busy as some of the other times."

"I still can't believe this town get business year round." I look outside, where I can see passers-by on the sidewalk, glancing at the signs for the shops that are closed today. A few giggle at the sign next door.

"It's good for all of us." Penelope finishes her sandwich, tucking the containers back into the bag. "When are you thinking of reopening?"

"Let's reopen Monday." I hadn't been sure, actually, but being here, standing in the shop, has already made me feel more confident. "We'll keep things going as they are until I can get a business plan together for the change, and look into what will need to be bought and renovated. And we'll start out small. Like you said–once November hits, we'll start thinking about closing down for a bit to really go hard on the renovations."

"Sounds good to me!" Penelope scoops up the bag. "I'll see you Monday, then. I can open the shop, if you don't want to be here at the bright and early hour of eight a.m. I have keys." She dangles her key ring from one finger, jingling them with a mischievous smile.

"I'm used to it. But just in case, I'm glad I have someone so capable."

I linger in the store a little longer after Penelope leaves. Everything I want is still just a vision in my head, but for the first time, it feels like it might actually be able to become real. Penelope's enthusiasm went a long way towards bolstering my confidence. She understands the shop as it is now, and she's on board with the changes–so together, I think we might actually be able to do this.

The thought makes me feel more excited than I have in a very, very long time.