I’m writing this from the desk in your room. Your mom let me in. You didn’t come talk to me this afternoon, even though I asked you to, but I want you to know that it’s okay. I’m not sure I would have come either. I’ve been really terrible to you—to all of you. I’ve been lying and sneaking around behind your back and, I guess, getting myself into some really deep shit. I came today because I needed your help, because I thought I couldn’t manage this on my own. But I can. I got myself into it, I can get myself out.
Here’s what you should know:
The trees. They do speak. I spoke to them, asked them to show me the spells in the book, and they did. They showed me everything we never knew was inside. It’s not just a book, Joey. It’s a grimoire, filled with really old spells from other witches, generations of them. And one of those spells is calledbloodspell. It’s why I’m in this mess. It’s a spell to take the magic out of a person, to steal it, by sacrificing them. Murder. I don’t want to scare you, but that’s what I’m facing right now, because I told someone I shouldn’t have about the magic. He knows about bloodspell. That’s why I have to disappear. I’m borrowing your backpack and tent and camping gear. Sorry! Iknow you’re probably going to freak out when you see this, but you can’t come after me. You can’t. And you can’t tell anyone. Not yet. Because he’s dangerous. I’m hoping me leaving will lure him away from this town and buy me some time.
I really fucked up. I’m so so so so sorry.
Oh! Also, on a lighter note before I forget. Please be with River. You guys like each other. I’m sorry I used him as a cover so I could keep lying and no one would question me. I used him so you wouldn’t question me. But you saw straight through me, didn’t you? You knew something was going on, and you tried to help, plenty of times. I just didn’t want help. Not then. And now that I do, I don’t deserve it. So, yeah, do us all a favor and just marry River and have his babies, okay?
You and Sophie and Elena are my best friends. I love you three so much. I’m really sorry to leave you with my mess, but I really really hope I’ll be back soon and everything will be just like it was before. Miss you already.
Love,
Quinn
Six Months Later
Joey stands behind the counter surveying the crowd.
Aspect Coffee is as busy as it ever was, including during Barbara’syears. River moves behind the counter, refilling cups and chatting with Ken from the bar. Most of the town has shut down to be here this afternoon, and though she’s sure Barbara may have had something to do with it, she’s proud of what they’ve come to witness.
Blue velvet upholstered armchairs surround antique coffee tables and rest on top of bright Persian rugs. The exposed brick walls have been washed clean of paint. Wildflowers adorn every surface. The vibe, as Ingrid and Jasper Hardy called it inAround Town, is “somehow bohemian and authentic at the same time.”
The espresso machine whirs as sunlight tilts into the room. “Chin chin,” says a voice to her right. It’s Sophie. She must have gotten a break from wrangling Leah, who has been running around, energized by all the attention while simultaneously trying to knock every coffee cup onto the floor. Sure enough, Joey spots Talia in the corner laughing with Otto, and hears over the din, “Uh-oh, Grandpa.” Then little Leah is at Joey’s feet, asking for a towel so she can clean the spill. She reaches for a rag, but Sophie slips it from her hands, trading her for a glass of champagne. “Go give this to Grandpa,” she says to Leah and sends heron her way with the towel. Then, unexpectedly, she turns to Joey for a fierce, tight hug. “I’m so proud to be your friend.”
“Oh my god, let the woman breathe,” says Elena, sliding up beside them. She’s surveying the room too, and just for a second, Joey watches her friends next to her and slings an arm over each of them. A little champagne drips onto Elena’s shoulder—apparently she’s a little tipsy—but no one says anything. They all just laugh, like they belong right here together.
They watch Gael talking to Barbara and Tom Winter as he adjusts one of the frames. A few weeks ago, Gael called Joey out of the blue and asked her if she’d be interested in featuring his photographs in the shop for her grand reopening. She almost didn’t have the words to reply when she opened the envelopes. Seeing them here now, lining the walls all around them, gives her chills. Joey made him agree that these were not a donation, that she would price them out and let patrons buy them when they came into the shop. She’d Venmo him with every sale. And so far, already today, twelve photographs have sold. The kid is absolutely glowing. There are forty-six photos in total, and each of them is so raw, so beautiful, she can’t decide which is her favorite. When he and Elena were here last year, he spent the whole time exploring the town and snapping pictures. He captured several breathtaking photos of his mom, some of Sophie, including one blurred-motion one that is absolutely stunning, and a few of Joey too. He even took a handful of candids of the three of them together, sitting on Barbara’s back porch, smiling and talking like the old friends they were. There are images of historical buildings and of neighbors talking and of Walter’s different-colored eyes and of the school doors and a sign that says, “CONGRATS, SENIORS!” Not one, she notices now, is of the cast or crew or equipment from the movie that was shot here. A movie that was abandoned during filming, or so Elena has reported. Apparently, they did not get to finish the last few scenes due to Cal Pierce’s unexpectedand tragic death, and most likely won’t be continuing with production because of it.
She feels a kiss at the top of her head and looks up to see River there, leaning over her.
“A good day?” he asks.
She nods and pulls Sophie and Elena close to her as the people of this town fill her coffee shop.Quinn would have loved this, she thinks. But also, and maybe more importantly,sheloves this.
“A good day,” she says.
Read on for a look at Chelsea Iversen’sThe Peculiar Garden of Harriet Hunt!
Upper Holloway News
Sunday, February 18, 1866
A ROMANTIC DISAPPEARANCE: HUSBANDAND WIFE BOTH MISSING
Mr. Christian Comstock, the son of Mr. George Comstock, has been missing for over two months. The young clerk has not appeared at his role in the London National Bank, nor has he been seen at or anywhere near his premises during this time. The Comstocks are a family of great repute in Upper Holloway, our northern suburb of London, thanks to the senior Mr. Comstock’s successful career at the bank. For the son of such a champion of capitalistic progress and well-touted member of London’s financial hierarchy, the junior Mr. Comstock’s absence is highly uncharacteristic, so say family and colleagues. The suggestion of foul play is, of course, being investigated, though nothing conclusive has come to light.
It appears that Mrs. Christian Comstock has also been missing since late last year. The wife is known throughout Worthing Road to be “strange” and “a recluse.” One particular acquaintance of the married couple expressedhis “suspicion” upon hearing about her disappearance. Neighbors have no idea as to either of their whereabouts.
Police are investigating, but with so little information, we may be left only to wonder: What has happened to the Comstocks?
One
Though the letter lay on the small table, Harriet did not open it.
Instead, she watched a fox begin its work on a plum just outside.
The fruit that fell from the plum tree in her garden was a deep violet in some light, golden in others. They grew in plump clusters along generous branches. A fallen plum, an abundance of which was often shaken free by the train rumbling by, smelled sickly sweet when it began its slow rot. The aroma each plum gave off was both familiar and intoxicating.
