I dipped my finger in the hot chocolate and took a long suck of the sweet, velvety liquid. It was rich and sensual and bittersweet, reminding me of romance.
The next time we went out together and were approached by two men, I would make an effort to be friendlier to the other guy. Maybe the way to get over a broken heart was to move on and rebuild it with exciting experiences instead of living through someone else.
By loving with all her heart and never holding back, and by learning lessons along the way, Beatrice was giving herself the best chance of finding happiness and love.
Despite the rousing speech I gave myself over breakfast, I opened up the shop, my stomach queasy with the stirrings of dread. Jonathan had a sound bath booked just before lunch, and he would almost certainly ask me out.
This new Mera I resolved to be—the one who took up opportunities for relationships—it didn’t extend to Jonathan, right? I had a feeling that one date with the guy would lead to constant requests for more.
I stepped into the store and unlocked the cash register, only for a delivery man to arrive shortly after with a large box. The description on the packing slip said it was quartz crystals, but I wasn’t about to take any chances.
This time, I slipped on a white coat, a pair of goggles, and magic-proof gloves. If any enchanted objects were lurking within the depths of this delivery, I’d be ready for it with a pair of diamond shears.
I scored through the tape enclosing the large package with a box cutter, and pulled back the cardboard flaps, exposing clusters of clear quartz.
Each lay nestled within thick cardboard dividers, their prisms radiating a healing power. Quartz was the master crystal, the stone that amplified meditation, enhanced the abilities of other crystals, and boosted the powers of witches who used their magic to heal.
For people like Istabelle and me who had no magical power of our own, quartz helped to focus our ability to sense the power in others.
Someone tapped on the window. I glanced up to find a pair of girls standing outside peering through the display. I smiled at them and waved them inside.
They were in their late teens, dressed in thick coats and jeans, looking as fresh-faced as I did when I first fell for he-who-I-would-never-name.
“I heard you can do love spells,” said the taller of the pair, a redhead with hair a few shades lighter than mine.
“We can put together a few crystals to help you attract the love of your life,” I replied with a smile. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
She shook her head and nudged her friend, a plump mousy-haired girl, who nudged her back. “We’ve got a lock of a guy’s hair. Could you do something with it?”
I replaced the flaps on the box and pulled off my goggles. Every so often, a customer came in looking for potions or hexes or some other kind of spell.
While humans might be able to offer such services to each other, the Supernatural Council forbade us from selling magical constructs—real or fake—to humans.
It didn’t matter that we couldn’t perform such enchantments. The fact that we knew the Supernatural World existed meant that none of our actions, either by word or deed, could inform humans that magic was real.
“Sorry, girls,” I said. “That sort of thing isn’t what we do.”
Their faces fell, and the redhead stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Is there something I can put in his drink, then?”
I counted to three before answering—only because of this morning’s conversation with Beatrice, who had entered into what she had hoped was a relationship under false pretenses.
If Christian had told her outright that he wanted a week of sex with no attachments, Beatrice would probably have swiped past him on the dating app.
“What would you say if I told you a man wanted me to sell him something to put in a girl’s drink, so she would fall in love with him?” I asked.
They exchanged horrified glances. “You can’t do that to another woman.”
“Exactly.” I clasped my hands behind my back, hoping the pair would put what they wanted to do in context.
Love spells did exist, as did substances that could increase a person’s sexual desire, but the Supernatural Council frowned on interfering with the free will of others, and the penalty for that was death.
The only beings who could get away with driving people into a frenzy of lust were demons like incubi and succubi, as they fed on sexual energy. Vampires, to a lesser extent, were immune from that edict because their saliva contained traces of a venom called thrall that drove weaker supernaturals wild with lust.
Jonathan walked into the store two hours early for his appointment and clad in a camel-colored duffle coat the exact style of Paddington Bear’s. He strolled to the book corner with his hands behind his back and perused the titles.
I snatched my gaze away from him and turned back to the girls. “Can I tempt you with some rose quartz hearts?” I swept my arm to the left, where we kept the rose quartz. “We also have them in balls and wands and obelisks.”
The redhead shook her head but walked in the direction of the quartz crystals. “Thanks, anyway.”
I watched her leave, hoping she would change her mind about forcing the poor guy to fall in love.
“Hi, Mera.” Jonathan raised his palm.
“What can I help you with today?” I asked.
He glanced down at the floor, then back into my eyes, and smiled. His pale blue eyes flickered down to my lips, making me stiffen.
Something about him was off, but I couldn’t explain what. He didn’t contain an inkling of magic, but the way he stared at me sometimes seemed to look beneath the surface and into my soul.
It was like he had a magnet inside him that forced him to continue coming for a sound bath he didn’t want and ask for a date he knew I would refuse.
“Jonathan?” I asked.
He licked his pale lips. They were thin, much like his long nose and the rest of his face. If I had to describe him as a cartoon character, he would be Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. Not unattractive, but not the guy who incited a girl’s lust.
“I was wondering if you’d like to—”
“Mr. Drake,” Istabelle’s voice rang out through the shop. “Are you bothering my lovely apprentice again?”
Pink—not red—bloomed across Jonathan’s cheeks. That wasn’t to say he was cold-blooded, but nothing about him, from the shade of his blond hair to the permanently forlorn expression, implied he had any heat.
“Mrs. Bonham-Sackville,” he stuttered. “I’m not… I would never… I have the utmost respect for Miss Griffin and wouldn’t dare to—”
Istabelle raised her palm and smiled. “You have an appointment later today, yes?”
“Eleven-thirty, yes,” he replied.
“Do you need to reschedule?”
Jonathan flinched. “What?”
“I’m trying to ascertain if your employer has scheduled another stocktake,” Istabelle said in a louder voice.
The two girls from earlier giggled. I glanced from Jonathan to Istabelle, wondering why she’d chosen today to confront him. He had come here last week to reschedule. Did she suspect that this was his new ploy to come into the store and see more of me?
Jonathan stammered out something indecipherable, ending with, “See you in a bit, then.”