And so it had gone all day.
All week, in fact.
It was ten days to Halloween and the store was slammed — wall to wall people drinking coffee, buying books, sniffing incense, asking about our extensive herb collection. The town’s Haunted Happenings committee was projecting over a million visitors this October, smashing even last year’s record of 900,000 — a statistic I didn’t doubt in the slightest. Sales were so good, I’d been forced to place an emergency inventory order from our local suppliers. (We’d run out of to-go coffee cups on two separate occasions, a crisis that nearly caused a riot.) The hipsters and college kids who’d come to know The Gallows as a chill place to study or waste a few hours between classes were nowhere to be seen, temporarily supplanted by out-of-towners. I had no doubt that come November 1stthey’d be back, abusing my free refills policy and camping out on my comfy armchairs.
Assuming I was still here, that is.
As the calendar counted down to Samhain, I grew more and more nervous, more and more paranoid. Even with video surveillance at the shop, drive-by security at the house, and Graham practically fused to my side during the hours I wasn’t stuck behind a cash register, I felt like a hapless winged creature caught at the center of an invisible web — one that seemed to be tightening around me a bit more with each passing day. Somewhere in that web, there was a spider. I couldn’t see it, but I could sure as hell sense it creeping closer, waiting patiently for the moment it would finally sink its venomous fangs into my flesh and suck me dry.
Shivering, I forced a smile as I turned to my next customer. “Welcome to The Gallows! I’m Gwen, your friendly neighborhood executioner. How can I help you today?”
Other than the small,tiny, concern that was my imminent demise, the rest of my life was sorting itself out rather nicely. Things with Graham had never been better. He’d spent the past few days holed up in my soon-to-be library, tinkering, taking measurements, sketching out plans, and eventually disappearing to the hardware store for several hours, only to return with a metric ton of lumber strapped to the roof of his Bronco. I was under strict orders not to look inside the room until it was finished, which, according to my personal carpenter-slash-bodyguard-slash-quasi-boyfriend, could take a couple of weeks. It was safe to say, the curiosity was effectively killing me. (Just what I needed — more threats of death looming overhead.)
My heart gave an unpleasant pang of longing at the thought of Graham. I hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning. (Nearly thirty-six straight hours of deprivation! Not that I was counting, or anything.) He’d gone up to Maine to retrieve the O'Banions’ stolen property from Jackie Custer, aka Madame Zelda’s older sister, and evidently run into some snags. This didn’t entirely surprise me, seeing as the Custer family gene pool skipped all the helpful, compliant traits in favor of sheer obstinance. However, he must’ve prevailed eventually, because the text I’d received from him this morning assured me he’d be back by tonight.
This was a relief, seeing as we had plans.Funplans. Some might even call themepicplans. And I wasn’t just talking about the party.
Florence had called a few days ago with the good news. She and Des had decided to move up their annual costume bash to tonight since we wouldn’t be able to celebrate on the actual holiday, on account of me being the target of bloodthirsty witches. I wasn’t exactly sure how Graham intended to keep me safe on that fateful day… though I had a nagging suspicion it would involve a short stay in the holding cell at Gravewatch, under the watchful gaze of his legion of badasses. (Hopefully, Zelda was cool being the big spoon on the tiny twin bed.)
My costume was ready to go, waiting for me in a bag in the back office so I could change the minute our last customer left and head straight to the townhouse. Florence needed help setting up the decorations, as well as supervision mixing the party punch. Last year, she’d made it so strong it was damn near toxic.
I fought the urge to check the clock for the hundredth time, knowing closing time was still several hours away. I wasn’t sure if I was more excited for the party or for Graham to finally be back home. Probably the latter, if I was being honest with myself. Quite frankly, I missed him like hell. For a girl who’d never wanted to sleep with anyone else,ever, I’d grown rapidly accustomed to spending the night in Graham’s strong arms, to waking up and seeing his face the instant my eyes peeled open. (I would also be remiss in failing to point out the undeniable merits of morning nookie.)
I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It hadn’t even been two full days. But even a few hours without seeing his grin, hearing his laugh, feeling his touch was difficult to endure. I was strung out as a junkie who’d gone too long without a fix, jonesing for a dose only he could deliver.
Goddess above. Get a grip, Gwendolyn!
I finished up with my customer — who purchased her body weight in crystals along with a stunning, vintage deck of tarot cards from the 1940s that cost more than my college tuition — and in the brief break between sales allowed my eyes to drift toward the front of the store where Holden and Hunter were camped out on my plush emerald sofa, glaring at everyone who stepped through the door.
The twins had been assigned to keep watch over me in Graham’s absence. I’m sure they had more important things to do with their time than sit at The Gallows for two straight days. Even so, it was clear they took their orders seriously. The second I’d stepped out my front door yesterday morning, they’d appeared — an intimidating show of force in black leather, dark denim, and combat boots. I tried to memorize what they were wearing, since I couldn’t tell them apart otherwise. They were truly identical, their faces a perfect mirror, from their sharp cheekbones to their thick lashes to the distinctive green flecks in their inky, intense eyes. I was glad I was so head-over-heels for their big brother because,wowza, if I’d been single, I would have been in serious trouble.
It had not escaped my notice that many of my female customers were lingering longer than strictly necessary this afternoon, nursing empty cappuccino cups, browsing the front table of books that just so happened to be closest to the sofa where Holden and Hunter were sprawled. Yesterday had been very much the same — a full fledged ogle-fest from open to close.
The twins, to their credit, did not indulge this blatant infatuation, or even seem to notice it. They kept their eyes peeled for potential threats, fielded occasional phone calls, and otherwise, kept silent and still on the sofa by my spooky window display. Between the two of them, they’d said approximately five words to me all day.
A terse ‘Get in the car’ from Holden when I’d walked to the curb and firm ‘No’ from Hunter when I’d offered to bring them one of Hetti’s delicious caffeinated confections. (I guess they weren’t pumpkin spice fans.) I tried not to take it personally. Sure, they were taciturn and intimidating as hell… but there was no denying they were also shockingly good for business. Half the XX chromosomes in Salem were currently wandering around my shop, finding excuses to hover — usually, in the form of unnecessary purchases.
The front door swung open for the thousandth time with a tinkle of bells and, as always, the twins went instantly on alert, their bodies tensing like snakes coiling in preparation to strike. Two female forms glided inside. I knew from one glance they weren’t here to peruse my goods or stare with undisguised longing at the men lounging in my cafe. Their black-on-black funeral attire, large brimmed hats, and tear-stained eyes gave them away in a heartbeat.
I stood rooted in place behind the mystical curiosities counter as they cut a path through the front section of the shop, descended down the two mahogany steps, and came to a stop before me.
“Agatha, Sally,” I said in greeting, my throat thick. “I’m… It’s… I’m glad to see you.”
“Gwendolyn.” Agatha’s voice was stiff with formality and grief. “We’re on our way to Eliza’s viewing.”
I’d heard the services were being held at a funeral parlor across town, with a burial to follow tomorrow morning at a nearby cemetery. It didn’t feel appropriate to attend, given that I hadn’t really known Elizabeth Proctor particularly well. There was also the small fact that, technically, I was still a person of interest in her murder. (Despite the Gravewatch surveillance footage that proved I’d been at the shop doing inventory during her estimated time of death, Detective Hightower had told me not to leave town until the investigation was complete.)
In any case, I thought it would be better for everyone if I paid my respects at the gravesite once she was buried and the crowds had dispersed. It had been weeks since I visited Aunt Colette’s headstone, anyway. I was due to bring her some fresh calla lilies — her favorite — and fill her in on the insanity that was my life of late.
“I’m so sorry about Eliza. I know how close the three of you were…” I swallowed hard, my eyes moving from Agatha to Sally and back. “And I know you must blame me.”
“We don’t blame you, child,” Sally murmured kindly. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “This feud belongs to the Bay Colony Coven. Don’t take it on your shoulders.”
“Eliza knew the risks,” Agatha chimed in. “She chose to make herself known to an old enemy — one we made long before you ever came to town. We do not hold you responsible for what happened to her.”
My heart clenched, a sharp squeeze inside my chest that made it difficult to breathe. I hadn’t known how much I wanted their forgiveness until they gave it; hadn’t realize how much I craved their absolution until it was handed to me.
“Thank you,” I said, trying not to let my emotions get the best of me. “You don’t know how much hearing that means to me.”