There would be time for remembrances later. Wondering if there was some way I could capture the threads once we were done and take them with me, I closed and bolted the door and swiped the wall for the light switch. Florescent bulbs on the pendant lamps hanging over the two cutting tables flickered and spat before fully committing to providing us with a meager bluish glow. A checkout counter hunkered in the shadows to the left of the entranceway. Even with the overhead lights, late-afternoon shadows lingered in the corners of the shop.
“At least the electricity’s working,” I said. “Either of you remember where the thermostat is?”
“Back here.” Beryl veered around the cutting tables and headed for the wall at the rear of the store. If my memory was correct, one of the two closed doors led to a bathroom-slash-utility closet and the other to an office.
I leaned against a cutting table, cupping my fingers around the wooden measuring stick nailed to the table’s edge as I looked around the chilly room. How many times had I measured out yards of muslin for Needles and Sins’ customers, glowing with the praise they heaped on my curly-haired head?
Alderose joined me as I rode the memory. “I think you spent the most time in here helping Mom,” she said. “Beryl always had an excuse to stay away. And Dad thought at least one of us should follow his trade.”
I bumped shoulders with her. “He taught you to cut hair?”
“He tried. The man put blades in my hands as soon as I was strong enough not to drop them.”
“He used scissors, Rosey.” I mimed cutting the air with two fingers.
“Yeah, well,” she said, crossing her arms and tucking her hands in her armpits. “Those weren’t the only sharp things he wielded.”
Before I could dig deeper into Alderose’s relationship with our father, Beryl emerged from the bathroom, wiping her hands on a sheet of paper towel and interrupting the rare sisterly moment. “I’m hungry. Let’s order takeout. What do you two want?”
“Mac and cheese,” Alderose and I blurted out together, laughing. Macaroni and cheese from a box was Mom’s fail-safe dinner option. My sisters and I had developed a mutual aversion to the stuff, though the last time I choked down a bowl of mac and cheese was with my mother, here at the store, because…because that’s what she made and that’s what we ate.
“Oh my Goddess, do you think Serena did anything with Mom’s never-ending stash?” Beryl’s eyes widened. “I mean, look at this place. It’s creepy how little has changed since she took over.”
The lawyer had led us to believe that Serena had been operating the store since our mother’s death. Alderose exaggerated a shiver and tucked the keys into the stud-covered leather pouch slung around her hips. “Very creepy. I vote we order pizza.”
“Fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, and basil for me, please,” I said. “And get a bottle of champagne. For Mom.”
Alderose and Beryl nodded, and Beryl added, “Better make it two bottles. And get some Pellegrino. And see if they have any tiramisu.”
“Call in the order. Make mine onions, extra cheese.” Alderose adjusted her earbuds and scanned the street as she exited the shop. I locked the door, my gaze lingering on the last patch of clear sky visible between neighboring brick and granite buildings. Clouds with dark linings had been threatening to drop rain on us all afternoon, and now their fuzzy edges had almost fused.
Behind me, Beryl called our favorite pizza place. Puffing out a breath against the glass, I drew a tiny heart in the condensation. I’d be departing my hometown soon enough, arriving at my new life in British Columbia armed with a bounty of cash and whatever sentimental odds and ends I wanted from the shop.
Once in Vancouver, I would approach my mother’s siblings about my magical education. With Dad gone incommunicado—again—and Mom not around to answer my mounting list of questions, Aunt Maritza and Uncle Malvyn were next in line.
My magic had always been a wild card, and now it was doing things I didn’t understand and couldn’t ignore. Not any longer. Not with the varied and creative ways the past was infiltrating my daily life, especially since moving to such a rainy region of the world. Whatever had triggered my latest round of visions was exhausting. Some people had chronic headaches. I had chronic visions. I was beginning to feel sleep deprived.
“Sissy, come here.” Beryl waved at me from behind the checkout counter. “Call me crazy, but the more I see, the more I think Serena didn’t change anything after Mom died.”
The shelves below the counter held the same orderly collection of notebooks, cardboard shoeboxes, and jars of pens and pencils I remembered from my years at the cash register. I flicked on my phone’s flashlight, swept the bright beam over the two shelves, and swiped my fingertips across a round tin of pastilles. A roll of greasy dust coated my skin. “Looks like Serena didn’t clean anything either.”
“Ew, that is so gross.”
I agreed. Mom might have been a pack rat in some areas of her life—she couldn’t say no to a set of vintage buttons or yet another pair of scissors—but she never let clutter get out of hand. The checkout counter especially was always spotless but for the register and a collection box for a local women’s shelter. “I’m going to wash up. Let’s not touch or move anything else until Alderose gets back.” I stifled the urge to wipe my hands on my jeans. “Keep an eye on the door. I locked it after she left.”
I was almost to the bathroom when Beryl yelled that she was putting a cloaking spell on the windows. I had just located
