Shivering, I closed the bathroom door and thudded downstairs to the kitchen. There was a note on the table, handwritten in Comic Sans. It read, I’ve gone to open the shop. I demand a raise. Mairead.
Sighing, I dabbed at my eyes, trying not to smudge my mascara. I asked a lot of that girl, and she jumped, no questions asked. Maybe I should give her a raise. Wait…I gave her free rent, so I should probably play that card first.
I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and threw it on as I bolted out the door. Slamming it behind me, I heard the lock click into place, then I legged it across the garden, slipped around the corner like an ice skater, and made for Irish Moon.
The lights were on, casting warm light onto the murky footpath. Opening the door, the little bell jingled as I stepped into the cozy shop. The crystals hummed around me, their energy calming my aura.
Mairead was sitting behind the counter, drawing furiously in a sketchbook. Her long black hair was loose today, and she had on a fluffy black cardigan. Matching black lipstick and eyeliner finished off her classic goth look for the day.
“You were home late last night,” she said, not even taking a moment to glance up from her work.
“Yes, Mum,” I said with a smirk. “I was.”
“Shut up.” She made a face. “I was worried about you.”
“Smartassery is my way of coping,” I said, rounding the counter.
“Where did you go?”
“I just had some stuff to do,” I replied with a shrug.
“Magic stuff?” She gave me a pointed look.
Mairead was eighteen, a university drop out, had been disowned by her parents, had only one color in her wardrobe—if you could call black a color—and had been kidnapped by Carman’s henchmen. She had enough problems without me dragging her into this world deeper than she already was.
“Just needed to check an item off my to-do list.” I flinched internally, trying not to let it show on my face. It was such a callous way of describing the punishment I’d dished out on the Nightshade Witches. And here I was describing myself as the judge, jury, and executioner of all witches when I’d only had my magic unbound… When was it? Not even a year ago.
“What are you drawing?” I changed the subject, not wanting to dwell.
Mairead held up her sketchbook, and I smiled when I saw a rather rough pencil drawing of a fox. It looked rather good. All harsh lines and shading.
“It’s meant to be Boone,” she said. “I haven’t seen him you know, so I don’t know if he looks like that. I used me imagination.”
“It’s pretty good.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded and ducked under the counter. Rummaging through the pile of papers and assorted junk, I found the deck of tarot cards all the way at the back. It had been so long since I’d drawn a card that the box felt unfamiliar in my hand.
“Do you think I’ll see him change?” she asked, picking up her pencil.
My frown deepened. Boone hadn’t shifted since the night of the ritual, and I wasn’t sure when he would. I couldn’t blame him for hesitating. Having your body practically explode into the shape of a wolf had to put a little fear into you.
“I don’t know,” I said, opening the box of tarot cards. “It’s not a pretty thing to look at. It’s quite painful for him, you know.”
“Oh…” Her cheeks flushed, and she began scratching her pencil across paper, gouging a deep dent into the page.
“Don’t worry about it. There isn’t exactly a handbook for these things.”
She didn’t reply, sinking deeper into her sketch.
Glancing out the window, I began shuffling the cards. The days were getting colder. Soon, the tourist season would be over, and the huge coaches packed with cashed-up holidaymakers would stop until March. I wondered what that would mean for Irish Moon. Should I reduce the opening hours or close for the winter? What would Aileen do?
“Hey,” I said. “What happens around here in winter?”
“We freeze our tits off,” Mairead replied sullenly.
“Stop being so sensitive,” I retorted. “I’m talking about the shop.”
“We’d close from Sunday to Tuesday. A couple of backpacker buses come sometimes, but not really. People usually stick to Dublin or Belfast.”
Shuffling the cards again, I thought about it. Trying to keep Irish Moon running and battle an ancient witch hell-bent on destroying magic so she could get to a parallel universe was a major juggling act. I wondered what the cards said about it.
I drew a black and gold rectangle from the center of the deck. Setting the card on the counter, I turned it over, revealing the image was upside down. In the center was a figure in armor with angel wings, sitting in a chariot pulled by two horses. The Chariot.
“Does it mean somethin’ different when it’s the wrong way around?” Mairead asked, peering over my shoulder.
“I guess so.”
Rounding the counter, I went over to the bookcase and scowled when I saw the section on tarot had disappeared. That was right. Mairead had rearranged yesterday.
“I can’t find anything anymore,” I complained. “What did you do?”
“Stop your sookin’. Tarot is to the left, halfway up. They sell better when they’re at eye height.”
“Are you sure you want to get into art? Visual merchandising could be a thing.”
“I’m sure it’s a thing, but I don’t want to do visual merchandising.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What’s this then?”
“Boredom.”
Rolling my eyes, I found the section on tarot and pulled out a book. I flipped through, studying the contents page. Not finding what I was looking for, I took down another and found a section on reversals.
“Great,” I muttered. “Back to front means doom and gloom.”
“A turned over horse and cart doesn’t sound good, anyway.”
Finding a page on the Chariot, I scanned the interpretation and mulled over it. Two stubborn forces going head-to-head. No one is prepared to back down and would go at it until the
