Page 9 of Hallows End

He nods and then stares up into the sky. “I pray the clouds part soon and that God will favor us with the sun.”

“As do I,” I reply before tipping my hat to him and continuing on my way toward my cabin.

But once inside, I’m even more restless. I don’t want to be in my home, reading and researching to no avail.

“You want to seeher,” I mutter in frustration. “And that is fruitless.”

But unwilling to fight the impulse, I leave once more and walk to the edge of town—to the bridge that takes me between times.

I leave Hallows End, and by the time I’m on the other side of the small bridge, I’m in Salem.

Or, on the edge of it at least, in a little patch of woods near the neighborhood that leads to downtown.

Each time I pass through, I’m somehow magically dressed to fit the times. I don’t keep a home here with a wardrobe.

The clothes just…change.

I look to my left. I’ve always been drawn to the house at the edge of the woods with its picket fence and lovely gardens. Even long ago, when the curse was first cast, and I learned that I could travel between the two worlds, the house called to me. It looked different then, and has been changed and modernized many times over the years, but the footprint is the same.

The garden is the same.

Now, an apothecary is attached to the house, but I haven’t taken the time to go inside.

I walk up the steps, and my skin begins to hum.

I open the door, and it’s like stepping through an energy field. Every fiber of my being is on high alert, and I smile when a large hound ambles over to give me a sniff.

“Hello there,” I murmur and squat to his level. His eyes meet mine, and I know immediately that he’s linked to the shop owner.

I wonder if they know that this is their familiar.

“That’s Nera. He’s friendly,” a voice calls from another room. “I’ll be right out. Feel free to look around.”

“Thank you,” I reply and scratch the dog behind his ears.

It smells lovely in here, of rose and mint and lavender. The selection of herbs is impressive, and I must admit, I haven’t seen this kind of collection of salves and tinctures in Salem in over a hundred years.

The proprietor knows her business.

Louisa would love it.

“Sorry about that.”

The woman from last night hurries out, carrying a large tray of dried flowers and blowing a strand of red hair out of her eyes.

“Please, let me help.”

I rush over and take the tray, setting it on the table she gestures to before turning to gaze at her.

I’m immediately pulled to her. It’s all I can do to keep six feet of distance between us. I want to reach for her and pull her against me.

I can honestly say this is something entirely new for me.

“I’m Lucy,” she says with a forced smile before clearing her throat and jerking away as if she, too, feels the pull. “I’m the owner here. I’d be happy to help with anything you may need. Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

I believe I just found it. Despite not looking for it at all.

“Do you carry parsley oil?”