Shadows & Spells Book 2

KELLY

My boots slapped against the damp pavement as I hopped off the bus, the weight of my backpack nearly sending me sprawling. I managed to catch myself just in time, straightening up and adjusting the heavy load on my shoulders.

Behind me, the country bus rumbled on, disappearing down the hill. I watched it go, taking in the sight of the winding road that skirted the town, disappearing behind a series of lush, green hills.

Finally, I was in Wales.

The journey from London had been long and tiring, involving a train ride at dawn, three changes, and two buses. After eight hours of public transportation, I found myself missing the convenience of personal vehicles. My thoughts drifted to my dad’s motorcycle, and I wondered how long it had taken for it to be stolen. It was a vintage Harley, so probably not long.

Shaking off the gloomy thoughts, I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulders again and looked up at the sign on the bus stop. A small map showed that I was on the outskirts of town.

Fishguard Town Centre—2 km

Four trains, two buses, and now a walk. I followed the direction of the arrow and started walking towards the heart of the small Welsh town.

My watch read 4 p.m. It was April, so I figured I had at least an hour before sunset. The chill in the air reminded me of Seattle’s climate, but that didn’t seem to deter the locals who were out and about, enjoying the wet spring day.

As I moved deeper into the town, the large cottages with yards gave way to cobbled streets and terraced houses huddled close together. The quaint homes had doorways that were no taller than six feet, opening directly onto the sidewalk.

Eventually, the streets opened up into a charming town square, with a large harbor on the other side. Fishing boats were coming in for the day, and several men were waiting with hoses to clean them down on the main pier.

I spun around, taking in the quaint shops and storefronts around the square, then continued down the road parallel to the waterfront. The town was picture-perfect.

About a hundred feet down the road, I spotted The Winchester. I made my way towards the pub, dodging cars and admiring the boats in the harbor. About ten boats were already anchored, and it seemed the same number were waiting to dock. They all sported the same white-and-ocean-blue paint job with a Celtic-like M on the bow. They looked expensive.

A group of young men exiting the pub caught my attention. They looked me up and down, clearly taking in my tourist attire. I was wearing hiking boots, long khakis, a long-sleeve printed Gap shirt, and a plain gray baseball hat. I could practically hear the David Bowie song playing in their heads as they checked me out.

Ignoring them, I squeezed through the small doorway of the pub. To my right was a large room with a low ceiling, the main bar. It was mostly empty, save for a young woman cleaning glasses behind the counter. A large fireplace dominated the far wall, and I could hear voices murmuring from around a corner.

To my left was a small dining room that could seat no more than ten people. Directly in front of the entrance was a stairwell and a desk in a small reception area, currently unoccupied.

I walked over to the desk and called out, “Hello?”

Behind the desk was an empty chair surrounded by open books and ledgers. A hallway behind the wall seemed to lead to a kitchen and the bar area.

I tried again. “Hellllooo?”

A man’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Yep! Hang on, love; be right with you!”

I leaned back and started to unbuckle my backpack, letting it drop to the floor.

Holy Jesus, that thing is heavy.

Why did I insist on three pairs of shoes again? Why does anyone need more than two pairs of shoes?

Hiking boots and nice sandaled shoes—that’s all I need. Why sneakers? When did I think I would be jogging?

As I stretched out my back, a young man carrying an armful of empty pint glasses stopped to openly stare at my chest. I quickly straightened up and shot him a death glare, which he returned with a knowing smile and a roll of his eyes.

“Now then,” said the man with the deep voice, now standing behind the desk. “What can I do for you, dear?”

I ignored the young man and turned to the older one, flashing him my best all-American smile.

“Hi. I need a room. Just a single bed if you have it.”

He nodded, as if he’d been expecting this, and pulled a large book onto the counter, placing a pen on top.

“Right then. It’s fifty pound a night. Name and other details go right here, and I’ll need your passport and credit card if you please. Just for one night, then?”

I bent down to retrieve the two items from my backpack.

“Uh, no, I’m not sure how long I’m staying for, at least three nights, though.”

The old man paused, studying me. I handed him my passport and credit card and started filling in the book registry.

After writing down my full name, I put down a fake address in Tacoma. I was technically homeless at the moment, and it seemed like a good idea to leave the commune out of this.

I finished with my new phone number and looked up at him. He was still examining me and my passport, his eyes flicking back and forth between the passport photo and the real-life version.

I flashed him another smile, taking in his sturdy build, full head of gray hair, and the pub uniform shirt with the little logo on the pocket.

He was just a regular guy, but he had to be in the know about the town and its movers and shakers.

I bet he was a fixture in their lives, somehow making it in this place without any special skills to back him up.

He might have been on the older side, but the muscles bulging under his sleeves suggested that he had made it this far not just because of his business savvy.

Leaning over the counter toward him again, I asked, “That’s okay, right?”

He looked at me, puzzled, and I took off my baseball cap, pretending to scratch my head, letting my long, now auburn hair tumble out.

“Huh?”

“If I stay three nights? I’ll let you know tomorrow if I need more or if I’ll be leaving.”

He stared at my dark-red hair and the cheesy grin I was flashing him and shook his head to refocus.

“Yeah, sweetheart, that’ll be fine. Just let me know tomorrow, and we’ll sort it out then.” He was still staring at my hair and smile, making the silence awkward.

I shrugged it off and picked up my heavy pack again, hoisting it up, signaling that I was ready.

“Okay then, what time does dinner and breakfast start?”

Another pause from the man, and he seemed to remember that he had a job to do.

He selected a few keys from the rack behind him and went around a wall to the little door, joining me in the foyer and starting up the stairs, where I followed.

“Dinner orders start from six, and breakfast is at eight. Though it is pretty basic. There is a better café up the street, to be honest.”

The stairs leveled off, and a long hallway with an old, faded red carpet began. I followed him, casually peeking into a few rooms that had doors open for the cleaning service.

“That’s fine; I’m a pretty simple girl.”

He grunted and stopped at a room on his left, opening it to reveal a single plain bed with a small en suite and a window that looked out over the water and harbor. Perfect.

I turned and gave him a thumbs-up, standing in the doorway, and he tossed me the room key.

“Right, enjoy your stay, then. If you need anything, someone is always downstairs, but the office shuts with last call around one a.m.”

I flashed him another wide smile as he was leaving and shut the door behind him, calling out, “I’ll be down for dinner!”

As soon as the door closed, I let the smile fade. That should start some chatter among the locals. If anyone in a small town would be the gossipmonger, it would be the main barman.

He’d looked at me like he might have recognized something, but I had to let this unfold slowly and let them figure it out themselves.

The room was small, but enough for one person, and after looking it over, I was satisfied that there was only the door and the window to come in, and it was a straight drop to the ground below.

The window was a bit stubborn, but it eventually opened with some force, and I leaned out to look at the harbor.

The fleet of fishing boats had finished coming in and were in the process of being cleaned and unloaded.

A car horn blared on the street, and I looked down the main little square I had just walked across.

Three luxury black sedans rolled down the little Welsh cobbled street, obviously out of place in the little village.

I snorted to myself. It seemed no matter where in the world you went, there were jerks in every corner of the globe.

The cars briefly stopped in front of the entrance to the fishing piers, and a man in overalls waiting on the docks quickly entered the first car on the far side.

They then continued to rumble down the road and around the corner out of sight.

I sat down on the bed, satisfied that the room provided enough of a view both up and down the street and across the water.

Outside, the ferry that crossed the strait to Southern Ireland sounded its horn, signaling it was about to depart, and I lay back on the bed to close my eyes and listen to the sounds of a working harbor.

***

A man’s voice shouted out on the street, and I bolted up and rubbed my eyes. The window was now dark, and I squinted at my watch again.

Close your eyes for a second and wake up two hours later.

I rubbed my face awake and looked out the window. The pub downstairs seemed like it was moderately full, judging by the lights and sounds coming from below.

Better get this over with for tonight.

I dug in my pack and spritzed some lavender perfume, shook out my wavy hair, and locked the door behind me.

The hallway was silent, and the faint sounds of laughter and music were echoing up through the faded red carpet.

At the bottom of the stairs, the main bar on my left was moderately full.

I scanned some of them. They looked mostly like blue-collar workers, some farmers maybe, as well as fishermen. A few of them gave me the eye before I went to the front desk and rang the little bell.

From the bar, I overheard a few whispers in my direction, but I stoically looked straight ahead, and a few moments later, the old man was in front of me again.

“What’ll it be?”

“Just a burger and whatever house red you have open, please. Can you just put it on my card?”

He nodded and wrote the order on a little notepad that he pulled out from his pocket.

“Where will you be?”

Pointing to the empty dining area opposite the main bar, I said, “Just in here.”

He nodded again and gave me a small smile. “Will be about ten minutes.”

“Thanks,” I said, and I ignored the few whispers paired with more curious eyes and went into the empty dining area.

With as much casualness as I could muster, I sat and pulled out my phone, scrolling through the pictures of my recent trip to London.

All typical tourist pictures, the Eye, Big Ben, Tower Bridge. All showing my face and goofy poses. Perfectly posed for the purpose of showing a good time I’d never gotten to experience.

I scrolled down to the only ones I was particularly interested in, the botanical gardens, and spent some time looking through the various flowers and plants.

God, I missed Franny’s garden. At this time in April, the showers might have started, and things would be soaking it up.

The coven would start clearing the forest paths, and all the shoots in the winter undergrowth would be peeking through.

The younger kids and teens would be getting cabin fever and braving the thaw of the Columbia to swim in the commune’s little sheltered grotto.

I sighed. Yes, I definitely missed the commune land.

Suddenly, a burger and a glass of wine appeared on the table in front of me. I glanced up to see the young guy from earlier, grinning at me.

“One basic hamburger and our finest Merlot.” He jerked his thumb towards the corner. “Silverware and condiments are over there if you need them. Anything else?”

I spotted the napkins he was referring to and shook my head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

I glanced down at the burger and grabbed a fry. The guy didn’t budge, and after a moment, I looked back up at him, waiting.

“You here to catch the ferry?”

I offered him a small smile. “Nope.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Sightseeing, then?”

I feigned surprise, as if the idea had never crossed my mind. “Well, I suppose I’ll see some sights, yes.”

His confusion deepened, and I quickly added, “Well. Thanks for the burger,” effectively ending our conversation.

Taking the hint, he turned and headed back to the main bar. I kept my gaze forward, peering out the small window onto the street.

A few more men strolled by the window, and I heard them enter the pub, heading into the main bar. Whispers about a redhead reached my ears, but I ignored them.

Being seen was my only goal for tonight. Nothing more.

After finishing my meal, I savored the Merlot, draining the last two sips before heading back upstairs. I caught a glimpse of some of the men in the bar, their eyes appreciating me.

Hearing my name whispered by a deep voice was unexpected, but I figured the old bartender had spread the news quickly in this small town.

I should have been irritated by the lack of customer privacy, maybe even worried about the safety of my passport in his lockbox.

But as I shut the door to my room, all I could do was smile at how quickly gossip travels in a small town. This was going to be a piece of cake.