Page 19 of Bewitched & Bewildered
Not that it matters. Staying on her good side is impossible, and I never cared to do it in the past.
“Starbrook has been struggling to get supplies,” he says. “And not just that—potions, divination, everything. It’s more than the witches who are suffering. The werewolves haven’t had anything to help them with their transformations.”
“That’s true.” I let out a long sigh. “You don’t realize how helpful an apothecary is until it’s gone.”
“Exactly. It’s bittersweet, with Mrs. Hawthorne passing and all?—”
“Wait.” My heart stops. “Mrs. Hawthorne? What?”
I know the shop is closed—that’s all my parents told me—but I assumed she retired. Both of my parents are retired. It’s the natural progression of life.
I suppose death is, too.
Juniper’s bitterness makes sense now. I’m an asshole.
“It was a tragedy,” he says. “I heard some demons did it, but I don’t know.”
“Demons?” My brow furrows.
“Yeah, but I guess no one knows for sure. The Hawthorne women are keeping it hush.”
“It’s none of our business,” I say firmly.
Antoni may disagree.
He goes silent for a moment and shrugs. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“How long ago did she pass?”
“A year.”
It lines up with the timing of the shop closing, too. I look around. A few hours ago, I couldn’t be prouder. The feeling is replaced with a twist of guilt and regret. If I knew… well, I would have offered to help them with their shop instead of becoming a competitor.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I mutter.
“What?” Antoni’s eyes widen. “Don’t say that!”
“We already have an apothecary.”
“We don’t, and we’re struggling. For all we know, they’re going to close up forever. You’re doing important work here. I’m hoping to get a pain reliever potion for Ma. She’s recovering from hip surgery.”
Even knowing I’m helping his mother with her pain can’t make me feel better. Nothing can.
I need to talk to Juniper. That’s the only way to make this right.
Chapter 6
Juniper
I’mon a fence between two options: find a new job or reopen the apothecary. The first option is a wiser financial decision. If I open the shop, there’s a potential I won’t make as much money as I need to. Running a business has too many question marks.
But can my mental health handle working another job I hate? I’m still unconvinced.
It’s early in the morning when I amble onto my front porch. The sky is gray, and it’s cold enough that I pull my cardigan tighter. Our porch is as cluttered as the rest of the house, but there’s something out of place among the chimes and potted plants…
A bouquet in a lovely white vase. I know who it’s from…and precisely what it means.
Few people know the perfect flowers to get someone who is mourning. That’s the job of a florist—or a witch. We speak the language of flowers unlike anyone else. This mystery person brought me carnations, daisies, and lilies. All white.
