Page 19 of The Clifftop Cottage

She slowed at a clothing boutique, its window dressed for the season with tweed coats, knitted hats, and woollen scarves threaded with warm fairy lights. She hovered, shivering, then made up her mind.

Inside, the air was warm and faintly scented with cedar. She emerged not long after, wearing a slate-grey, oversized tweed coat, the hem swirling as a gust of wind caught it. She buttoned it up, popped the collar, and pulled on a deep purple beret and gloves. She stuffed her cream jacket into a crinkling plastic bag.

At last, she felt properly insulated from the cold, and perhaps from a little more than that.

As she continued down the street, her eyes caught on a shop window: a black cat perched regally atop a pumpkin, its amber eyes glowing like tiny embers. Immediately her niece’s obsession with all things magical pulled her towards it and without thinking she stepped inside. The air was warm with cinnamon and orange, softened by the dry scent of old wood and herbs. It wrapped around her, familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place.

Shelves of glass jars and dried flowers caught the soft, dim light. Candles of every size and colour cast a warm, shifting glow across the room. Books with cracked leather spines sat stacked haphazardly on mismatched tables, with titles like Moonlit Rituals and A Witches’ Guide peeking through the faded gold embossing. A tangle of dreamcatchers and wind chimes hung from the ceiling, still swirling gently from the draft of the closing door.

She lingered, drawn deeper into the labyrinth of curiosities, her fingers brushing against soft scarves embroidered with celestial patterns and ornaments shaped like crescent moons. The shop had a peculiar stillness to it, broken only by the soft hum of a radio somewhere in the back.

“Hello there.”

The voice made her jump. Erica turned to find a small woman with hair so pale it was almost white, framing her face like spun silk. She smiled openly, her bright eyes twinkling with something Erica couldn’t quite read. A crushed velvet skirt brushed the floor beneath a neatly tailored wool jacket.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, gliding past her in a faint trace of lavender. She moved behind the counter and began tying ribbons around a bundle of wooden wands, their knotted surfaces twisted like old branches.

“The cat in the window?” Erica said, pointing absently, watching as the woman murmured to herself as though finishing a thought.

“Which cat would that be – my tabby?” the woman replied with a soft laugh. “He’s not for sale.”

“No, I mean the doorstop thingy.” Erica stepped closer to the window and froze.

Curled on his back between a pink salt lamp and an oversized ceramic toadstool lay the largest striped cat she had ever seen, his white paws stretched lazily into the patch of light.

“That’s odd,” Erica said with a nervous laugh. “I didn’t see him just now. I meant the pumpkin and black cat.” She gestured to the ornament tucked beside a row of carved candles.

“Oh aye. A fine choice.” The woman was suddenly beside her, close enough that Erica flinched. With one hand she scratched the real cat’s belly; with the other she lifted the ornament from the shelf. “Not for you, I take it?”

“What makes you say that?” Erica felt a flicker of irritation, or maybe it was discomfort, at being so easily read.

“Well …” The woman tilted her head, studying her. “If I had to guess – you’re related to Leah, the midwife. And this,” she said, holding up the ornament, tiny bat wings now visible on the cat’s back, “would be for imaginative wee Maisie. Am I right?”

Erica blinked. “Perhaps.”

“The sister from London,” the woman went on, warmly, and yet somehow too precisely. “A pleasure.”

“Thanks.” Erica’s throat tightened. She looked away, suddenly eager to be done, but the woman seemed in no hurry at all. “I’m Erica,” she said. “Leah’s sister.”

“Erica! Lovely.” The woman beamed, extending a hand. Her nails shimmered bronze-brown in the light. “Margery. Owner of the Green Cauldron. Though I imagine you worked that out.”

Erica shook her hand, surprised by the pull of her presence.

“You give that to your niece,” Margery said, slipping the ornament into a sleek black gift bag. “She’ll love it. Little gestures matter more than people think.” She lowered her voice. “And there’s a café just down the road that does a cinnamon pumpkin hot chocolate Maisie would adore. A small outing, perhaps?”

“You know,” Erica said slowly, “I did think about doing something like that … how did you know?”

Margery beamed and gave a small, unassuming shrug. “Oh, people leave little trails, if you know how to look.” As Erica pulled out her phone to pay, Margery waved it away. “On the house,” she said. “Your sister’s an asset to this town. A healer. The least I can do.” She smiled. “And I’m glad you’ve finally come to stay with us.”

“I’m not sure I’m staying, exactly,” Erica said, the words catching.

“Oh, Rock Cove has a way of settling under the skin,” Margery replied lightly. “It shows you things. Some good. Some less so. But all of it hard to turn away from.”

Before Erica could insist on paying, Margery was already ushering her to the door. “Take care now.”

Outside, Erica paused, the gift bag swinging gently at her side. She glanced back. Margery stood framed in the window, her expression unreadable. The striped cat lounged beside her, golden eyes fixed on Erica, as though he, too, was watching her.

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