Page 46 of The Clifftop Cottage

Erica winked conspiratorially at Maisie, who attempted to wink back and instead fell over sideways, sending Lucky scrambling. Erica laughed, warmth spreading through her chest in a way she hadn’t realised she’d been missing.

She settled into the sofa, cradling her mug. The cottage smelled of chocolate, toasted marshmallows, and the pumpkin-spice candle she’d lit earlier. Outside, the wind rattled the last of the golden leaves against the windows.

She took a sip too fast and winced.

Maisie giggled, now completely absorbed in the princess on the screen.

Leah sat beside Erica. “Are you sure you want to come guising? It might be boring for you.”

“I’d love it,” Erica said. “Besides, I think someone’s already decided what I’m going as.” She nodded at the kitten. “Lucky will stay here though. He wouldn’t enjoy knocking on doors.”

Maisie looked down at the cat. “That’s okay. I’ll bring him back some treats.”

Erica nudged Leah gently. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Leah said quickly – too quickly. She glanced back at the window, the cliffs misted in pale grey beyond the glass. Then, more softly, “I still can’t believe what you found today. And you think this witch – Isobel – actually lived here?”

“I do. The carvings … they felt real.”

“But anyone could carve initials.”

Erica shook her head. “Maybe. But it doesn’t feel like nothing.”

Leah studied her for a long moment, as if weighing not just the words but the way Erica said them. “So what are you planning to do about it?”

“Well …” Erica hesitated, turning her mug slowly in her hands. “I’ve contacted a few podcasts. I’ve started a blog about witches in Scotland. And I’ve got a meeting tomorrow about a remembrance memorial.”

Leah blinked. “A memorial?” A small surprised laugh escaped her. “Eri, that was fast. You’re meant to be resting.”

“I can’t relax when something grabs me like this,” Erica said, shifting in her seat. “And I feel like I owe it to them – to look into things properly.”

Leah tilted her head. “You owe them?”

“Yes.”

“That’s … a strange way of looking at it.”

“How?”

Leah stared down into her mug. “Eri … they’re gone. What happened to them is awful, but it’s finished.”

“Maybe someone should still care,” Erica said quietly and looked down into her mug. “I thought you’d understand … you’re a midwife. Why do you do that job? For the money?”

Leah snorted. “It barely covers the bills.”

“So why do you do it?”

“Because …” Leah shrugged. “Because I want to help women. Because I don’t want them to be scared or alone.”

“Exactly.” Erica leaned forward. “Women like Isobel were doing the same thing. Helping. Healing. And they were punished for it.”

Leah went very still. Her fingers tightened slightly around her mug.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “it’s lucky we don’t live back then.”

“But doesn’t it upset you?”

“Of course it does,” Leah said, a little more sharply. “But it happened. You can’t undo it.”