Authors: Phaedra Weldon
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Edward seemed to know what he was doing—in a
sort of ordered chaos. He moved about with a catlike grace, and yet
still managed to break a few things. It was like grace, charm, and
newborn enthusiasm all rolled up in a very neat and somewhat gangly
package. Together—with the aid of the magically touched broom and
dusters—they cleaned out the corners, the cabinets, and the
shelves.
Tuesday and Wednesday passed with the
ever-present ding of the cash register—even as the two of them
tidied up. Men and women, old and young, familiar and new, all of
them came back to the shop and asked for remedies.
Aches, pains, cuts, bruises, colds.
And it seemed that Brenda could look into
the their eyes, into each of them, and know if the remedy was for
them personally, or for a friend or loved one. She knew what to do.
Brenda had always known what to do.
Late in the evening on Wednesday, and after
a rousingly well done day at selling and doling out advice, Brenda
settled at the table with one of Edward's cups of tea—apparently
the man kept a kettle warm all day.
And without a hot plate.
He stood at the register, tallying up the
day and announcing that—as of five—they had two thirds of the money
needed to satisfy the creditors. "Ah—so bank that, you scoundrels.
One more day and you should be caught up."
"How?"
He frowned at her as he bagged the money.
"How what?"
"How is that possible? I mean, as of two
days ago, no one would come in here. Suddenly they're all in the
out of the woodwork. Did you do something?"
"Well, yeah," and his grin widened. "I sort
of spread the word. Offered many of them a back door. Did a bit of
advertising. Sort of my job—it's what I do to help you."
"Back door?"
He put the money into a box on the counter
and put his hands on the counter, palms down. "Back door—it's what
I tried to tell you on Monday. Hrm. Or was it Tuesday. Oh, can't
remember. But you have to look at the analogy. A back door means
what?"
Going with the first thought in her head
Brenda said, "A way out."
He held his right hand in the air. "Exactly.
And that's what Granny did for them. Gave her customers a back
door. It's hope, Brenda. There's always hope. And my back door was
you. I could have curled up in the nothing and simply ceased to
exist—and allowed your doubt to become stronger and stronger. But I
couldn't. Because I have hope."
A back door. A way out. Hope that there's
something better on the other side. Alarmingly, it all made
sense.
"Edward—why are you a familiar?"
Waiting until he had the money safely locked
in the iron-and-steel safe Granny Pollsocks kept in the broom
closet, Edward joined her at the table, a cup of tea abruptly in
his hands. "Why? Why are you a witch? Or why does the moon go round
the sun? That's sort of rhetorical, isn't it?"
"No, no," she shook her head. "I mean,
familiars are usually small creatures—like cats or toads or some
such thing. Usually not grown—men."
The left side of his mouth twitched and
turned up. "Familiars are a part of lore and myth, just like
witches and wizards. And how many of the old books got those facts
right? He winked. "If I believed them, you should be some scary old
hag with a wart at the end of your nose, sitting about and eating
children for breakfast."
She smiled. Point taken.
"Don't give in to doubt, Brenda." Edward
sipped his tea. "Believe in yourself."
The front door burst open. Both of them
turned to watch Detective Jackie Grafton come in, her boots
stomping on the newly cleaned and shiny floor. She wore her usual
black pants suit and a tan trench coat. Her eyes were wide as she
took in the shop, staring at the improvements, at the working
lights.
"What have you done?" Jackie's voice boomed
out.
Brenda actually shrank in size in her
chair.
"Well, hullo," Edward stood up and walked up
to Jackie, his hand extended out. Today he wore a simple long
sleeve black button up cotton shirt and black jeans. "You must be
Brenda's mother. So charmed to meet you."
Jackie narrowed her eyes at him. "Who are
you? What are you doing here?"
"I'm Brenda's new employee. Edward
Darlington." He glanced down at his still extended hand. When it
was obvious she wasn't going to shake it, he clasped his hands
behind his back. "Care for a cup of tea?"
She moved past him to Brenda and loomed over
her. "What is this nonsense about not selling the shop? I got a
call from Mr. Bitterman—he was all happy and gushy that you'd
nearly paid up your bill? And you'd given him a sachet that
completely cleaned out the cat-pee from his house?"
Brenda tried not to
laugh—but she did smirk. "Yes mom. I did that. But I told you I
didn't want to sell—that was
your
idea."
"Oh? And you think you can keep this place
working with two days of good luck?" She snorted. "Oh please,
Brenda. Just give it up. You'll never be as magical as Granny. None
of us were."
Just then one of the dusters swished out
from behind the bookshelf and started its controlled and precise
sweep of each shelf. The broom came from behind the counter,
chasing dust bunnies across the floor—though they were much smaller
than before.
Brenda liked the look of disbelief on her
mother's eyes. It was a look that rarely sat there. "I'm afraid
you're not quite right on that mom." She knew Edward wanted to
answer her in the same manner, but she felt it was better if it all
came from her.
"Oh?" She glanced at the broom and duster
again. "Parlor tricks. That's all. You can't do magic."
"Maybe not magic the same way Granny could,
mom. But I can. I can heal. I can give advice. And I can even make
a great cup of tea." She held up her cup. "Would you like
some?"
There was something else happening here, and
she didn't realize what until she looked at Edward. She knew it
when she looked at his eyes. She knew it when her knees didn't
knock. She knew it when her palms didn't sweat.
She was nervous around her
mother—but she wasn't
doubtful
. She no longer worried that
this was the right thing to do—she was confident it was.
Jackie whirled on Edward.
"This is
your
fault. I recognize you now."
Edward smiled and put a hand to his chest.
"My fault? Though I am rather pleased you recognize me." He leaned
forward and his eyes arched in question. "Who am I?"
"You're damned fool my mother always
listened to. Yeah—you look different. All young and beautiful just
to lure my daughter down the same profitless path my mother went."
She took a menacing step toward Jackie, and Brenda felt her heart
skip. Her mom had a gun. And she was licensed to use it! "She could
have sold this shop—this property—and lived in comfort for the rest
of her life. Instead she worked in this shop every day and worked
long hours—"
"Doing what she loved."
Jackie blinked and turned a surprised face
to Brenda.
Brenda put her hand to her mouth. Had she
said that? Out loud?
She looked past her mother to Edward who
winked.
"How the hell would you know what my mother
loved?"
"Because I was always here with her," Brenda
said. Yeah, her heart thundered and her palms were sweating, but
she knew if she didn't finally tell her mother what she was
thinking, she'd explode. "I worked on those potions night after
night. I opened up this shop in the morning and picked up those
bagels with the seeds she loved have with cream cheese in the
morning. She made tea, and I'd save up and buy lox."
"Mom liked lox?"
"With capers, mom." Brenda sighed. "I knew
more about your mother than you did. And she told me that she'd be
happiest only when you were happy. But it seems the only thing
you're happy with is making money."
"You have to have money to get what you
want, Brenda. And you'll never grow up until you realize that."
Edward cleared his throat as he shoved his
hands into his pockets. "Miss Grafton—what is it you want?"
"Excuse me?" she looked at him.
"It's a simple question—though I'm uncertain
if you've asked it of yourself recently. You said you have to have
money to get what you want. What is it you want?"
"I want—" and she seemed to hang.
Brenda sort of knew where Edward was going.
She swore she could hear his thoughts. "You want to sell this place
because of the money. If you had this money—what would you do?" She
took a step closer to her mother. "What is your dream?"
Jackie narrowed her eyes at Brenda and
pursed her lips into a small bow. Finally, she said in a low voice,
"Charleston."
Brenda blinked. "What?"
"Charleston—" Edward said. "South
Carolina?"
"I went there as a kid—your granny had a
house there. Then she sold it to buy this place. I wanted that
house. And I want to buy it back. It's still there—and it sits on
the shore."
"Is it for sale?" Edward asked.
"Yes."
Brenda watched him grin as she got a flash
in her mind of the back door.
The door at the foot of the stairs.
Alternatives. Dreams. Wishes.
Hopes.
And then—like a flower opening to the
sun—Brenda understood. She reached out to Edward and he removed a
hand from his pocket. He held a key in his hand. A key with a
rabbit's foot charm.
Brenda took it. She felt
the ocean breeze on her skin, smelled the salt air, and heard the
seagulls. She heard Edward's voice in his head.
Only you can open that door, Brenda. When the need is great,
and the time is right.
Brenda took the key and motioned for her
mother to follow her down the stairs. Edward gestured for her to
follow Brenda as well and came down behind the two of them.
"What are you doing?" Jackie asked as Brenda
slid the key into the door lock.
"I'm giving you a back door," she said.
"Granny would have wanted it." And with that she heard the click
and turned the knob.
The door didn't open up on a brick wall this
time, but into a rustically decorated livingroom. Worn hard woods,
large windows opened up to the ocean. The sound of seagulls, the
smell of the sea air.
Brenda realized she'd been experiencing her
mother's memories of this place.
"This—" Jackie stepped through into the
room. "This isn't possible. It's just like we left it…just like I
remember it."
"And it's yours," Edward said. "Hope creates
a back door—another way in when everything else in front of you
says no." He looked at Brenda. The two still stood in the small
landing where the back door was.
"Mine?" Jackie turned a surprised face to
the two of them. "But I can't afford it yet—"
"You already have it," Brenda said. "In this
world, it's yours, so the money you've already saved will carry you
for some time." She reached out with the key in her hand. "Take
it—just don't forget to come visit me from time to time?"
Edward put up a hand as Jackie took the key.
"Through this door—come see us. I'm afraid in the reality there,
this shop doesn't exist." He shrugged. "And neither does Brenda.
There, your mother never sold it, you inherited it, and you never
married."
Jackie clutched the key to her breast. "This
is a dream."
"No," Brenda said. "It's hope. You enjoy
this—and let me enjoy this shop the way granny wanted it.
Okay?"
But Jackie had turned and was enjoying the
view, already lost in what she wanted most.
Edward reached in and shut the door. There
was a click, and Brenda knew if she opened the door again, there
would be a brick wall.
She looked at Edward. "That's how granny did
it."
"Yes. But," he held up his index finger.
"Only to certain clients. Those in most need. And you always have
to be careful. Like the warning I just gave your mother—or tried to
give you. If she comes her through that world, she'll never find
this shop because it doesn't exist. This door travels from world to
world and reality and time. You can screw things up royaly if
you're not careful."
She grinned at him. "That's why you're here.
You're kind of like the door's guardian?"
"No, I'm your guardian." He smiled.
The two of them went back up the stairs to
the front desk. Brenda looked at the wick of a candle there and
snapped her fingers.
No fire sparks appeared. No wisps. Not even
a tinge of smoke issued from the candle. A single spark, and the
flame ignited and burned a tall, strong blue. Brenda knew it wasn't
magic—she didn't know how to conjure fire without a fire spark. But
she'd thought of the door, and she'd thought of Edward's faith in
her, and she'd thought about the faith she had in herself since
he'd arrived, and the store had made money.
On her magic.
Magic…and hope.
She'd seen the back door in her mind.
Neither of them said a word until Edward
moved closer and pinched out the flame. "You thirsty? I'm thirsty.
But not for tea. I know this splendid pub over in Yorkshire—and
they have the worst meat pastries—but a fine dart board. Care to
come?"
"Yorkshire?" Brenda blinked at him. She was
wondering if she'd ever seen her mother again. "As in England?"
"Well of course."
"Edward, how are we going to get to—"
"Back door," he nodded to the stairwell.
"And we'd better get a move on."
She grabbed her coat and followed him down
the stairs to the back door. It looked different somehow. More
alive. Vivid colors that seemed to swirl and move all around.
"Ready?"
Brenda put her arm in his. "I could kiss you
for being here for me."