Felix Silver, Teaspoons & Witches, page 2
We turn a corner, and the harbor, in all its glory, comes in to view.
I don’t know whether it’s because I haven’t been here in a while or because I’m getting older, but the town is so beautiful. Little cottages look down from the cliffs at the cerulean water below. A few stray seagulls squawk in unison as we find a parking spot next to a large pub that goes by the name the White Horse.
“Perfect day for a pie, a beer, and a stroll around the farmer’s market,” Gran says.
“I’m seventeen,” I say, concealing a snicker. “And it’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”
Gran gets out of the car. “Ooh, good point. We’ll make it a gin and tonic.”
“I, uh… Mum would kill me.”
“You’re still a worrywart, I see.” Gran links her arm through mine and leads me toward the White Horse.
Inside, we find ourselves a table by the back. Gran heads to the bar to buy us god knows what.
When she gets back, she’s all smiles as she puts her small leather handbag next to her. “So, tell me everything.”
I shake my head. I don’t really have much to tell.
“How are you doing with the whole divorce thing? Excited to go to Harbor High?” Gran reaches into her bag and takes out a mint, offering me one, which I take. “Any lovers in your life?”
That makes me scoff. “Nada. Nope. Zero. No love in my life. I think Mum and Dad’s divorce is a pretty good repellent for that.”
Gran leans over and strokes my hand gently. “Try not to let their stuff interfere.”
“I guess I haven’t found the right person.”
“Person?” Gran looks at me quizzically.
“Guy.”
Gran strokes my hand again and smiles like I’ve just told her that the White Horse is doling out free pie. “I always knew you were special. Love, my darling, is one of the greatest potions of all.”
I’m about to change the subject, but thankfully our food is delivered by the burly bearded guy who was behind the bar a moment before.
“Thanks,” I say as we start tucking in.
Gran eats faster than me, which is saying something, considering I once won a hot dog eating contest back in Oakington. When she’s finished, she dabs her mouth with a napkin and reaches into her bag for her pocket mirror to check out her hair and lipstick.
Gran snaps her pocket mirror shut. “Well, my darling, I’m sure there are plenty of young fellas who’ll be vying for your heart when you start school.”
I roll my eyes into the back of my head and snort. “I doubt that.”
“Doubt away. I have a sense when love is on the horizon, and it sure as shiitake mushrooms isn’t me!”
We leave the White Horse, and Gran links her arm in mine again. Although it’s a bit chilly out, Gran is warm and soft, her hand occasionally patting mine to point at various shops or roads I need to take note of.
“Now, we need to pick up a few bits from the farmer’s market first, and then we’ll stop by my shop for afternoon tea. You can meet the rest of the gang.” Gran makes a beeline to a large square full of stalls filled with potatoes, vegetables, fresh corn, and knickknacks on display. “Winifred is a dear, but she’s not the greatest at customer service, and she’s been having some trouble at the shop lately. Her familiar isn’t too friendly either.”
“Her what?”
“Familiar. Newt. Our animal guardians, pets, and snuggle buddies,” Gran says as she heads toward a stall selling roasted chestnuts. “Two bags of your most roasted nuts, please.”
“So, why don’t I have a familiar?”
“Ohh, you will, you will.” Gran hands me a bag of chestnuts which are, simply put, freaking delicious. “Our familiars arrive when we’re ready, magically speaking. Newt turned up shortly after I brewed my first potion.”
“Right,” I start as Gran throws her arms up in excitement.
“Tomkin!”
A short man with furrowed eyebrows, bright red socks sprouting from old boots, and a tweed jacket hugging a stout frame stands before us with half a smile.
“Aggie,” he says, his voice a squeaky, Southern drawl. “How y’all feeling on this fine morning?”
“Fab,” Gran says. “Just fab. This is Felix, my grandson I was telling you about?”
Tomkin outstretches his hand, which I shake.
“Thistle,” he says. “Tomkin Thistle.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“And you,” Tomkin says. “I work at the library, just up there on the hill.”
“Cool,” I say. “Big book fan.”
This small talk is excruciating.
“And this is my darling, Melon,” he says, motioning to a small green head poking out from the inside pocket of his tweed.
I jump back, alarmed, and try to hide behind Gran. “Is that a snake?”
“Oh, gosh, no.” Tomkin takes Melon out of his pocket and reveals the shell the green head is housed in. “A Mississippi map turtle,” he says proudly. “I brought her with me when my family moved back to England.”
Melon glances around sleepily. “Cute,” I say.
“Cute?” Tomkin furrows his brow again. “Don’t let her little face and shell fool ya. One wrong move and she’d snap your damn fingers off and spit out the French tips.”
“OK, that’s, uh… wow.”
“We’re just grabbing a few things here and then heading over to the Silver Teacup, if you fancy joining?” Gran says, biting into another chestnut.
“Can’t, my darlin’, I’ve got to get back to work,” Tomkin says, looking up at the library on the hill. “My granddaughter, Fern, she goes to Harbor High. I’ll make sure she keeps an eye on you. Especially what with everything going on.”
I nod and smile, without a clue what he’s on about.
Gran gives him a kiss on the cheek, and we make our way through the crowded marketplace, Tomkin whispering sweet nothings to Melon as he heads in the opposite direction.
“When did Tomkin move to Dorset Harbor?” I ask Gran.
“Oh, about forty years ago, I’d say. Left for the States when he was a baby and came back when he inherited the family cottage.”
“That’s an old turtle!” I say.
Gran winks, then turns her attention to her shopping.
After Gran has finished buying various herbs and vegetables, we walk past the peaceful harbor, up a cobblestoned alleyway, and around a corner, finding ourselves outside the Silver Teacup. It’s small building with mossy old brickwork and a faded purple awning over the front door. The window houses a cute display of teacups balancing on top of one another and various jars and pots full of tea leaves.
We’re about to head into the shop when the door flings open and a plump, short woman with curly gray hair and one of the sweetest smiles I’ve ever seen stands waiting for us. What is with people around here opening doors before anyone arrives?
“Winifred!” Gran says, beaming.
“At last!” Winifred says, eyeing me up and down and looking between Gran and me. “My goodness, how you’ve grown!”
I can’t help but grin. I don’t recall ever meeting Winifred, but she’s ridiculously cute.
Once inside, Winifred ushers us over to a few armchairs around a small wooden chest. The Silver Teacup is more like a cozy living room than an actual tea shop. There’s carpet, for starters. Thick, fluffy cream carpet that armchairs, tables, and stools sit comfortably upon. The walls are lined with shelves filled with various teas and herbs, and antique lamps cast warm, golden light throughout.
Winifred puts a couple of logs on the small fireplace in the corner of the room before joining us, and then sits comfortably on a faded pink armchair. She pours us each a cup of tea and then takes a sip from her own cup.
“I’m so glad you’re here. Rotten customers this morning.”
“What happened, Win?” Gran asks, eyeing me with a small smirk in the corner of her lips.
“Oh, you know, just the usual. They ask for peppermint when all we have is chai. They ask if we have change for a fifty when we only have change for a twenty. They ask me to not call their child a thieving little pillock, and apparently I’m the devil incarnate.”
“Oh, Win, you didn’t,” Gran says.
“I most certainly did. I caught the little blighter with his hand jammed in the custard cream tin,” Winifred says proudly. “I nearly gave him a clip around the ear.”
Gran shakes her head as she takes a sip of her tea.
I can’t help but laugh. For one of the sweetest looking people I’ve ever seen, Winifred apparently takes no shit.
“And on top of that, I can’t, for the life of me, find Captain,” Winifred says.
“Captain?” I ask.
“My familiar, darling. Captain is my squirrel. About yea big.” Winifred’s hand shapes the size of an invisible football. “Fluffy red tail. Has a tendency to bite without warning. Do shout if you see him.”
“S-Sure.” I’m unable to form a logical sentence as a young man enters the store, takes off his cap, and nods politely in our direction. He’s a few years older than me, I suspect. Weather-beaten with stubble around his chin.
“Hello,” he says, taking his cap off.
Gran and Winifred stand and make their way over to him.
Gran is all business as she places her palms on the counter and smiles. “What can we do you for?”
The man fiddles with his cap. “It’s the wind and the fish.”
“Oh, tell me about it,” Winifred chimes in. “I’ve had the hot breath of an angry pirate tooting out of my rectum since last night’s dinner.”
I nearly spit my tea across the room.
“Winifred,” Gran says, her eyes unblinking, “kindly stop talking.”
The fisherman stifles a laugh.
“This gentleman is talking of the harbor, I assume. Not your ghastly bowels.”
Winifred seems stunned for a moment, her mouth gaping open like a fish out of water as Aggie continues.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, sailor boy, but I’m thinking you’re after more than just a strong cup of tea?” Gran says with a wink. “Win, whip us up a spice bag.” Gran turns to consult the array of bottled goods behind her. “We’ll need two spoonfuls of Devil’s Dung, a heap of sweet laurel, a sprinkle of Jamaica pepper.” Gran is in her element, and I can’t help but smile. “Aaand… one string of dried sea banana.”
Winifred busies herself and adds the ingredients into a small muslin bag, then ties it with some twine.
Gran hands the fisherman the bag. “This will help attract the fish. Soak the spice bag in warm water overnight, then pour half of the liquid off the bow of the boat before casting off.”
The fisherman nods, as if all of this is perfectly normal.
“Then dip the brush once into the ocean and once into the spice liquid,” Gran says, opening a drawer beneath the counter and retrieving a paintbrush.
The fisherman takes mental notes as Winifred plonks down in her pink armchair next to me again, clearly peeved at Gran’s bowel insult.
“You then must paint a circle onto the sail counterclockwise with the remaining residue, ten to fifteen minutes before you’d like to sail off. This will attract the wind.” Gran nods and clasps her hands together.
“Thanks, Aggie,” the fisherman says, taking out his wallet.
“Oh, no, don’t be daft,” Gran says. “Fishing is what keeps our little town putting along. This is on us. Just remember to drop by next time and buy some Earl Grey.”
Winifred rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her tea as the fisherman leaves—he’s smiling like he’s just been given a bag of gold.
Gran joins us and pats my arm tenderly, glancing over at Winifred, who is avoiding eye contact. “Come on then, Win, let’s have it,” Gran says with half a smile.
“You’ll be eating out of a dumpster if you keep on offering up goods without payment,” Winifred says.
“Not a chance,” Gran says with a giggle. “Besides, if we ever get too famished, we can always roast old Captain. Squirrel is a delicacy.”
I snort-laugh.
Winifred opens her mouth to retaliate when a red-tailed squirrel climbs up her armchair and sits on her shoulder. “There you are!”
“On that note,” I say, standing, “I’m going to go for a bit of an explore. That OK, Gran?”
Gran nods as I give her a kiss on the cheek.
“See you soon, Winifred.”
I give her a kiss on the cheek too before stepping out into the crisp afternoon sun. Making my way back toward the harbor, the uneven cobblestones turn my calves to lead. I pass a few old trinket shops, Joanne’s Herbal Cleaning Supplies, Codswallop Fish n’ Chips, and a few dilapidated old buildings with empty interiors.
I turn a corner near the post office and spot Dorset Harbor High sitting between two giant Norway maple trees. I take a deep breath of seaside air as the seagulls fly in circles above. As good as it is to be spending time with Gran, I’m genuinely petrified about starting over and meeting new people senior year. Nobody likes being the new guy. Especially during the last year of school.
I put my hands in my pockets and dawdle farther down the street toward the water when I see him. A guy, roughly my age, staring out at the ocean. His legs dangle on either side of a limestone wall that’s crumbling at the edges. He has light brown hair and a jawline for days.
For the briefest moment, he looks up at me and I notice the faintest tinge of a smile on his lips. He holds my gaze for a moment with his gorgeous eyes, one brown eye and one green, before he turns back to stare at the sea.
My heart rattles around my ribcage, and I think back to what Gran said at the pub. I have a sense when love is on the horizon…
Maybe moving here won’t be so bad here after all.
Three
Rain. A perfect mood for the impending doom I’m feeling about my first day at Dorset Harbor High. The cascading waterfall batters the window and rattles the roof as I crawl out of bed and rummage around my drawers. I want a cute outfit, something that gives me a low profile in case I bump into the tall, dark, and handsome chameleon-eyed guy I saw at the harbor yesterday. Eventually I decide on a simple white tee and jeans. How very basic, I know.
When I arrive in the kitchen, Gran is giving Newt peanut butter out of the jar and humming to herself.
“Hiya, my sweet,” she says, throwing the jar into the bin with a clang. “Excited for your first day?”
I shrug, feeling an all-encompassing anxiety that burns through my veins.
“Remember darling, you’re a gifted one. Tomkin’s granddaughter will keep an eye on you. Just remember to be yourself.”
I chuckle. That seems to be the standard line for parents and grandparents whenever they’re explaining how to get along in life. If only it were that simple.
Gran rubs her hands together and smiles. “Before you go, what do you say we give your powers a crack?”
“Uh, sure?” I say, rocking back and forth on my heels.
“Let’s tidy your room.”
“I’ve made my bed already.”
“Great! Let me go and mess it up so we can redo it!”
Weird, yes. But then again, so is everything else that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, so I stand and follow her up to my room.
Gran throws her arm around me. “You’re a regular Marie Kondo, aren’t you? Please don’t hate me for doing this.” She clicks her fingers and my room shudders like it’s been hit by an earthquake. The cupboard explodes open. My suitcase unzips itself and throws itself against the headboard of my bed. The bed kicks itself apart as blankets go flying. The chest of drawers that I’d carefully put my clothes away into fling open as a pair of my undies ricochet off the ceiling lamp.
“What the f—”
“Find all of your underwear in the next thirty seconds, and I’ll pay your college tuition.” Gran giggles like it’s the funniest thing in the world that my room has just been torn apart by an invisible King Kong.
“Gran, what was that?” I ask. I’m trembling. “Are all your powers, um, so—”
“Fabulous? Yes.” She does a spin like she’s part of the New York City Ballet and curtsies. “Now, let’s clean this room.”
I go to pick up the mess that’s strewn around as my undies fall from the ceiling lamp.
“I mean, with your gift,” she says with a wink.
“OK, I need to be honest with you, Gran. I don’t think I have, um, whatever it is that you have.”
“Bollocks,” Gran says, which makes me scoff. “You’re a Silver,” she adds with a nod, like it’s settled. “And you’ll soon learn how to use your abilities constructively. Now tell me, have you ever felt a strange sensation in the pit of your stomach?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Um, I guess?”
“It’s a bit like lightning in your belly. Or diarrhea. It depends on your mood.”
How in the hell are we talking about diarrhea before midday?
“What I mean is, it’s all-encompassing. You feel it within you. You know that you hold a certain power within that needs to be unleashed.”
I nod. I know what she’s talking about. Right before anything weird has happened before, I’ve always felt like I’m at the top of a rollercoaster, just about to drop. I used to feel like that with my ex-boyfriend too, only that rollercoaster derailed and ruined me in the process.
“Well, what I want you to do is find that power and catch it. Hold onto it, harness it, and then focus.” Gran has this calm about her that makes me feel like I’m the only person on the planet. “You find it,” she explains and closes her eyes. She takes her teaspoon from an inside pocket. It looks shinier than I remembered, sort of like it’s glowing. “Harness it,” she continues as she turns slightly toward the cupboard, “and focus.”
