by Ellen Jane
“What in the name of—”
Cian’s hysterical shout came from the kitchen. “The coffee-maker’s disappeared! Oh Jesus!”
“Blank canvas spell,” Sinéad said, still smiling. “I do it now and then when I want to shake up the decor. Everything’s in storage, and we can pick and choose together what we bring back or what we take from your house. We can even buy new.” Her smiled faded, and she worried her lip with her teeth, obviously choosing her next words carefully. “I’d love for you to move in with me. You’re my family. I thought I needed something else, but I don’t. It’s up to you, though.”
Heather gaped at the bare white walls, stunned into silence. It was so much. Too much to find the words for.
“You asked me once what I loved about Old Wetchhaven,” Heather said slowly.
“And you said ‘family’.”
Sinéad watched her closely, but she didn’t push for an answer. She just waited.
Heather nodded. “My family was the best thing about Old Wetchhaven, but…” She shrugged. “My family isn’t there anymore. And I want to move on. So, thank you,” she finally managed over the sound of Cian’s wailing. “I’d love to live with you.”
Sinéad grinned at her, the smile a little crooked, like her brother’s. Her hand slid around Heather’s waist, fingers curling beneath the soft wool of Heather’s jumper to press against her skin, and she drew her girlfriend into a long, slow kiss. The patter of Teddy’s confused footsteps in the background faded away, and Heather melted into the warmth.
“You’re welcome.”
Epilogue
“Hello, Mr Branson?” Heather asked, leaning against the kitchen counter and gazing out the window.
“Ah, Ms Millington,” Roger purred. “So good to hear from you. Have you sent your paperwork through?”
“I have,” Heather replied, smiling into the distance. “And I’ve a dated copy filed here with my solicitor.”
Ollie had been thrilled to add Cian’s business paperwork to his tattered binder. Heather wasn’t certain they’d ever find it again, but it was enough to legitimise their end of the deal, especially as another copy had gone to Cian’s tax agent.
Mr Branson stuttered but recovered smoothly. “I see. Yes, I can see I have the paperwork here, let me just…” He made a gentle tsking sound. “I’m afraid you’ve submitted the wrong forms, my dear. These belong to a Mr Cian Savage.” The last word was said in a tone dripping with distaste.
“Correct. If you check under his records, you’ll find everything has been approved for the work contracted last year.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, “Contracted.”
“Yes, contracted.”
More silence, accompanied by an increasingly frantic shuffling of papers.
Finally, Mr Branson cleared his throat. “In that case, I understand we have no further business. Thank you for your call.”
“Bye!” Heather said cheerily and hung up.
She spun around to find Sinéad sitting at the counter, her eyes crinkled in the corners as she listened to Heather’s conversation. The house was still in its barest state, only the necessary furniture in place: a table, three chairs, a new coffee-maker and teapot, courtesy of Cian as a housewarming gift.
“I’m guessing that went well?” she asked, lips quirking into a smile.
“It did.” Heather spun her phone in circles on the counter, unable to keep from grinning. “Guess I don’t need to sign up for that course now.”
“No?”
“Still going to, though.”
Sinéad beamed at her. “I’ll come along. Sounds like fun.”
“It’s a date.”
Sinéad startled her with a loud, bell-like laugh, crossing the room and picking Heather up by the waist to spin her in a giant circle. “You did it! Case two cracked.”
Heather balanced her hands on Sinéad’s shoulders, laughing so hard at the sight and feel of Sinéad twirling her around the kitchen, she could hardly breathe.
“With the help of case one,” Heather admitted once she’d finally regained her voice. Sinéad let her go, and she slid down onto her feet. “I remembered how the clues had become confused last Christmas and realised it was happening again.” Pride surged in her chest as she recalled how everything had fallen into place once she stopped dismissing her work on the first case as luck and embraced it as skill instead. “I think sometimes you need to go backwards before you can go forward.”
“We’re learning more and more each time,” Sinéad agreed.
“Check out what I’ve been working on,” Heather said, and she turned to the windowsill where a new loaf of bread was cooling.
“It doesn’t have a cloud!” Sinéad leaned forward to study it. “Well done!”
Heather shook her head. “Not yet it doesn’t.”
Then she counted out eighteen sesame seeds and sprinkled them on top. The sky outside the window darkened, the previously clear blue turning grey in seconds. Clouds sped along the horizon, gaining on the house and covering several blocks in each direction. With a rumble, they split apart and the heavens opened.
Sinéad gaped at the sight. “You controlled the weather! You actually did it!”
“It’s a little of the weather,” Heather agreed, watching the rain fall in steady drifts across the street. “A little of something else.”
Soon, it would be snowing too much for this sort of weather, but for now the perennials soaked up the deluge. Sinéad turned to her, watching her silently, and Heather wondered how much of her grief showed on her face. Or if the storm was the only evidence.
“You can ask Ryan if you want,” Sinéad suggested quietly. “He might be able to pass on a message or get one back.”
Heather shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”
They lapsed into silence, watching the rain and the lightning as it lit up the sky. The light coming in through the kitchen window faded into shadow, and it was somehow comforting, the darkness offering Heather something nothing else could.
After a while, her phone buzzed, making them both jump. She didn’t recognise the number.
“Hello?”
“Ms Millington?” Ms Watley’s voice came through the line.
“Oh! Yes, hello. Is everything all right?”
“Absolutely not. I’ll need to enlist your services immediately. When is your next available appointment?”
Heather fumbled over her words, waving away Sinéad, who looked concerned. “I’ll have to, er… well, I mean… I’m not near my appointment book right now, Ms Watley. May I call you back?”
“I’ll be home all afternoon,” Ms Watley agreed tightly. “But I’ll need to see you as soon as possible. Someone has stolen my spell book, and the police are being as useless as ever. I fear what the thieves might do with it.”
“Your spell book?” Heather blinked. “Yes, of course. I had no idea you were a witch—or is it sorcerer?”
Ms Watley snorted. “Heavens, neither of those. I am a wizard.”
Acknowledgements
It’s here! This book was nearly finished at the end of 2018, and I expected it to be published months earlier than it was. But that’s life for you, and it’s been a crazy year of opportunities competing with backwards steps (or what feels backwards until you’re given the gift of hindsight) and a ton of unexpected hurdles thrown in. But honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So, let’s get to some acknowledgements! In no order whatsoever, infinite thanks go to Mara Townsend, Andrea, and Spirit for being the first ones to hold this wailing, helpless baby in your hands. (Am I talking about myself or the manuscript? Who knows!) You helped me whip it into shape (again, me? The manuscript? Jury’s out but thanks are deserved) and make sense of a thousand ideas that all needed and deserved space to breathe.
Thanks, too, to Holly Ostara for being the best writing sprint buddy one could have, and to AngstyG for your AMAZING covers for the series r
ebrand. I’m in love. And to the wonderful writers circle I’m beyond lucky to be a part of. You’re all inspirational, iconic humans, and I adore you.
And, finally, thanks to everyone who doesn’t call me out on the Telling of the Bees being (probably) very factually incorrect. Yes, it’s based off that Tumblr post, and yes, I did look it up first, but no, research is not my jam and after a very brief skim of Wikipedia I decided to simply let the idea fly. Please let the idea fly.
About the Author
Ellen Jane Phillips is an Australian indie author of wlw romance. She loves writing about LGBTQ women who experience complex lives, emotions, needs, and desires. Her books are written for people who crave love stories where friendship is just as important as romance, and who want to experience cosy warmth with a hint of mystery, magic, and emotion.
You can find her writing under two pen names: Ellen Jane, and E.J. Phillips. If you like light, cosy wlw romance suffused with magic and mystery, Ellen Jane is the pen name for you. If you prefer something a little heavier, and you like your wlw romance tinged with magic and tender angst, E.J. Phillips is the one you want. When she isn't writing, you can find her walking the dogs, playing D&D, or bemoaning the number of days since she last ate nachos.
Website: http://ellenjanephillips.com
She is most active on Instagram @ellenjanewrites but you can follow for news, updates, and occasional snippets under the same name on Tumblr and Twitter as well. For updates delivered straight to your email, you can sign up to her newsletter at her website.
Also by Ellen Jane
Magic, Murder & Mistletoe
Heather is looking forward to another quiet Christmas with her dogs. However, her plans get a touch waylaid when someone sees fit to stick a knife in the Earl of Denbigh. To make things even better, magic is in the air, and it’s not the festive kind.
Being the only two magic users at the scene of the crime, suspicion falls on Heather and the compelling stranger, Sinéad. If they want to prove their innocence, they’ll have to work together. Just one problem: Sinéad is a sorcerer, and Heather is a witch. . . and everyone knows that witches and sorcerers don’t get along.
Things escalate when someone starts sabotaging their investigation, but Sinéad is determined to see the case through to the bitter end, and Heather won’t let her do it alone. Can they catch the killer before the killer catches up to them?
Magic, Murder & Mistletoe is a paranormal cosy mystery with a sweet lesbian romance and lots of Christmas cheer.
Available on Amazon.
A Match Made at Christmas
Lee has been secretly in love with her best friend’s older sister, Jo, for eight years when a fortune-teller proclaims Jo is ready to return Lee’s feelings.
At first, Lee doesn't believe her, but when she finds a mysterious book of matches that bring good luck when they're lit, it seems Christmas miracles could be real. But just as fate favours her, her luck fails. The magic goes awry, and every time she strikes a match, disaster occurs.
The fortune-teller warns Lee that something is interfering with her destiny, and she needs to look inward to find the solution. Can Lee figure out what is ruining her luck before she hurts someone, or should she give up on her Christmas dreams altogether?
A Christmas short story of approximately 16k words (~40 pages). Full of mutual pining, cosy romance, and Christmas cheer.
Available on Amazon.
