It was still a struggle not to call him, so I could hear his voice, and just make sure he was as okay as he appeared to be. But I knew my son well enough to know that no version of him would appreciate a six am wake-up phone call.

  I clutched my phone to my chest and smiled.

  I could wait a few more hours.

  ***

  The creak of the stairs was my only warning before Marty came lumbering into the kitchen, still looking half asleep. He shuffled towards the coffeepot, but changed directions when his bleary eyes glanced over at me, where I was sitting at the table, drinking my own cup of coffee, and wondering how in the world I was going to get back to my life, five years in the past.

  Remembering Noelle’s words about not worrying, I pushed the thoughts aside and decided to, instead, trust.

  Marty dropped a kiss onto my forehead, pausing long enough to stretch his hands over his head and yawn a, “Good morning, Pops. Merry Christmas Eve.”

  I noticed that the paunch around his middle was now quite a bit bigger than it had been and I couldn’t stifle my amused smile.

  “Morning,” I managed as I watched him continue to the counter, where it took him a couple seconds to remember where I kept the mugs and once he did, he returned to the coffeepot.

  I had to fight back a smile. I always knew Marty was the furthest thing from a morning person. Between his freelance graphic design business, and his ghost busting business, he was a lot more likely to see dawn from the other side than be up at six am. But that didn’t make his slow, sleepy shuffle any less entertaining.

  Marty turned away from the counter, squinting at me. He lifted the coffeepot up, and kind of waggled it at me. At first, I thought he’d given up on trying to pour it into a mug and was just going straight for the source, but I finally clued in that he was asking me if I wanted more.

  “No, thank you.” I showed him the mostly full cup in my hands. “I’ve still got some.”

  With another sleepy little mumble, Marty went about fixing his own cup.

  I cradled my mug between my hands, letting the heat of it soak into my fingers. It was nice, being here with Marty just like usual, while everything outside was dark, soft, and quiet.

  If I was being honest though, while I was always happy to see Marty, everything felt… comfortable. Like this was the way we woke up each and every morning—like I would watch Marty struggle into the kitchen, stretch and stifle a yawn with his hair standing straight on end and sleep still gunked into the corners of his eyes. I glanced down at the faded pajamas I was wearing and couldn’t help but feel that just like my worn-out pjs, we’d worn ourselves into a familiar groove, and while it felt nice and comfy… it also seemed to be missing something.

  While Roy, my ex-boyfriend, and I hadn’t worked out, on account of him having a soulmate in Fifi, there had always been passion in our relationship. Excitement. I’d always been able to feel the prickle of awareness whenever we were physically near each other.

  Or Andre...

  But that was a name and a subject I wasn’t going to touch.

  I managed to work up a smile as Marty plunked himself down into the chair opposite me, cradling his coffee like it was a lifeline. He couldn’t seem to manage to keep his eyes open until after the first few swallows from his mug.

  “You awake?” I teased, and Marty gave me a sleepy smile.

  “Almost.” He yawned. “You’re picking Finn up from the bus station, right?” he asked. I nodded and then he nodded. “I can finish up the last of the wrapping while you’re out.”

  Warm fondness filled me as I watched Marty finish his cup of coffee and then he yawned once more before he appeared to be even remotely awake.

  “Thanks, McFly,” I said on a laugh.

  That made him blink and there was a surprised expression on his face when he looked over at me. “You haven’t called me that in a while,” he said with a lopsided, goofy smile. “Like… in years.”

  I shrugged, lifting my mug up for a hasty swallow of coffee, hoping it hid my slip-up. “I’m feeling nostalgic,” I muttered against the rim.

  Normally, I loved the quiet mornings. Just me and my coffee, watching the sun rise through my kitchen window as I thought about getting Finn up and ready for school. But with Marty here, my mind was racing. I just didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t come off as odd, given the fact that I was still five years in the past and he… wasn’t.

  Anxiety crawled up my spine. The quiet between us wasn’t companionable. It felt suffocating. Suddenly, the cozy familiar kitchen felt a little claustrophobic. The rings on my left hand suddenly weighed twenty pounds and it was all I could do to remain sitting. I was just too worried I might say the wrong thing, or do something Marty would consider strange. My nerves were pulled tight and humming like violin strings and I put my mug down on the table a little too hard.

  “So,” I started. “I was thinking of going into town to pick up a couple last minute things before I head to Portland to get Finn. Do you, uh, need anything?”

  Marty squinted at me, and a little prickle ran down my spine. Did he suspect something was off? Was this not how future Poppy acted? Was I screwing this whole thing up?

  But no, it was just Marty’s morning brain taking a minute to boot up.

  “Mmm, don’t think so.” He blinked, taking another long sip of his coffee. “I didn’t have any plans today, other than puttering around and helping you with whatever you need.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Shoving away from the table, I carried my mug over to the sink, suddenly eager to get out of the kitchen. “Okay, I’m going to go take a shower, then.” At least I could probably draw out getting ready until the stores were soon to open, though I felt a little guilty leaving Marty just sitting there by himself.

  But he didn’t seem to mind. He just smiled as a little expression of mischief crossed his face. “You want me to join you?”

  At the thought of him joining me in the shower, I swallowed hard. “Um, no, I’m feeling a little… hurried this morning.”

  He nodded and looked a little disappointed, even as I was relieved. “Okay, Pops.”

  It took some effort, but I managed to keep my steps even and not look like I was fleeing the room.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Haven Hollow was beautiful under a blanket of freshly fallen snow.

  Everything looked a little too perfect, like a Christmas card. I couldn’t help but wonder if some of the supernaturals had banded together to make the town look so picturesque for the holiday tourists. Maybe things with the Winter Court of Faeries had calmed down enough that we could have a peaceful Christmas, again. Wars of succession had a way of complicating the holidays.

  The town Council had gone all out with their decorating. The entire downtown was done up with pretty garlands of evergreen boughs decorating all the telephone poles, and wreaths on the street lights. Every storefront featured painted windows with Christmassy scenes and all the trees were wound up in white fairy lights.

  There was a cluster of white wicker reindeer on the lawn outside Stomper’s Creamery, lit up from beneath with a spotlight. Sweeter Haunt’s front window was filled with fake snow and little lights to better show off the candy canes, peanut brittle, marshmallow Santas, and hot cocoa bombs that were on display there. Just walking past it had my mouth watering.

  Up the street, I could see the Half-Moon Bar and Grill, still closed this early in the day, but someone had gone to a lot of effort to flock the windows with fake snow, so they looked like something from Santa’s workshop.

  Even Wanda’s Witchery was done up for the holidays. Though witches actually celebrated Yule this time of year and weren’t necessarily big on Christmas, Wanda had always had a good instinct for what would draw customers into her store, and it had only gotten better once her cousin, Maverick, had started working for her. Maverick might have been a cantankerous grouch, but he was actually more pleasant to customers than Wanda was, herself.

  I strolled up the sidewalk, my hands in my pockets, and looked in through the windows at the mannequins on display there, each of them wearing an absolutely gorgeous holiday dress. Office parties were big business, especially when the clothing was enchanted for poise and confidence, and maybe even impressing someone enough to get a promotion out of the deal.

  My eyes drifted, and I realized with a little surprise that Wanda’s shop had actually expanded into the space next door, where a stationery store had been before. I was beyond happy to know that Wanda was doing so well in the future that she was able to expand her shop. The window display in what was once the stationery store was now taken up with beautiful and sexy satin pajamas, which were, according to the sign, guaranteed to give the wearer the best night’s sleep.

  That made me think of my own restless night’s sleep, and my stomach gave a little unpleasant twist. I had to turn away sharply at the memory of the dream in which Marty had accused me of not being in love with him.

  From what I could tell, it wasn’t like marrying Marty had ended up… bad necessarily. That morning was a perfect example of how things were cozy and comfortable between us—just like I was used to. There had been a definite feeling of peaceful domesticity, of easy familiarity. Marty was one of my favorite people and being able to spend the rest of my life with him… well, it would be nice.

  It was nice. I’d just witnessed that firsthand.

  Right?

  Yes, but…

  Something was missing.

  Something was always missing.

  Searching for a distraction, I let myself look over across the street to where my own store stood proudly. I walked across the brick expanse, eager to see if anything had changed inside Poppy’s Potions.

  The outside of my store was all done up for Christmas, with a display of delicate glass bottles and an array of candles already anointed and ready to be lit. There were garlands hung around the edges of the window, with little glass ornaments hanging from the evergreen boughs, and I made a little sound of excitement at how pretty it all was.

  My store hadn’t expanded like Wanda’s, but then, potions took up a heck of a lot less room than gowns, purses and shoes. I was eager to see any changes made to the inside of the shop, so I fumbled my keys out of my pocket and let myself in. A little gasp escaped me as I flicked on the overhead lights and stared at all the glittering displays.

  All my antique, heavy wooden cabinets were still there, which was good because I loved how they made the store look like an old-time apothecary shop. But glass shelves had been interspersed between them, along with dark wood racks towards the back of the store. The glass shelves had beautiful little fairy lights draped over them, shining straight through and making everything look like it had been carved out of gleaming ice.

  I wandered the aisles, running my fingers along a shelf here, examining a potion bottle there, and taking notes about the ideas that I absolutely loved so I could work them into my own plans as soon as possible. Was that cheating? Maybe. But some of them were just too good to pass up.

  I loved being inside my shop. There was something about all the gleaming dark wood, and the pretty glass, as well as the scents of almond oil and citrus and clove that just helped to melt the tension from my shoulders.

  One thing I noticed though, after my second spin through the rows of shelves, was the change in my stock. Well, not change exactly. More like a whole line of potions was decidedly missing. While there were still tons of different types of potions, dreamcatchers and anointed candles, and even a couple examples of wax melts that were infused, some of my more popular recipes seemed to be missing.

  I never stocked anything dangerous, or illicit like hexing type potions. That just wasn’t my style—not the sort of mojo I wanted to put out into the world. So it wasn’t the lack of dark potions that had caught my attention. More, it was the lack of love-related potions and the sexier side of the love potions like lust potions that were causing me to do a double-take.

  I’d always carried a few harmless… adult potions. Nothing dirty, no matter how many times Astrid might have accused me (just to get a rise out of me). But potions like Love’s Goddess, or Come to Me oil or Aura of Venus, all of which could be used to attract male attention. Some were excellent as massage oils with an intimate partner. And some could be used to, ah, help warm the ol’ engine up, so to say. The point was, I used to have a discrete little shelf section towards the back of the store for people who were looking to spice things up in the bedroom or to get the attention of that cute co-worker they’d been eyeing.

  But that section and those potions were now gone. In fact, as I moved around the future version of my store, I couldn’t find a single potion that had anything to do with love, lust, or really any strong emotion at all. Could it be that I was just sold out? But as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I immediately discarded it. It didn’t seem possible to have sold out of every one of them. Maybe I just didn’t carry them any longer? That seemed kind of short sighted though. Love and lust potions were some of my biggest sellers.

  So, why had I stopped carrying love potions?

  A little nagging feeling of something being off squirmed through me and even though I tried to shake the feeling away, it wouldn’t go.

  Why had I stopped carrying love potions?!

  Unless a lot of things had changed in just five years, I still had one place to check for the answer.

  My own notes.

  Potion making could be an intensely personal thing. Mostly, I followed the same recipes as my mother and her mother before her, but sometimes I made little adjustments, here and there, following my own instincts regarding what felt right to me. And I tended to keep a lot of notes of my experiments: notes on what worked, what didn’t, and what I thought might have gone wrong if something wasn’t successful. The notes helped me hone my craft, and I was fairly sure I hadn’t stopped writing them because they’d been a huge part of my potion making all along.

  It took a bit of searching, but eventually I found the little leather-bound notebook tucked under the drawer in the antique cash register. Flipping through it took some work. Quite a few things had changed in five years, after all, and one of them seemed to be how I sorted my note taking. I had to turn back quite a few pages to find the answer to my question. And when I did, my heart sank.

  From what I read in my notes, it seemed I hadn’t been able to brew any strong love or lust-based potions for the past three years. Each time I tried, the magic just didn’t seem to want to stick.

  Today I tried to brew Charlotte’s Web, I read from my notes in an entry dated two years ago. But the potion just sort of fizzled when I joined the ingredients, leaving a limp gray mess that did nothing and smelled even worse.

  That was strange.

  More than strange, actually. It was unnerving because Charlotte’s Web was one of my easiest love potions to brew and one of my biggest sellers.

  Oh, sure, I’d botched potions before. I’d let myself get distracted, or maybe I’d get the ratio of my ingredients off. It happened, especially when I was first learning. And then again after I’d joined Wanda’s coven and my magic got pretty funky for a bit. I guessed that was what happened when you melded with a group of witches, some of them Blood Witches, infected with vampire blood. Most recently, I was still trying to figure out where they ended and I began.

  At least Wanda’s inability to brew a potion hadn’t infected me. I’d never made anything explode, so there was that. But I’d also never just had potions stop working for me.

  I slipped the notebook back into its hiding place and shivered, feeling suddenly chilled in spite of the warmth of the store. There was just this uneasiness building inside me, making my stomach churn.

  I suddenly needed some fresh air, so I left the sign turned to closed and locked the store back up. It was for the best, anyway. What if someone came in who’d ordered something and I didn’t know what in the world they were talking about? It would seem like I’d lost my mind. Besides, I would need to leave for Portland in a little bit to pick up Finn. Future me would just have to deal with the loss of revenue of last-minute potion shoppers.

  And on that thought, I had another one—what about Future Me? Was I going to walk into myself five years from now? And if that happened, would the world cease to be or something? The more I thought about it though, the more I didn’t think it was possible. It wasn’t like I’d arrived five years in the future, looking like Poppy from five years in the past. As far as I could tell, I was Poppy five years from now—I just had no memory of the years that had gone by.

  I almost crossed the street to go back to Wanda’s shop. My witch BFF always had a way of putting things into perspective for me, usually with a near lethal dose of sarcasm, true, but I appreciated her brutal honesty.

  Then I remembered, Wanda wouldn’t be in her store, not while the sun was up, at least. I was assuming that, five years down the road, she’d still be pretending to have been turned into a vampire by Lorcan. That was how they’d managed to get the covens and the vampires off their backs about Wanda being a Blood Witch. I didn’t see that changing anytime soon, and that had to mean she’d still kept up her nocturnal lifestyle.

  So, really, there was no one I could talk to. It was a little disappointing, but at least the town looked beautiful in all its holiday finery. As I stood there, a gentle snow started, glittering flakes falling from the pewter clouds like something out of a fairy tale. The nice kind of fairy tale, for children, at least. But as far as the Fae went, I didn’t trust them as far as I could throw them.

  As I walked back down Main Street, looking at the lights and the trees and the red ribbon wrapped lamppost that looked like a candy cane, with the carols trickling through the air each time a door opened, I just couldn’t seem to enjoy it. Christmas was one of my favorite times of year, and yet I couldn’t seem to get into the spirit of things at all. There was this pit inside my stomach, an aching kind of hollowness, and I just couldn’t seem to shake it.