I hear the satisfying click as I lock up the shop door. Peering out through the glass at the deep pinks and golds of dusk, bouncing off the puddles on the cobbled street. I imagine the humans of the town finishing their day, leaving offices, coffee shops and banks, looking forward to the warmth of home, a place of sanctuary. Mine right now, as Alisdair, Frederick and the elders continued to make my existence as painful as possible, was far from that.

Few people in the coven had jobs that took them away from the village. Most lived on what the land provided and sold what our ancestors had taught us to produce. But it had been a long time since my father had done more than drink his days away, and though Mum's foraging and potion making was the envy of the coven and Lark's skill with a needle kept her in demand, I had no such talents. Or revealable talent anyway. To help keep food on the table, and the wi-Fi switched on, I worked afternoons here. And of all my failures, this was the one I was actually grateful for.

I stroll back to the counter through the bookshop. It smells the way bookshops are supposed to - a musty odour of dusty pages, mixed with the fresh scent of newly printed paperbacks and ink. It's an old shop, like all on this little road in town. The sort of small country town where the pub and church were the centre of all life, where the bakery and coffee shop were the closest thing to modern living.

The small shop is made up of rows and rows of towering dark bookcases. Over the few years I've worked here, I've tried to modernise. Tried to make it as welcoming to the teenager and young mum as it is to pensioners and stuffy academics. I've replaced Morris's hand-scribbled signs with printed new ones, and created tables with the latest TikTok craves, beautiful special editions and juicy romance paperbacks. I set up a small nook at the back so parents can read the new collection of picture books to their kids.

I have so many ideas of what I could do to this place, and if Morris was still here, no doubt he'd indulge me. He always did. He loved books. And he didn't care much what people read as long as they were reading. I showed him the book communities online and his crinkly old face had burst into a boyish grin.

Maybe if he hadn't died so suddenly, he would have had a will and the shop wouldn't have automatically been left to his wife Maud, who had instantly put her eldest son in charge, Shawn. The one dark cloud in the bright sky that is 'Rivertown Reads'.

I put a few books away, left in the wrong areas by customers or scattered by distracted children. Go through the same old routine - dusting the floor, straightening shelves of books, putting the cushions in the kid nook back into place. Smiling, and trying to ignore the heavy lump in my belly at knowing I was about to leave the one place I felt happy for another day. Less than a week ago I'd almost lost my life and for whatever reason the goddess had spared me, and as much as I'd like it to be to lead a nice, quiet life selling books I doubted the power that lurked beneath my flesh would allow me such a privilege. Still, for a few hours a day, I could dream.

Taking a deep breath, I stick my head around the door. Shawn should be cashing up, but instead he's staring hard at his phone, biting down on his lip as he desperately tries to complete whatever level he's losing on Candy Crush. His mostly balding head is reflecting the light from the small window, and his fading polo shirt is covered with crumbs from the half-eaten pasty resting on the desk. Shawn doesn't care about books, he doesn't care much about business either. His only interest is doing as little as possible and blaming any demand for his time on everyone else's incompetence.

"I've closed up and tidied, so... I'm heading off." He grunts and I roll my eyes, knowing he isn't looking. I glance down at the abandoned piles of cash. "Or... I could help you cash up, if you'd like."

He chuckles. "I think it's better if I do it, right? We'll be here all night if we have to do it more than once."

What he means is - if I make a mistake. I cashed up every night when I worked for Morris and not once did we have to do it again. I'm fairly certain the real reason Shawn doesn't want to cash up is because he's stealing from the business. Biting my lip, I say nothing, just turn around and leave him to it.

Grabbing my bag, I leave the bookshop and its relative comforts behind. The town is quiet as I pass through. Its colloquial stone houses and cobbled streets are mostly empty. The unexpected heat of a rare sunny day in autumn has most people relaxing in their gardens or swimming in the nearby river. I follow the long-winding road and leave the pale-gold houses behind, a few thatched roofs and the sound of laughter from the beer garden behind The Crown, the pub being the last building before town turns into countryside.

It's over an hour's walk up the steep grassy hills until I reach the dark woods that lead home. The town left in the bright sunlight behind me. I slip into the trees, feel the coolness of the shaded darkness around me. I slip off my shoes and scrunch my toes into the soft ground under my bare feet. Everything here feels serene, in at peace. In the space between the human town and the coven's village, shrouded by trees and their protective branches, I could be me. Magic unspools from me like thread, and buttercups and daisies bloom around my feet. I stretch my fingers to the sky - the leaves uncurl from the tree branches atop my head. I spin on the spot, let the fresh air, the calming sounds of the forest and my power running free, soothe my restless heart.

A twig snaps nearby and I flinch. My body freezes. My heart pounding hard in my ears. I can't see anything through the trees, but I don't care. There's no one, not even Mum or Lark, I could risk with the truth of what I am - the lowest of the low but with more power in my fingertips than the whole coven combined. Ignoring the gnawing feeling low in my belly, I head home.

***

The room I share with my little sister is tiny. Cold in the winter and scorching in the summer. I wander in and drop my bag on the frayed rug beside my bed, smiling at the chaos I see scattered across Lark's side of the room. A rainbow of silks and ribbon and lace. Clothes have always been her passion. Since she was old enough to speak, she had an opinion about style and fashion. Despite our isolation from the humans of the town, Lark makes a point of having her own style. She's currently rummaging around in our shared wardrobe. Her freckled nose creased into a frown. She's so engrossed, I don't think she even knows I'm home.

She reaches up, grunting as her petite form struggles to tug out a sequined dress that looks less like an outfit and more like a sweet wrapper to me. I take off my coat and hang it on the wooden hook behind the door. Compared to Lark's side, my space looks untouched. My bed is neatly made with a small desk and bookcase filled to bursting underneath a small window. Lark's looks like an explosion, like a Pinterest board threw up on the floor and walls. But I like the chaos. It makes me think of her.

"And where are you going to wear that?" She squeaks, jumping and tugging the dress to her chest. When she sees me, she relaxes a little, but her eyes are still alert. Guilt is written all over her face, and she's biting down on her lip. I exhale and sink onto my bed, looking up at her. The playfulness leaves my body with a sigh as the truth dawns on me. "It's you, isn't it? You've been sneaking into the wolves' compound?" I keep my voice low. Dad would be furious, and in his typical drunken state, anything could happen. Mum doesn't care much for any rule decreed by Alisdair, but I know she doesn't trust the wolves. She wouldn't approve, either.

Lark sighs and drops on her bed, watching me cautiously. "And if I was to say yes..."

"Do you have any idea what Alasdair would do if he found out? You could be banished. Or worse."

She rolls her eyes and glances down into her lap whilst adjusting a few errant sequins. "What's worse than a life with no fun, huh? A life with no life. Come on, Bella. Don't you want to make some memories before the goddess matches me with some boring Alisdair clone? Or worse.... Frederick." She shudders, her lips twitch, but I don't smile at the joke. I can't.

"You want to end up like me? The elders hated me before. They loathe me now. No one will even look at me in case they're associated with me. Is it worth the risk? I almost died, Lark. If the goddess had willed it, I wouldn't be here."

She sighs and glances out the window.

"They're not like us. They're wild. And they act on what they feel and by the goddess their men are just..." Her eyes turn so far away I can't help but giggle. When she catches me, she flushes a little and then laughs. She stands up and walks back to the wardrobe, resuming her search. "Up there I dance and laugh and..."

I raise an eyebrow and she peeks her head around the wardrobe door to look at me, wiggling her eyebrows.

"And?"

"And fuck." Heat floods my cheeks, and creeps up my neck. "For the first time, Bella... I feel... free. Like a normal human or something."

"We're not human. We're witches. We belong to the goddess."

She rolls her eyes and resumes her search. "Do we? Or do we belong to the elders? To Alisdair." She throws a couple more dresses on the bed.

"You've been listening to Mum."

She walks back over to me and throws a ball of silk in my direction. "You should come. And you should wear that. It's vintage and I love it, but it's too long for me. And the silk is too delicate for me to take up. It would suit you."

I roll my eyes. Glancing down at the silk slip dress in my hands. The colour is beautiful, a greyish-blue the same shade as a thunderstorm, the same shade as my eyes. I stand up and drape the dress down myself in front of our full-length mirror. She was right; the length was perfect on me. I swallow, imagining the silk on my skin cascading down my body like water. But a moment later, I feel foolish.

"Wow... it's deeply unfair that the goddess gave me the style and taste of a supermodel but gave you the height of one." Lark walks to my side, shaking her golden-blonde head playfully.

"You got Mum's boobs, though," I tease.

"We both got Mum's boobs. Also, unfair." She nudges me playfully.

I glance again at myself in the mirror. "I could never wear something like this. I could never..." Lark smiles at me, scanning me up and down, her hands on her hips.

"And yet, you don't seem to be able to put it down."

I chuckle awkwardly and glance at the wooden floor. The dress is still in my hands. She's right, I don't seem to want to part with it. I turn back to the mirror, hold it against my body once more. Lark leans against my shoulder. "I just... I'd be too scared..."

She smiles sadly. "When you ran away on your wedding day, you were..."

"I was terrified. I was..."

"The bravest person I'd ever seen." She exhales and I stare at her, stunned into silence. "Frederick's a monster. That would have been no life at all. But going against the coven, do you know how brave that is?"

I snort. "That wasn't bravery. I was so scared that day."

"I know. But it's not bravery unless you're scared. I think you're forgetting that." She stands on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. I glance down at my little sister.

"Promise me you won't see the wolves again."

"Bella..." she huffs, her hands snapping to her hips.

"Promise me. Swear it."

Rolling her eyes. "Fine. I promise, no more fun with the wolves." She groans loudly and heads back to the pile of dresses on her bed, stomping as she goes. Ignoring her sulking, I turn back to the mirror and the blue silk still flowing down my body. I wonder if he'd be at a party. I wonder what those piercing eyes would do if he saw me in a dress like this? What those rough hands would feel like on silk like this? As if the fabric was on fire, I quickly stuff the dress back into the wardrobe. Where I can't be tempted to make another decision that could make my life even worse. Or end it altogether.

(Word count - 2290/Total word count - 6593)