Rosemary Thornwick's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Rosemary wiped down the long counter and set out fresh jars of dried leaves. Steam curled from the kettle. Outside, the trees pressed close, dark and wet with morning. She measured a pinch of chamomile, then a pinch of something she had grown herself, and stirred. One day, she thought, a cup like this would mend a broken heart. One day it would dull pain that no doctor could touch. She wasn't there yet. But she would be. The door swung open. A woman stepped inside, soaked through, clutching a golden locket against her chest. Rosemary's hands stilled. She knew that face from a life she had buried. The woman set the locket on the counter. The lilac carving caught the lamplight. "She's gone," the woman said. "I need a tea that lets me sleep again." Rosemary's throat closed. She picked up the locket. She nodded once. The work had just walked through her door.