She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Really, Lucy, you can be so unsympathetic at times.”

  “I know. You should report me to the Bureau of Labor.”

  “No doubt you think you’re very funny.”

  But she did stalk over towards the boxes and begin opening them. One thing about Violet, she not only knew the shop better than I did myself, but she was a much better knitter. Okay, she was lazy, but we managed.

  While she unpacked the latest shipment, I got some of my mail orders ready. So many people had taken knitting up as a way to pass the time at home that I was inundated with orders. In fact, that part of my business was growing fast.

  One of our regular customers came in and, as I had, fell in love with that herringbone carpet on the front cover of the latest Teddy Lamont magazine, and I happily pulled together all the wools and supplies for her.

  “Make sure you bring it in when it’s finished. I’d love to take a picture of it and put it on my brag wall.”

  She was delighted and left with a huge smile on her face, especially when I confided that I was making that same rug myself. Violet might laugh at me, but how was I ever going to get better if I didn’t keep practicing? Besides, I was friendly with some extremely good knitters who were only too happy to help me when I got confused. And, as I liked to tell anyone who would listen, mistakes were what made a project unique. And my knitting was extremely unique.

  While we were working away, Nyx was happily snoozing in her basket in the front window, and I had a feeling of genuine contentment. It had been creeping up on me slowly, but I suddenly felt like I was where I was meant to be in the world. For someone who’d spent so much of her life being carted around from archaeological dig to archaeological dig and always feeling out of step with the rest of the world because I was different, I felt like I’d found my place.

  The door opened, and I glanced up to see the witch Forest Sprite, aka Leo, walking in the door. Well, take that, Violet. Not only did he want to see her again, but he was so keen, he’d come into the shop to find her.

  I said, “Violet, you have a visitor.”

  Then I could have bitten my tongue. I sounded like somebody’s coy great-auntie when a boy showed up at the door with a box of chocolates in the 1950s. Violet obviously thought the same thing when she glared at me. Then she tossed her hair back and looked bored. “Oh, hello.”

  “Hi. I was in the neighborhood. Have you got time for lunch?”

  I could see the war going on in her face. Yes, she wanted to go for lunch, because who wouldn’t rather sit around eating food they didn’t have to cook than unpack wool, but she also didn’t want to look too eager. Finally, vanity won out. She said, “I’m sorry. I can’t at the moment.”

  “Right. Sure. You’re working. No worries. As I said, I was in the neighborhood.” He headed to the door and then turned around. “What time do you get off? Do you fancy a drink at the pub?”

  Oh, this was much better. A few hours of advance notice was definitely better than an impromptu invitation.

  She squeezed the skein of wool in her hands a few times like it was a stress ball and then nodded. “All right. I get off at five.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.” Then he raised a hand and said, “Catch you later,” and he was gone.

  “Well, that was good,” I said. “He’s totally smitten.”

  She sighed. “I suppose. It’s all about being a witch, though, for him. I mean, yes, it makes us unique and interesting, but I have other things I’d like to talk about. All he wanted to talk about was spells and my powers and whether I thought this book was better than another one. As though I get my magic from books.”

  “Then I suggest you lead the conversation in the pub this evening. Let him see you have other interests, and maybe you can find out what his are. That’s what dating is, you know, finding common ground with the other person.”

  Like I had so much experience.

  “I suppose you’re right. I’ll give him a proper chance.”

  “That’s the spirit. Or should I say sprite?”

  She glared at my terrible pun. Who could blame her?

  We went back to what we’d been doing. A couple of customers came in, including Clara and Mabel, two of my favorite vampires. We were having a vampire knitting club meeting tonight and, knowing them, they’d have finished all their projects by ten o’clock.

  Clara’s eyes lit on the newest Teddy Lamont magazine, and she said, “Oh, what a lovely rug. Wouldn’t that be nice beside my bed?”

  Mabel agreed that it would. I said, not without pride, “I’m knitting one of those myself.”

  There was a strained pause and then they both burst out laughing.

  “No. Really, I am.”

  “Dear, that’s quite a complicated pattern. Are you sure you’re ready?” Clara asked gently.

  “No.” I wanted to pout. Maybe I’d never be ready. Maybe I was destined to live my life as the knitting shop owner who couldn’t knit. The butt of jokes from my staff to my vampire knitters.

  Mabel came over and patted my hand. “Never mind. We can help you if you get stuck.”

  Actually, that’s what I’d been planning all along.

  “Don’t get too far ahead of me before tonight,” I begged them.

  Mabel bought the lime green wool I’d accidently ordered, misreading the code and thinking it was forest green. I’d been contemplating dropping the price in half just to get rid of it, but she was delighted.

  “You so rarely have lovely, bright colors, Lucy. This is exactly what I was looking for. Won’t it make a lovely jumper.”

  I couldn’t look at anyone else in the shop, alive or undead, as I pictured her in an entire sweater in that hideous color. “You won’t get lost,” I said with as much diplomacy as I could manage.

  She scooped up balls and balls and then said, “And enough for a skirt, too, I think.”

  Oh, dear.

  She looked at Clara, sounding very excited. “And don’t you think if I knitted a pretty knit snood, I could put some nice pink flowers on it?”

  “I think that would look lovely, dear.”

  They went off perfectly happy, and I wondered if we’d soon be reading about this strange creature appearing in the wee hours around Oxford, looking like Thoroughly Modern Milly had gone radioactive.

  When the door opened again, to my surprise it was William, and with him was a woman about his own age who looked very pleased to be standing by his side.

  William had the look of somebody who’s been staring at the sun too long. He came over to me. “Lucy, I want you to meet Felicity Stevens. Felicity was at the dinner on Saturday night. We’ve been having coffee together, and she told me how much she’s always wanted to learn how to knit. What a coincidence, as we were only next door. I was delighted to tell her we were beside the best knitting shop in Oxford and had to bring her right here.”

  As happy as I always was to welcome a new customer into my shop, I could feel waves of jangled energy coming from Violet. It was like live wires zapping at my skin. She came forward. “Felicity, what a surprise.” She didn’t sound thrilled.

  Felicity was blond, nicely dressed and had one of those posh accents that made her sound as though she had a head cold. “Oh, hello. Why, you’re the waitress from the other night. Sorry, I can’t remember your name.” There was an unspoken end to that sentence which went something like, “I can never remember the names of the hired help.”

  William, who didn’t seem to be picking up the complicated undertones, looked absolutely delighted to see Violet. “What a good job you’re here, Vi. Between the two of you, I know you and Lucy can help Felicity get started.” He looked so pleased to have three women he liked all launched on a common project. So sweet. So misguided.

  I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to treat Felicity Stevens like I would any new customer. “Do you have much knitting experience?”

  She looked startled by the question. “I’ve never knit a stitch in my life. My nanny used to knit when we were children. But when William was telling me about you and your darling little shop, I knew it was exactly what I needed to fill my lonely evenings.” She glanced longingly at William as she said it as though she were hoping he’d offer to fill them for her.

  I knew plenty of single women who enjoyed evenings alone with their knitting and their cats. Felicity Stevens did not look like one of them. I don’t know what made me think she’d be found out on the party circuit rather than quietly knitting at home in front of a fire. I just knew.

  But the tiger can change his stripes, I reminded myself. No, actually, I think that was the whole point of that fable. The tiger can’t change his stripes. However, if Felicity Stevens wanted to spend money in my knitting shop, I wasn’t going to stop her. If she never knit more than a row, that was nothing to do with me.

  I began my usual session that I had with brand-new knitters, and within a couple of minutes, William said, “Right, then, I’ll leave you ladies to it. Lovely seeing you again, Felicity. I’ve got your number. I’ll be in touch.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said, beaming at him. With a wave to all of us, William left.

  I’d have gone back to a discussion of the best needles for the beginner, the best wools, and naturally, I’d have sold her on our beginner knitting class, but the door was barely shut behind him when she said, “Isn’t he absolutely wonderful?”

  I blinked at her. “Who? William? He’s very nice.”

  “He cooks like a dream.”

  “He does,” I agreed. “Now, if you’re interested in starting with a garment–”

  She put a hand on my wrist. “How well do you know him, Lucy?”

  I really didn’t want to be interrogated about William by a stranger. Especially now that Rafe had confirmed he was a wealthy man. “Hardly at all.”

  She turned to Violet. “And you? You must know more about him, seeing as you work for him. I mean, what’s he really like?”

  “What’s he like?” I could see Violet getting ready to say something most likely rude, so I hastily answered the question myself.

  “William’s an excellent chef, as you’ve noticed. Otherwise, he’s more an acquaintance than a friend. Now, did you decide on the wool?”

  Obviously seeing her chance to escape, Violet beelined for the back room, where she noisily began opening more of the boxes that had arrived that morning.

  Twenty minutes later, Felicity Stevens left my shop with a large bag of purchases and hopefully not too many answers to her extremely nosy questions about William. Violet had stayed in the back room. However, as soon as the bells rang announcing that our only customer had left, my assistant came stomping out of the back room.

  “You didn’t have to be so nice to her. You practically put on the kettle for tea and asked her to be godmother to your children.”

  I was taken aback by the aggression. “Violet, this is a knitting shop. She came in to buy knitting supplies. What was I supposed to do? Throw her out?”

  “You didn’t have to encourage her to linger. She’s insufferable.” She struck a pose with her nose in the air. “Of course, our nanny used to knit, when she wasn’t out grooming my pony and polishing my solid gold doll’s house.” She’d said it in a pretty good imitation of Felicity’s voice, so I struggled not to laugh.

  “Anyone’s allowed to knit. What’s really going on here? Is it because William seems to like her?”

  She got all huffy at that. “I don’t like her. Call it my witch’s intuition. Or my woman’s intuition. Some kind of intuition is telling me that woman is not someone we need in our space.”

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, Violet arrived late for work. This was nothing new; she considered anything within ten to fifteen minutes of her start time to be punctual. I greeted Violet cheerfully, and she glared at me. She was dressed all in black, a long black cardigan over a black shirt, a long black skirt and black boots. Both in attitude and garb, she reminded me of Hester on one of her bad days.

  “How did it go with your date? The one from Witch Date?” I guessed that might be the source of the mood.

  She blew out a breath and slumped back against a wall of wools. “Dismal. I’m afraid I behaved rather badly. He’s just so annoying, and he’s not a proper witch at all. Not like you and me. I don’t think he has any powers. He likes the idea of being a witch. He was acting like a fanboy, wanting to know all my secrets.”

  Witchery, like every other pastime, drew its wannabes. Usually, Violet was more generous.

  “I put up with it for as long as I could stand, and then I asked him some pretty searching questions that he couldn’t answer. Naturally, I told him I had no time for fakes. That he was a complete poser and he could go on Plenty of Fish like all the other mortals or I’d report him to my coven to be dealt with.”

  Ouch.

  She shrugged. “As I said, I behaved rather badly. I was going to send him an apology, but he’s taken his profile down from Witch Date.”

  “I guess he took you seriously.”

  She got a bit huffy. “Well, I did the world of witches a favor then.”

  I knew she felt guilty, but it was a trying day, with her in a bad mood and me trying so hard to be extra nice to the customers that I ended the day with a headache.

  That night, I gave myself a good talking to. I couldn’t let my assistant ruin the atmosphere in the shop like that. I decided if she was bad-tempered the following day, I’d have to say something. Nyx patiently stared at me while we role-played. I played me. She played Violet. I only hoped Vi would be as placid if I did have to reprimand her. Though I doubted it.

  I was ready to nip any bad attitude in the bud the next morning when she arrived.

  But when she came into the shop, she stood inside the door unmoving. She held something in her hands and was staring at it. From the other end of the room, it looked white and ceramic. I wondered if it was a knitting bowl. From her usual spot in the window, Nyx let out a very strange howl and jumped out of the window embrasure and onto the floor. She stared at Violet with her back arched, her mouth open in a silent hiss.

  What on earth? Then I turned to look at Violet properly. She was standing stock still with a shocked expression on her face. That wasn’t a knitting bowl. It was a pale object with decorations of some sort.

  “What is that?”

  “You tell me? And what was it doing right in front of your door?”

  I walked closer and then finally made out that the pale-looking thing she was holding out was a skull. Not human, as I quickly ascertained, but some kind of animal skull. There were markings on it, something that looked like scrawled writing in a language I didn’t recognize, and some feathers and smaller bones dangling from it.

  I understood why Nyx had freaked out. The thing was giving off a nasty vibe.

  “I have no idea.”

  She shook her head at me. “Why didn’t you move this? You’ll put off all your customers if they see a bleached skull in the front of the shop.”

  “I never come in the front way. You know that. I live upstairs. My commute is the run down the stairs into the shop. Then I open the blinds, turn on the lights, open the cash register, unlock the door, and I’m done.”

  “Well, you’d better start looking outside from now on. That front entrance is the customer’s first impression, and this isn’t giving a very good one.”

  Nyx had finished having a fit. Now she stood by the door up to the flat and meowed. Thanks for the support, Nyx, I thought as I opened the door and she scampered once more upstairs to our flat.

  I came closer and looked at the skull. Violet put it on top of the desk as though she couldn’t stand to touch it anymore. Not that I blamed her.

  “Could someone have dropped it?” I asked. It was a pretty stupid question, but how else did a skull find its way to a storefront on Harrington Street? “Maybe it’s part of a class at Cardinal College and a student lost it somehow.” Cardinal College was up the street from us, and we often had students walking past.

  She shook her head, looking worried. “I don’t think that this ended up in the doorway by accident.”

  “You mean someone put a dead animal head outside my door deliberately?”

  I admit, immediately my thoughts went to the vampires. Was this some sort of weird vampire joke? Their sense of humor could be very peculiar.

  She shook her head. “Look at the markings. It’s witchcraft. A curse of some sort.”

  I looked more closely and saw what she meant. Pentagrams had been drawn crudely in black and some letters that made no sense.

  “But why? Who?”

  We both stared at the skull. “Two excellent questions.”

  “What did they use to draw this stuff? Crayon?” I tried to sound sarcastic to hide my growing unease.

  She was a lot more experienced a witch than I was, and I wasn’t surprised when she said, “That’s not crayon. I suspect it’s drawn with ashes and a burned wand.”

  “That sounds creepy. What kind of ashes?”

  “Depends what was burned.”

  I turned to her. “What should we do with it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can’t we throw it away?” I wanted this thing far away from me. Its energy was nasty.

  She put a hand to her heart. “Don’t even say such a thing. I feel the negative energy coming from it. I’m just not sure what kind or how deadly.”

  Now it was my turn to put my hand to my heart. “Deadly?”

  “Haven’t you been studying your grimoire at all? All those lessons Margaret Twigg’s been teaching you? Do you think witchcraft is nothing but snapping your fingers and having the wools magically tidy themselves up?”

  Okay, that was my favorite spell and probably the one I was most proficient at because I practiced it the most often, but I knew perfectly well there was dark magic as well as light. I just preferred to concentrate on the light.

  “Well, I’m not having it sitting in the middle of my cash desk. If it scares the customers away, that’s a curse right there.”

 

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