“No. We can’t leave it here. We’ll have to take it upstairs to your flat.”

  “What? No.”

  “What about taking it downstairs to the vampires?”

  “But what if it’s from them? What if it’s a practical joke and all we do is encourage them to play more by reacting?”

  She tapped her fingers on the desktop and regarded the skull more closely. “I don’t think this was made by vampires. Look at those marks.”

  We were still staring at the thing when the door opened. Without even thinking, I took the skull and shoved it in the cupboard underneath my cash desk and slammed the door on it before anyone else could see it.

  “Good morning,” I said a shade too brightly as two older ladies came into the store. They explained that they lived in a small Cotswold village and a friend had sent them my newsletter, so they’d decided to come and see for themselves. I was super excited whenever this happened. I might not be the greatest living witch or the greatest living knitter, but I was turning out to be a pretty handy internet marketer. Those couple of years of business college back in the States hadn’t gone to waste after all. I welcomed them, and soon they were browsing happily. Then another customer came in.

  As soon as her back was turned, Violet leaned across the table and whispered, “You’re going to have to move the skull.”

  I nearly gagged. Her breath was foul. I tried to step back out of the way, wondering how to tactfully suggest a breath mint. I needed to move a dead animal skull from under my cash register and keep Violet out of speaking distance of my customers.

  Before she could offer to help anyone, the two ladies headed for the door. “It’s a lovely shop,” one said to her friend in a low voice, “but there’s a smell.”

  “I noticed it too,” her friend whispered back. “Pity.”

  Oh, this was not good. I had to get that dead thing out of here. I knew my shop didn’t smell, but non-magical people would often explain a bad atmosphere as a smell. It was a way of interpreting things that were outside their realm.

  While we continued with our day, I didn’t have any better idea than Violet did what to do with an animal skeleton’s head that had been left on my doorstep. I felt it there, though, a low-level annoyance. Like a hornet’s nest that you knew was nearby because you could hear the low buzzing of the insects and you were wary any minute that you’d accidently bump into it and find yourself in a world of hurt. So I was careful around the cash desk. I didn’t have to spend too much time at the cash register, as no one was buying. Even people who weren’t witches were probably being put off by the force field of negativity that thing was putting out. I really needed to get rid of it.

  When the third person in a row had walked out without buying anything, Violet looked to me. “Do you think someone’s put a curse on your business?”

  I hadn’t thought about that. “But who would do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a rival knitting shop. You said yourself that all your internet marketing is paying off. People are driving a long way to come to your shop. Maybe some other knitting shop owner’s watched too many of their customers drive past their shop on the way to yours.”

  “You think there are that many witches that own knitting shops?”

  “Maybe. You don’t need to be a witch, though. You could always buy a curse.”

  I knew that was true, but I hated to think about it.

  One thing I knew for sure, I was getting rid of that skeleton head before I opened the shop again tomorrow. I didn’t want to lose any more business.

  I needed that thing out of my space, and the sooner it was gone, the better.

  Chapter 7

  I tried to get Violet to take the skull home with her, but she refused. She also refused to destroy it or let me throw it away. I didn’t want to take it upstairs to my flat or downstairs to the vampires. Who else might store it for me?

  I went through the witches I knew. Margaret Twigg? No. I didn’t trust her. For all I knew, she was the one who’d sold it to a knitting shop rival. My great-aunt Lavinia and Violet’s grandmother? No. She was getting on in years, and I didn’t want to upset her.

  While I didn’t want to put it in the subterranean nest where some of our local vampires lived, I thought maybe Rafe would take charge of the skull for me. That put the cursed thing far away from me and in safe hands. I phoned Rafe and asked him to come to the vampire knitting club meeting a few minutes early because I had something to discuss with him. I didn’t want to talk about curses and skeleton heads on the phone. It sounded creepy and weird. No doubt he was accustomed to creepy and weird, but I tried not to be.

  So about quarter to ten that night, Rafe strolled into my shop where I was waiting for him. He came right up and searched my face with his sharpened gaze. “Lucy, are you well? You sounded a little perturbed.”

  I made a noise too much like a snort to be considered ladylike. “Perturbed barely covers it. Look what Violet found outside the shop this morning,” I said, opening the cupboard beneath my cash register so he could look. I didn’t want to touch the thing; it gave me such an unpleasant feeling.

  He bent down and peered into the dark cupboard. The white of the bone picked up what little light there was and seemed to glow with it. Unlike me, Rafe had no compunction in touching the skull. In fact, he reached in and picked the whole thing up. He tilted it this way and that, studying the symbols and words.

  “Curious.”

  Talk about master of understatement. “Curious? That’s what you have to say?”

  “I haven’t seen one exactly like this in some years. They were quite popular a hundred to two hundred years ago.”

  “What? Putting dead animal heads in front of people’s shops?”

  He turned to me and shook his head. “No. Hexes done this way.” He looked again. “There might be something like it in the Pitt Rivers Museum. You’ll find a lot of old curiosities there.”

  “Hexes? You think this is a hex?”

  “Undoubtedly. Don’t you?”

  Here he had me. I was the witch. Shouldn’t I know if something was a hex or not?

  He said, still studying the object, “Hexe. It’s German for witch, you know.” Just one of the many things I didn’t know.

  “You think a German did this?”

  He smiled slightly. “I don’t. Merely that an object like this signifies a witch is probably involved.”

  “Well, I didn’t think some animal died out on the sidewalk and decomposed before morning.”

  “A goat, I think.”

  It was bad enough knowing it was an animal carcass. Now I actually knew it was a goat. “Poor Billy.”

  “The goat as a symbol is associated with evil. I don’t like this, Lucy. What have you done to annoy people?”

  Why did everyone immediately think it was my fault?

  “I don’t think I’ve done anything. Violet thought maybe it was my newsletter. I’ve developed more business from small towns in the area and all over the world. She wonders if maybe it’s a rival knitting shop owner who wants me to suffer for stealing their business.”

  He looked skeptical. “Is business that good?”

  I immediately ruffled. “It’s not bad.” But I knew what he meant. Cardinal Woolsey’s Knitting Shop was never going to hit the Fortune 500. It wouldn’t even hit the Oxford 500. But it was a tidy little business, and I was quite proud of how well I was doing.

  He looked more closely. “I don’t think this is about business. It’s personal. Have you upset someone personally?”

  “Not deliberately.” In fact, the only person I could think of who had a beef against me was him. He’d asked me to marry him, and all I’d done was think about it obsessively without coming to a decision. Though Rafe wouldn’t put a hex on me. And if he did, at least it would make my decision for me. I was never going to marry a man who would hex me.

  He picked it up and carried it over to where I kept a rack of ready-to-buy knitted garments, which the vampires kept stocked. “Are you planning to buy it a sweater? Maybe a hat?”

  “Come and look in the mirror.” I kept it so people could see themselves in the knitted garments they’d tried on. I never liked being around mirrors and Rafe. As I looked at the skull, which appeared to be floating, I was once more reminded of the vast differences between my undead beau and me.

  “Come closer. Look at the words.”

  I did, and then what I’d thought was random scribble turned out to be a phrase written in English. I’d had trouble deciphering the words because they were written backward.

  Grow ugly, wither and die.

  I shivered. No wonder he believed it was personal. I tried to think of who might want to hurt me. “Sylvia’s not exactly my best friend since she almost got me killed.”

  He shook his head firmly. “Sylvia’s trying to make amends, in her unfortunate manner. Anyway, she’s not this subtle. No, I don’t think a vampire’s behind this.”

  “You think it’s a witch.”

  “It certainly took a witch to make this and imbue it with the magic.”

  At the same time we both said, “Margaret Twigg.”

  He looked at me. “Have you been doing something to annoy the head of your coven?”

  The truth was I was always doing something to annoy the head of my coven. I either didn’t study hard enough or didn’t take my magic seriously enough or didn’t spend enough time with my grimoire. I said, “Just standing near her and breathing seems to annoy Margaret Twigg.”

  He put the head down on the table where I keep magazines and books, and it made a clicking noise. “You know perfectly well that Margaret Twigg is annoyed with you because she senses your power. Hers is waning, and yours is growing every day.”

  This wasn’t a compliment. Or at least, not one I wanted to hear. I was a witch, and it was not a path I had chosen, but I was trying to learn. However, I wasn’t an ambitious witch. I had no desire to replace Margaret Twigg as the head of our coven or anything else. I much preferred to keep a low profile, and okay, I definitely used the tidying-up spell, and perhaps I’d been known to mutter a few words into my mirror when an unfortunate pimple showed up. Other than that? I was doing the best I could to learn my craft while still running a business.

  “Will you take it away for me?” I asked him. “Just having it here stopped people from buying anything in the store today. My sales were abysmal.”

  With Grow ugly, wither and die floating in the atmosphere, no wonder they were fleeing.

  He looked quite surprised. “You kept the skull in the store all day?”

  “What would you have had me do with it?”

  “Put it somewhere safe until you can remove the curse.”

  “I can’t keep it here; it’s driving the customers away. I can’t throw it away. I need a safe place to hide it until I figure out how to disarm it.”

  “Fair point. Yes. I’ll keep it for you.” He gave it a long look. “Though, if you’ve no objection, I think I’ll find a sturdy shed on the grounds. I don’t particularly fancy it in the house.”

  “Oh, yes, so long as it’s safe and secure, keep it as far away from you and anyone you like as you can.”

  He nodded. “Though, as I’m sure you know, hexes are directed at a certain person usually.”

  “Right,” I said as though I knew much about it at all. Clearly, I was going to have to put my athame studies aside and start working on hexes. It was never-ending. I no sooner felt like I was gaining mastery of one subject when another one thrust itself under my nose that I had to study. It was exhausting work being a witch.

  “Right, I’ll just take this and pop it in my car. And then I’ll come back for the knitting club meeting. What are you working on tonight?”

  I showed him the magazine cover. Rafe wasn’t one to show shock easily, but his eyes did widen slightly. “You’re knitting that?”

  “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?” I asked, full of cool dignity.

  I could see him fighting his smile. “No. Not at all.”

  I grabbed my supplies and headed into the back room. I’d make sure I sat beside my grandmother, who could be counted on to quietly guide my knitting when I got into trouble.

  I had a horrible moment when I wondered if that animal skeleton hex might throw me off my knitting game.

  And fast on the heels of that thought was another. How would I be able to tell?

  Chapter 8

  While Rafe took the goat’s skull out to his car, I gathered up my herringbone carpet. I had hoped to have a better start on it before being thrown into a knitting circle where the collective experience of the other knitters was in the thousands of years. But between hexes, a temperamental cat, and a sulky employee, I hadn’t exactly had a lot of extra time.

  I didn’t like the idea that someone had put a hex on me. I was nice. And knitting wasn’t exactly the kind of profession that created enemies. It had to be a mistake. I couldn’t help but think that someone had dropped that skull outside my door by accident. No doubt there was someone out in Oxford wishing evil on someone else and it was bouncing back to me by virtue of proximity.

  I liked that theory a lot better. No doubt it was some lovestruck student who wished evil on a rival. Or a kid who’d gotten a bad grade trying to curse one of the dons. Throw a bunch of super-smart, highly stressed twentysomethings into a town like Oxford that was steeped in history and drama and magic, no wonder they got a little carried away. Trust an Oxford student to take revenge the extra mile.

  I’d talked myself into a much better frame of mind when Rafe returned, and after making sure the blinds were closed and the door properly locked, we headed to the back room. Most of the knitters had already gathered and were sitting either gossiping or starting to work on their projects.

  Mabel had made a start on her green sweater, unfortunately.

  I wished I’d thrown that wool away the minute I saw it rather than leave it around to tempt her. Poor thing. I’d never seen anyone who combined such excellent skill with such terrible taste. Still, she was cheerful, and while the rest of the vampires kept looking away as though the sight of that bright green wool hurt their eyeballs, she chattered along looking delighted with herself and the growing expanse of something that looked more like green ooze from a science-fiction film than a color anyone would want to wear.

  Beside her, Clara had already knit several inches of the herringbone rug. I was excited to see it in progress and immediately went up and inspected her work. She patted the empty seat beside her.

  “You sit here, Lucy. I’ve done this for you. I’ve just given it a little bit of a start. All you have to do is continue along, following the pattern.” She gave me her open magazine and pointed to where she’d got to. Then quietly, so no one who wasn’t staring at us would notice, she took my bag and drew out the tangle of wool, the creased magazine and went quietly to work. I was so grateful, I leaned over until our shoulders were touching and whispered, “Thank you.”

  She twinkled at me. “Our little secret.”

  Of course, it wasn’t like I could suddenly, magically pick up where she’d left off. I studied the pattern until I was nearly cross-eyed. And then I decided I’d just take it on faith. I’d do the best I could, and if I had to unpick a few rows, it wouldn’t be the first time. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  Sylvia and my grandmother came in together. Gran came over and gave me a hug, as she always did when she saw me. Her eyes widened as she saw the project I was working on. If she could tell that there was six inches or so of perfect knitting followed by a lumpy, uneven row that was already messing up the pattern, she didn’t say anything. Only commented on how pretty the pattern was and how nice the rug would look when it was finished.

  Sylvia glanced at me and then away again. Then she came deliberately towards me.

  “Lucy,” she said. “That’s a lovely rug you’re working on.”

  “Thank you,” I said coldly.

  Maybe I was being rude and childish to carry my grudge on this long, but she had nearly gotten me killed. I’d get over my mad one day but not today.

  She was always so imperious and acted very much like the celebrated movie star she’d been in the 1920s that it was strange to see her humbled and actually sucking up to me. Okay, I was really enjoying it.

  Before we started our usual show and tell, Mabel said in a voice she didn’t bother to lower, so everybody could hear it, “Lucy, Clara and I were wondering if perhaps you’ve got a vermin problem upstairs.”

  I was so shocked, I dropped my knitting in my lap.

  “What? I couldn’t have. Nyx is very particular about that sort of thing. The first thing she does every morning is go sniffing around the edges of the shop and make sure no mice have dared come into her space.”

  “I think perhaps she’s killed something and it’s hidden somewhere. We could smell death.”

  Oh my gosh. Trust those vampires and their super-sensitive noses. I glanced at Rafe. He said, “I smelled it too when I went into Lucy’s shop. It wasn’t a dead mouse. It was the skull of a goat.”

  Unlike me, with less than thirty years on the earth, vampires were rarely shocked.

  “Really? What sort of a goat?”

  This was Alfred. It seemed a very odd question to me, but Rafe said, “I should think it was just an ordinary farm goat. Something local to the area.”

  “Odd place to keep a goat’s skull, Lucy.”

  “I didn’t put it there,” I hastened to assure them. “Somebody dropped it outside of my shop.”

  Rafe said, “Placed it there, I should think.” Everyone was looking at him now, so he continued, “It had magic symbols and a curse drawn on it.”

  “A hex?” Alfred asked.

  “I believe so.”

  Now they all looked at me as one. “Who have you upset, Lucy?” Silence Buggins wanted to know. “You have to be so very careful, a young person alone as you are. And a shopkeeper too. In my day, a young lady was never left alone where a gentleman might come upon her and cause her to have a spasm.”

 

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