I might not have given them a second glance except that one of them was eating shepherd’s pie, my absolute favorite meal. The other had fish and chips. My second favorite.

  There was a bottle of wine on the table, and from the way they were giggling and leaning into each other, I suspected there wasn’t much of it left. It might not even be their first. As I glanced up, I realized I recognized the women. One was Felicity Stevens, the woman William had brought into Cardinal Woolsey’s, as she wanted to learn to knit—the one who’d gone into the kitchen specially to congratulate him on his excellent meal.

  The other was Jemima Taft, who looked similar, only a more polished version. They shared the blond, highlighted hair, and their dress style was similar, but while Sylvia would have been able to spot the designer right away, I could only guess that Jemima had spent about ten times as much money on her wardrobe as Felicity had.

  I’d been in the wool trade long enough to recognize that the coat hanging over the back of the bench seat was cashmere, and I recognized the triangular logo on her handbag as Prada. I didn’t think it was a knockoff.

  Felicity’s coat was a wool blend, and her handbag sported no designer calling card.

  She must have felt me staring at her, for Felicity glanced up at me and blinked, as you do when you know someone but you can’t remember for the moment where you know them from. I had the advantage on her. I smiled.

  “Hi, Felicity. It’s Lucy, from Cardinal Woolsey’s. How are you getting on with your knitting?”

  “Lucy,” she said as though we were best friends. “Wonderful. Really, really wonderful. Well, I haven’t actually started knitting yet, but the wools are so beautiful. I can’t wait to begin.”

  Jemima Taft glanced up. “Knitting? You’re taking up knitting?”

  She shrugged expansively. “It seemed like the thing to do. You should try it. It’s very relaxing.”

  “I could use some relaxation.” She sipped her wine and then said, “Oh, you’re William’s friend. You were quite right. He gave us a lovely meal. Didn’t he, Felicity?”

  “Lovely,” her friend parroted, though I’d already heard her sing William’s praises ad nauseam. Then she looked down at the table all prim and embarrassed.

  Jemima laughed. “And William’s been hot and heavy ever since.”

  “We’ve only had coffee. And one dinner.” Since Saturday? That did sound hot and heavy. I’d have thought William would take things more slowly.

  “What a good thing Gretchen canceled Saturday,” Jemima said, “so I could invite you to the dinner.”

  “And I could do you a favor.”

  “Turned out well for both of us.” Then Jemima seemed to notice me standing there as though she’d forgotten I was there. “Gretchen had a sick child. Or maybe it was her husband. No. She’d have come if it was only her husband. Must have been a child.”

  “You were furious,” Felicity reminded her. “Absolutely foaming at the mouth.”

  “I had every detail planned to perfection. The right people with aligned interests and liquid assets. I couldn’t have an empty seat at the table.”

  “So I stepped in to save the day,” Felicity said grandly.

  “After I informed you that two single and extremely rich men would be at dinner.” She poured the last of the wine into Felicity’s glass. “But you were more interested in the artist in the kitchen, you sly thing.”

  “It was William who introduced me to Lucy,” Felicity said. “They’re good friends.”

  “Lovely. And now you’re knitting.”

  “I can’t wait to get started,” Felicity said, though I suspected it would be a long time before the wool came out of the bag. Not that I was one to judge.

  “Do you get many young women knitting?” Jemima asked.

  “You’d be surprised. I get all kinds. It’s not just grandmothers, you know. Lots of the Oxford students knit. I’d say ten or fifteen percent of my clientele is men. Your friend’s right. You should try it. It’s a very relaxing hobby.”

  Honestly, how my tongue didn’t turn black and fall out, I don’t know, the way I trotted out sentences like that. But I knew lots of other people who did find it relaxing. I simply wasn’t one of them. Maybe, if I ever actually gained some expertise in a craft I found utterly infuriating, I wouldn’t have to spout other people’s opinions as my own where knitting was concerned. If I told people what I really thought of knitting, I’d be bankrupt in a month.

  Felicity leaned into her again. “I’ll take you to Lucy’s shop. You’ll love it. It’s so quaint.”

  I said, “We offer classes, too. That’s a very good way to get started. You’ve got the camaraderie of other knitters who are also learning. Lots of people have become friends.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She smiled. “Will you join us for a drink? I must fetch another bottle.” Honestly, she sounded like the queen at her garden party. Well, how I imagined the queen might sound at her garden party, since I had never been invited to one. And I bet this woman had.

  Much as it would be fun to sit with a couple of women my age, I had to decline. “I’m meeting someone. But thank you.”

  “Another time,” Jemima said, still sounding like a society hostess even as she slurred her words ever so slightly.

  I headed into a different part of the pub and found exactly what I was looking for. A table for two tucked away slightly from any other diners but which gave me a good view of most of the rest of the pub. Once I had settled, Rafe quickly stationed himself where he could see me. Theodore was invisible—that’s how good he was—and Hester was off scowling in another corner.

  As I sat there at an empty table with nothing to do, I realized how stupid I’d been. I should have ordered myself a drink at the bar on the way. Now if I got up to get one, I’d risk losing this prime spot. The alternative was to sit here by myself at an empty table, which seemed lame.

  Even as I was trying to decide what to do, Rafe walked over. In his hands was a long glass of some sparkling beverage with a lemon in it. It looked like a gin and tonic, though I suspected it wasn’t. He didn’t say a word, just slid the drink toward me and kept walking. Unless you’d been watching him the whole time, you wouldn’t have seen him do it. I was grateful he’d so quickly remedied my predicament, and sipped my drink. As I’d suspected, it was sparkling water.

  I heard laughter and thought it was Felicity and Jemima. On a different night, I’d have been happy to sit with them. I needed to make more friends with women my own age who weren’t magic. I missed those girls’ nights out. I was briefly homesick for the life I’d led in Boston. This didn’t happen to me very often, but once in a while, I missed my girlfriends. I calculated the time difference. When I got home, maybe I could Skype or Zoom with a friend in the States.

  It seemed a long time until my date got there. I pulled out my phone so I’d have something to do, but I didn’t want to spend much time looking at it in case I missed him. He’d be looking for the woman Hester had invented, and I needed to catch his eye first.

  He was on time, I’d give him that. Just about a minute before seven o’clock, I saw the man I had known as Forest Sprite, and then Leo, look around with a slightly eager, puppy-dog expression on his face. He was dressed in black jeans and a black pullover. The pentagram gleamed so brightly I suspected he’d polished it. He was carrying a black rose.

  I almost felt bad for him that I was going to dash his hopes of meeting a hot witch and discovering the secret site of King Arthur’s burial.

  He glanced around, saw me sitting by myself and, as Felicity Stevens had done earlier, he got that slightly confused look of Do I know this person? And then I could see him trying to place me. I raised my hand and motioned him forward.

  He looked around as though he might spot Empress of the Night and then, not immediately seeing her, came forward.

  I said, “It’s Lucy. From the wool shop? I think you know my cousin Violet.”

  He looked immediately wary and took a single step backward.

  “You’re here to meet me,” I informed him.

  He shook his head. “No, I—”

  “Oh, you are. I’m Empress of the Night. And you’re Robin Goodfellow.”

  He sat down then but still looked confused. “You don’t look like your picture.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. I was worried if you recognized me, you wouldn’t come.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have. Your cousin’s a bit mad.” He had a frown between his eyes and perched on the edge of his chair, ready for flight.

  “Not as mad as somebody who would put a hex on a woman just because a date didn’t go very well.”

  He looked at me blankly at first, then annoyed. “Your cousin put a hex on me? That would explain my cycling accident.” He lifted up his arm and pulled back the sleeve of his sweater so I could see a scrape that went all the way up his forearm. “Seriously, that woman is barking mad. I had to take my profile down.” Then he looked sharply at me. “Yeah. I took my profile down. How did you find me?”

  I gave him a pitying look. “We’re witches, remember?”

  That shut him up. If he was pretending to be a witch, he could easily suppose that we had those kinds of powers. And maybe there were witches who included computer hacking among their talents. I just didn’t happen to be one of them.

  “Nice try. It was you who put the hex on Violet. And I need you to take it off again. She’s really suffering. I understand you being annoyed. She feels really bad about what she said. You taught her a lesson. Let it go now. Remove the hex.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re as crazy as she is. I did not put a hex on that crazy witch.” He stood up and went to leave but bumped into the broad chest of Rafe, who had completely broken with our script of staying in the background. Why was I not surprised?

  Robin Goodfellow looked alarmed now. He tried to sidestep around Rafe, saying, “Excuse me,” but Rafe merely moved so that once more he loomed over the poor man.

  “I think you should sit down again,” Rafe said.

  Leo was looking quite panicked now. “What do you people want?”

  Rafe answered, “My friend here wants your assurance that you will take the hex off her cousin.”

  “I told you. I didn’t put a hex on anybody.”

  “Did you buy one?” I asked. Maybe I didn’t love that Rafe had interfered, but he was definitely keeping Leo here so I could finish the conversation.

  “No. I don’t want anything to do with that crazy witch. I told you. I don’t care what happens to her. She was horrible to me, but a hex costs money, and I’ve got better things to do with mine. She’s not worth it.” He gestured to the rose sitting forgotten on the table. “I’m moving on.”

  Rafe and I exchanged a glance. He sounded like he was telling the truth.

  “How can I believe you?”

  He held his hands up. “I’m not a real witch. Okay? I just think witches are really hot. I discovered this dating site, and I thought, why not?”

  Rafe said, “We are witches. Very powerful ones. So unless you want to get on our wrong side, I would strongly suggest you tell us the truth.”

  Leo was sweating freely now. I could see Rafe’s nostrils quivering slightly, whether in distaste at the rancid smell or some atavistic hunting urge, I wasn’t sure.

  I asked, “Then why is Violet suffering all the agonies of a hex? Do you know anything about a goat skull?”

  He looked completely confused now. “Goat skull? No. I don’t even eat meat.”

  Rafe and I exchanged another glance, and then Rafe said, “All right. You can go. But remember, we found you once. If we need to, we’ll find you again.”

  And then, like a frightened hare, my date for the evening jumped up and ran, leaving his black rose behind.

  Rafe picked it up and studied it. “I think he used spray paint.”

  “I think I believe him.”

  “I did, too. He’s clearly not magic and I’d say not very bright either.”

  “Then who put a hex on Violet? Time is running out, Rafe. She’s losing her hair. Her skin’s a mess. One eye is swollen shut. She’s lost a tooth. What if it’s permanent?”

  “Do you have to have the person who put the hex on her remove it again?”

  I shook my head. “No. Margaret Twigg says we can reverse the hex, send it back to the person who sent it, like unwanted mail.”

  “Well? Perhaps that’s what you should do?”

  I had a bad feeling about this. “I’m worried. It seems to me that when you reflect magic back, it can get even more powerful. And we’re not even positive that the hex was meant for Violet. Maybe it was meant for me, but because she picked up the skull, she’s the one who’s ended up suffering.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I don’t know what I believe.”

  “You’re worried about your cousin.”

  “I am. She drives me crazy, but she’s family. I hate to see her suffering like this.”

  He said, “You look pale and worried. May I suggest, since I saw you looking with longing at other people’s food, that we get you something to eat? You’ll feel better after a good meal. Then we can work on reversing that hex.”

  “The thing is, if Leo did buy that hex and we reverse it, he could end up very ill.”

  “Then he really shouldn’t have lied to you, now, should he?”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “If he did buy a hex, where would he have got it from? I don’t think anyone advertises them. Margaret Twigg would sell him one in a minute, but she’s not talking.” And then I wondered who else sold hexes. “See if Hester can check the dark net. Maybe there is someone locally who’s selling them.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get her right on it. In the meantime, pick something from the menu.”

  I grinned at him. “I already did. I’ll have a shepherd’s pie, please.”

  “A woman of decision. I like that. Does William know about these plebeian tastes of yours?”

  “You know he does. William makes excellent shepherd’s pie.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Rafe sat with me while I ate my dinner. He told me that Theodore and Hester had already headed back to start searching out who might be selling hexes in our area. It struck me as a very dangerous side business for whoever was making and selling them.

  Chapter 13

  Rafe offered to drive me home, but it wasn’t a long walk from the pub to my place, and after I stuffed myself with shepherd’s pie, the exercise would do me good.

  The evening hadn’t gone as I had predicted. I’d thought I might have some trouble convincing Leo to remove the hex, not that I would end up believing he had nothing to do with it. This raised two awkward questions. One: Who had put the hex on Violet? And two: How were we going to get it off?

  The evening was cool and crisp, and as I looked up, I saw clouds riding high and the moon playing peekaboo. The lines that Rafe had quoted came into my head. Empress of the night—I hoped she would send some of her lunar power to help us heal Violet.

  The moon wasn’t full tonight, but it was close. That augured well for magic.

  I arrived back at Harrington Street to be overtaken by a car driving way too fast. This was a quiet, residential neighborhood, not the Daytona 500. I turned to glare at the driver and recognized the car. It was Violet’s. She screeched to a halt in front of my shop pretty much exactly as I arrived there. She got out of the driver’s side. At least I assumed the dark figure wearing a hoodie pulled forward over her face was my cousin. I certainly recognized her passenger. Great-Aunt Lavinia took more time to get out of her side of the car. In the pale light of the moon, I could see the worry on her face.

  Seeing me, Violet grabbed my arm. “Unlock the door. Quick.”

  I thought about what Leo had said about my cousin being barking mad, and the way she was acting now, I understood where he got that idea from.

  Still, I did as she asked. She was under a lot of stress right now. No wonder she was acting peculiar. We went in the front door through the shop, but she wouldn’t let me turn on a light. She hustled me through the shop and then we went up to my flat through the shop door. As we got to the top of the stairs and into my living area, I was just in time to see the black swish of Nyx’s tail disappearing out the living-room window. She’d obviously known who was on the way and wanted nothing to do with a hexed witch. Thanks very much.

  I turned on a light, and Violet pulled back her hood.

  Even though I’d obviously expected things had gone from bad to worse, I still had to school my face and bite back my cry of combined sympathy and horror. Those big, red pimple things were all over her face now and down her neck, even over the closed eyelid of her bad eye. Her head sported bald patches and, unless she was just feeling insecure, she was getting a hunched back.

  “You’ve got to get this spell off me now!” she cried, as though it were a bat that had flown into her hair.

  “I’m trying. I met with Leo tonight. He swears he didn’t put the hex on you. And I believed him.”

  She looked even more distraught now. “What are we going to do?”

  Aunt Lavinia spoke now. She wasn’t the most fierce of women, except where her granddaughter was concerned. “We will remove the hex. And we will not stop until it’s done.”

  Yeah, that was fine with me.

  “But how?”

  “I brought my own spell. I haven’t used it for years.” She paused, and the next words seemed to pain her. “My power is waning. Lucy, you must cast the spell.”

  “Okay. What do we need?”

  I knew I had that soil from the grave of a hanged witch or whatever fake substitute Margaret Twigg had sold me. She’d mentioned black candles, and I had some of those. But what else did we need?

  Lavinia held up a cloth bag. “I have everything here.”

  “Excellent. Shall we cast the spell here and now?”

 

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