Silenced by a Spell

by Fiona Grace

  It was weighty, far heavier than Lacey had anticipated, and the leather binding smelled strongly of hide.

  Beside her, Chester let out a low growl.

  “It gives you the heebie-jeebies too, huh?” Lacey asked him.

  He barked shrilly. The goth girl glared at him.

  “Shhh,” Lacey soothed her pup.

  She began to flip through the pages. They were thick, almost greasy to the touch, and yellow-brown in color. Some were curled, others dog-eared, others torn out altogether.

  The book appeared to be written in an old language, like Latin or Gaelic, and between the chunks of text were pictures drawn in black ink of strange occult symbols.

  Lacey had no idea what she was holding, but she felt very strongly drawn to it.

  Her antique knowledge told her that most old texts didn’t fetch nearly as much during resale as one might expect something that had survived hundreds of years of the annals of time to. A decent book of sufficient rarity could indeed fetch hundreds of dollars, sometimes thousands, but there was no way for Lacey to know what exactly this kind of book was. It may very well be worthless, but it fit with Lacey’s auction theme so perfectly she was willing to take a risk on it.

  “I’ll take the book, too,” she told the clerk, handing it back over.

  As the girl took it from her, Chester barked again, very loudly. The goth girl shot him a piercing glare.

  “Sorry, he’s not usually like this,” Lacey said.

  She turned her attention to her dog, crouching down to comfort him.

  “It’s just a silly old book,” she told him soothingly. “It won’t do you any harm.”

  Chester’s barks died down to a low grumble. Ever since she’d picked up that book, his curiosity and excitement had disappeared. Now he seemed very on edge.

  Lacey suddenly remembered her mom’s warning from earlier. Don’t mess with the occult.

  Her stomach turned. Was she making a decision she’d later come to regret?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “There’s no price on it,” came a voice from above Lacey.

  Lacey straightened up and faced the Ducking Stool’s clerk. The young goth woman was holding the book in her hands, turning it over as she searched for a tag.

  She gave up with a shrug. “I guess you can just take it.”

  Lacey shook her head. Though she didn’t have the time or specific expertise to value the book on the spot, she simply wasn’t willing to accept it for nothing.

  “Add twenty pounds for it,” she suggested.

  She suspected she was lowballing here, but it was still twenty pounds more than the girl was originally going to get for it.

  The goth shrugged apathetically and added an extra twenty pounds as she continued ringing up the oddities on the till.

  Just then, Lacey heard her phone go in her pocket.

  “Excuse me one moment,” she said, stepping away.

  She checked her cell phone to see the contact flashing at her: fiancé. She’d renamed Tom in her phone after their engagement, and now she smiled to herself, as she did every time he called. Tom had gotten into the adorable habit of calling her every time he had an idea for the wedding.

  Lacey felt a surge of warmth go through her as she answered the call. “Yes, my dear?”

  “How do you feel about bread pudding?” Tom asked.

  Lacey frowned. “For the wedding?”

  It was a bizarre suggestion. A Shirley-level bizarre suggestion.

  On the other end of the line, Tom barked out a laugh. “No, for tonight! I’m in the store now picking stuff up for our dinner date.”

  Lacey’s eyes widened. She’d completely forgotten about their dinner date tonight!

  She checked her watch. She only had thirty minutes to pack all this stuff into her car and get home!

  “Er, bread pudding, sure, sounds perfect,” she said rapidly, suddenly in a fluster.

  “Great,” came Tom’s carefree response. “See you shortly, my love.”

  The call ended, and Lacey hurried back to the counter.

  “How much do I owe you?” she asked the clerk in a rapid voice.

  “Three hundred pounds,” the girl replied.

  Lacey thrust over the cash, scooped up her bizarre purchases, and staggered away, dragging the skeleton on a pole after her.

  *

  Tom was waiting on the doorstep of Crag Cottage as Lacey turned her Volvo into the driveway. The car’s headlights illuminated his dark blond hair. His tanned arms were wrapped around a large brown paper grocery bag.

  Immediately flustered for having kept him waiting, Lacey parked and jumped out of the car. Chester pushed past her and dashed up the pathway, jumping at Tom and pawing his camel-brown sweater.

  Tom shoved the bag into one arm to free up the other so he could return Chester’s enthusiastic greeting with a vigorous head scratch.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late!” Lacey exclaimed as she hurried up the path and awkwardly leaned over Chester to bestow a peck on Tom’s cheek.

  “No problem,” Tom said, accepting her kiss and the proceeding lick that came from the dog. “I only just got here.” His gaze went over her shoulder and he frowned. “Is there someone sitting in your backseat?”

  As Lacey hurriedly rummaged in her purse for her Rapunzel key, she peered over her shoulder to look at her car. The silhouette of the skeleton was visible in the moonlight, looking rather eerie in its upright position in her backseat. It had been the only way for Lacey to fit all her auction purchases into the car, with the skeleton seat-belted in the back seat like a passenger.

  “Oh, that’s just a skeleton,” she said, shoving the door with her shoulder and staggering inside as it yielded.

  Tom gave a final disconcerted look at the skeleton before stepping in after her.

  “Do I need to ask why you have a skeleton in your car?” he asked as he followed her along the low-ceilinged corridor and into the kitchen.

  Lacey hit the switch and the room flooded with bright, warm light.

  “I’m holding an auction for Halloween,” she said.

  Tom placed his brown paper grocery bag on the wooden countertop and turned to face her with a frown.

  “You are?” He sounded surprised. “What happened to ‘I hate Halloween’?”

  Lacey chuckled. She fetched a bottle of red wine from the rack, a Shiraz that gave her autumnal vibes.

  “Well, I figured if you can’t beat them, you join them,” she said, setting it down on the side.

  She poured them both a glass, then handed Tom his.

  “Cheers,” she said, finally breathing out a sigh of relief.

  “Cheers,” he replied, flashing her a loving smile.

  Lacey sipped from her glass. The South African Shiraz she’d chosen was smooth and mellow. Exactly what she’d been hankering for.

  As Tom began collecting bowls and utensils, Lacey peeped inside the grocery bag. Among the packs of flour and sugar she spotted a little paper bag filled with delicious-looking shiny red berries.

  “What are these?” she asked, taking the bag out.

  Tom peered back out of the cupboard he was busy rummaging in to see what she was talking about. “Cranberries,” he said, before dipping his head back inside the cupboard.

  “Cranberries in bread pudding?” Lacey asked.

  “Yeah!” came Tom’s enthusiastic exclamation from inside the cupboard. “Fresh cranberries in place of raisins makes bread pudding much more decadent.”

  Trust Tom to spruce up the recipe.

  He emerged from the cupboard with what he’d been searching for—a large ceramic mixing bowl. It was an antique Lacey had picked up in London and became instantly too attached to, to sell. Lucky thing too. According to Tom, it was the best baking ware known to man.

  “Pass the cranberries,” he said.

  Lacey passed the bag over and watched as Tom got to work. He whisked the cream, egg yolks, and canned pumpkin—an ingredient that had proven more di
fficult for Lacey to source than Victorian-era taxidermy.

  “Can you believe they sell canned pumpkin in the ‘world food’ aisle?” Lacey said, turning the can in her hands. “Back home, this stuff is everywhere.”

  “We don’t have the same history with pumpkins as you guys,” Tom said, only half listening since his attention was taken up by his task.

  “Not even at Halloween?”

  “Nope. When I was growing up, you’d be lucky to find a store selling a pumpkin to carve, and there were none of those pick your own pumpkin patch things they have everywhere now. Turnips, on the other hand…”

  Lacey laughed.

  She always enjoyed cooking with Tom. She hadn’t realized how very much in need of relaxing she truly was, of just spending some downtime with her fiancé doing something that wasn’t wedding planning or stressing out about her father. She was grateful for a reprieve from the thoughts that had been swirling in her mind all day.

  She rested her backside against the counter, wine glass in hand.

  “I know I’m not a bread pudding expert,” she said, “but what do we need pumpkin for anyway? It’s a bit of a twist, isn’t it, adding pureed pumpkin?”

  Tom wiggled his chestnut brown brows. His green eyes sparked. “You know me. Why do something simply, when you can overcomplicate it?”

  Lacey smiled. She sipped from her wine glass, admiring her handsome fiancé as he worked his culinary magic. It always pleased her, the way Tom’s body moved while he cooked, like he was performing some kind of intricate dance. She delighted in every moment of it; the way he habitually pushed the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows, exposing his tanned forearms; the way he flicked his head any time his shaggy hair fell into his eyes; the way he handled his ingredients with such care and consideration.

  He’d make a very good TV chef, Lacey decided. The type that makes all the ladies swoon.

  As she envisioned Tom’s future career as a TV chef, Lacey suddenly remembered the job offer she’d received from Knightsbridge Auction House. She’d barely thought about it all day, or given herself the chance to daydream about the different life she could live if she accepted the offer. Now she was at home with her fiancé, it seemed like a good idea to actually discuss it.

  “Could you ever see yourself living in London?” she asked, trying to gauge his response first.

  “Absolutely not,” Tom replied without taking even a second to consider it. “It’s far too busy. Way too expensive. And there’s so much pollution. Not to mention commuting to work on the Tube every day. I think I’d go mad if I lived in London.”

  That wasn’t a good start.

  “Well, I got a job offer today,” she announced. “In London.”

  Tom’s face snapped to her, his eyebrows raised. Lacey knew she’d shocked him, because he’d actually turned his attention away from his food preparations.

  “Oh?” he asked.

  Lacey ran her fingertips along the rim of her wine glass hesitantly. “Yes. From Knightsbridge Auction House in London.”

  Tom coughed, choking on nothing but his astonishment. “Knightsbridge?”

  Lacey nodded. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “Lacey, it’s only the richest borough in London. Millionaires live in Knightsbridge. Heck, billionaires live there! It’s not for people like us.”

  That gave Lacey pause for thought. Being an outsider was something of a blessing in this case, because while she knew the company was well respected on the antiquing scene, it hadn’t occurred to her quite how high-class it really was. If its auction house was located in the most expensive part of London, then presumably that meant they handled only the most expensive of items, for the richest of clientele. Being an auctioneer in a place like that would be a huge step on her career ladder. The thought of it made Lacey’s ambitious side suddenly rev to life.

  “I’m not suggesting we live in Knightsbridge,” Lacey said. “Most people who work in London live on the outskirts, don’t they, and take the Tube in?”

  Tom pulled a face. “You would hate living in London. I promise you. Don’t you remember why you left New York in the first place?”

  Lacey bristled. Her leaving New York had had nothing to do with it being too busy or fast-paced, and everything to do with her ex-husband dumping her because he wanted a younger and more fertile baby maker. And Tom’s whole attitude was riling her now. He was being dismissive. Even if she wasn’t planning on taking the job offer, what was so bad about considering it?

  “So that’s that?” she said, suddenly testy. “Dismiss it right away?”

  Tom looked perplexed at her change in tone. “You weren’t actually considering it?”

  “No,” Lacey replied. Then she amended her answer. “Maybe.” She sighed. “I don’t know. It’s not like we ever discussed our future. And opportunities like this don’t come along very often.”

  She ought to know. It had taken her fourteen years to get an opportunity to change her life, and she hadn’t looked back since.

  “But we both have businesses,” Tom reasoned. “Thriving businesses that we love. Why would you want to work for other people all over again?”

  Lacey considered it. “Because I hold small auctions to audiences of a few dozen. If I worked for a big auction house, I’d be selling some really exciting things. Things worth millions of pounds to buyers from all over the world. I’d be handling famous items and selling them to famous people.”

  Tom pulled a face. “Since when did any of that stuff ever matter to you?”

  He didn’t say “shallow stuff,” but it was implied in his tone. Lacey felt her defenses go up even more.

  “You do know I used to attend auctions all over the world for Saskia when I worked at the interior design firm?” she said. “I went to Milan at least once a year. I’ve been all over Europe on business trips. You shouldn’t be surprised to learn there’s a part of me that actually likes the finer things in life.”

  Tom looked lost, as if Lacey had answered a question he wasn’t aware he’d asked.

  “Okay,” he said cautiously. “But it doesn’t beat living by the seaside and being your own boss. At least, that’s what you always say.”

  Lacey pressed her lips together. He was right. She did always say that. But it was his decisiveness and rigidity that was annoying her, like the conversation was over before it had ever begun. He wasn’t even willing to entertain the notion that they might one day wish to live elsewhere, or do other jobs. Lacey couldn’t help but feel like he was unwilling to get to know the other side of her, the one that had existed before she’d left New York. The one, she realized now, she’d been doing everything in her power to stamp out of existence.

  “I told them I’d think about it,” she said with an air of finality. “They’re sending me a package through the post, and I have a few weeks to make my decision.”

  “Cool,” Tom said, distractedly. His focus had already gone back to his cooking.

  Lacey sighed and let the discussion fade away. She’d sprung it on him out of nowhere, after all, just as the original job offer had been sprung on her out of nowhere. She shouldn’t expect so much from him right off the bat.

  Besides, it wasn’t the craziest thing that had happened to her today. That title belonged to the strange empty envelope her father had sent her. If she exhausted Tom’s reserves discussing the job offer, he’d have nothing left for that admittedly more important event.

  Her stomach flipped as she realized she’d have to tell him she’d finally opened the letter.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lacey put her cutlery down with a tinkle. She couldn’t eat another bite. The meal of salmon and sauteed green beans with garlic had been amazing, and Tom’s decadent bread pudding had been quite the treat. Brown sugar still lingered on her taste buds, mixing perfectly with the sharp tang of the fresh cranberries.

  Lacey glanced at her handsome beau across the round wooden window table, framed by the beautiful ocean view out of the window
. From his basket beside the back door, Chester snored loudly. Lacey was struck by just how lucky she truly was.

  “Did I tell you Mom thinks we should have reindeer at the wedding?” she said.

  From his seat opposite, Tom laughed. He was good-humored. He laughed easily. It was one of his best qualities, and one of the things Lacey loved the most about him.

  “Oh dear,” he said. “I’m not sure about that. Aren’t they supposed to be a bit smelly?”

  Lacey shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I told her the theme is Rustic Romance, and that we’re hoping for more of a winter wonderland. She seems to have gotten Christmas grotto stuck in her head.”

  Tom laughed again. “Oh, Shirley,” he said affectionately.

  Tom’s relationship with her mom was hugely comforting for Lacey. While mother and daughter could easily rub one another the wrong way, Tom always approached everything with an easygoing attitude. He was a natural peacekeeper, a mediator between the two of them. Just having him in her life had helped Lacey heal from some of the long-standing issues she had toward her mom.

  Of course the same could not be said for her father. Tom had never met Frank. Lacey wondered now, after opening the letter and finding it empty, whether he ever actually would.

  She clutched her wine glass tightly in both hands. It was time to rip off the Band-Aid. She’d discussed literally every single other topic she possibly could, right down to her mother’s reindeer suggestion. There was no delaying it anymore. It was now or never.

  “I opened my dad’s letter today,” she announced.

  Tom’s eyebrows went up to his hairline with astonishment. “You’re full of bombshells today,” he said.

  “I know,” Lacey replied.

  Just like Gina, Tom had heard her repeated mantra that she’d open the letter tomorrow for the last few weeks. He’d probably just assumed she was never actually going to do it.

  He reached across the table and lightly touched her arm with his hand. “What did he say?”

  “That’s the thing,” Lacey said. “There wasn’t a letter inside.”