by Nancy Warren
The only thing I might sell in Wallingford was wool and knitting kits, but I didn’t think she’d care about those, so I said nothing and sipped more tea.
Karmen had been sending frequent glances Sylvia’s way and finally asked, “What is your skin-care regime? Your complexion is remarkable for a woman your age. If I may say so.”
Sylvia never liked to be reminded that she hadn’t been a young woman when she’d been turned. Still, she was beautiful in a silver-haired, Helen Mirren way.
Her smile was brittle as she answered, “My secret is that I think only positive thoughts.”
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from bursting out with laughter. That was not the Sylvia I knew.
“And of course,” Sylvia added sweetly, “I stay out of the sun.”
Good thing I wasn’t drinking tea at the time or I’d have snorted it up my nose. The witch nodded. “Absolutely. Nothing ages us like sun damage.” Then she turned her attention to me. “I hope you’re using sunscreen every day. You’re what, thirty?”
“Not quite.” I had my feminine vanity too. Okay, my next birthday would be my thirtieth, but I was hanging on to my twenties as hard as I could. I was happy that my wedding would come first.
In my turn, I gushed. “And your skin looks amazing, too,” I said to the witch. “And you’re, what, forty? What’s your secret?” Oh, two could play the how-old-are-you game.
The glance she shot me was both calculating and amused. “I always think age is a state of mind, don’t you? And my skin products will definitely help keep you young.”
“Lucy’s getting married soon,” Sylvia said. “Do you have anything special to help her stay young-looking?”
I nearly choked on my tea. What was she doing?
However, Karmen looked delighted. Or pretended to look delighted. Hard to tell yet which it was. She jumped to her feet. “Absolutely. I’m going to give you a jar of my best face cream. It’s got SPF50. It will keep your skin looking dewy and help prevent that sun damage we were talking about.”
She got up and left the room, and with the ease of frequent practice, Sylvia and I swapped mugs. There was about a quarter cup of tea left in mine, which now sat in front of the vampire. I gulped down as much of Sylvia’s tea as I could before the witch returned, holding one of her blue glass jars, although the label on this one was different. It had extra writing on it in gold.
“This is from my private collection,” she said with a significant look. “I put a little extra in this.”
I chuckled. “I’m not above a little magic if it will keep me looking younger.” But was it really going to last for forty years? I was suspicious.
I opened the lid of her private collection cream and sniffed. It smelled wonderful.
I had to wonder how she ran her business with so few staff. When I asked her, she looked at me seriously.
“We must be very careful. I could expand my line of skincare and have it mass-produced and sold all over the world, but I choose very deliberately to keep the business small. There’s only me and my assistant, Tilda.”
“Wow. You do everything, just the two of you?”
“Yes. When it’s very busy, we hire extra help, but only to box and ship things. I keep my secrets guarded closely, and so should you.”
I felt that shiver again. What secrets did I have in my business? Okay, the vampire knitting club was extremely hush-hush, but the shop itself was nothing special. However, she’d hinted that her cream had magical properties, and I didn’t think that was just advertising hype.
“Is your assistant a witch too?” I was pretty sure she wasn’t, but I couldn’t always tell.
She shook her head. “No. Tilda can follow my recipes exactly though.” Her eyes glittered as she looked at me. Then she turned her head as though to make sure her assistant hadn’t sneaked in while we were talking. Even though it was just the three of us, she lowered her voice. “But when she’s done, I add a couple of extra secret ingredients she knows nothing about. That way she can never steal my recipes. You see? One must always be vigilant. In work and in life.”
I thought it was a cynical attitude, but I kept my mouth shut. This woman had been a practicing witch longer than I had. A lot longer if Gran was right. I should probably pay attention.
Then I tried to imagine Violet stealing my secrets and nearly laughed. Vi was more interested in working as few hours as possible for the maximum paycheck possible. My business secrets were mine to keep.
But then Gran had been a witch for a really long time, too. She’d never seemed to have that attitude. Gran was open and giving. From her cookie recipes to her knitting patterns, she was always willing to share.
And if anyone had come to her looking for a hex, she would have sent them on their way with a sharp word of warning.
I’d much rather model myself on my grandmother than this frighteningly young-looking witch.
Chapter 4
When we returned to Oxford, it was after six. Nyx acted like I’d been gone for a year instead of an afternoon, so I spent some time fussing over her and feeding her before heading down to the shop. Violet had closed Cardinal Woolsey’s, but I wanted to make sure everything was tidy, and to see if she’d left me any notes about anything that needed doing.
I flipped on the lights, and there was a note from Violet. She’d sold a lot of the sock yarn I’d talked about in my last newsletter. I was going to have to remember to order extra of the products I highlighted in the newsletter. It was an obvious thing to do, but I was still finding my way and cautious about overordering stock. I set to work preparing an order, and as I was working, someone rapped on the front door. This was annoying. The closed sign was clearly visible, but sometimes people thought if they saw lights on, I might let them in anyway. Depending on who was at the front door, I sometimes did.
I went towards the door and peeked out to see two familiar looking people standing there.
I opened the door wide. They weren’t customers.
They were my parents.
As she came inside, my mother clapped her hands and laughed, looking delighted. “Surprise!” She turned to my dad. “Oh, look at her face. We definitely got her this time.”
I tried to change my expression from one of shock to delight. “What are you doing here?”
“We came early to help plan your wedding,” Mom cried. “You’re my only daughter, and I couldn’t bear to think of you planning your wedding without me.”
“But I’m not getting married for weeks yet.” Behind her, my dad looked like he’d been dragged away from things he’d rather be doing.
“Exactly. Oh, what fun we’ll have.” Dad came in, and I looked behind them for luggage.
Mom said, “Oh, don’t worry. We’re not staying with you. Your father has a colleague who is working in New York for a few weeks. He’s lent us his flat. Isn’t that jolly?”
“Just jolly,” I said. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my parents. I did. But my mother was a woman of strong opinions and a witch in denial, which could be challenging. Besides, my wedding was going to be small. William could plan an event better than I could and definitely better than my mother, who was a woman of intellect, not practicality. I glanced at my dad, and he lifted and dropped his shoulders imperceptibly. This had definitely not been his idea.
Before I could ask them anything more, Mom said, “And we have another surprise for you.”
“I’m not sure I can take any more surprises.”
Then, as though they’d been hovering around the corner waiting, two more people came through the door and into the shop. “Meri! And Pete!” I hugged them both.
Meri was short for Meritamun. She’d been an Egyptian witch trapped in a magical mirror for a very long time when I helped her escape. She’d been my shop assistant for a while, a very willing worker, but it was difficult to get somebody comfortable with an electronic cash register when they came from the time of the abacus.
Pete was an Australian Egy
ptologist who’d managed to get work with my parents on their dig in Egypt. Meri had gone back with them, and her knowledge of the Middle Kingdom was invaluable.
Mother looked around. “I see your little shop hasn’t changed. But then it never does. I think it looks the same as it did when my mother ran it.”
I was never certain whether she intended to insult me when she said things like this. My mom had made no secret that she felt I should be doing more important work than running a little knitting shop in Oxford. I disagreed. I was proud of Cardinal Woolsey’s and what I’d achieved with it. But I was never going to change her mind. I thought by now she realized she wasn’t going to change mine, either. I wouldn’t suddenly chuck in the knitting shop and go into law, or politics, or medicine, or, horror of horrors, archaeology to be just like them.
They’d met Rafe when they’d last been in Oxford and had renewed their acquaintance with him when we’d visited them in Egypt to tell them we were engaged. At least in my marriage, they couldn’t fault me. Rafe was pretty much an ambitious mother’s dream groom for her daughter. He was rich, handsome, and probably best of all to my parents, he taught occasionally at university. He was a world-renowned expert on old manuscripts. He and my dad could spend a whole evening discussing the Dead Sea Scrolls, and even though my eyeballs would be falling out of my head from boredom, they’d both love every minute of it.
Mom looked around as though wondering where everybody was. “And where’s this soon to be son-in-law of mine? I can’t wait to give him a big hug and a kiss.”
“He had meetings this afternoon. I’m not sure where he is right now.”
“We thought we’d go to the pub up the street for dinner. You will come along with us?”
“Of course.” I was definitely hungry. And now that I’d recovered from my initial shock, it was nice to see my parents.
It was an easy walk from the shop up to the pub, so we left by the front door, and I locked up. Meri hung back to walk with me. In her soft voice, she said, “I am very happy for you. If you would like me to stay as your handmaid, I would be honored.”
This was the thing about Meri. Even though she’d been in the modern world for over a year now, she quickly defaulted to her former position as a servant. Still, I was genuinely touched.
“I appreciate that so much. But my mom and dad need you on the dig. You know more about the history than anyone alive.”
“Because it is not history to me. I lived in that time.”
“I know. But you don’t really want to come back to England, do you?”
“For you, Lucy, I would brave anything. I owe you my life.”
I shook my head. I’d tried and tried to get through to her about this point. “You don’t owe me anything. We’re sister witches. It’s a shared bond.”
“Know this,” she said, her eyes huge and dark and so serious. “I’m yours to command at any time.”
“And I appreciate that so much.” And so hoped I never would have to take her up on it. Meri had been through enough.
“He’s a good man, the one you marry,” she said. “Even if he is a creature of the dark.”
“And we don’t ever say that to Mom and Dad, right?”
I’d finally done something right in my mother’s eyes, marrying the perfect guy. I didn’t want to spoil it all by her discovering he was a vampire.
Meri laughed. “As you moderns would say, my lips are sealed.”
She looked much better than the last time I’d seen her. She was getting used to life in this crazy world. Also, she seemed to be very comfortable in Pete’s company. “Speaking of romance, how’s it going with Pete?”
She giggled and blushed. “I like him very much. Even though he does not take his craft as seriously as I do, he makes me laugh.”
Pete had that jokey, Aussie bloke way about him, but I’d seen him take his craft very seriously. He was one of the reasons that Meri was alive today.
Dinner was actually a lot of fun. Pete was funny and entertaining as always. And Mom and Dad were still riding on the high of having so successfully surprised me. They caught me up on the news of their dig, and then Mom said, “But enough about us. Tell me all your plans for the wedding. And tell me I’m in time for your hen party? In fact, I’m hoping to help organize it. I’ve got plenty of ideas.”
She looked so thrilled at the idea of a hen party that I didn’t want to tell her I’d begged Violet not to have one. I’d been disturbed too many nights by boisterous groups of hens partying around Oxford at night. However, I didn’t feel like having an argument with my mother right this minute. She and Violet could sort it out later.
And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, my dad said, “And Pete, we must see about Rafe’s bachelor party.”
“Dad, I really don’t think he’s having one.”
My father looked shocked. “Then it’s a good thing we came here.” He turned to my mom. “You were right after all, my dear. Why, a man must have a bachelor party. It’s a rite of passage.”
“Too right,” Pete said.
Suddenly, eloping became very appealing.
I quietly sent an emergency text to Rafe. I was powerless against these people who had either birthed me, offered to be my handmaiden or, in the case of Pete, helped save my mother’s life. I needed someone who could shut down his bachelor party without offending anyone. Or, at least, if he offended them, then I didn’t have to.
My text read, “Mayday. Mayday. Parents arrived unexpectedly. Dad wants to throw you a bachelor party. Rescue me. We’re at the Bishop’s Mitre.”
Then, having decided there wasn’t much else I could do to avert wedding disasters, I perused the menu. Okay, I knew the menu backwards and forwards, but at least reading it one more time gave me a second to find my balance. Taking my cue, everyone else paused and started reading the menu too.
“Lucy, what’s good here?” my mother asked.
“Mom. You’ve eaten here. The menu hasn’t changed very much.”
My father jumped in before we could start bickering. “I for one long for some good British cooking. The food on the archaeological dig frankly often tastes like something we’ve dug up.”
Well, there was an image to put me off my food. Not really. I told everyone in a loud, bright voice that I would have the fish and chips. I’ve often found that the minute one person gets decisive, everybody else jumps on board. Sure enough, my dad nodded, removed his spectacles and said, “And I’m for the sausage and mash.” He gazed around fondly at the rest of us as though we were new students in one of his study groups. “No matter how far one travels, one always longs for one’s native cuisine.”
Dad had been a student here in Oxford. It was how he and my mother met—he the young American grad student, she the British student who shared his enthusiasm for archaeology.
Pete shut his menu next. “There’s a hamburger that’ll do me nicely.”
Mother said she was torn between shepherd’s pie and soup and salad. Meri stared at the menu, looking confused. She’d had very little experience with restaurants, not helped by the fact that she’d lived many months on an archaeological dig in Egypt where they struggled to get internet and gourmet food was a pretty low priority. I doubted she visited many restaurants.
I leaned closer to her. I tried to remember if she was vegetarian and couldn’t. But I recalled that she preferred simple foods. I pointed her to the vegetarian risotto. “I hear that’s very nice.”
She nodded at me, looking grateful. “Then that is what I shall have.”
Dad got up, ready to go to the bar and order our food. “Come on, Mother,” he said. “You’re holding us all up. And I for one am hungry.”
“Oh, hold your horses. I’ll have the salad and the shepherd’s pie.” She looked very pleased with herself that she’d made a decision. And then she smiled up at my dad as though letting him in on a great secret. “I’ll have the soup for lunch another day.”
“Excellent decision,” said the m
an who’d lived with her for decades.
Now that I was getting more accustomed to the idea of my parents and Meri and Pete being here, I loosened up a little. I tried to ask more questions about the dig, which I’d much rather talk about than hen parties. Mom seemed like now that she was out of Egypt, she didn’t want to talk about her favorite subject. Instead, she got a very laser-like, beady-eyed stare.
“Your wedding dress. What have you done about your wedding dress?”
I opened my mouth to tell her that the vampires were crocheting me one and then closed my mouth so fast, my teeth snapped together. What was I thinking? And one more panicked text went out to Gran and Sylvia, assuming that one of them would have their phones with them, warning that Mom was in town and Gran was going to have to stay out of sight.
Gran played a large role in my life since the shop had been hers before me, and we talked every day. I was going to have to get rid of Gran’s gingersnap cookies, too, before my mom came up to the flat. I’d fooled her once, telling her that I’d found Gran’s recipe. But, if pressed, I’d have a hard time making a batch of cookies that tasted like my grandmother’s. Besides, I didn’t have time to bake. I had a wedding to plan, a business to run, and now, as though I didn’t have enough to do, I had to entertain my parents and keep them out of the vampire zone.
Life had suddenly become a lot more complicated. And it wasn’t an uncomplicated life to begin with.
“What an age it is since we’ve seen you,” my mother said. This was completely untrue, as Rafe and I had visited them right after he took me to Paris, as promised.
My dad reminded her of that fact, and she waved him off. “No, not that. I mean what an age it seems since we were here seeing you.”
Pete and I shared a horrified glance. The last time we’d all been together, a dreadful demon had nearly killed the lot of us. Partly, it was my mother’s own fault. She had witch blood just like I did, but she’d been in denial her whole life. And that untapped power had been easy for someone with evil intent to take hold of and use against us. Did she really not remember? Or had she shoved that bad experience down in whatever vault she kept all her magic?
