“Um…yeah?” he said, running a hand through it self-consciously. “Does it look bad?”
“No, it looks great. It’s just…you usually don’t…that is.” She stopped, stymied.
Sebastian grinned at her. “You mean I don’t usually make an effort? You know, just because I don’t dress “nice” doesn’t mean I don’t know how. We’ve got important stuff to do. I told you I was going to help. I keep my word.”
“Well…” Lily said slowly, momentarily speechless. “I admit…I’m impressed.”
“Are you now?” Sebastian’s grin grew wider, and one of his eyebrows tilted in such a way that Lily could tell he was laughing inside.
Rather than let the conversation veer off into dangerous territory, she cleared her throat and got back to business. “Yes, well, anyway. Madam Barrington told me we needed to locate George Dee and ask him for help. I don’t suppose you know where he lives?”
Sebastian shook his head, tucking in to the steak sandwich the waiter had just brought him. “I’ve never met him in my life. Dad didn’t want us associating with the ‘practicing wizards’ in the family, though he made somewhat of an exception where Aunt B. was concerned. No idea why.”
“I see. Well, they most likely have a manor in Aylesbury, only about an hour away by bus. I’m sure there’ll be a phone book or directory somewhere we can reference. Now, finish up quickly, if you don’t mind. I’ll go enquire about a bus.”
Gloucester Green—the main bus station of Oxford—turned out to be only five minutes from the Macdonald Randolph hotel. They’d actually arrived there last night on the bus from London, but it had been so late they barely remembered it, or the taxi ride to the hotel. Since it was nearby, Lily insisted they walk, not only to save money, which made her feel better, but also so they could see Oxford up close.
Their hotel was on Beaumont Street, directly across from the Ashmolean Museum, so named for Elias Ashmole, a prominent British politician, antiquary, and astrologer who donated his collection of oddities to help create the museum. Lily itched to get inside. Just the sight of its grand molded and columned façade made her tingle with excitement. She’d read it contained such wonders as the Kish tablet—a limestone tablet of proto-cuneiform signs from the ancient Sumerian city of Kish—and a set of Arab ceremonial robes owned by Lawrence of Arabia himself. She had quite a weakness for Middle Eastern culture and history, from prehistoric Mesopotamia to the Arab revolt of World War I. She just hoped they would have an excuse to visit the museum during their hunt for Morgan le Fay. It wouldn’t exactly be responsible to “take time off” from saving the world to do a bit of sightseeing.
As they set off on foot toward the bus station, Sir Kipling mysteriously reappeared to join them. Lily ignored him, still undecided about whether to pretend his little trick had never happened or to punish him severely for it. For now, the cold shoulder of silence would do. Being a cat, of course, he didn’t seem to care. He simply trotted alongside them, fluffy tail held high. Many of the tourists pointed, cooing and awwing over him like a bunch of schoolgirls. He lapped up the attention and milked it for all it was worth as he twined between legs, rubbing and purring but staying just out of reach.
In an effort to ignore her cat’s successful scorning of her cold shoulder, Lily focused instead on the scenery, absolutely enchanted by the wonder that was Oxford. The first and most pressing detail that filled her senses was the air. England smelled different. Or, perhaps not so much smelled as felt different. It felt invigorating. Perhaps because it was a cooler, more northerly climate, it lacked the heavy, lazy feeling of the South. Somehow it reminded Lily of spring, the way it smelled of life and awakening. Yet here in England it was September. Maybe it smelled like this all year ’round.
Lily breathed deeply as she walked, happily drawing in the snappy English air as she examined the buildings along the street. It seemed that Oxford was very much a stone city. Nearly everything was made of it: stone walls, stone buildings, cobblestone streets. Most of it was pale grey, but some of it had a yellowish tinge. She vaguely remembered reading somewhere that after the Great Fire of London in 1666, building regulations were changed to ban the use of anything but brick and stone to erect buildings. Perhaps that was why so much of Oxford was made of that cold, durable, majestic material. And majestic it was. Beautifully jointed stone walls broken up by ornate carvings rose into the blue sky on either side of the street, and what little of the skyline she could see was dotted with ornamented spires. Gargoyles carved into the shape of angels, demons, and even a bishop here and there stuck out from the edges of roofs. Tiles were the standard roofing material, some of them mottled with age and speckled with ancient lichen and moss.
Everything she saw around her had a feeling of incredible age. Well, not everything, exactly. There were more modern buildings here and there, and they stuck out like sore thumbs with their concrete and metal façades. To be fair, though, it wasn’t just the modern architecture that confused the eye. In fact, she spotted a wide range of architectural styles sitting right next to each other. The Ashmolean museum with its massive columns and clean lines was made in the classic Greek and Roman style. But right across the corner was a memorial to a group of martyred bishops, which, though erected about the same time, was built in a neo-gothic style. Its elaborate scrolling and stone filigree made it look like a massive confectioner’s cone. The dichotomy was almost comical, giving the whole city an air of eccentricity.
Even with its wide range of styles, however, the city had a feeling of heavy, solemn age. Not decrepit, like some abandoned places in Atlanta. No, everything was incredibly well maintained, with old buildings carefully restored and repurposed into shops and houses. It just looked as if the buildings had settled down and weren’t entirely straight anymore. Not crooked, just…organic. She could tell life in Oxford was built around a space that had been in use for thousands of years. It was tremendously odd where some of the streets and shops were, popping up and twisting around in a strange labyrinth of stone and history. She supposed it was because they were built around ancient buildings and ancient lives. The awkwardness made her lips quirk. She liked it. The English seemed not to shape the space around them to suit their needs—as Americans did—but rather shaped their needs to fit the space around them.
By this time they’d gone several blocks, turning from Beaumont onto Gloucester Street, which eventually spilled into Gloucester Green Town Square. Besides all the tourists crowding the sidewalk—she’d learned it was called the “pavement” in England—she was struck with how varied everything looked. They were in the middle of one of the most prestigious universities in the world, yet it didn’t have the “college campus” feel that Agnes Scott did. Oxford University blended into Oxford City seamlessly, with academic buildings interspersed with restaurants, shops, and historic structures. The people thronging the street weren’t just students, they were servers, maids, street performers, professors, tourists, and residents out shopping for groceries. Nothing like a sunny Sunday afternoon during the tourist season to bring out the crowds. Dozens of people on bikes pedaled past in their own marked bike lane, and tiny cars vied with the ubiquitous black taxicabs for room as they tried to navigate the busy streets. Lily was glad when they finally made it to the bus station. The noise and crowds were almost too much, despite how exciting it was to be in Oxford. She was glad Sir Kipling was as intelligent and wily as he was. She couldn’t imagine trying to keep track of a normal pet, or even children, in a place like this.
With minimal confusion, they located the correct bus heading to Aylesbury and settled down in the back. Sebastian let Lily have the window seat, and Sir Kipling worked his magic, appearing under her feet where there had been no furry animal before, with the bus driver none the wiser.
Finally, the bus pulled slowly out of the station and into traffic. Lily watched several passing double-decker buses filled with tourists. While it would have been fun to ride in one of those iconic vehicles, she’d learne
d that they were only used for intra-city transport. All the ones moving from city to city were more like the Greyhound buses back home.
As Sebastian pointed out later in his best teasing voice, her face was as good as glued to the window for the whole trip. She just couldn’t get enough of England. Being there gave her a heady feeling, like she’d just drunk a glass of wine too quickly. It was intoxicating, from the stately buildings to the vividly green grass along the roadside.
They left the city quickly enough, but even the countryside was a beauty to behold. While the leaves were starting to yellow, most things were still green. Yet it all looked so different from what she was used to back home. Georgia and Alabama were full of exploding life, from six-foot-tall weeds to carpets of kudzu to the miles and miles of evergreen and coniferous woods. Things grew all over the place and spread out in messy, thriving masses. England was the complete opposite. Everything looked painstakingly manicured, even the fields. It wasn’t that there weren’t weeds or grass or trees, just that it all seemed to fit in its own little space, with hedgerows everywhere dividing up the countryside. It had a more restrained beauty to it, which Lily liked just fine.
Though it was only twenty-five miles from Oxford to Aylesbury, it felt like it took forever to get there. England might be a thirtieth the size of the United States—roughly as big as Alabama—but that didn’t, apparently, mean you could get around faster. The roads weren’t very conducive to quick travel, with more small, winding routes and slower speed limits. Of course, compared to Atlanta’s massive twelve- to eighteen-lane highways, everything here felt miniscule.
When they finally arrived at the bus station in Aylesbury’s town center, Lily felt a bit disappointed at the lack of ancient buildings and stone spires. Unlike the center of Oxford, Aylesbury was a much more modern town. The bus station sat right next to a gigantic shopping center, and the traffic, people, and stores made it feel almost like home.
It took a bit of wandering to find a pub, the place Lily thought most likely to have a phonebook. There were several George Dees, and Lily gratefully handed off the job of investigating which one was which to Sebastian. With a saunter and a smile, he edged up to the bar and started chatting with the barmaid. Lily’s lips thinned and she looked away, annoyed that she was annoyed. She decided to go wait outside and joined Sir Kipling in a little alcove by the pub, watching the passersby on the street.
Sebastian emerged a few minutes later with a satisfied smile on his face. “The third one is the only address outside the city,” he told her.
Lily nodded, turning to look up and down the street for a taxi. She hoped not calling ahead was the right decision. While it would be harder to turn them away if they simply showed up on George Dee’s doorstep, they had no guarantee he was even home. But they had to try.
The taxi took them about fifteen minutes outside the city, heading northwest. Once they got off the highway, it was only five minutes before they turned down a long drive lined by trees. Orderly fields bordered it on either side, though the one on the left was only a narrow strip that then melted into woodland. Lily was admiring the yellowing hue of the passing foliage when she saw a flash of silver in the underbrush. They were going too fast for her to get a good look, but she could have sworn it was a fox. She glanced down at Sir Kipling to see if he’d seen the same thing, but he was curled up on the seat in full cat-nap mode.
After about a mile, the long drive turned left and went from pavement to sandy-colored gravel. The trees fell away to reveal the grounds of a grand house that looked suspiciously like a French chateau—Highthorne Manor, the cab driver had called it. Lily wondered if whoever had commissioned the house had been French or simply a fan of the style. Either way, it was a massive house, its yellow stone façade nicely offset by the grey of its slate roof rising in peaks and parapets mixed in with the many chimneys. The masterpiece of a house was made all the more impressive by the rows upon rows of perfectly trimmed shrubbery leading up to it, all set in a manicured lawn that shone emerald green in the mid-day sun. These grounds were in turn encircled by sparse woodland, which spilled out into the surrounding meadows and freshly harvested wheat fields.
The taxi driver pulled up to the large open space in front of the house, tires crunching on gravel as he came to a halt.
“You sure this was where you was meanin’ to come?” he asked into the silence, obviously wanting either payment or further instructions.
Lily looked at Sebastian and she could see her own apprehension mirrored in his eyes. This was no replica wannabe mansion like her grandparents had built on their little island north of Atlanta. This estate was easily two hundred years old, and the weight of power and authority accompanying such a landholding was intimidating. The LeFay estate felt like a country cottage compared to this, and Lily was terrified to go knock on that grand front door.
“Look, can you just wait here a bit?” Sebastian asked the driver, handing him more than enough to cover the fare. “If they let us inside the house, you can go ahead and leave, got it?” The cab driver nodded and Sebastian got out, moving around the taxi to open Lily’s door. Sir Kipling hopped out readily, sniffing the air with interest. Lily meant to get out. She really did. But for some reason her limbs weren’t obeying her.
“Come on, Lil. We’ve got a job to do. You’re not going to make me face him alone, are you?”
The pleading in his eyes seemed to unfreeze her body and she took the hand he proffered, using it to haul herself out of the taxicab.
“Right,” she said, straightening her blazer. “Let’s go see if your great-grandfather is home.”
They approached the manor in silence, the only sound being the crunch of gravel under their feet. Mounting the front steps, they passed under a beautifully arched and columned portico and arrived at the intricately carved oak doors. It took a moment for Sebastian to find the button for the bell, recessed as it was into the stone beside the doorframe. A soft clang echoed inside the house, and then there was silence.
While Sebastian shifted and muttered, Lily simply stood, eyes open but mind far away as she felt out her surroundings. She’d been surprised not to detect any wards around the grounds. Perhaps, unlike the LeFays, George Dee had nothing to hide. But if the grounds were au naturel, so to speak, the same could not be said of the house. They were subtle, but wards were sunk into every stone of the gigantic manor, as much a part of the building as its walls, floor, and roof. They felt very old and settled, yet not faded. She wondered what had been used to anchor them.
A sudden creak made Lily jump as the front door opened without warning or sound of approaching footsteps. In the opening stood an imposing figure, every inch the quintessential English butler. Tall and thin, dressed in a starched uniform, and with a head of grey hair combed just so, his expression was polite, but aloof.
“Good day, sir, madam. How may I be of service?”
Sebastian, bless his soul, stepped forward and spoke, giving Lily time to block Sir Kipling’s attempt to slip past their legs and into the house. “Stay here,” she whispered furiously, knowing he would hear her as she tried to focus on what Sebastian was saying.
“Is Mr. George Dee at home?”
“What business do you have with him, sir?”
“Well.” Sebastian glanced reflexively at her and swallowed. “I’m, um…his grandson. Well, great-grandson, technically. We, uh, we need to speak to him.”
At his words, the butler’s left eyebrow arched ever so slightly, but otherwise his face remained impassive. “May I inform Mr. Dee who is calling?”
“I’m Sebastian Blackwell, and this is my, um, friend, Lily Singer.”
“Very well, Mr. Blackwell. If you and Ms. Singer would come this way.” The butler opened the door wider and bowed, extending an arm into the house. He eyed Sir Kipling as they passed, but said nothing. Closing the massive doors behind them, they were plunged into momentary darkness as their eyes adjusted to the dim lighting after such bright afternoon sun. A s
ingle, but very large, chandelier provided light in the foyer, showing dark wood walls hung with fine tapestries. Through the doors to the left and right stretched high-ceilinged galleries, well lit by large windows. The butler, however, led them straight forward into a drawing room decorated with the most beautiful scarlet wallpaper above honey-colored wood paneling, which protected the lower third of the wall. Everything in the room was lavish, from the gilt-framed paintings to the finely molded mantelpiece and richly embroidered chairs and chaise lounge beside dark wood tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“Wait here, if you please,” the butler said, and closed the door behind him as he left.
Lily sat while Sebastian and Sir Kipling explored the room. From her seat, she could keep an eye on the door and still examine her surroundings. They took her breath away, and she was scared to even lean back in her chair for fear of breaking something hundreds of years old. Looking opposite the door they’d come in, she could see out the back windows into the manor’s extensive gardens. On the furthest edge she even spotted a gardener in brown trousers, white shirt, and flat cap, pruning the shrubbery.
Her examination was interrupted by the sound of raised voices approaching down one of the galleries. The words were unrecognizable for a moment until they drew closer. Then Lily could hear a woman’s voice declaring, “Don’t tell me to calm down, Father. I have to see if it’s true.”
An elderly woman hurried into the room, older-looking than Madam Barrington but surprisingly spry despite her age. Her snow-white hair stood out against the evergreen fabric of her simple but elegant dress sporting a fitted skirt and cropped sleeves. Eyes scanning the room, she noted and immediately dismissed Lily as she searched for something else. Spotting Sebastian, the woman covered her mouth in shock. Then, eyes shining, she stepped forward, arms extended.
“Oh, Sebastian. Look how you’ve grown. Come here, my dear.”
“Grandmother? I—I didn’t expect to see—” was all Sebastian managed to get out before the woman wrapped him in a warm embrace, kissing him on both cheeks as she exclaimed over him.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Legends Page 4
