“Well, not you personally, just humans in general. I, however, am of the mind that since you cannot help it, it is no use holding it against you.”
“Sebastian, do you have any idea what he’s talking about?” Lily demanded.
Sebastian was currently looking away, trying to hide a smile behind his hand. He turned back, face straight again, and spoke. “Hem—um, right. My best guess is he’s one half of the duality of fox. As in, the animal. All plants and animals have dual aspects. They aren’t the same as low or high fae. They’re more like the magical representation of each species. They help keep their kind in order, so to speak. I hadn’t realized Thiriel’s messenger was an actual fox.”
“Well, what else were you expecting? A fake fox?”
Sebastian made a face and shrugged, conceding the point.
“But, don’t you have, uh, more fox-like things to do? Carrying messages seems more of a bird thing to me,” Lily ventured.
“Do I look like I know what is going on in the queen’s head? I am her messenger, not her therapist. Now, do you want my help or not?”
“Um…” Lily looked at Sebastian, unsure. Was he really there to help? Or just to spy on them for Thiriel?
“We’re very grateful for your offer, uh, Mr. Fox. But really, I think we’ll be fine on our own.”
“Nonsense. If you are worried about my, ahem, messenger duties, then do not be. The queen did not send me, I came on my own. She would be rather furious if she knew I was here. I am meddling, you see, and she does not approve of that.”
Lily and Sebastian looked at each other. Sebastian grinned. She shrugged.
“Oooh, no. No, no, no! We are absolutely not letting that mutt tag along. I forbid it.” Sir Kipling, the need to protest overcoming his disgust, had entered the room and jumped up on a table as far away from the bed as possible, glaring at the fox.
“You, cat, are simply jealous of my tail. Come now, admit it.” The fox swished it across the covers, and Lily had to admit it was quite magnificent—fluffy, soft, and beautifully patterned—though she would never say so in front of her cat.
Sir Kipling, wisely, did not engage in banter but rather gave Lily a doleful look. “He’s a dog. Are we really going to trust a dog?”
The fox made a startling noise, halfway between a bark and a laugh. “Hardly a dog. But better a dog than a cat. Would not you say, oh cunning and mischievous one?”
Feline and canine stared at each other, the former with slitted yellow eyes, the latter with wide, guileless blue ones.
“Alright, break it up,” Sebastian said, chuckling. “We don’t have time to argue. For now, yes, we’d be grateful for your, um, help.” Sebastian glanced sideways at her, no doubt wondering—as she did—what sort of help the aspect of fox had in mind.
“Excellent. So, when do we leave?”
“That depends entirely on your scholar buddy, Lily. Mr. Hootee or whatever his name is.”
“It’s Hawtrey, and he’s a doctor, not a mister.” Lily glared at her friend. “You had better be polite. He’s been very kind to help us on such short notice. I won’t have you snubbing him just because you’re jealous.”
“Me? Jealous? As if.” Sebastian said, making a dismissive sound.
“It doesn’t matter, just be polite. Alright? I’ll go see him straight away. Can you make sure Hawkins has all our things together? We need to be ready to leave as soon as Cyril gives us a location, which will be today, hopefully.”
“Cyril?” Sebastian asked with raised eyebrows and a mocking tone. “I thought you said he was Dr. Hawtrey.”
Lily blushed and glared but refused to be pulled into an argument. Turning back to the fox, she smiled politely. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Fox. Please ignore any insults or slights from Sir Kipling, I’m sure you realize he doesn’t mean them, deep down.”
“Sir? What is he sir of, pray tell? The litter box?” asked the fox.
“I most certainly do mean them. Every single word!” Sir Kipling spluttered.
Sebastian chortled. “Ooh boy, this is going to be fun.”
Lily threw up her hands and left the room.
She phoned ahead, making sure Cyril was in his office and available to meet. She also left a message for Emmaline saying that they would soon be leaving Oxford and wondering what her progress was on the outfit. Lastly, she called her mother, apprehensive but also hopeful.
There was no good news. But there was no bad news either. George had settled in and was working with Allen, but no progress had been made. Madam Barrington’s condition was the same. Lily knew she was needed in England, but she still wished with all her heart to be by her mentor’s side instead of half a world away. She couldn’t even stay angry at her father, who was the cause of it all. The anger was there, but it smoldered under a heavy weight of sadness. Sadness for the decisions he’d made and the person he’d chosen to be.
Hoping that staying busy would ease her worry, Lily dressed and headed off to meet with Cyril while Sebastian got busy making arrangements with Hawkins. Sir Kipling, absolutely refusing to be anywhere near their new ally, insisted on coming with her. She took pity and acquiesced, though she warned him he’d have to get used to the fox’s company sooner or later. Sir Kipling expressed his displeasure through alternating cold silence and grumbling complaints. He even refused to accompany her into the History Faculty building, mumbling about a bit of grass and trees out back that he wanted to explore. Lily supposed he just needed space for a good sulk. He would find her again once her meeting with the history professor was over.
Upon entering Cyril’s office, Lily was shocked to find it in complete disarray. Being the workspace of a professor, there was bound to be a plethora of books and papers. But the last time she’d been there, things had been stacked and ordered with plenty of clear space. Now the room looked like it had been attacked by a paper blizzard. Thick, scholarly-looking books lay open on all surfaces, and every square inch not taken up by books or stacks of paper was occupied by one of a half dozen mugs, some empty, some still containing tea long since gone cold.
“My goodness, Dr. Hawtrey, have you even slept since Monday?” Lily commented as she picked up three books and a large stack of papers from the visitor’s chair, placing them carefully on an already precariously balanced pile on the desk.
“Not really, no,” he muttered absentmindedly, pencil sticking out of one side of his mouth as he used both hands to flip through a massive dictionary. “Close the door, if you don’t mind. I’m almost done. Just a minute more.”
Lily settled in the chair, trying to occupy herself with peering about the room while Cyril scribbled furiously. Large maps of England were laid out everywhere. One was affixed to the wall and had several pins stuck through it, all clustered around various locations in the West Country—that southwestern-most tip of England, encompassing the counties of Cornwall, Devon, Somerset, and Dorset.
“What are these pins?” Lily asked, pointing.
“Hmm? Oh, possible locations of Morgan le Fay’s tomb.”
“Oh.” She fell silent, considering. Cornwall was the location of Tintagel Castle, the purported location of King Arthur’s birth and so possibly the home of his half sister as well. Rising from her chair and looking closely at the map, she could see a pin sticking out of the “T” of Tintagel village, right on the coast. There were several other pins clustered nearby, and a few more scattered further afield.
“Done!”
Lily jumped at the sharp word and triumphant slap of Cyril’s hand on the table. Turning, she surveyed the older man, now leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face wearily.
“Finished translating? Or making sense of it?”
“Good grief, just translating. Though it’s starting to come together in my head simply from going over it so many times.”
“That’s good, because we’re leaving this afternoon.”
“What? No, that’s impossible. I haven’t made arrangements…I’d need to pack�
��all my appointments…surely you could wait a few days?”
“I’m afraid not, Dr. Hawtrey,” Lily said, trying to hide her relief that they might get to leave him behind. “There is much at stake and we can’t delay a moment longer than necessary. I do apologize you won’t be able to accompany us but—”
“No, no. Don’t be silly. I’ll make it work. Of course I will. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Can you imagine? The opportunity to discover Morgan’s tomb, it’s simply mind-boggling. Think of the papers I could write—”
“Ahem.” Heart sinking, Lily coughed into her hand, interrupting Cyril’s excited ranting. “You do remember the part about armed and dangerous adversaries who are not afraid to use deadly magic?”
“Oh…yes…well. I’ll stay in the back, then, shall I?”
Lily sighed and told Cyril when to meet them at the Macdonald Randolph hotel. They would discuss Morgan’s journal on the drive. At her request, he suggested the area of Tintagel as the best place to start their search. They could widen the net from there if need be.
Plans made, Lily left him to his frantic preparations as he made calls and scrambled to gather what he would need for the journey. Her cell phone rang as she was exiting the building and she was relieved to see it was Emmaline.
“Hello, Emmaline?” she answered the call.
“Indeed. Hello Ms. Singer. I received your message and I am delighted to say that I’ve finished your outfit, if you’d like me to bring it by today.”
“Really? That’s wonderful, of course, but…how? It’s barely been two days.”
“Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” the tailor replied enigmatically. “And besides, I felt inspired and had nothing particularly urgent to get in the way. You’d be surprised what an artist can accomplish when they feel inspired.”
“Well…thank you. I can’t wait to see it. Can you come right away? I’m free now and we’re hoping to leave in the early afternoon.”
“Hmm.” There was a pause, as if Emmaline were checking the time. “Yes…I believe I can make it. I have a few stops to make, but I’ll be there before noon. Same room?”
“Yes. And thank you again, this will be enormously helpful.”
“Just doing what I do best, Ms. Singer. No need to thank me.”
They said goodbye and Lily put her phone away with a sigh of relief. Casual clothes were all well and good, she supposed. But she just didn’t feel right in them. If she were going to risk life and limb she wanted to at least feel properly attired while doing so.
With all the plans made and preparations well under way, all she had left to do was return to the hotel, pack her things, and await Emmaline’s arrival. Not sure if Sebastian would be in his room when she got back, she went ahead and called to inform him of their destination so he and Hawkins could prepare accordingly.
Sir Kipling showed up again when Lily was halfway back, and he looked in a much better mood. He also seemed rather rounder than normal, and Lily wondered which shopkeeper nearby he had plied with his feline wiles to get a belly full of treats. She shook her head but didn’t comment. She’d already warned him that if he were overweight at his annual vet checkup he would be put on a strict diet. He might ignore her warning, but if he could handle human intelligence, she figured he could handle human responsibility, too.
Back at the hotel she made quick work of the packing, then occupied herself reading more of the online source material Cyril had assigned her. Sebastian and Hawkins were off preparing the car, having agreed to meet her in the lobby to check out at one o’clock.
Noon came sooner than she expected, absorbed as she was in her reading material. She was forewarned, however, of Emmaline’s arrival: before the woman had even knocked on the door, her cat’s head came up from where he’d curled up on the bed. Ears perked, he listened for a moment, then got up and stretched lazily.
“That clothes lady is here,” he commented, sitting alert on the bedspread. Lily knew he was looking forward to this, having missed the initial fitting. She only hoped the outfit was sufficiently impressive to give him no fodder for sarcastic commentary.
With such an excellent watch-cat, she was at the door and opening it almost before Emmaline knocked.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Singer,” she greeted Lily, coming straight in, holding a large clothing bag and carrying a shoebox under one arm. “If you would please try all this on for me, so I can check and make certain everything fits. We’ll have to make do for the time being if anything is off, but I’ll make note of it to fix later, since I assume you’ll want more such outfits?”
“Well, I hadn’t really thought that far yet, but I suppose that would be a good idea.” Picking up the clothing bag and shoebox, she took them into the bathroom to change.
Taking it all out, she admired the fine fabric, the clean cut, and the absolutely perfect craftsmanship of each piece. Still, she wouldn’t really know how it looked until she tried it out.
When it was all put on and arranged, Lily exited the bathroom to stand in front of the full-length mirror she’d specially requested for the occasion. Apparently making odd but reasonable requests and expecting them to be met was one of the perks of a five-star hotel.
As Lily stepped in front of the mirror, Emmaline smiled broadly, clasping her hands and watching silently as her subject enjoyed the fruit of her labor.
The woman Lily saw in the mirror was impressive. Both elegant and competent, fashionable and capable. She wore a cream blouse sensibly gathered and pleated at the neck and wrists, tucked into a modified pencil skirt of a hardy brown fabric. Instead of a tube of cloth reaching down to the knee, on one side it stopped just below the hip and slashed across her body in a diagonal line to reach its full length on her far side. Underneath the outer skirt were pleats that would allow freedom of movement—a half skirt, half kilt construction that sounded rather ridiculous, but turned out quite dashing. On the side of the outer skirt, which extended to her knees, there was a discreet but handy pocket. Lily was relieved to discover it was not the tiny, useless excuse for a pocket that most female wear inflicted upon women. Rather it was quite deep, big enough for all manner of knick-knacks.
Underneath the skirt, she wore a sensible pair of leggings—because England was cold—and her feet were clad, no armored, in a pair of Doc Martens. These boots were no joke. They felt solid and capable yet looked exquisitely elegant, as their leather form fit her like a glove, lacing all the way up to the knee. With thick, tough soles and little heel, they would be perfect for running, climbing, jumping, or whatever ridiculous situation she might be dragged into. She felt like a superhero just wearing them, and thought she began to understand why Emmaline carried herself the way she did. It was amazing the difference a pair of good boots could make.
Coming up behind her, Emmaline’s smiling face appeared in the mirror over Lily’s shoulder. In her hands she held the jacket for the outfit, which she helped slip up Lily’s arms and settle on her shoulders. Like the skirt, the jacket was asymmetrical, with one side slashing down below the waist in a sort of side-tail while the other side was cut at waist level. It had a cross body zipper and a high collar, its material both smooth and durable.
“How does the fit feel?” Emmaline asked, eyeing her appraisingly.
“It’s wonderful. Like a second skin.” Lily ran her hands over it, noting that, though the jacket was form-fitting, the sleeves were loose enough to allow easy movement and reach. Admiring what she saw in the mirror she gave a little laugh. “I feel like Joan of Arc being armored up for battle.”
“Well, it’s not the best of analogies, but it comes closer to the mark than you might think.”
“Really? How so?” Lily asked, suddenly apprehensive.
“Oh, nothing too outrageous, just all the normal spells for fire resistance, waterproofing, and non-conductivity. We’ve been experimenting with bullet resistant wards but I didn’t have much time and thought you wouldn’t need it. On the more practical side, it’s also wa
rded against tearing, staining, and, my very favorite, wrinkling. It is hand wash only, unfortunately, but shouldn’t need it that often, so I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.” She was fussing with Lily’s collar, and so it was a moment before she looked back up at the mirror and noticed Lily’s dropped jaw.
“What? Is hand washing a problem? I suppose I could look into—“
“No, no, that’s all fine. I mean—I thought—you’re a wizard?” Lily was absolutely floored. She’d examined Emmaline with great interest when they’d first met and she was sure she’d detected no magic.
Emmaline laughed. “Oh goodness, no. Not a wizard, just an initiate. I don’t do any of the spell work myself. My family has been designing, making, and spelling clothes for wizards for, dear me, hundreds of years. We make use of everyone’s skills. The more independent and artistic of us do the design work and sometimes the actual sewing. I’m particularly fond of sewing, so I do much of it myself. Then there are others of us—wizards, obviously—who do the warding. Or, sometimes, it’s the other way round, depending on the needs of the client. We do make pre-warded fabric, which is mostly what I used for yours since I was short on time.”
“But—but Elizabeth said that you…”
“Ah, yes. Dear Mrs. Blackwell. She’s very kind to me. Thinks I’m too good for the family business. Says I should go mainstream and work for one of the big mundane designers. I could, I suppose. But it would be such a bother, don’t you think? All that attention and the fashion shows and the networking. Terribly exhausting, if you ask me. No, I’m much happier where I am. The family takes care of the business side of things and all I have to do is create exceptional clothes. I make a good living that keeps me comfortable, and have plenty of space in which to experiment. That’s all I ask for in life.”
“Well, I suppose if that’s what makes you happy…” Lily murmured, still rather speechless. She peered more closely at the clothes, this time looking for magic. It was so subtle, so beautifully woven into the cloth that she could barely see it. But then, Emmaline’s family had been doing this for hundreds of years.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Legends Page 16
