Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Legends

by Lydia Sherrer

  “How can I ever thank you?” Lily asked, turning around to smile at the tailor.

  “You can wear it proudly.” She smiled back. “Oh, yes, and don’t try to modify the spells yourself. That usually just ruins the whole thing. If you need repairs or customizations, simply contact me and we will take care of it.”

  “Oh, alright.” That was good to know, though rather inconvenient. The suit itself was already going to cost an arm and a leg, she was sure. Lily wondered if it came with a warranty. At least she’d noticed Emmaline had included several identical sets of the cream blouse, which she hoped were not hand wash only. “So, um, whom do I speak to about payment for—”

  Emmaline held up a hand, cutting her off. “Mrs. Blackwell has already made the necessary arrangements. It is a gift.”

  Lily nodded and tried not to show her embarrassment. She wasn’t used to such generosity. The last time a rich relative had doted on her, it was in an attempt to marry her off to some entitled sycophant. She wondered if poor Daren Vance had ever found someone to look past his appearance and fall in love with his gentlemanly manners. She also wondered if Charles DuPont had found anybody to look past his frighteningly vulgar behavior and fall in love with his money. The ball at her father’s estate seemed so long ago, almost another lifetime. She’d been much different then. Innocent. Whole. But also weaker and less sure of herself. Life had taken its toll, yet given back in turn.

  “Well,” Lily said, breaking the contemplative silence, “I suppose I’m all suited up and ready for adventure. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your appointments. Thank you for everything, and I hope to someday work with you again.” She held out her hand and Emmaline shook it with a warm smile.

  “You’re very welcome, Ms. Singer. I wish you the best of luck, and I must say, you’re standing a bit taller today, even before you tried on the outfit. I take it you’ve been thinking about what I said?”

  Lily considered for a moment, mind going back to the whirlwind of adventure, terror, and triumph of the past few days. Of course she’d not said anything about it to Sebastian, but she’d been horrifically embarrassed and uncomfortable standing before a gorgeous fae queen in a pair of jeans and sneakers. She’d been almost paralyzed with self-doubt, despite the powerful magic running through her, simply because Thiriel had been so impressive—a virtual goddess of beauty compared to her. When the queen bade her leave, saying she was no longer needed, Lily had considered doing just that. It was obvious she would never compare to the caliber of beings Sebastian preferred to ally with. Perhaps it would have been better to simply get out of the way. Go back to her simple life and leave the world-saving to people who were actually good enough for it.

  In that moment of doubt, she had, indeed, remembered Emmaline’s words. The realization that she was basing her self-worth on the opinion of a haughty, conniving little…well, it had simply made her mad. She’d decided then and there to love herself and ignore what Thiriel thought. Whether or not she succeeded didn’t matter. She was good enough because she was herself, and for no other reason.

  That thought, and the haunted look in Sebastian’s eyes, had given her enough courage to say the first “no.”

  Lily smiled back at Emmaline. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

  “Good. If you ever need reminding, just give me a ring.” The woman gave her a firm nod and another smile, then turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

  They gathered in the lobby at one o’clock to meet up with Cyril and be on their way. As Lily descended the stairs she spotted Sebastian talking to Hawkins. Sebastian turned at the sound of her approach, but when he caught sight of her he stared in surprise.

  “Wow…uh, Lily. Where did you—I mean, your clothes, they uh…” he trailed off and Lily hid a smile.

  “I had them custom made,” she said simply, standing a bit taller and giving him a raised eyebrow.

  As his eyes met hers, his lips slowly spread into a lopsided smile, and he winked. “Gee, if I’m not careful I’ll lose my status as the best-dressed member of this group. Way to raise the bar, Lil.” He flashed her a double thumbs up.

  Turning to the front doors to hide her smile, she headed off to wait for Cyril, throwing a parting shot over her shoulder. “If you’re my only competition, it won’t be much of a fight.”

  Reaching the front doors, Lily peered out and saw Cyril approaching. With a tug at her jacket to make sure it was straight, she greeted him at the door, leading him inside to introduce to the group. Hawkins was professionally polite, as any manservant would be. Sebastian, to her great relief, made an effort. She could tell his smile was strained, but at least he got Cyril’s name right.

  Gathering their various belongings, they piled into Hawkins’s car, which appeared to be an upgraded version of the standard black taxicabs that thronged the streets. There was a brief holdup when the professor tried to bring two gigantic boxes of books with him, claiming that the data coverage wasn’t reliable out on the coast and he might need them for reference material. Sebastian vetoed the idea, insisting they go by Cyril’s office to drop off the books before heading out of Oxford. Sir Kipling, being Sir Kipling, appeared from wherever he’d been lurking to hop in the open back door and into Lily’s lap. Their new fox companion, being of the fae, generally remained invisible to the human eye—at least those susceptible to fae glamour—and so went unnoticed by the butler and professor as he slunk into the car after the cat.

  Once they were safely shut in the car, Lily made introductions all around so that the fox could spend the rest of the ride visible. Sebastian had a good laugh when, upon its appearance literally inches from Cyril’s feet, the professor nearly jumped out the window. He did not, it seemed, have much of a fondness for wildlife. Hawkins, of course, didn’t bat an eyelid. Lily suspected he’d been around the block a few times, being George Dee’s manservant.

  The fox insisted they call him Yuki since his full name was virtually unpronounceable—Ya’ilarbuki’arak, or something equally maddening. He explained it was because foxes were such mischief-makers, their aspect had been given a name so difficult to pronounce that only the truly furious would go to the trouble of trying to say it.

  To this, of course, Sir Kipling made many derogatory comments, so much so that Lily banished him to the front to sit on Sebastian’s lap while Yuki lay at their feet on the floor in the back.

  Once the antagonistic cat had been separated from his archenemy, things went a bit more smoothly, though it was still cramped. It didn’t take long for Lily to decide that the three-and-a-half-hour drive down to the West Country was going to be extremely taxing. That’s what they got for trying to make a cat and fox get along, not to mention stuffing six life forms plus luggage into a vehicle meant for four. Between Sir Kipling’s grumbled mutterings, Sebastian’s jokes, Yuki’s biting remarks, and Cyril’s complaints, she was fast developing a headache. Hawkins, ever the professional, remained silent.

  Finally, Lily could take it no longer and put a ban on all non-mission-related conversation. The animals mostly ignored her, but at least she was able to shift the focus from bickering to discussing Morgan’s journal with Cyril, while Sebastian and Hawkins chipped in as needed.

  By the time they’d gotten off the M5 onto the A30, passing Exeter, Lily was feeling much better about their chances for success. Despite his grumblings and dire predictions of failure without access to his reference books, Cyril had done an excellent job of analyzing Morgan’s text. Lily could see how her father’s sloppier translation would have sent them in completely the wrong direction had they depended on it.

  Unfortunately, since John Faust had Morgan’s resting place directly from his location spell, they couldn’t count on his faulty translation to steer him in the wrong direction. With luck, however, the key details needed to access the tomb would be jumbled enough that Lily and Cyril could decipher them first.

  Lily was distracted from her conversation with Cyril by their sudden decrease in speed. When she
looked up, it was to the sight of bumper-to-bumper traffic backed up on the motorway in front of them. For a trip that had gone smoothly so far—minus her headache and the cramped quarters—they were all willing to wait. But as minutes dragged into almost an hour with barely any progress, tempers flared and Hawkins decided to follow the steady trickle of other frustrated motorists off a handy exit. Now the problem was navigating the back roads to get around the holdup. Hawkins pulled out a road map, which he and Cyril consulted—Cyril claiming to have traveled these parts on a regular basis for his research—and they picked out an acceptable detour.

  But, after nearly thirty minutes crawling down tiny country lanes, some of them without even road signs, there was still no hint of the motorway. Cyril kept insisting it was only a bit further, while Sebastian countered with biting remarks about England’s inferior road system. With both a side-seat and a back-seat driver telling him where to go, even Hawkins’ mask of civility started cracking.

  In the end, Lily put her foot down. Being the only female in their motley crew, she was the sole individual who retained the ability to use rational thought when it came to directions. She insisted the men admit they were lost and pull over for directions.

  They pulled off into the drive of a charming country cottage by the road. According to their map they were somewhere in Devon, but no one knew exactly where. Lily, having insisted they stop in the first place, was volunteered to go ring the bell and ask for directions. Grumbling about the pigheadedness of men, Lily climbed out of the car. The tension in her muscles fell away as she took a deep breath of crisp afternoon air and stretched mightily, extremely grateful for a bit of solitude, however brief.

  Turning to the cottage, she admired it as she approached. It was small, probably only three or so rooms, with a tiled roof and walls made of reddish stone. While it was nothing impressive in and of itself, it was surrounded by an extensive cottage garden. Even though September was well upon them there were still flowers blooming. Their riot of pinks, purples, yellows, and whites contrasted with the reddish hue of the cottage as plants spilled over pathways and hung off trellises in a sort of organized chaos.

  Feeling a bit better about knocking on a stranger’s door—nobody who tended such a lovely garden could be very bad, could they?—Lily walked up the cobblestone path and rapped on the heavy oak door. She saw a flutter of curtains in one many-paned window and heard the steps of someone approaching.

  The door opened with measured deliberateness, revealing the smiling face of an older woman, perhaps in her fifties. Rather short of stature, her black hair was shot through with threads of silver but her blue eyes were bright with curiosity and kindness as she addressed the stranger on her doorstep. “Afternoon, dearie. What can I do for you?” She spoke in the thick, slow, warm accent of Devonshire. Lily couldn’t help but smile.

  “I do apologize for bothering you, ma’am, but my friends and I are traveling to Tintagel and we’re rather lost. Do you think you could direct us back to the closest, um, motorway?” She had to remember that interstates were called motorways in England.

  “Goin’ to Tintagel are you? For a spot of tourin’, I expect. ‘Tis a popular place. You’d be from America then, would you?”

  The woman’s curiosity was a bit off-putting, but Lily knew she was just being friendly. “Not tourists, ma’am. More, um, researchers. We’re coming from Oxford. So, could you give us directions?”

  “Ooh! Oxford. ‘Ow lovely. But see now,” she said, checking her watch, “it’s nigh on time for tea an’ I was just goin’ to put on the kettle. Why don’t you invite your friends o’er there to come on in an’ ’ave a sit-down? We don’t get many visitors out this way.”

  “Oh, that’s very kind of you, but we wouldn’t want to impose—”

  “Nonsense, nonsense. Now go call your friends inside. I’m sure I ‘ave a tin of biscuits ‘round ‘ere somewhere…” Not waiting for Lily’s reply, the woman turned, leaving the door wide open as she headed back into the house.

  Lily just stood for a moment, taken aback, listening to the sounds of rummaging and happy mutterings as the woman talked to herself. “Where is it now…oh for ’eavens’ sake…such a delight, visitors for tea…where’s the cream, they’ll be wantin’ that…out of the way, now, Petunia…”

  There was a meow of protest, the tinkle of a bell, and a cat appeared in the doorway, sitting down to lick her paw and stare lazily up at Lily. It was a Persian, or something related, with a ridiculously fluffy, pure white coat and a face that looked like someone had shut a door on it. Well, that settled it. Sir Kipling would mutiny if she failed to introduce him to such an enchanting lady cat, plus a nice cup of tea after hours stuck in that car sounded delightful.

  Trudging back up the drive to where the car sat idling, she signaled Hawkins to roll down the window.

  “How do you all feel about a pit stop for tea and biscuits? This nice lady is happy to give us directions but she’s just having tea and has invited us to join her.”

  Cyril made a sound of delight from the back seat. “That would be splendid! I could use a good stretch.”

  Sebastian snorted. “Don’t be silly. We don’t have time. We’ve wasted enough of it as it is. Come, Lil, we need to be going.”

  Since there was nothing they could get done that evening except check into a hotel, and since she knew he loved to eat absolutely everything any chance he got, Lily felt sure Sebastian was being difficult for the sake of disagreeing with Cyril.

  Sir Kipling, curled up in Sebastian’s lap, yawned mightily. “I just spent hours grooming and a jaunt through the countryside would muss my fur. I vote we keep going.”

  “There’s a lady cat.” Lily said casually, lifting one eyebrow. “And I overheard the owner talking about fresh cream.”

  Sir Kipling was up and out of the car like a shot, bounding from Sebastian’s lap, to Hawkins’s, then right out the window past Lily’s face. Landing with customary cat-like grace, he paused to give a few unruly patches of fur a good lick, then trotted off toward the cottage door. “What are you waiting for, slowpokes?” he meowed over his shoulder, ears pointed toward the cottage and the faint tinkle of a bell.

  The odd sound of a barking chortle came from inside the car, and Cyril gave a startled yelp, scrambling for the door handle. “For a cat, he sure does think with his stomach,” Yuki commented as Cyril made a quick exit of the vehicle. “I’ll just nose about then, shall I?” The silver fox jumped out of the recently opened door and trotted off toward the nearby tree line. Though Lily could see him, there was a slight shimmer around his form, indicating he was using his fae glamour.

  “Well, Sebastian, I think you’ve been overruled.” Lily grinned and motioned for Hawkins to pull the car all the way up to the house. Her friend would be grumpy for about two minutes. Then he would eat some cookies and drink some tea and everything would be fine again. It was amusing how much more enthusiastic Sebastian was about “tea and biscuits” once he realized that “biscuit” was British for “cookie.”

  They filed into the cottage, wiping their feet carefully on the doormat as they went. Upon entering, Lily found her guess about three rooms had been correct. It looked like there was one large living room-cum-kitchen, with two doors leading off to a bedroom and a washroom.

  To her utter non-surprise, Sir Kipling was already lapping at a saucer of cream across from Petunia, who had her own bowl on the floor by the refrigerator. The woman was oohing and aahing over his silken coat and peculiar markings, calling him a “right little gentleman.”

  Lily interrupted her cat’s worship session to introduce herself and her companions.

  “Dearie me, what a pleasure to meet you all, I’m sure. I’m Mary Falconer. Mr. Falconer passed several years ago an’ all the children are grown an’ gone, so it’s just me now. Me an’ Petunia, course, an’ the flowers.”

  There was an awkward pause, and Lily felt a pang of pity for the old woman, all alone out in the country. But by the looks o
f the house she was far from unhappy. It was bright and cheery, full of floral patterns and beautifully framed pictures. There were dozens of family portraits on every flat surface in the house, with multiple grandchildren in evidence. So perhaps not alone. Just lonely for a bit of company.

  The shrill whistle of the kettle broke the silence, and Mrs. Falconer hurried off to prepare the tea. Lily gently inserted herself into the preparations, taking directions to get out the cups and saucers and cut up fruit and cheese to arrange on a little plate. The menfolk sat down awkwardly in the flowery chairs, sinking into their soft, pastel embrace. All except Hawkins, who stood, looking perfectly at ease while his eyes carefully inspected their surroundings.

  With the tea ready, Lily and Mrs. Falconer joined the men and passed out cups of Earl Grey—the best tea, Mrs. Falconer declared, as it was the favorite of the Queen. Sebastian took three biscuits and was reaching for a fourth when Lily caught his attention and gave him the stink eye. Cyril and Hawkins were, of course, perfectly polite, being both English and gentlemen, two traits that Sebastian lacked. Though she supposed she couldn’t hold the former against him.

  For the sake of politeness, she spearheaded the conversation, asking Mrs. Falconer about her interest in flowers. That kept her chatting for a good five minutes, and Sebastian had started to eye the plate of biscuits again when the old woman surprised them all by asking what they were researching at Tintagel.

  Lily glanced at Sebastian who took the cue and answered smoothly, cutting off a bright-eyed Cyril who had opened his mouth to inundate them all with scholarly drivel. “Nothing much, Mrs. Falconer. Just some old myths and legends. Why, have you been there?”

  “Oh yes, I certainly ’ave. The coast t’was always Mr. Falconer’s favorite place to ’oliday, an’ Tintagel is quite the spot to visit. We been out to the ruins several times, though it’s become a bloody tourist trap these days, I ’ear. Packed to burstin’ in the summer months. Things’ll be slowin’ down, now September’s come ‘round, course, though it’s hit an’ miss with the weather. You best be gettin’ up early if you want any privacy. Oh, an’ be sure an’ check the tides afore you go out. The walkways an’ such are all above the water, but there’s caves an’ beaches down below you’ll be wantin’ to explore. Since you’re ’eadin’ out that way, the King’s Table’s the best ’otel o’ the lot. We stayed there countless times, never ’ad a single complaint.”