Crochet and Cauldrons: A paranormal cozy mystery (Vampire Knitting Club Book 3)

by Nancy Warren

I took a step back, feeling foolish. "I’m sorry. I hadn't thought. I don't have very much money on me, but of course, just tell me how much it is."

  She shook her head. "I don't want money, Lucy. I'm keeping your cat as payment."

  I stared at Nyx, but, like Margaret, the cat’s eyes gave nothing away. I couldn’t stand to lose Nyx, not now when I was in danger and her magic was clearly more powerful than mine. "But-but, we’ve hardly had any time together, yet. I thought a witch’s bond with her familiar was a deeply, personal relationship, like a marriage."

  "Well, you can consider yourself separated, soon to be divorced." She smiled and I saw that her teeth were small and white and even. Like small rodents. I hoped she shapeshifted into a mouse and Nyx chased her into a hole.

  I stood there, trying to think of a sensible argument, some way to get my cat back. I even contemplated giving Margaret Twig back her spell and the potion, but Rafe took my arm and began pulling me, physically, out of the room. He said, "Thank you, Margaret. We'll be in touch."

  Then the vampire pretty much frog-marched me out of that cottage and back to his car. I was fuming. I barely noticed that dark clouds covered the sky and it was beginning to rain. “Stop dragging me. I’m going back for Nyx. She had no right!”

  “It’s raining. Get in the car,” he ordered, then opened my door and stood there waiting for me. We had a short stand-off. The rain dampened his hair and splashed onto the shoulders of his jacket, but he didn’t move. His gaze held mine and there was command as well as appeal in his eyes. I knew that if I tried to go back he’d stop me, which infuriated me even more.

  With a sound of fury, I flung myself into the passenger seat of the car. When we were both inside the Tesla, with the doors shut, I turned to him, feeling angry and betrayed. "How could you let her steal Nyx?"

  He had his cold, implacable look in place. "Lucy, that is a very powerful witch in there. She is also capricious. She decided to help you, but if you piss her off, she could mangle that spell and put you in worse danger.”

  Now he told me. “But Nyx is mine."

  "Nyx won't be yours if you get killed," he said shortly. "Let's worry about getting you safely through this thing, and then we’ll work on getting your cat back."

  I felt marginally better that he seemed to think it was a possibility we could get Nyx back. Still, I knew that I was going to miss my familiar. Especially now, when I was under this death curse.

  It was still early and, to my surprise, Rafe said, "Would you like to have breakfast?"

  "Breakfast?"

  His wintry eyes lightened. "It's a common ritual, where people eat something after they wake up, before they start their work for the day."

  I responded to his charm, as I always did. I was still angry, but no longer with him. "Do you eat breakfast?"

  He made a kind of back-and-forth motion with his head. "I ate earlier."

  I'm certain he meant he'd made a withdrawal from the blood bank and not that he’d been out hunting during the night, but the attractive and repellent thing about Rafe was that I was never entirely sure. I was always aware that there was a bloodthirsty animal beneath the urbane surface of the antiquarian book expert.

  He took me to a little café in Woodstock, the Cotswolds market town that was near Blenheim Palace. The café was busy with students on their way to school, a table of older women who looked as though they’d come from a brisk walk, and a young, dreamy guy who had a cup of coffee in front of him and his laptop open. Two dogs snoozed at the feet of the walkers.

  The café was cozy and cheerful, exactly what I needed after the harrowing ordeal of the morning.

  I was amazingly hungry and, remembering that Margaret had told me to eat well to keep up my strength, I ordered the full English breakfast. Two fried eggs, bacon, sausage, fried mushrooms, tomatoes, and toast. Oh, and a tiny ramekin of beans on the side. I asked for coffee as well.

  I’d have sworn I could never get through such a plate of food, but still, I attacked it with gusto. I felt a little strange eating in front of Rafe when he only toyed with a cup of coffee, but I could see that he was enjoying watching me eat.

  I believed that witches were particularly sensitive to the emotions of others and I felt, again, that sense of sadness or wistfulness as he watched me eat. I imagined him recalling all the flavors of food he no longer needed to sustain him.

  After I'd satisfied the first pangs of my hunger, and could slow down a bit, I asked, "Do you think she's right? Do you think this Athu-ba will show up in the guise of a trusted old friend or some new acquaintance?"

  One of the dogs had woken. It was a black spaniel and it wandered over to sniff Rafe. He leaned down to pat the dog, who hung out its tongue and gazed at him adoringly. "Well, I hardly think he’s going to show up looking like a terrifying monster with horns. That would be a bit of a giveaway, wouldn't it?"

  "All right, there's no need to be sarcastic. It's just that there are so many new people in my life. I don't where to begin, checking them all out."

  "I'd start today. There's no sense waiting for him to make the first move."

  This was something that bothered me. "Why hasn't he made a move yet? I've had the mirror for days."

  He toyed with his coffee cup, turning it on the saucer. "Perhaps he enjoys the idea of frightening you first. Like a cat with a mouse."

  I wished he hadn’t said the word ‘cat.’ It made me think of Nyx, stuck in the arms of that cold Canadian witch.

  "He might also be checking out the lay of the land. How strong a witch are you? Do you have powerful friends? Are you part of a coven?"

  I frowned. "So, finding out I'm a fledgling witch with no powerful friends, and no coven, will be great news to the soul-sucker who’s out to kill me."

  He reached over and took my hand. "You do have friends. Don't ever forget that."

  I felt a lump of emotion constrict my chest. "Thanks," I managed.

  He seemed to hesitate and then said, "Also, I believe you are much more powerful than you know."

  I nearly choked on my coffee. "Have you seen the mess I make of the simplest spells?"

  He waved my words away with one hand. "Spells aren’t everything. Anyone can memorize a book of spells. There's a power inside you. Why do you think Meritamun felt you? And Athu-ba wants to get rid of you? He doesn't do away with every discontented hippie who hangs a crystal around her neck and calls herself a witch. He targeted you for a reason."

  "Mistaken identity?" I asked hopefully.

  He shook his head. "You are from a very powerful line of witches. Margaret recognized it."

  I made a rude sound, like a snort, indicating disbelief.

  He raised one eyebrow. "Why do you think she took your cat?"

  "Don't get me started on that. Who steals another person's cat?"

  "Nyx is so much more than a pet. She’s your familiar, and she's a powerful one. It occurred to me that Margaret is accustomed to being the most powerful and revered witch in Oxfordshire. Perhaps she confiscated your cat to limit your power."

  "Well, then it was a rotten thing to do, especially when I'm under a death curse."

  "You should accept the compliment. She clearly thinks you can beat this curse, even without your cat."

  "Well, I'd rather do it with my cat, thank you very much."

  "Don't lose your focus. Let's dispose of Athu-ba and then we'll worry about your familiar."

  He'd used the term ‘we’ again and I quite liked it. Rafe was also very powerful. And I had no doubts that he was on my side.

  I looked at him and I'm sure my eyes squinted the way Nyx's and Margaret's did when they were deeply considering something.

  “What mischief are you plotting?” he asked, seeing my expression.

  "You keep saying you're on my side, but you haven't said anything about how you're planning to help me."

  "Because it's witch business."

  I didn’t believe him. "You're watching me at night, aren't you?"

&nbs
p; He raised his eyes, looking startled. I knew I was right. If a vampire could look embarrassed, he did. Finally, he replied. "Let's just say, as I'm walking through Oxford at night anyway, I put your flat on my route."

  On some level, I think I’d known. Still, it was comforting to think of him out there, protecting me. "So, if I scream, you'll come to my rescue?"

  He said one word. "Yes." And man, he packed a lot of assurance into that one word.

  Chapter 10

  After breakfast I felt better on every level. Apart from missing Nyx, I felt at least that I had some sort of plan, protection, and weaponry. Margaret Twig might demand very high payment for her services, but my instinct told me she'd given me the most powerful magic she could.

  I glanced at my watch and saw that it was eight-thirty. I was pleasantly stuffed and the world seemed less frightening on a full stomach. I could even turn my attention to such mundane matters as my knitting shop.

  "I’d better get back. I want to brush my teeth before I open the shop."

  "Of course," he said, rising. I grabbed my purse to pay for breakfast and he stopped me. "My treat."

  I could've argued, since he hadn't eaten or drunk a thing, but Rafe was old-fashioned, chivalrous, and very rich. I let him get the bill.

  He dropped me off at the end of Harrington, which I appreciated as I didn’t want my parents, or anyone else, seeing a man drop me off at my house in the morning.

  I was about to go around to the flat’s entrance, when I realized there were lights on in the shop. I couldn't believe Mom and Dad had forgotten to turn the lights out last night after their meeting. I walked in, ready to turn them out and jumped out of my skin when a cheerful voice said, "Good morning."

  I put my hand to my chest. "Eileen. You frightened me."

  “I said I’d be coming in early, if you remember. My bus gets here at twenty past eight.” She was sitting in the visitor’s chair, crocheting a small doll.

  “Right, I remember.” I watched her making magic with the crochet hook. “That’s so pretty,” I said, coming closer.

  “They’re poppets. I make them for my grandchildren. They love to play with the little dolls. Sometimes I make tiny animals, too. It’s great for using up those leftover balls of wool.”

  The doll had a plump little body made of blue wool, with yellow wool for hair, tiny button eyes and a stitched on mouth and nose. Eileen was making the doll a tiny dress. I pictured a basket of these little dolls and patterns to make them in our front window. I’d need something adorable to draw visitors in, now that Nyx wasn’t going to be in the window, anymore. I was suddenly overcome with sadness and anger at what that evil soul-stealer and Margaret Twig had taken from me, between them.

  I needed to hide the deadly mirror, brush my teeth and, after a morning of stirring up potions, I needed a shower. “I’ll just run upstairs for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

  “You were out early, this morning.” She ran her gaze up and down my body in a way that all but said, ‘doing the walk of shame I see.’

  I wanted to tell her that me showing up at eight-thirty in the morning wasn't what it looked like, but, first of all, she wasn't my mother, and, second, I’d sound more like a skank if I made excuses. I stuck to, “Yes, I had an early appointment.” Which was true.

  She put down her crochet and stood. Today she wore a blue skirt, crisp white blouse with a cameo brooch fastened at the throat, and over it she wore a blue cardigan patterned with knitted roses. She went to the cash desk and picked up a heavy-looking cloth bag and offered it to me. "If you're going upstairs, perhaps you can take the food?"

  Right. We were having the Miss Watts for dinner tonight and Eileen had kindly agreed to cook. I walked over and peeked into the bag. Inside was a large, rectangular casserole dish, foil covered, another crystal bowl of trifle, salad in a bag, and two baguettes so fresh they were still warm.

  "I can't believe you went to all this trouble. It's incredible, and far too much food for five people. Perhaps you'd like to join us for dinner?" I secretly suspected she’d deliberately made an extra-large meal so I’d invite her to join us. I wondered if Eileen was lonely now her husband had passed away and her grandchildren were getting older.

  "Well, isn't that sweet of you to offer. But I always cook too much. I think it's nice to have the leftovers, and you never know when you'll feel the urge to invite someone else." She glanced at me sideways. "Perhaps, your young man?"

  I refused to fall into that trap. I wasn’t ready to discuss my love life or, in my case, my lack of one, with my new assistant. I said, "Well, if you change your mind, you know there's plenty of food and you'd be welcome to join us."

  “Thank you, dear, but I promised my daughter I'd babysit her little ones tonight.”

  I took the food upstairs and put it on the fridge. My parents seemed to have got up, breakfasted, and gone while I was out. They had left me a note.

  "Dear Lucy, we had an early breakfast meeting this morning. We've invited Pete and Logan and Priya for dinner tonight. Hope you don't mind a few extra guests at the table. Love Mom and Dad."

  How had I not remembered that my parents were forever inviting stray archaeologists and grad students to share our food? I silently thanked Eileen for cooking twice as much food as I had imagined we'd need. Thanks to her, I didn’t need to panic and run out and buy more.

  I rarely used Gran’s dining table, and had even thought of turning the dining room into a home office, but now I was glad to have it. The table would seat six comfortably and with the extra leaf, could accommodate eight, which was exactly the number we were having for dinner. Perfect.

  Knowing my assistant was already downstairs, made me rush through a shower and change of clothes. At five minutes to nine, I walked back into my shop, this time wearing a hand-knit sweater that Hester had made me. Hester was an eternally annoying, sneering teenager, but she could knit. Whether out of simple boredom, or because she’d been encouraged by the other vampires, I had no idea, but she’d made me a gorgeous black and white pullover, with a slouch neck that looked good with a jean skirt, black tights, and short boots.

  As I walked in, ready to open up the shop, I noticed that the vase with the daisies, lavender and rosehips was gone. In its place was a beautiful crystal vase containing three perfect roses. I went up and smelled them, and the scent was divine. "What beautiful roses."

  "Thank you, Lucy. I pride myself on my green thumb."

  I glanced around, "But what happened to the lavender and daisies?"

  Eileen had half-wrinkled her nose before she realized what she was doing and straightened it. She said, with her placid smile, "Those things grow in ditches, dear. The rose is a proper flower, cultivated by civilized people. If the good Lord had meant us to bury our noses in wildflowers, he’d have made us all bees."

  It was peculiar logic, but I wasn't going to argue with perfect blooms that looked as though they had come from an expensive florist.

  Instead, I turned the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’ and unlocked the front door. The bowl of wool in the front window still showed the impression where Nyx had slept. The cat had loved basking in the front window in various adorable, Instagram-worthy poses. A wave of sadness washed over me and I hoped Margaret would take good care of her.

  I reached over and rearranged the balls of wool so I wouldn't be reminded of Nyx quite so much.

  I raised my head, suddenly, hearing something. It was crazy, but I thought I could hear her meow. The sound was so clear I even walked outside and looked up and down the road, but there was no sign of my kitten. It was wishful hearing.

  Fortunately, we were busy enough that day that I didn't have time to miss my cat. At least not too much. Eileen continued to be a model employee, up-selling my customers like a pro. One poor woman came in for a larger size of knitting needle and walked out with more than a hundred pounds’ worth of wool, patterns, and various sizes of knitting needles.

  It was only Eileen's second day and a
lready I was contemplating giving her a raise.

  Apart from my vampires, I'd never seen a more accomplished knitter. When I complimented her on her blue sweater, she said, "I had a lot of time to sit and knit in the hospital, when my husband was ill."

  I nodded in understanding. It’s a funny thing about knitting, people take it up for a variety of reasons, but when a loved one is ill it's a time-tested way to keep the hands busy and soothe the mind.

  Eileen left at five, taking my deeply-felt thanks for her help in the shop and the food she’d cooked us, with her.

  I ran upstairs and set the table. Then I went back downstairs and took the roses from the shop. They made a beautiful centerpiece on my grandmother's old oak table. I put in the leaf and found one of her old tablecloths. It was crocheted lace and it occurred to me that one of her undead friends had probably made this.

  I put the shepherd's pie in the oven to warm, dumped the salad into a wooden salad bowl and added the homemade dressing Eileen had also supplied. The Miss Watts arrived exactly at six o'clock. I was happy they were here first, as I was able to explain to them that my mother and father had invited three archaeology grad students to join our feast.

  Instead of being offended, I thought they both seemed relieved. They were clearly stiff with each other, and I imagined they felt that the more people present, the less obvious it would be that they were barely speaking. I felt so sad, but had no idea how I could help them. The first thing I was going to do when they left was search my grimoire for a reconciliation spell.

  The next person to arrive was Pete, the Australian. He’d combed his hair and wore a clean blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show his tanned and very attractive forearms. He had two bottles of Australian wine with him, which he presented to me with a flourish. "I was awfully glad for the invite. Otherwise it was going to be another night in the pub for me."

  I was surprised. “Don’t you eat in the college dining room?”

  “Oh, yeah, but not every night. Gets a bit dull.”

  If he was looking for excitement, he had not come to the right place. I explained to him, in a low voice, that we had two elderly spinsters joining us for dinner and he said, matching my low tone, "Don't you worry. I'm good with the old girls."