Farrah sat at the table and Thomas reached over to pat her hand, offering a comforting smile. Tilly wanted to apologize, but she couldn’t make the words come out. Her anger at what had happened to the poor girl in her house, her beloved Belmary House, was overshadowed by the intense guilt. But how could she be held responsible for something so far both in her past and her future? Before a headache could come on from the confusion of it, she pushed away her plate and gave a brisk nod to Farrah, who she could sense would not welcome her pity.
“Shall we go to your source, then?”
They set out, Tilly struggling to keep up with Farrah and Thomas’ brisk pace while she tried to take in the sights and sounds of 1889 London. It was bustling and loud and smelled about how she remembered, horse manure, sweaty people, an occasional whiff of a delicious meat pie or pastry as they hustled past vending stalls and open shops, and the sooty scent of coal. Tilly marveled at all the carriages, it was a little frightening as they crossed street after street, getting yelled at or nearly run down.
The dresses and men’s attire were amazing, and Tilly felt disloyal to admit to herself she liked them a bit better than the fashions of 1814. Her bustle that had so delighted her when a servant helped her get changed was incredibly heavy, though, and after about forty five minutes of trudging through streets and alleys, she was huffing like she’d run a marathon.
“How much further?” she asked, pulling up her skirts and running to catch up with the brisk pair, who weren’t winded in the least. Well, Thomas wasn’t wearing three hundred pounds of clothing, and Farrah had been here for a while so was used to it, she consoled herself. “Is it safe here? Maybe we should have taken the carriage after all.” Goodness, she sounded like a fearful old person, and when they gave her a pitying look she would have blushed if she weren’t already so red from exertion.
“Almost there,” Farrah said, never slowing her pace.
Way to take a hint, Tilly thought bitterly, but at least Thomas hung back with her and took her arm.
“We’ll hire a carriage for the return journey,” he said. He didn’t add ‘grandma’, but he might as well have.
She scowled as she stepped up her pace. All those weeks of sitting around in drawing rooms had made her out of shape, and then all the weeks of hiding and starving hadn’t helped either. She couldn’t wait to get back and get up to the farm in Scotland where she could run and play basketball to her heart’s content.
They finally turned down a narrow lane. Tilly wondered how Farrah had managed to find this place. She must have wandered aimlessly for hours every day.
The small display window was full of empty glass bottles of all ages, colors, and sizes, stacked and spilling onto one another on a dusty red cloth. There was no sign above the shop, only a hand scrawled, weathered board in the window that said Ezra Ermine Apothecary, and a carved gargoyle on the dark wooden door seemed to tell them to not bother knocking.
Farrah didn’t knock, only heaved the heavy door open, her face breaking into the first true smile Tilly had seen on her as she pushed past a tall stack of dusty books and held the door open invitingly for them.
Thomas swallowed hard and entered bravely, and Tilly had no choice but to follow. More books lay everywhere along the floorboards, strewn on a tall cane chair that almost looked like a narrow, rickety throne, crammed in between shelves, and piled up in front of a barred, wooden door. The place was dimly lit with a few gas wall sconces and a candle flickering on the aged, scarred counter top. The walls were lined with dried, hanging bundles of herbs and flowers, and rows and rows of tiny filled bottles were stacked to the ceiling behind the counter, each one with a miniscule label. A strong medicinal smell invaded her nostrils and along with the gently floating dust, made her cough. She covered her mouth, not wanting to make any noise in the hushed, crowded atmosphere.
“Didn’t I say this place was amazing?” Farrah said, clearly delighted to be there. “If there’s a plant anywhere in this world, Mr. Ermine will know about it.”
A grey paisley curtain covered an entry into a back room and after a moment of them shuffling about, it rustled and a man appeared: thin, gangly, with wire rimmed reading glasses perched precariously on his nose. He peered at them with protruding eyes, his face cracking into a smile when he recognized Farrah.
“My dear, welcome. You’ve brought friends.”
Tilly froze, every nerve in her body screaming for her to run, but her legs betrayed her and she thought she might pass out. The accent was different, less posh, but the voice, the face, the bandy legs, were all the same. Tilly reached for Thomas to keep herself from falling over, forcing herself to come to her senses. She had to be mistaken.
Except one tended to remember a person who wanted to kill you, and the last time she had seen this man, he’d been pointing a gun straight at her. She didn’t know how it was possible, but she was standing three feet away from Solomon Wodge.
Chapter 11
Icy prickles ran up the back of Tilly’s neck, her hands curling into fists. Thomas’ back was to her, as he bowed to Wodge. He’d probably never seen Thomas before, but any second he was going to lay eyes on her and they’d all be dead, never seen or heard from again. However he’d got to this time, set up this shop, his ruse was up and he wasn’t going to like that.
She should run before he got a chance to recognize her. It might put Thomas and Farrah in an embarrassing predicament, having to explain why she’d fled, but being embarrassed was better than being tortured in the back room of this place. They could get the herbs they needed for the spell and they’d all live to figure out what in the hell had happened to cause Solomon Wodge to be just about to notice her. It was too late, she’d stayed frozen too long. He finished greeting Thomas, and turned to look at her.
The watery bulbous eyes settled on her and he smiled a curious, welcoming smile, holding out his hand to her. There wasn’t an inkling of recognition. Not a hint of murderous rage. Her mouth was too dry to speak, and her hands seemed frozen in their locked fists, but she managed to hold one out to him, which he held for a split second, then dropped, turning back to Farrah.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked. Pleasantly.
Tilly’s mind went from frozen with fear to racing with confusion, and she staggered back to one of the chairs, pushing a pile of books out of the way to sit. Wodge, or Ezra Ermine, or whoever he was, turned to her solicitously.
“Are you quite all right, miss?”
There was nothing in his look or voice that acknowledged that he knew who she was. Had he forgotten? Not the Solomon Wodge she knew. Was she the one who had forgotten what he looked like? Not a chance. She saw it as clearly as if it was yesterday. He’d been holding Ashford, Piper Sinclair, and his father Liam Wodge in a magical lockdown, tormenting them, when she’d stupidly burst into the room and tried to shoot him.
Her gun skills were less than competent, she simply hated the things, it was one of the reasons she’d never made it through the police academy. After she’d missed him, he’d turned his own gun on her and she was seconds from being shot when Ashford unleashed an unknown magical fury on him, sending him God only knew where and when. Was it here and now? But, how?
When she dumbly didn’t respond, Thomas told him she was tired from the long walk, and Wodge offered her tea. Poison? That seemed too easy for him. She declined the tea, saying she’d be fine in a minute, though she wasn’t certain that was the truth. He wasn’t going to acknowledge her, so all she could do was go along with it for now. They needed the herbs for the spell and if she went ballistic from fear, they’d be stuck in this time with him. She did not want to be stuck in a time with Solomon Wodge.
She sat in a daze while he showed Farrah a batch of dried flowers. She knew if she managed to whisper something to Thomas, he’d probably do something rash. She was sure Ashford had warned him many times about his nemesis, but it was now apparent that Thomas had never seen him for himself.
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�What are they for?” asked Farrah as she carefully turned the bundle of dried blooms over and sniffed them. She had lost her look of mild sullenness and seemed animated and interested for the first time. Wodge— no, Ermine— no, it had to be Wodge, but what was his game? He answered jovially, none of the hard hatred in his voice.
“These have no medicinal value, except that they soothe the eyes and perhaps the heart with their beauty.”
Tilly forced herself not to gag, but the more she calmed down and observed, it seemed he wasn’t acting. The way he looked at the flowers, she could tell he truly believed what he was saying. Or he deserved an award.
“I think Mrs. Hedley would definitely like a bouquet of these, don’t you, Thomas?” asked Farrah sweetly, while Wodge wrapped them in paper for her. “But what we really came for, besides to see you, of course, —”
Tilly had to force down another gag reflex. What was between these two? She felt like she’d fallen down a rabbit hole. Farrah finished her question, naming the rare herbs they needed for the spell.
Wodge’s eyes brightened and he laughed. Not a sinister laugh, one filled with humor and delight. It wasn’t right, and it gave Tilly the chills, more confused than she’d been in her life. And she’d been plenty confused lately.
“Planning to try a magical spell, are you?” he asked, as if he thought it was a great joke. Their stunned silence gave them away, and he looked embarrassed. “Oh, goodness, I was jesting, since the only place I’d ever seen those plants mentioned was in an ancient grimoire I have around here somewhere.” He cast his eyes around the room and shrugged. “I have so many old books that speak about magic and the wee folk, and witches. I’m terribly fascinated with all that old lore, it makes perfect bedtime reading. And of course, there’s some very sound medicinal information in many of those old stories.” His cheeks pinkened at admitting his secret passion, and yet he looked like he longed to keep talking about it.
This was the last straw for Tilly. The Solomon Wodge she knew hated magic and anyone who had anything to do with it. He was himself the son of a powerful witch, but he’d been separated from his parents when he was a baby and the truth of what he was made him so angry and vengeful, he killed anyone who cast the mildest hex, and especially went after those who time traveled.
“We’re interested in it, too,” Farrah said, matching his light tone, though her eyes darted nervously to Thomas. “Um, we thought it would be a lark to try time travel.”
Tilly closed her eyes and held her breath. This was it. He wouldn’t be able to keep up this ruse any longer. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t leave Thomas. They were all of them already dead the moment Wodge came through the curtain. Any second she would feel a blade at her throat, or hear the screams of the others. Instead she heard a clap and a giggle. She opened her eyes to see Wodge looking twice as delighted as before, clapping his bony hands together with glee.
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” He kept making a ludicrous tee hee as he started turning the place upside down. “Let me see if I can find that book, it’s been so long since I’ve looked at it, but now that you mention it, I do believe that spell was about traversing through the ages. Oh, do tell when you plan to go.”
Tilly finally managed to stand up. She coughed and lunged for Farrah’s hand. She gave her a hard look and a slight shake of the head, and spat out an answer before she could tell the truth and ruin everything.
“We haven’t decided yet,” she croaked, forcing a deep breath and what she hoped was a tinkling laugh.
Fortunately he was so engrossed in patting down all his books that he didn’t notice how jumpy she acted and she took a few more quiet deep breaths. She didn’t know what was going on but it looked like they might live through this. He brought a stack of books to the counter and smiled down at them.
“One of these might be it, but I thought it was bigger. Have a look through them if you like while I check in the back.”
Farrah and Thomas eagerly rushed forward and each began paging through a book. Tilly wedged her way in between them and read the titles. None of them looked like they’d have any authentic hexes, and one was clearly a novel.
“I think we should go,” she whispered, more afraid with Wodge out of her sight. He could be planning anything in his shadowy back room.
“Why?” Farrah said in an outrageously loud voice. “Isn’t this great? Look at all these spellbooks. It’s exactly what we need.”
“I’ll explain when we’re outside,” she hissed. “Thomas, please, let’s just go.”
He looked torn between wanting to do what she asked and wanting to keep looking at the books. He had his finger marking a page with an intricately drawn mermaid. “I think we should look through these a bit more,” he said. “And we haven’t got the herbs yet.”
“Forget the herbs, forget the spell, it’s a bad plan. We’ll—” she shut up when the curtain parted and Wodge backed through it, hoisting a huge wooden crate.
He set it on the floor behind the counter and pried it open, all while Tilly tugged at Thomas’ sleeve. He ignored her silent plea to get out of the shop and leaned over to get a better view of what Wodge was unpacking.
“Ah, yes, this is it. I’m quite sure this is where I saw the mention of those herbs you want.” With a grunt, he hoisted a giant cracked leather monstrosity onto the counter, looking pleased with himself.
Tilly dropped Thomas’ arm and stepped forward against her better judgment, to get a better look at the book, because she was quite sure she had gone mad somewhere along the line and really was seeing things. But no, she recognized the huge old book, it was the source of her current troubles, in fact. It was Ashford’s family spellbook.
“Where did you get that?” she asked. And how was he able to touch it? He’d not only picked it up out of its crate, he was now casually paging through it. It wasn’t possible, it shouldn’t have been possible.
Wodge looked up and pressed his lips together. “Hmmmm, where did I get this one? I go to so many sales I can’t recall. I’ve had it several years, though. It might have come from a lot of antiques I got when I was traveling through Scotland.” He shrugged. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it? I meant to build a display for it, I think my clients would enjoy perusing it, but I haven’t got around to it yet.”
Tilly reached forward and touched the page that lay open before her, and the same warmth coursed through her as when she first managed to weasel permission out of Ashford to look at it. She leaned over and peered at the words, a spell she didn’t recognize. The book was so huge, she’d only managed to read a tiny part of it. She wanted to grab it up and run from the shop, run until she was back safe with Ashford, and pretend none of this had happened.
“Do you have what we need or not?” she snapped. Getting the damn herbs was the only way she’d get Thomas and Farrah out of there, and get them out of this time.
He blinked at her harsh tone, but it didn’t seem to incite any rage in him. In fact, he looked slightly saddened. “I’m afraid not now, but I’m quite certain I can acquire them for you. Shall I send word when they’ve arrived?”
“Yes, that’ll be lovely, Mr. Ermine,” Farrah said, glaring at Tilly for her rudeness.
She gave him some coins for the dried flowers and bobbed a curtsy. Thomas bowed and they stood waiting for her. She tore her eyes from Ashford’s book and backed out of the store. Wodge’s benign facade never cracked and he waved as they left, a calm smile on his face.
Tilly hurried them along, but after a block, she couldn’t keep it together any longer. She would have fallen to the ground if her overly structured undergarments would have allowed it. Instead she leaned over as best she could with her corset and bustle and gasped for breath, the full realization of who she’d just encountered hitting her like a bag full of rocks. Cold sweat popped out on her brow and she leaned against the nearest wall, not caring how grimy it was.
“That was—” she tried to explain her odd behavior, but Farrah interrupted her.<
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“Why did you act so rude to Mr. Ermine?” she demanded. “He’s going to a lot of trouble to get those herbs for us and he even let us look at his rare books. Did you see how old that big one looked? It was probably a priceless antique.”
Tilly choked a laugh. Yes, it was priceless and for reasons other than its advanced age. That kind of knowledge in the wrong hands could mean serious trouble for humanity, and Wodge’s hands were definitely the wrong ones. They both looked at her with varying looks of pity and disdain.
“Thomas, didn’t Ashford ever warn you about Solomon Wodge?”
“Certainly, many times,” he answered.
“He never described him? In case you ran across him?”
“Well, yes …” he didn’t understand and she straightened up and sighed, tired now from the adrenaline overload.
“That was him,” she said desperately. “I don’t know how, but that was him. He must have come here after Ashford disintegrated him, or whatever happened. This must have happened. Did he lose his memory? Is it only a matter of time before he gets it back? We can’t go back there, herbs or no herbs. We can’t risk it.”
The looks on their faces told her they didn’t believe her and Thomas said he’d find them a carriage to hire so she wouldn’t have to walk anymore. She grabbed his jacket lapels and shook him, wanting to scream, and most likely reinforcing their impression that she’d gone mad.
“I don’t know who you’re speaking about. Solomon Woggins?” Farrah crossed her arms and shook her head. “That man is Ezra Ermine. He’s a medicinal herbalist and a very nice person. He’s been nothing but kind to me and I’ve been round to his shop dozens of times.” She opened her mouth like she wanted to say more, but thought better of it and clamped it shut.
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