by Nancy Warren
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and then she relaxed into a smile. “You’d be most welcome, little sister. Shall we say four o’clock? You can choose the fabric for your bags. Tilda, my assistant, makes them.”
Hearing her name, the assistant looked over inquiringly. She was probably in her sixties and had a slightly anxious expression on her wrinkled face. Tendrils of gray hair escaped from the bun at her nape, and she brushed a curl off her cheek. “Bridesmaid gifts,” Karmen said.
Tilda smiled at me. “Congratulations on your wedding. Yes, I’ll custom make the bags for you. Those sets make lovely gifts for the bridal attendants.”
Karmen said, “My address is on my card.”
I nodded. “See you at four.”
I wished I hadn’t gotten so carried away now. Would Violet really want cream made by this woman whose hex had made her hair and teeth fall out? Would it be lying if I simply didn’t mention where I’d purchased the cream from? I was going to use mine immediately, so I’d be product-testing before it went near my bridesmaids.
Chapter 3
I turned away from the witch’s stall and noticed Gran was no longer standing at my elbow. I glanced around and saw her a few stalls away, pretending to look at crocheted bedspreads. Even from here, I could see they were nothing like as good as what Gran could make herself in a single night. When she saw me looking her way, she motioned me over. I caught up with her, and she tugged my arm and pulled me into the crowd.
“What’s going on? You’re acting so weird.”
“I know that witch.”
“Really?” That was unfortunate. It would really put a damper on her day because we’d thought we’d be safe bringing Gran out to Wallingford. She got restless stuck inside all the time and only being able to walk outside at night. Of course, we weren’t far from Oxford, so it wasn’t that surprising she’d see someone she’d known in life. We really needed to think about getting Gran a lot farther away if she was going to manage a more normal existence.
Gran looked more perplexed than I would have expected catching a glimpse of someone she used to know. It shouldn’t be that big a deal. And it didn’t seem like the other witch had seen her. Then she said, “Lucy, Karmen is older than I am.”
I let out a snort of disbelief. “No offense, but that woman must be her daughter.”
She shook her head. “Karmen never had children. It’s her. I’m certain of it.”
I surreptitiously looked back at the skincare booth. Karmen didn’t only have young-looking skin and hair, but even her posture, the fluidity of her movements, were not those of an old person. “Gran, that woman can’t be more than forty.”
“Her face belies her age.”
“Do you think she’s had a lot of work done?”
Gran looked at me questioningly. “Work?”
“You know. Facelifts and other cosmetic surgeries.”
She shook her head. “It’s more than that. Be very careful with that one.”
“Could she be like you? Undead?” But Karmen had greeted me witch to witch and had none of the characteristics I’d come to associate with vampires. In fact, she’d rubbed cream into my wrist, and her fingers had been warm.
“No. She’s still mortal, of that I’m sure.”
“Are there spells that can keep you young?” And if there were, I really wanted to hear about them.
She flicked a glance at me and looked worried. “Not really, my dear. But there are other arts. Not of witchery so much as alchemy.”
“Alchemy? Isn’t that turning lead into gold?”
“Turning that which is base into that which is pure. Worthless metal into gold, but more importantly, mortal flesh into immortal.”
“Mortal flesh into immortal?”
She nodded.
I felt a shiver go down the back of my neck. And not in a pleasant way. “Are you trying to tell me that woman may have found the elusive fountain of youth?”
“Not found it. Created it.”
Suddenly those pots and potions seemed a whole lot more interesting to me. “And she’s selling it in bottles?”
Gran shook her head. “She’s not sharing what she knows. It would be too dangerous.”
Still, I was intrigued. As a mortal woman about to marry a vampire, a potion that could keep me young would be pretty interesting.
Sylvia came up then and grabbed at our elbows. “What are you two doing waltzing off without me?”
Quickly and in a low voice, Gran explained everything she’d just told me.
Sylvia glanced at me and then back the way we’d come, to where the witch’s booth was doing a roaring trade. “What a perfect solution for you, Lucy.”
Gran’s face was creased in worry. “I’m not so sure. I’m not at all sure it’s a good idea to meddle in alchemy. We witches work with the natural energy in the world. We don’t try to pervert nature’s course.”
But I wanted to know more. “So does she just look young and still live her regular span of years? Or will the elixir of youth keep her young forever?”
“I never studied it very deeply,” Gran said, “but I believe it will keep her young as long as she keeps taking the elixir. She can still be killed by accident or disease, you understand, but not old age.”
Alchemy was one of the many things I knew very little about. “I thought the alchemist created a stone or something. Isn’t it also called the philosopher’s stone?”
“That’s right. The philosopher’s stone is a substance made of a number of ingredients that the alchemist keeps very secret. If it even exists. It can be a stone. It can also be a powder. The true secret of alchemy isn’t turning base matter into precious metal; it’s eternal youth. But a little of the elixir of life must be taken on a regular basis or it will wear off.”
I didn’t want to get into a big discussion about alchemy with Gran in the middle of a crowded marketplace, but I was interested. I had to admit, I was interested. This could be the solution to the biggest conflict that Rafe and I were going to have in our relationship. I didn’t want to turn into a vampire, but what if I could stay young-looking and extend my natural lifespan? That could be cool. Though I could see that it would be fraught with certain difficulties too. However, it was worth thinking about.
Sylvia was much more positive about the whole elixir of youth thing than my grandmother seemed to be. She said brightly, “Well, you must ask her about it.”
Gran looked grimly at both of us. “Don’t forget that the reason you wanted to speak to her is that you suspect Karmen sold the hex that nearly killed your cousin.”
I admit momentarily I had been so dazzled by the idea of eternal youth that I’d completely forgotten the hex thing. “It doesn’t put her in the best light, does it?”
Once again, Sylvia turned the conversation in a more positive direction. “I still think it would be a good idea to find out what she knows about this youth-inducing potion. If you don’t ask her, I certainly will.”
Gran looked like she would argue and then merely said, “I can’t go with you, much as I’d like to. She didn’t see me, but if she did, I’m sure she would recognize me.”
“And you don’t want her to know you’re a vampire.”
“The less she knows about any of us, the better.”
It was unlike Gran to be so mysterious and dark. She said, “I wish you wouldn’t go. I have a bad feeling in my waters.”
She must really have a bad feeling if she was bringing up her waters. It was a weird, old-fashioned expression that she only used when she was seriously perturbed.
Sylvia said, “Well, you rest your waters in the Bentley. Take Alfred with you. He’d only be in the way. Lucy and I will go and see this witch.”
“What about Clara and Mabel?”
She shook her head and said tartly, “Those bunglers. Best they stay out of it.”
So we decided that Alfred and the other three vampires would visit the Sheep Market, an old coaching inn that was now an indoor col
lection of antique stalls, while Sylvia and I went to see the witch.
I’d expected to be called into chauffeur duty, since Alfred was busy chaperoning the female vampires, but Sylvia drove the Bentley. I’d never seen her drive before. It suited her, and I told her so.
She glanced at me, not looking best pleased. “It suits me to sit in the back and be chauffeured, like the film star I am.”
“Right. What was I thinking?” The world might have moved on, but Sylvia never forgot that she’d been a glamorous celebrity back in her heyday.
We drove a little way out of town and then down a lane, and at the end of it was a long, low thatched cottage with several outbuildings. It was oddly shaped for a house, and it wasn’t a farm. As she turned off the engine, Sylvia said, “Why, it’s an old pub.” And then I saw that she was right. But there was a cottage next door where presumably the publican had once lived. There was smoke coming from the chimney.
We got out of the car and headed for the cottage. No sign of a doorbell, so I lifted a brass door knocker shaped like a lion’s head and banged it against the old black front door. I could hear the knock echoing inside the house.
There was no answer, so I tried again. And then Karmen popped her head out of the door of the old pub and said, “We’re in here.”
I was disappointed because I wanted to see inside the cute cottage, but Sylvia and I walked to the pub and through the door Karmen was holding open. It was a large space with plenty of windows, though they were small, mullioned windows. The floor was wood, stained and scarred by age and spilled beer—oak, I thought. The long bar remained but was obviously more of a workspace. In front was a workshop and retail store. Where once there would have been bottles of alcohol, now there were pots and jars of skin products. Karmen and her assistant were unloading the leftovers from the market. I smelled the same light scent I’d noticed when Karmen rubbed her hand cream onto my wrist. I introduced Sylvia to Karmen and watched them take stock of each other. Two powerful, vain creatures. Would they bond or loathe each other on sight? It was impossible to tell, as they were both coolly polite.
“What a gorgeous space,” I said, looking around.
“Thank you. Come and see the kitchen. It’s where I brew my potions.”
The old pub kitchen mixed the old with the new. I could swear I still smelled old hops, but I also smelled herbs, noting the top notes of licorice and rosemary. A big gas stove and a series of pots suggested she really produced her creams right here. Hanging from a clothes line were bundles of drying herbs, while jars and bottles and sacks and bags of curious-looking ingredients were stacked neatly on the open shelves. The décor was curious. The walls had been painted terracotta and stenciled in black and gold. There was a slogan in what I assumed was Latin, with a curious symbol beside it. Like two triangles intersecting. Rafe could translate the saying, but I didn’t want to snap a photo while Karmen was standing beside me.
We remained pleasant while she showed us around and then she said, “Tilda, take Lucy to choose the fabric for her bags.”
“Of course,” Tilda said, immediately abandoning her unpacking duties to do what her boss told her. I wished Violet could witness such excellent employee behavior.
Tilda took me out to the main pub area, where a long wooden pub table sat empty. I pictured women packaging the pots so vividly, I suspected that’s what the table was used for. She kept going, and in a corner alcove under a window was a fancy sewing machine and a modern cabinet beside it. She opened a drawer and revealed a selection of fabrics. Her hands moved over them. “Mother’s Day, gifts for teachers, ah, here we are. Brides.” And she lifted a stack of samples.
Sylvia was instantly bored and drifted away. The fabrics were all pretty and ranged from prints with cocktail glasses and lipsticks to hearts and doves and, finally, a selection of floral patterns. I chose a print with pink roses on a green background.
“What do you think?” I asked Tilda, holding up the sample.
“I think it would be beautiful. I’ll enjoy working on the bags for your wedding. What a joyful thing a wedding is.” She held her ringless left hand up. “Not that I was ever so fortunate. I was never a beauty. ‘If you can’t be pretty, be useful,’ my mother always said. And so I learned to cook and sew and mend things. With no man about to help me, I’ve learned to do most things for myself.”
She didn’t sound sorry for herself, just matter-of-fact. I had no idea how to respond and luckily didn’t have to. Karmen returned.
“Come back to my cottage, and I’ll make you some tea.”
I was pleased to get into that lovely-looking thatched cottage, and also, I wanted to talk to her about that hex, and I preferred to do it without a mortal assistant listening in.
As she led us in through that black door, I felt something in the air. Like a quiver of dark energy. And yet the décor was beautiful. It was like a high-end B&B with overstuffed chintz chairs and gleaming antique furniture. Tasteful paintings graced the walls, and a basket of wool with a partially completed sweater sat beside a comfortable couch. A fire was laid in the big fireplace under a black-beamed mantel. With a snap of her fingers, she set the blaze going. The walls were painted a rich, buttery cream, and the flagstone floors were covered with plush carpets. The ancient beams crisscrossed above our heads, and the fireplace was done in an old herringbone brick pattern. I was no expert, but I was fairly certain this was mostly original Tudor.
As I gazed around, I said, “Your home is beautiful.”
And yet there was that strange sensation of chill darkness that wafted over me now and then. It was as though I were standing in a field of lavender and then caught a whiff of skunk. Strange feeling.
She busied herself in the kitchen and then returned carrying a tray containing blue and gold china mugs, not teacups, I was pleased to note. I still hadn’t gotten used to the tiny amount of liquid available from a teacup.
I sniffed the brew appreciatively. It’s kind of a witch thing. We all had our own special recipes, and hers contained lavender, rosehips, that hint of licorice, and other things that I couldn’t distinguish. I took a sip and definitely approved. It was a rich blend with a hint of spice.
“This is delicious,” I said.
Sylvia either took a cautious sip or pretended to and then agreed that it was very nice. I knew that I was either going to end up drinking her tea as well as mine or she’d chuck it in a nearby potted plant when Karmen was out of the room.
We three settled in chintz armchairs, and then Karmen said, “Tell me about yourself.”
But this wasn’t really a social visit. I paused and said, “I’m part of a coven in Oxford led by Margaret Twigg.”
Her glorious full lips thinned slightly. “Ah, yes. Margaret. She does keep coming up.”
“She’s the head of my coven and sort of a mentor.” When she wasn’t being a pain in my behind. “We recently had to reverse a hex that we think you may have sold.”
Her lips tilted in a pleasant smile, and I could see the amusement lurking at the back of her big, almond eyes. Had I really expected her to apologize?
“I sell a great many hexes.” And didn’t sound the tiniest bit guilty that she did so.
“This one almost killed my assistant, who is also my cousin. Perhaps you recognize it? It was a goat’s skull with various symbols scribbled on it and the words ‘Grow ugly, wither and die’ written in reverse. Does this ring any bells?”
If anything, her amusement deepened. “You sound so fierce, I’m nearly frightened. As I said, I sell many hexes. And I’m fairly certain your cousin isn’t dead. I’d have heard.”
And I was fairly certain I wasn’t getting through to her. I couldn’t believe this woman. I leaned forward. “No thanks to you.”
She made a tsking sound. “Come now, Lucy. You’re not that naïve. You know as well as I do that often spells and curses are metaphorical.”
“There was nothing metaphorical about what happened to Vi. I saw her hair falling ou
t. Her teeth were falling out. She was getting these horrible skin breakouts. And then we reversed the curse and sent it back where it came from, and the—” Here I looked at her directly. “And the person who bought that hex from you did die.”
Honestly, you’d think I was doing a stand-up routine, the way she seemed to find me so amusing. “But she didn’t die from the hex. I do keep up with the news, Lucy. That woman was murdered.”
“So you did sell her the hex.” Ha, she’d as good as admitted it. Was I good at subtle interrogation or what?
She shrugged her shoulders. “The murdered woman’s photograph was in the paper and on television. She looked familiar.”
I felt like I really wasn’t getting anywhere. “What about our first rule, do no harm?”
Her beautifully penciled eyebrows rose. “And what about the equally potent advice to be careful what you wish for?”
“But if I hadn’t reversed the hex—”
She interrupted me. “Yes. If you hadn’t interfered, it would have been much better. How dare you get involved in things you don’t understand? To manipulate spells that were not of your own creation.”
Wait a minute. How had we gone from me accusing her of being a bad witch to her turning it back on me? I felt like yet another curse had been reversed. And this time I was the victim.
“I think what Lucy means,” Sylvia interrupted silkily, “is that we admire your work greatly. However, if a hex is intended for another witch in Oxford, it would be courteous to let the local witches know of it.”
That wasn’t at all what I’d meant, but it did smooth over an awkward moment. And I supposed Sylvia had a point. I couldn’t stop the woman from selling hexes, but at least if she was selling them in my neighborhood, I’d like to know about it. So I nodded.
Karmen sat back. “All right. That seems fair. And—” She raised a finger. Even her hands were perfect. The skin soft and the oval fingernails painted soft pink. How did she do that? Between making potions and practicing with my dagger and running a knitting shop, my hands were always dry and a little rough. “You agree to do the same. If you plan to sell any of your wares here, you’ll let me know.”