Saved by the Spell. House of Magic 2.

by Susanna Shore

  He offered a hand, and I shook it. And like a cliché in every romance novel that I’d red—and I’d read a lot—a tingle spread form his hand to mine, spreading around my body.

  “Lovely to meet you, Phoebe,” he said with a warm smile, sketching a small bow over our joined hands. “I hope we’ll meet again.”

  He released my hand and I muttered something incoherent before hurrying to the door that led to the offices above the gallery. I managed to fish out the key without spilling the contents of my bag, and open the door, but my hand shook when I entered the code to switch off the alarm.

  The door closed behind me, and I leaned against it heavily. What a strange start to a week.

  Good thing it couldn’t get any stranger.

  Chapter Two

  I’d worked at Kane’s Arts and Antiques for two years, and I found my job interesting. I had a degree in art history and additional training at Sotheby’s Auction House. My boss, Archibald Kane—or Kane as he’d asked me to call him, and can you blame him—allowed me to help him curate and organise exhibitions and auctions we held at the gallery. It was great education too.

  Most of the time, however, I took care of the office as a glorified secretary.

  This morning I couldn’t care less if Kane got his morning tea on time. I dropped on my desk chair and took a long pull of my latte, trying to recover from the impact of Jack’s eyes. My heart was coursing again, but not from fright. Exhilaration.

  I was somewhat surprised by my reaction to him. I didn’t usually lose my head over a handsome face, and I wasn’t particularly needy for romance. I’d broken up with my previous boyfriend, Troy Nowell, three months ago and had only recently recovered from it.

  Was this a reaction to Olivia’s engagement? Was I that jealous of her happiness?

  Disgusted with myself, I finished the coffee and went to make Kane his tea. I had it ready by the time he arrived, punctually at nine.

  Archibald Kane was thirty-five going on a hundred and fifty, judging by his old-fashioned manners and inability to understand the modern world. He was tall and leanly muscled, with thick black hair that tended to billow as if powered by its own wind, deep blue eyes, and lean, defined face. He was handsome too, but I didn’t lose my composure around him.

  I was too intimidated by him to—though I was working on curing myself of that.

  Like every day, regardless of the weather, he was dressed in a bespoke black three-piece suit and handmade leather shoes that were polished to perfection. His face was impeccably groomed, as if a beard were anathema to him.

  He spotted me standing by my desk and I smiled in greeting. He paused to give me a look and his straight black brows furrowed slightly.

  “Not a fan of jeans?” I quizzed. I’d worn jeans to work before, but I could never tell with him.

  He tilted his head. “No … is there something new about you? Have you done something to your hair?”

  I’d left my long cinnamon brown hair open today, but I’d worn it like this before too. “No. But the jeans are new.”

  “Hmmm…”

  Without more comments, he went to his office and closed the door. I didn’t take it personally. He often behaved abruptly.

  I had an auction to prepare, so I cast all men out of my mind, bosses and handsome strangers alike. It was three weeks to the auction, and I had tons of work to do. We always held good auctions, and I had reputation to maintain.

  Kane left before lunch to check out an item that someone wanted to place in the auction. I took the opportunity to make a video call to my mom. Not that I was looking forward to it, but she’d be livid if I didn’t inform her about the engagement.

  My parents were having brunch on their back patio where the Mediterranean sun still shone warmly. They looked tanned and healthy. The move to permanent sun had been good for them after Dad had had a heart attack five years ago and had to give up running the family business. Aunt Clara’s son-in-law, Olivia’s dad, was the CEO now.

  “Phoebe! It’s not like you to call in the middle of the week. I hope nothing’s amiss?” Mother was instantly worried. I grimaced.

  “It depends on how you define it. Olivia’s got engaged. They’re holding a party this Saturday.”

  My mother pursed her carefully painted lips. She always looked impeccable, her strawberry blond hair and makeup perfect no matter the time of day. “Engaged? Olivia? And you only tell me now?”

  “I only received the invitation today.”

  Mom glared at Dad. “Did you know about this?”

  “I had absolutely no idea,” he assured her calmly. He was seventy-three and his cinnamon hair had turned mostly white. I took after him, except for my brown eyes that came from Mom. “Who is the fellow? Anyone we know?”

  “Henry Sanford. Son of Baron Sanford.”

  Mother’s brows shot up. “Baron? How is it possible for Olivia to get engaged to a baron’s son and Clara not to gloat about it immediately?”

  I hadn’t come to think of that. “Maybe she’s pregnant?”

  Mom’s eyes grew large, and Dad cleared his throat, as if to hide his embarrassment—or snickering. “It’s not considered scandalous anymore you know,” Mom said. “That’s not a reason for a hasty marriage.”

  Having children outside marriage hadn’t been a scandal in decades, but I didn’t point it out. “Maybe the entire family only learned now?”

  “I’ll have to call Clara,” Mom declared. “And you’ll have to represent the family. Dress appropriately.”

  I promised to do so and ended the call. It had gone better than I’d hoped. She hadn’t asked once why I wasn’t getting married.

  I rejoiced too early. Mother called back half an hour later. “You were right. Clara was flabbergasted by the engagement. Olivia hadn’t spoken about it to anyone, and they all received the invitation today. The family is not happy.”

  “Even though she’s marrying a baron’s son?” I asked blithely.

  “Clara doesn’t know the family.”

  And that was the greatest condemnation there was.

  Mom gave me a pointed look. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  Annnnd there it was. I’d almost escaped.

  “I’ve barely recovered from Troy.” I tried to sound calm and reasonable, but I was irritated.

  “You’re not getting any younger.”

  I would’ve rolled my eyes if we weren’t on video call. “I know. And I can promise that I’ll tell you the moment I contemplate marriage to someone. No secret engagements for me.”

  “You’d better,” she sniffed. “This is not at all how things are done.”

  I kept wondering about the engagement long after the call ended. Why would Olivia keep it a secret? Unlike me, she’d always aimed for a marriage, as if she didn’t have a good job at a law firm on top of her daddy’s money. I wouldn’t rule out pregnancy, no matter what Aunt Clara said.

  Kane returned in the afternoon with an ugly orange and white acrylic table lamp. His deep blue eyes were shining as he showed it to me.

  “I’ve been looking for this. Finnish design from 1950s. Difficult to find around here. I’ll put it in the auction, but I’ve a half mind to bid for it myself.”

  I stared at the hideous thing with my mouth open. I’d visited his home once and it was mostly decorated in Danish mid-century modern of elegant cherrywood and white upholstery. The lamp would fit the place like a werewolf in my hallway.

  “Is it expensive?”

  “They go around a thousand pounds, a bit more in auctions.”

  Pleased with himself, he carried the lamp to his office. With a sigh, I followed him so that I could photograph the lamp for the catalogue. I’d seen odder items during my time here—and that wasn’t even including the curse statuette.

  I’m not a trained photographer, but I’d learned to take catalogue worthy photos of the items we were auctioning. We had a small “studio” set at the side of Kane’s office with a proper lighting and neutral background. I
’d even learned to operate the complicated camera that was permanently set on a tripod.

  Kane most assuredly wouldn’t bother to learn it, so I’d had to. I don’t know who photographed for him before I joined the firm, but it wasn’t him.

  That didn’t stop him from paying close attention to what I was doing, his mouth pursed with displeasure. I was growing anxious, and I kept glancing at my camera settings and the lights in case they were incorrect.

  Or maybe he feared I wouldn’t show the ugly lamp to its advantage.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve been racking my brain over what’s wrong with you.”

  That was not what I thought he’d say.

  I straightened and shot him a dismayed look. “Excuse me?”

  He studied me with a puzzled frown, impervious to my reaction. “I think it’s something magical. Every time I look at you, a wave of repulsion washes over me, and that’s not a normal reaction for me.”

  “What?”

  I was unable to fathom his words. Magic, again?

  He tilted his head, his jaw tightening as he tried to look at me. “You’re an attractive woman. I should want to look at you. Yet even now, I have to force myself.”

  He stepped backwards, shuddering.

  “Has anything unusual happened to you lately?”

  I struggled to gather my thoughts, stunned by his behaviour. “You mean since the curse meant for you was lifted?”

  He shook his head. “More recent than that. Over the weekend, maybe? I would’ve noticed if it had taken place earlier.”

  I gave it a thought. “I went to shopping with friends on Saturday. Nothing extraordinary happened.”

  I’d had a great time with my girlfriends, and I’d bought these jeans, among other things.

  “Any new friends among them?”

  “No. I’ve known all three since university.”

  He tapped his mouth with a finger. “Hmm…”

  “This morning, however, was full of odd things,” I told him, counting with my fingers. “I saw a werewolf, I was invited to my cousin’s out-of-the-blue engagement party, and then at the Tube I felt someone staring at me. Not like in passing. It was really intensive, physical sensation.”

  That got his attention. “Did anyone touch you there?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s the Tube in morning rush. Everyone touched me.”

  “Maybe it was something that happened there…”

  “Never mind where,” I huffed. “I’m more interested in why? Have I been cursed again?”

  “I don’t know.” He ran fingers through his billowing hair, aggravated. “I don’t think I’m able to figure it out alone. We need Giselle and Amber. Let’s go.”

  He had barely patience to wait for me to fetch my belongings before leading me to his car, a red Jaguar he kept in a reserved spot in a multistorey car park near the shop—that is to say, only three streets away.

  I’d seldom had a chance to ride in it, but it wasn’t as exciting as one might think. The insides were rather small, and London traffic didn’t allow the car to shine.

  The tight space proved more aggravating than usual, as Kane had to sit next to me the whole ride. His face was growing paler by the mile, and sweat was glistening on his forehead. Whatever it was that was affecting him—could it really be me?—had to be bad.

  We reached the House of Magic before he had to throw up, and he escaped the car like it was on fire. He hurried to the back entrance, for once eschewing his usual polite manners, and I followed him into the shop. Amber was there and she smiled when she spotted us.

  “Archibald. You haven’t been here since the curse was lifted.”

  He smiled in return and inclined his head in a small bow. “I’ve been somewhat busy with the leadership contest.”

  He hadn’t mentioned it to me. In fact, he had behaved like the curse never happened and I’d never learned about magic. Today was the first time he’d brought it up again. Trust it to be because I’d been bespelled again.

  She propped her hip against the counter. “Anyone giving you trouble?”

  “No one yet, but I’ve needed to settle smaller disputes.”

  “So what brings you here today?”

  Kane turned to indicated me. “I think someone’s put a spell on Phoebe and I have no idea what it is.”

  This caught her interest. She leaned toward me, as if taking a sniff. “I can’t sense anything.”

  Kane startled. “That’s odd. It’s all I can sense when I’m around her. It’s as if there’s a field around her designed to make her repulsive.”

  Amber glanced at her wristwatch. “Let me check if Luca is awake yet and able to man the shop.”

  “It’s daylight still,” I reminded her. We’d left the gallery early, and even though the drive had been slow, it was barely past four.

  “I think he might manage, with the sky overcast like this,” she said, disappearing into the backroom, where steps led down to the basement and Luca’s sun-proofed studio.

  Turned out, she was right. Only moments later, Luca climbed up, looking a bit bleary, as if he’d just woken up, but already dressed up and his hair in a tiny bun. He grinned when he spotted me, then pulled back with a frown.

  “Is there something … wrong about you?”

  “Not you too,” I huffed, but Kane was instantly alert.

  “You can sense it as well?”

  Luca stepped closer to me and his nose twitched in distaste, as if I reeked. “It’s like you’ve turned repulsive all of a sudden.”

  I threw my hands up. “That’s just great. I’m spelled to disgust people?”

  “Let’s not make hasty conclusions,” Amber said. “I’m not disgusted by you.”

  “We’ll find out what it is,” Kane stated, gesturing for us to proceed upstairs before him.

  Giselle was in the kitchen with Griselda, the grey cat who reigned supreme over us, pouring cat food into a bowl even though it should be hours until feeding time. The cat was winding around her legs impatiently. Giselle straightened when she spotted us, smiling delighted when she spotted my boss.

  “Archibald! What a pleasant surprise. You’ll stay for dinner?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, pleased. “But we have a small problem that needs to be dealt with first.”

  “Oh?”

  “Apparently there’s a curse on me again,” I growled, and her brows shot up.

  “How did that happen? What sort of a curse?”

  “Luca and I are suddenly finding her very off-putting,” Kane told her, “but Amber isn’t affected.”

  Like the others earlier, Giselle came to me and studied me carefully. She touched my face and even took a sniff. I suffered it gracefully.

  “I can’t detect anything.”

  “Maybe it’s gender specific…” Kane mused. “Do you have anything that we could use to detect what kind of spell it is?”

  “Let’s go upstairs and see.”

  I followed them up, my annoyance evident in every stomping step. I’d been wrong this morning. It was, in fact, possible for my week to turn stranger.

  Chapter Three

  Amber and Giselle had set the attic as a workspace for their mage stuff and preparing the ingredients they sold in the shop. It was an open space with a polished wooden floor and skylights that gave to both sides of the building on the slanted ceiling. Shelves lined the walls, filled with herbs, potions, candles, and other ingredients they needed in their spells. A wooden worktop was placed under one skylight facing the street.

  I followed Giselle to the worktop, where mortars of different sizes were placed in a neat row, with cauldrons and a gas burner, knives and scissors, spoons and ladles in old jars. Amber and Kane went to a shelf that held old books and began to pull them out one by one to skim the contents.

  “I need a lock of your hair,” Giselle said to me. She took scissors and cut a few long strands near my skull. “That shouldn’t be noticeable.”

  I hoped so.

/>   She dropped the hair into a small mortar. Then she pulled out jars and vials from the shelves, seemingly at random, and put a pinch or drop from each into the mortar too. When the ingredients were in, she took a pestle and ground everything into pulp. Once the consistency was to her liking, she took a bottle full of emerald-green liquid and poured some over the pulp until it was completely covered.

  To my amazement, it turned clear almost immediately. Not even the pulp was visible anymore. Giselle made a decisive nod.

  “Definitely a spell, not a curse.”

  My shoulders slumped, as if I’d held a hope that nothing was amiss. At least it wasn’t a curse this time round, not that I could immediately fathom how that made a difference for me. “What kind of spell?”

  Giselle shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  That was encouraging.

  Griselda jumped on the worktop and pushed her head into the mortar to drink the liquid. I hastened to remove her, but Gis smiled.

  “No worries. It’s water.”

  I placed the cat on the floor where she proceeded to lick her paws. “Water? You put all sorts of stuff in there and now it’s water?”

  “That’s how I know you’ve been spelled. If it had been a curse, smoke would’ve risen from it.”

  Kane came to us, carefully keeping Giselle between us. It should not have upset me, but it did. He was holding a leather-bound book from maybe the seventeenth century, judging by the quality of the paper and the print work. He had it open on a page he showed us.

  “I think it’s a protection spell. This one describes exactly how I feel.”

  “Protection against what?” I asked amazed and he grinned.

  “Men.”

  Giselle and I stared at him with mouths open. “What?”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “This describes a medieval spell that fathers put on their maiden daughters to protect them against unwanted attention from men, and husbands on their wives to keep them faithful.”

  Giselle nodded, her mouth in a grim line. “Trust men to want a spell like that. So how do we break it?”

  Kane looked apologetic. “It doesn’t say. It doesn’t even say how it was cast in the first place. It only gives me the name of the spell.”