by Nancy Warren
Margaret Twigg was probably more of a classic mentor. She was a very powerful witch, and she had helped me in the past, but she could be very sarcastic, I didn’t think she liked me, and frankly, I was pretty wary around her.
All three women were rather exotic both in appearance and clothing choices. Violet had long black hair with ribbons of pink and purple dyed at the front, framing her face. Margaret Twigg had a head full of corkscrew curls, piercing blue eyes and red lips that seemed permanently curved in a knowing smile. She looked a bit like Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind, if Vivien had lived to be very old and was a witch.
They greeted me with nods, but I could tell they were more interested in making new friends. The two older witches went straight up to the crowd that was hanging on Teddy Lamont’s every word, while Violet headed toward Alice. From the corner of my eye, I could see that Alice was also sharing her good news with Violet. They didn’t do quite as much squealing and jumping up and down, but it was pretty clear that Violet was very happy to see this love story enjoy a happy ending. As she should, since the love potion she’d initiated had nearly had disastrous effects.
I was sorry that my grandmother couldn’t be here, especially seeing my great-aunt Lavinia, her sister, mingle with the other guests. But Gran was too new a vampire. It would be decades before she could show her face again in Oxford without freaking people out. Still, I knew she’d be waiting anxiously to hear all about the evening when I got home.
Violet and Alice were still chattering away. I turned back to Rafe. “That’s so kind of you to let Alice and Charlie have their wedding at your home.”
“I think so, too.”
Chapter 4
Behind the three exotic witches came a woman who suddenly seemed remarkable for her very drabness. Helen Radcliffe looked as though she’d been through the wash too many times. Or had spent years working underground. Her short, gray hair looked as though she might’ve cut it herself while she wasn’t wearing her glasses. As usual, she didn’t have a speck of makeup on, and she wore a pale gray hand-knit cardigan over a washed-out gray T-shirt, a pair of old and faded blue jeans, and sneakers that were more about comfort than fashion.
Since Helen didn’t seem to know anyone, I took it upon myself to greet her and then introduce both of us to Annabel and Ryan, her fellow students who seemed to be the friendliest.
“Are you nervous?” Ryan asked. “I think I am. My girlfriend entered me as a joke. I never would’ve done it on my own.”
Helen smiled and glanced at me. “Lucy encouraged me to put in the application. I don’t think it would have occurred to me. But it will be exciting to learn how to make lace, and Lucy and Violet are always encouraging me to try a bit of color. I don’t know. I’m never sure what color works with what, so it’s easier to stick with the neutrals.”
I thought that calling that sad gray sweater neutral was giving it too much credit. “But I’m not nervous, no. I’m a teacher so I’m used to an audience.”
“Really?” Annabel asked. “What do you teach?”
Helen pushed her glasses up her nose. “Science. I taught for years at a private school that was full of very bright girls. But because the parents were paying a great deal for their children’s education, the scrutiny was intense. It got to be too much for me. So I took a year’s break. I’ve just begun a new job at the local public school. I think that will suit me better.”
Two men walked in together. One was burly and rugged-looking with a weather-beaten face, his gray hair shaved close to his head. I recognized him right away from his photograph. His name was Gunnar, and he’d worked at sea on oil rigs. According to his profile, he had taken up knitting while quitting smoking. He was Norwegian. With him was Vinod, the radiologist who’d been born in India but moved to Birmingham when he was a child. They both paused in the doorway and looked around.
When Vinod spotted me, a smile broke out onto his face, and he came forward, holding his hands out. “Lucy Swift, I presume?” he asked in a Brummie accent. “I read all about you on your website.”
I smiled back. “And you’re Vinod. I read all about you on your profile.”
“I’m delighted to meet you in person. It’s very exciting, isn’t it? Knitting on camera.”
Exciting wasn’t the word that sprang immediately to my mind. Terrifying, nerve-racking, holy heck how was I going to get out of it? Those were the terms I came up with when I contemplated the upcoming show.
He glanced around eagerly. “And where are the other victims?”
Now he and I were talking the same language. But he said it with a wink as though he weren’t serious. I pointed out Annabel and Ryan, who were chatting together like old friends, including Helen in their conversation, though she seemed quite happy to just stand there and listen to them. Helen seemed more than usually nervous. She kept glancing over her shoulder, and her hands were shaking. I hoped it wouldn’t detract from her knitting, since I was the one who had encouraged her to apply for this thing. I wanted her to embrace color, not end up in a padded cell, heavily medicated.
Meanwhile, two cameras were setting up. Vinod went to join Ryan, Annabel, and Helen, motioning Gunnar to join them. Rafe came over to me and said softly, “I didn’t realize this evening was going to be televised. I’ll slip out.”
I nodded, completely understanding that he didn’t want to show up as an empty seat when the camera panned over the audience. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
It was nearly time to begin, and Teddy Lamont gracefully extracted himself from the eager group around him and began making his way to the podium. He stopped and cried out, “Dear lady, there are you are!”
I glanced around, and I think everyone else did to see who had elicited this cry of delight. It was Margot Dodeson. She was holding a Frogg’s Books bag, so obviously she’d taken Charlie’s advice and decided to give the new historical author a try.
She blushed and backed away, even as Teddy rushed toward her. “I’m so glad you came. I’ve been looking for you. I told you I had a special gift, and I do.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to.” She glanced around as though checking for escape routes. “I was just happy to be invited.”
But he grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the podium. “You come this way.” Naturally, the camera was recording all of this. I almost wondered if he had chosen Margot because she was so shy and unused to being the center of attention. There was nothing rehearsed about this. From a canvas bag with one of his designs on it, he withdrew what looked like a paperback version of his latest book. “Do you know what this is?” he asked her.
She looked worried, as though this might be a trick question. “It’s your book.”
“Yes, but it’s a proof copy of my book. It’s got mistakes and boo-boos in it. One day, this will be a collector’s item. Well, you can hock it tomorrow on eBay and make a few bucks, but I hope you won’t.” We all laughed, and she shook her head, blushing furiously. “I would never.”
And he wrote something in the flyleaf with a flourish and handed her the book. She backed away, looking equal parts mortified and thrilled.
Teddy was not a man who hid behind a podium. He used it to put things on while he moved around, gesturing to the slides he put up on screen, asking questions of people in the audience. Always active. I had watched him before, as he had some video segments of himself teaching on his website, so I knew what to expect. He was engaging, funny, and he made lace knitting sound exciting and approachable.
But more than anything else, he talked about color. At heart and by training, Teddy Lamont was an artist. He’d begun as a painter but then began to marry visual arts with crafts, such as quilting, needlepoint and knitting. He’d done more than anyone I could think of in the recent past to make these ancient crafts fashionable. I didn’t think that someone like Annabel, a fashion-forward London-based bond trader, would have taken up knitting if it weren’t for designers like Teddy.
I felt strangely proud, as t
hough just by hosting this televised class in my shop, I was doing my bit to bring these beautiful and relaxing handcrafts into a mass-produced, overscheduled world.
When he finished, there was resounding applause, and a nice long lineup formed to get signed copies of his book. Naturally, most of the students and I lined up too. Teddy had a personal moment and funny line or two for each person who had their books signed. When it came my turn, he twinkled at me. “It’s Lucy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I wonder if I could have it signed to someone else? Could you please make it out to Agnes? She’s a dear friend, but she couldn’t make it tonight.”
This wasn’t an unusual request. All he said was, “Tell Agnes she missed a great show.”
I laughed. “She did.” And how my dear Gran would’ve loved to be here.
I stayed a few more minutes to be polite, but we all had to be at the shop early the next morning, and so I headed across the street and home.
I didn’t even bother going upstairs to my flat but headed straight into the back room of the shop and down the trapdoor, using one of the flashlights I kept handy. I guided myself along the dark tunnel until I reached the sturdy oak door where Gran and some of the vampires lived. I rapped the special knock, and Gran herself open the door. Her face suffused with delight when she saw me. “Lucy, I was hoping you’d come.”
Gran had begun dressing much more stylishly since she’d become a vampire. Mostly, I thought, under Sylvia’s influence. Probably since they spent so much time together, Sylvia wanted her companion to be as well-dressed as she was herself. Gran wore black linen slacks, a silky cream-colored shell and Chanel flats on her feet. However, the cardigan she was wearing was pure Gran. It was made of nubby blue wool and was a triumph of comfort over style.
She led me into the sitting room, where Rafe and Sylvia were discussing a real estate purchase. They closed the computer when they saw me, and Rafe rose to his feet. He was such a gentleman, he always did that when a woman entered the room. He came forward and brushed his lips against my cheek. “I was waiting for you to text me. I’d have escorted you here. How did it go this evening?”
My cheek tingled where he kissed me, but I tried to keep my thoughts on knitting. “Fine. In fact, it was fabulous.”
I handed the book to Gran, and her reaction was everything I could’ve hoped. She clutched it to her as though giving the book a hug. “Oh Lucy. What a wonderful thing to do.”
“He signed it to you,” I told her. She opened the flyleaf and sighed the way, in her youth, she might have mooned over a picture of Clark Gable. She read aloud, “To Agnes, remember: Lace is like dreams made real. The lace never lies. With love from Teddy Lamont.”
“What a wonderful quotation,” she said, turning to me. “Where did it come from?”
“I think he made it up. It’s in the introduction of his book, and he used it in his slideshow without attributing the phrase to anyone else.”
“Well, he’s a poet as well as an artist. He’s right, too. Perhaps that’s why we’re so drawn to lace. It’s as gossamer as a dream, as weightless as a wish—”
“And as complicated as a faulty Rubik’s Cube,” I finished.
Gran laughed but shook her head. “Lucy, all you lack is practice.”
“And desire,” Sylvia added. “Until you want to be a really fine knitter, you never will be.”
She was right, of course. To me, knitting was a chore and an obligation rather than the pleasure it was to true knitters. Frankly, I felt the same about my witchcraft. I was a bit scared of it, and if I could’ve passed on my “gift” to a more deserving witch, I happily would have. Still, fate had handed me both innate witch powers and a knitting shop. I pretty much had to figure out how to make both of them work.
“Are you excited about the class tomorrow?” Gran asked me.
“Yes, as long as I can keep the camera away from my work.”
I was sure Sylvia was about to remind me that I was the least important one when Hester wandered in, yawning. She rubbed her eyes and looked cranky. “What did I miss?” She was always convinced that the best conversations, activities, and the best part of life happened when she was not there to witness it. I doubted that was true, but there was something about Hester that made me not want to include her in everything I did. No doubt the vampires felt the same.
“Nothing, dear,” Gran said. She was always nice and patient with Hester. “Lucy was just telling us about Teddy Lamont’s talk. She brought me a book. You can look at it if you like.”
Hester glanced at the book and slumped onto the couch cushions. “No thanks.”
Then she looked sideways at Gran. “I’m going out soon. Can I have some money?”
Gran’s forehead creased, and she glanced at Sylvia and Rafe before answering. “What’s happened to your allowance?”
The vampire teen made a sound like a verbal flounce. “That pittance? It’s barely enough to keep me in makeup.”
It was Rafe who spoke up now. “Hester, what have you been doing?”
She looked like a teenager who’d been caught out doing wrong, which I supposed she was, even though this teenager was several hundred years old and should surely know better. “Nothing. You need to increase my allowance. You treat me like a child.”
He didn’t make the obvious response that she was acting like a child. Instead, he said, “I’m going to walk Lucy home now. We’ll talk about it when I get back.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “You’re not my dad.”
“Thank heaven for small mercies.”
He stepped toward me and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
Even though I was perfectly capable of walking the short distance between the vampires’ lair and my shop, Rafe always liked to escort me. He said there were other, less friendly creatures about, and I knew it was true, but so far I’d never met any.
When we got up to my shop, we both hesitated. I was thinking about inviting him up to my flat but didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, and he seemed equally reluctant to end our time together. Finally, he said, “Would you like to go for a walk?”
It was getting late, but I knew for him this was like morning, and he was always more comfortable after dark. “Yes, I would,” I said. It was July and the day had been very warm, but I knew the night could get cool, so I grabbed a sweater, and we headed out into the night. He clicked open his car, and I laughed. “You invited me for a walk.”
“I did, but I don’t want to walk around Oxford. Let’s get out into the country and look at the stars.”
“All right.”
We didn’t have to drive far out of Oxford to get into the country, and I imagined no one knew the area better than Rafe, who’d been intimate with the hills and valleys for half a millennium.
It was peaceful driving along in the silent Tesla. I told him about Teddy’s talk, and soon he was pulling off down a country road. To my surprise, he reached into the back seat and lifted out a picnic basket, a beautiful wicker one with leather straps that looked like it had come from a fancy shop. “You planned this.”
“I thought you could use some relaxation before you start the busyness tomorrow. We won’t stay long, don’t worry. You’ll get your rest.”
I didn’t feel a bit tired but thrillingly alive, being out here in the dark with a man who was never more alive than when the rest of the world was sleeping. He led the way along a narrow trail that wound through old trees and then out into an open clearing. We were up on a hill, and it was such a clear night, as I looked up I saw countless stars and the beautiful silver crescent of a first quarter moon.
Rafe opened the basket and removed a red and black plaid blanket, which he shook out and laid on the grass at my feet. I was charmed and slipped off my shoes before settling myself on the warm blanket. He brought out a bottle of red wine, a plate of cheese and bread, some smoked salmon and grapes. There were little pots of dip and gourmet crackers.
“This looks ama
zing,” I said, popping a grape into my mouth. He poured each of us a glass of the rich red wine.
“I can’t take credit for anything but the idea. William did it all.”
William Thresher was Rafe’s butler, chef and friend. I knew he found preparing Rafe’s meals less than exciting and always claimed to be thrilled when he had humans to cook for.
I was happy to be the recipient of his genius in the kitchen. I’d bet he’d made the dips and maybe even the bread himself.
We settled back. I knew the basics of stargazing. I could recognize the Big Dipper, and the North Star, but Rafe pointed out Cassiopeia and Hercules.
It seemed very natural to curl up against him and rest my head on his chest. As I gazed up and saw millions of stars twinkling down, most of which he could name, I said, “We’re awfully insignificant, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
He turned to me, and his eyes gleamed in the darkness. He kissed me and then said, “Lucy, what am I going to do with you?”
“I don’t know, but you can do that again.”
Chapter 5
The first day of filming started really well. In spite of my late night, I woke early. Nyx was on my bed, one paw over her eye, so she looked like a pirate wearing an eye patch. “If you can be that cute all day, our show will be a guaranteed hit.” She blinked the one eye at me.
I decided she was promising to be adorable and kissed her on top of her black head. I showered and spent extra time doing my hair so it hung in soft ringlets around my face. Sylvia had already consulted on my wardrobe choices—not that I’d asked her to. I’d vetoed a couple of her suggestions, and she’d shut me down too. Finally, we agreed on a cream-colored summer skirt and, obviously, a hand-knitted top. It was mint green and as thin as gauze, though it wasn’t lace, because that would have looked rude and as though I were trying to show off. I hadn’t knitted the top myself, of course. Gran had, which made me happy. As the weather was warm, it was nice to be able to wear something that was both hand-knitted and cool.