by Nancy Warren
To my surprise he hadn't lied. He joined the two Miss Watts in the living room and introduced himself.
"And whereabouts in Australia are you from?" Mary Watt asked, clearly attempting to put him at his ease.
"I'm from Sydney, do you know it?"
Florence Watt said, "I had a dear friend who lived for a time in Australia." And then her face crumpled up and she began to cry.
Mary and I exchanged glances. Florence’s dead fiancé had spent some years in Australia. I suddenly felt personally responsible that my parents had invited this man from Down Under to destroy the evening before it even began.
But, Pete rose to the occasion. He said, "I'm sorry. It's hard to lose a loved one. I lost both my grandparents last year." I thought he might cry too, and keep Florence company, but he managed a brave face.
Florence reached out and took his hand and I thought, strangely, that it did her good to realize she wasn't the only person grieving. They began to talk together in a low voice and Mary stood up and motioned me into the kitchen.
She sighed, sounding at her wits’ end. "It's been so dreadful. Poor Florence. I don't know what she feels worse about, losing the man she loved, or that he duped her. She fell in love with the fantasy."
"I know. I think it's going to take some time."
Mary picked up a tea towel and folded it more neatly. "She still blames me, you know."
Having seen the two sisters together, and read their emotions, I was sure of one thing. "No. She doesn't blame you. There's a strain between you because she said some things she regrets, that she can never take back. She doesn't know how to tell you she's sorry. She thinks what she did was unforgivable."
It was Mary's turn to look as though she were about to cry. "Of course, I forgive her. I knew she didn't mean those terrible things she was saying."
"Then, I think it's up to you to open the subject. Tell her you didn't take any of it seriously and you're very sorry about what happened."
"I am sorry. I wish with all my heart he'd been the man she wanted him to be."
"I know."
She unfolded and refolded the same tea towel yet again. "But, maybe she doesn't know. You're very wise for one so young, Lucy."
I was saved from answering by the bell announcing new arrivals. I ran downstairs and let in Logan and Priya. Logan had brought a case of beer and Priya presented me with another bottle of wine. I showed them both upstairs, wondering if my parents were going to remember they'd organized a dinner party. If they didn't, tonight wouldn’t be the first time I'd ever entertained in their absence, on their behalf.
But, just as I was beginning to think they wouldn't show up, they came in, full of apologies. They'd attended a lecture by a dear friend they'd gone to university with and afterwards they've gone back to his office where they’d become deeply immersed in his latest paper on extending the reliability of radiocarbon dating. Naturally, they’d completely lost track of time.
Naturally, they’d invited Professor Hamish Ogilvie along with them to dinner. The professor was a lean Scotsman with red hair who blushed easily. He said, "Terribly sorry to barge in on you like this, but Susan insisted."
Once more, I blessed Eileen. I was able to truthfully say, "You're most welcome. We've got loads of food."
He said, rather sheepishly, "I didn't have time to stop for wine. This is from my private stock. From under his tweed jacket, he presented me with a bottle of scotch that was much older than I was.
As I took the whisky, I heard Margaret Twig’s voice in my head. “Athu-ba will most likely come to you in disguise. He could be one of your customers, a stranger you pass in the street; he could assume the guise of an old friend.”
I imagined he could also assume the guise of my parents’ old friend. I’d like to radiocarbon date him.
Instead, I took the whisky into the kitchen and, while Mom and Dad were introducing their friend, I slipped into my bedroom, got one of the bottles of revealing potion, and slipped it into my pocket.
Chapter 11
Logan and Priya were tucking into the beer, and Pete had opened one of the bottles of Australian red wine. It was a merry group when my mother and father and Hamish joined in. Hamish insisted on opening the scotch, which I knew was one of my father's weaknesses, and even my mother agreed to a small glass.
I was glad to see everyone having a good time. I went into the kitchen to put the last touches on dinner—and slip a little revealing potion into the food.
All of these people were new in my life. And here they were in my home having dinner. Any one of them could be Athu-ba. I took the stopper out of the bottle and sniffed. It smelled like water. I tasted it and, apart from the slightest hint of cinnamon, it had no flavor I could detect. After checking to make sure no one was coming, I sprinkled it over the shepherd's pie.
I felt terrible doing it, but Margaret had assured me the potion was harmless to anyone but a demon in disguise and, even then, all the liquid would do would be to reveal him in his true nature.
I figured anyone who came into my home in order to kill me was not someone I should worry about.
Pete suddenly appeared in the kitchen and asked, "What can I do to help?"
"Thanks," I said. “Can you shoehorn a ninth chair around the dinner table?” I gave him another set of cutlery and he took it and went out again.
I was prettying up the salad when he returned. I indicated the two baguettes. "You could cut the bread. Put it in that basket."
I was pleased to see that he washed his hands first and then took the bread knife and began slicing bread. I said, "Somebody brought you up right."
"With five kids in my family, and a mum who worked, we all learned to be useful in the kitchen." He glanced toward where the party was in full swing and then back at me. "I'm guessing you've learned to be handy in the kitchen, too."
I smiled. "It's not that they mean to be hopeless, but my parents have such gigantic brains, there is no room for practical matters in their heads. It was just lucky that I didn't turn out to be an intellectual too, or we’d never have eaten."
He laughed. "You're not like other girls."
Luckily, I'd already splashed the liquid over the shepherd's pie and when I looked at the surface there were no traces of potion to be seen. Pete had no idea how unlike other girls I was. "I'm not sure how to take that."
There was a kind of flirty banter between us that I couldn't deny. I was also very aware that such a gorgeous guy would have no lack of female companionship. He laughed. "I meant it as a compliment. I find you very interesting."
"Thanks," I said. "You're pretty interesting, too. For an archaeologist."
He winced. “I know. I should become a professional football player. That's how you get the chicks."
It was my turn to laugh. "I'm guessing that's not a problem you have."
"Maybe, I don't always get the ones I want."
I had no idea what to say to that, my flirting skills were sadly rusty, if I’d ever had any. Luckily, Priya chose that moment to come in and ask the way to the bathroom. I directed her and then suggested to Pete that we start putting food on the table. The party in the living room picked up their various glasses and adjourned to the dining table.
The shepherd's pie stretched nicely. No one turned out to be a vegetarian, or allergic to potato, or any of the things I had worried about. Eileen was as good a cook as she had led me to believe, as I discovered from my first bite. The shepherd's pie was delicious, the wine flowed and, in spite of the odd mix of people, amazingly, the conversation never flagged.
I tried to keep up but, really, I was much more interested in whether any of my dinner guests would turn into monsters before my eyes. I'd slipped the leather bag, containing the mirror, under my chair and I was on edge, ready, should the archaeology professor, one of the grad students, or even one of the Miss Watts, suddenly turn out to be the murderous Athu-ba.
I was certain the potion was tasteless, but, after a few bites of his she
pherd's pie, Pete seemed to stop and really taste the bite that was in his mouth. Then, he looked up at me with a very searching look. I smiled innocently and dropped my gaze to my plate. Please, let it not be him, went through my mind. But still, if he was a demon in Australian sheep's clothing, I was ready.
But, Pete didn't turn into anything other than a charming, slightly sunburned Australian, Priya was more quiet than the others, but I thought she was just more reserved. Logan grew more loquacious, the more he drank, and Hamish's freckles became more pronounced as the bottle of scotch sank.
The Miss Watts were still the Miss Watts.
My parents were still my parents.
I was relieved, of course, but also mildly disappointed. I’d psyched up for this confrontation, and the longer I had to wait, the more my nerves would be stretched to breaking point.
After dinner was done, we moved on to dessert. The trifle was delicious, and Hamish told an amusing story about his nanny in Scotland who had condemned all things English except trifle, which, she said, was the only thing the English got right.
Mary and Florence Watt exchanged a glance and Mary said, "You tell it, Florence.” And Florence had said, ”No, Mary, you tell it so much better than I." And I realized I wouldn't need a reconciliation spell. All those dear ladies had needed was a night out in pleasant company to realize how very fond they were of each other.
In the end Florence and Mary told the story together, about how they’d both learned to make custard, and all the disasters of lumps, and burned pots, interspersing lines like, "And don't forget when poor Mother made you promise to keep stirring the pot while she went to get the mail, and you forgot, and when she came home there was burned custard all over the stove."
We all laughed heartily. And then I served coffee and tea, once again aided by Pete. While we were in the kitchen together, I asked, "Was everything all right with your shepherd's pie? You got a strange look on your face."
He looked at me again, in that same searching way. "No. There was a funny flavor I couldn't recognize. Probably a spice we don't get at home."
I nodded. “No doubt that was it."
Priya and Logan left shortly after dinner, and Logan asked, "Coming, Pete?"
Pete said, "You go on. I'll help Lucy with the dishes."
Logan gave us both a knowing glance and nodded. "See you tomorrow, then.”
The Miss Watts left next, and I could see they were both much happier than they had been when they’d arrived. Florence said, "Thank you for a lovely evening, Lucy."
When Florence went to say goodbye to my parents, Mary took both my hands in hers. "Thank you. I'm going to take your advice and have that chat with Flo." She looked toward her sister. “It’s time.”
Mom and Dad were in deep conversation with Hamish, while Pete and I did the washing up. He was easy company, and I was happy to have the help. When we’d finished putting everything away, he turned to me. "Walk me home?"
I raised my eyebrows at him. "Isn’t it usually the boy who walks the girl home?"
He raised his brows right back at me. “Bit sexist, isn’t it? Anyway, we’re at your home. I’d love to walk you to your bedroom, but your mum and dad are right there. I don’t want to lose a trip to Egypt."
I stifled a giggle and said, "All right. I’ll walk you home. Just so I can get some air."
I told Mom and Dad I was taking a walk, but they were so intent on their conversation, I don't think they heard me. I put on a coat, made sure I had my key to get back in, and then Pete and I headed out into the night.
It was cold and quiet in the lane. The leaves and streets were wet from the earlier rainfall, but now it was dry. I looked up and there were no stars visible, and the moon was partly obscured by clouds. It looked spooky, as though black cobwebs had drifted across its face, like a Halloween moon.
Pete asked, "If I go on the dig with your folks, any chance you’ll be there?"
I shook my head. "I'm no archaeologist. I run this knitting shop. That's my job."
“Oh, well, even if your folks do select me as part of the team, we won't be going for weeks yet. Can I see you again?"
Gorgeous guys did not usually ask me out. My not-so-spectacular boyfriend of two years had cheated on me, so I wasn’t overconfident in the dating department. I wanted absolutely no misunderstandings. "Are you asking me on a date?"
He laughed, his white teeth gleaming in the night. "It's an old-fashioned way to put it, but yeah. I'm asking you on a date. How about dinner, tomorrow?"
Okay, so it seemed gorgeous guys did, occasionally, ask me out. Pete was easy to be with and handy in the kitchen. And who knew how long I had before I faced the death demon? A night out sounded like a good idea. "I'd like that."
We were heading up Ship Street, and turned left on Turl toward Broad Street. I hadn’t asked Pete which college he attended, but we were headed toward Balliol and Trinity. The night was still and cold and hardly anyone was out. It felt good to let my guard down. Pete hadn't turned into a crazed monster after he'd eaten the magic potion, so I knew I could trust him. We turned right on Broad Street and walked past the Sheldonian, with its ring of stone heads looking sinister in the near dark.
“They call those the Emperors,” he said, then laughed. “I got that from eavesdropping on a tour guide.” We walked past the Bodleian library, and turned right at Catte street. His college turned out to be one of the smaller ones, Barnaby College, where Mom had studied. He asked, "Do you want to come in for a drink?"
His eyes were full of tease and promise, but I shook my head. "I should get back. But I look forward to our date tomorrow."
If he was disappointed, he didn't show it. Instead, he put a hand under my chin and said, "I'm looking forward to it, too. You're a very interesting girl, Lucy Swift." And then he kissed me.
"Very interesting." Then he looked up and down the quiet road. "Should I walk you back home?"
I laughed. "Oxford's a pretty quiet town. I think I'll be okay."
"Good night, then. Until tomorrow."
"Good night."
He waved as he walked through the gates, and I waved back, before turning around, in the direction we’d come. I hadn't gone far at all before I had another man walking by my side. This one wasn't warm and sexy; he was cold and furious.
"What are you doing walking out late at night, all alone? Did you not hear anything I said to you?"
"When have I been alone?" I challenged him, stopping and turning to face him. "I could feel you following us every step of the way, from the second we left my place. In fact, I might have liked a little privacy."
"So you could kiss a complete stranger?"
I was so irritated I pushed my face right into his. "Do you have a problem with that?"
His eyes were fire and ice at war. I watched his passion battle with the reality of our situation. I was mortal and he was vampire. How could that ever end well? Finally, he said, "For a woman whose life is in danger, you have a bad attitude."
We continued walking. "For your information, I sprinkled the revealing potion in their dinner. Guess what? None of them are Athu-ba."
"Or the potion didn't work."
I hadn’t even thought of that. "What are you saying?"
He put an arm around me and pulled me out of the path of a drunk cyclist. "Did you put it in something hot?"
“Margaret didn’t say I couldn’t.” I was so frustrated by these supposed rules that I only learned about after I’d broken them. “I sprinkled the potion over a dish that had just come out of the oven. I didn't put it back in again."
He shrugged. "Maybe the potions's heat sensitive. Or, it could have been neutralized by the potato.”
I glared at him. I mean, I gave him the full treatment. I stopped walking, then took a step back. Put my hands on my hips. Oh, I meant business, when I glared, and he knew it. "I never said what we had for dinner. How do you know about the potato?” It was true, I’d sprinkled the potion on top of the cooked potato, on top
of the shepherd's pie. But I was positive I had never told Rafe what we were having for dinner tonight.
He looked embarrassed and uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I might have glanced in the window."
I added outrage to my glare. "You'd better not make a habit of peeking in my windows.”
He looked appalled at my not very subtle insinuation. "I'm not a Peeping Tom, if that's what you’re insinuating. I knew you were entertaining, and I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
I knew I'd be foolish to alienate the one person I could trust to keep an eye on me. Also, I didn't really think he peeked into my bedroom windows at night. Just in case he did, I determined to make sure the blinds were fully closed and that I wore my most demure pyjamas to bed.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's been a really long and stressful day."
He didn’t look terribly sympathetic. "You’d better get used to it. Until this demon has been dispatched,, every day should be stressful for you."
Luckily, at that point we had reached my home. I said, "Thank you for walking me home. I can take it from here."
His hand touched my face fleetingly. "Good night, Lucy. Stay safe."
Chapter 12
My parents and I were sitting over breakfast when the call came.
They looked heavy-eyed and, frankly, hung over. I'd gone to bed, leaving them and Hamish in the living room with the bottle of scotch. The rise and fall of their voices had lulled me to sleep. I wasn’t sure what time Hamish had finally left, I’d been asleep long before.
They gratefully drank the extra pot of coffee that I’d made and we were all on our various electronic devices, checking news, social media, or whatever our bent was, when my dad's cell phone rang. He flinched at the noise and then answered. He listened for a moment, puzzlement turning to horror, and then said, "I'll be right there."