Crochet and Cauldrons: A paranormal cozy mystery (Vampire Knitting Club Book 3)

by Nancy Warren

  So, instead of the much cuter small bag, I now had to take a large one. I'd look like one of the university students carting her books around.

  At least I'd fit in.

  Pete had told me he’d pick me up for our date and, given that I was under strict instructions not to go out alone, I'd agreed. When the bell rang, I said good-bye to Mom, who was so deeply involved in her research, she barely registered me speaking to her. I looked at her with fond exasperation.

  “Mom. Don’t forget to eat something.”

  “I won’t,” she said, vaguely, and waved me off with one hand.

  I ran downstairs and, when I opened the door, Pete gave a low whistle of approval. "You really are a beauty."

  "You are a flatterer." Still, what woman doesn't want to be told she's beautiful, even if it's stretching the truth?

  Pete looked as good as always, though I thought he’d had his hair trimmed and he’d definitely shaved. He wore a crisp, blue shirt with his jeans and a well-worn leather jacket. "Where do you want to go? I found a few places, online, but I reckon this is your town."

  I thought quickly. If I was going to be under the watchful gaze of a vampire or two, I could make it easier for them by suggesting a venue where they wouldn't be quite so obviously out of their element. "Do you know the Eagle and Child pub?"

  "The Bird and the Baby?" He gave the pub its colloquial, jokey name. “Sure.”

  "It’s got a great atmosphere, and the food’s good."

  "Sold to the lady in the beautiful blue sweater."

  As we walked, I kept a hand on my bag, ready to pull out the mirror, the way a gunslinger in the Old West might go for their gun, if threatened. Pete kept up a light, flirtatious conversation, but I sensed a tension in him. Or, perhaps he was reacting to the tension I could feel in my whole body.

  We were about to cross Beaumont Street, toward the Ashmolean and were waiting for the light to change, when there was a scuffle of feet and a young guy pushed past me, jostling me. I had my hand in my bag, clasping the mirror almost instantly, when I felt myself shoved bodily. I cried and stumbled back and realized that Pete had pushed me behind him and was standing aggressively, blocking me from harm.

  In the second it took me to react, I realized we were in no danger. It was just a young guy in a ‘husband to be’ T-shirt, with a plastic ball and chain around his ankle, already quite drunk. Several of his mates came running behind him, laughing.

  Pete turned to me then, and grinned. “Bloody stag nights. You all right?” The no worries, mate Aussie was back.

  “You almost threw me to the ground.”

  "Sorry, about that. I’ve spent too much time in dodgy places. I frighten easily."

  I readjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder. "It's nice to know I'm safe, in case one of those bachelor parties turns deadly."

  He laughed and put an arm around my shoulders, and we made the rest of the walk to the pub without incident.

  The Eagle and Child drew students, tourists, and regulars, so it was usually busy. J.R.R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis famously used to sit in this pub and talk books. Maybe that’s why I’d chosen this pub. The ghosts of Gandalf and Bilbo Baggins were comforting reminders that smaller, weaker creatures could win against big evil.

  We toured the whole pub before coming across a couple who were just leaving. We sank gratefully into their still warm seats, pushing empty glasses and plates to the side. We were in a wood-panelled alcove and when I looked on the wall, Tolkien himself looked gravely down at me from a photograph.

  "What do you fancy to drink?" Pete asked me. I chose a glass of white wine, promising myself to stick to a single glass, as I needed my wits about me.

  He went up to the bar to order drinks, and while he was gone, a young woman with a tattoo of a serpent around her upper arm cleared the table and wiped it down.

  I glanced around the pub, my hand resting on my bag. No one seemed suspicious, and no one seemed to be paying me any attention, apart from a lone man who'd just walked in. I watched Rafe check out the other patrons as I had just done, before heading over to stand in line at the bar.

  Pete came back with our drinks. "I like this place. It's exactly what you think an old English pub will be." He raised his pint. “And the beer selection is good.”

  He chatted away, charming and flirtatious as always, but his gaze was restless, looking around as often as he looked at me. Now, maybe I hadn't been on as many dates as some girls, but I knew when a man was interested. There was a certain intensity in his gaze when it rested on you. I felt it when Rafe looked at me, I definitely felt it when Ian Chisholm looked at me—the way a soap opera hero looks at the woman he's in love with, the one who's either about to betray him or die. Pete looked as though he were acting attraction rather than feeling it.

  We studied the menu and Pete said he thought the fish and chips looked good. I was having trouble even concentrating on the menu, so I agreed that sounded good and I'd have it too. He went back to order our food and I noticed two more members of the vampire knitting club come in. Alfred, looking spiffy in a forest green cable knit pullover he’d only begun last week, and Christopher Weaver in one of his endless exotic hand-knitted waistcoats, worn under a black suit jacket with jeans.

  Pete returned and, while we waited for our food, I told him how sorry I was about Logan.

  His veneer of easy-going charm slipped for a second and I saw real anger in his gaze. Then the mask was back. He said, “Terrible thing. I heard it was a suspected heart attack. Did you get anything more?”

  I shook my head. “The police interviewed me, so they’re considering all possibilities.” He nodded, sipped his beer and his gaze scanned the room. I said, “I got the impression that you two knew each other, before.”

  “Not really. We ran into each other, at a music festival.”

  He brought the conversation back to my parents and the dig. It was all very delightful and superficial, but I was becoming increasingly irritable, not knowing who was friend and who was foe. Our food came and while we were crunching through the delicious battered fish and he was telling me a somewhat amusing account of his first dig, I suddenly lost all patience. I leaned over and put my hand over his.

  He was so startled he stopped talking and stared at me. Good. I had his complete attention. "What's going on, Pete? Who are you, really?"

  He looked at me, searchingly. "What do you mean?"

  "You’ve spent more time looking around the pub tonight, than looking at me, hardly flattering on our first date. You’ve barely touched on the mysterious death of your colleague last night, and on the way in, when that drunk stumbled in front of me, you acted like Special Forces. So, what's going on?"

  "I mean you no harm," he said in a low voice.

  "I already know that," I said.

  He nodded. "Right. What was that stuff you put in the food last night?"

  I remembered how he'd looked at me when he’d first tasted the shepherd's pie. He was the only one who'd noticed anything odd, as far as I could tell.

  I didn't want to tell him too much, because I didn't know who he was or how much he knew. I put my hands out to the side, palms up. "Only a little something that is supposed to help me tell friend from foe.”

  He leaned closer. "You've got a very powerful foe, but you know that, don't you?"

  I was so glad that somebody else seemed to know about Athu-ba. At least, I hoped that’s what he was referring to. "What do you know about it?"

  He took a sip of his beer. It was still three quarters full; he'd been drinking as sparingly as I had. "It's a bit of a long story. I guess I’m going to trust you.”

  I nodded. “I’ll trust you, too.”

  “Okay. All cards on the table. I didn't meet Logan at the Glastonbury Music Festival. I visited with his coven, looking for information."

  "Coven? So you're a—"

  "Wizard. Yeah."

  I digested that for a moment, though I suppose I'd had my suspicions since he�
�d looked at me oddly after ingesting magic potion. "And Logan?"

  He nodded. "And Logan."

  I may not be great at math, but even I could figure out that three people being witches at a dinner party of nine was against the odds and highly unlikely to be coincidence. "Were you working together?"

  "No. He really couldn't remember where he’d met me, or he never would've mentioned it. I gave him a hard time about that afterwards." He looked down at his plate. "Now, I wish I hadn't."

  “Do you have any idea how he really died?” I leaned even closer. “Was he murdered?" I’d been hanging onto hope that he might have been one of those unlucky young people who do drop dead of natural causes.

  "I think we have to assume he was killed by the same character who wants to kill you."

  I'd been warned by the mirror, but he hadn't. "How do you know someone wants to kill me?"

  His jaw went rigid and once more I saw an angry, dangerous man. "I've been tracking that murderous swine for a couple of years now. He murdered my mentor, a wonderful, wise woman, who was the heart of our community. I wasn't able to save her, but right before she died, she said she feared he was headed to Glastonbury next. When I got there, it was too late. Did you read about the mysterious death of the occult leader? They made it sound like the guy was barmy and took his own life, but that wasn't true. Then, a powerful psychic got a vision of your mother in Egypt.”

  “My mother,” I said.

  “I needed to get close to Dr. Susan Bartlett-Swift, see if she was somehow connected.”

  “So, you pretended to be an archaeologist?”

  “I'm an archaeologist, that part’s true, but I still needed to pull some strings to get a place here. My plan was to head over to Egypt and volunteer. I thought that if I just showed up, and didn’t care about getting paid, they wouldn’t bother to send me away. But, then I heard that your parents were coming here.”

  “So you came to Oxford, deliberately to meet my parents.”

  “That’s right. So did Logan, though we didn’t know we were on the same errand at first. Logan wasn't an archaeology student at all; he used magic to get his accreditation. I wonder if that's how the demon picked up on him?"

  "So Logan was trying to avenge someone’s death?"

  “That’s right. The occult leader was his stepfather, the one who taught him. The weird thing was, we both thought your mother was the target. But, no offence to your mum, but you don't have to be around her for long to realize she's many things, but not a witch. It was last night, when I knew you’d put some kind of spell on that food, that I realized you were the witch in the family. You must be the real target."

  I pushed my plate to the side. "My mother has witch blood in her, she's just deeply convinced in the rational and refuses to accept that part of herself."

  "Does she know about you?"

  I laughed. "She gave me a lecture, just the other day, telling me there's no such thing as ghosts, or witches, or goblins.”

  "It's an awful thing, having a parent who won't recognize who you really are."

  I rubbed at a scatter of salt on the table top. "They love me, and they did their best."

  "But you can't expect any help there. Lucy, you can't fight this thing alone, who else do you have?"

  I thought of the three vampires even now watching us. I didn't share that with Pete, though, I suspected he might not be as tolerant of vampires as I had learned to be. I said, "I got some help, and a magical spell, from a powerful witch who lives near Oxford." I felt annoyed every time I thought about how she'd taken Nyx from me. "But she didn't give me the spell for free, she made me pay for it."

  He didn't look all that surprised. "Sometimes, that makes the magic more powerful. Especially if the price is a high one."

  Then the spell ought to be very powerful.

  Pete popped another french fry, laden with blood-red ketchup, into his mouth. I, however, had lost my appetite. "So, poor Logan died trying to save me."

  His eyes grew serious. More serious than I had ever seen them. "No, Lucy. He died trying to avenge the death of his stepfather. You are not responsible for any of this."

  Then why did I feel like crap?

  Even though the pub was filled to capacity and noisy I still leaned closer and dropped my tone. "Has it occurred to you, that you are in danger, too?"

  That, no worries, mate, she'll be right, attitude had completely disappeared and I saw in front of me a much more serious man. He said, "Yes. Of course, it's occurred to me."

  I'd been thinking. I said, "I don't even think you should stay in the college dorm. If they got to Logan, they can get to you."

  "And what do you propose I do? Run away?” He shook his head. “Not an option."

  "What about staying with the powerful witch? Margaret Twig? I don't like her, but at least you'd be safe there."

  "And miles away from you. No. Remember, we’re more powerful together than we are individually. And, we have a slight advantage of knowing that he's coming."

  A couple came and stood too close. I reached for my bag and Logan half rose, but it was only a couple of tourists come to look at the photos.

  “Look, Ed. That’s Tolkien, right there. And the man in that picture over there is C.S. Lewis. I don’t know who the other fellows are, but they were known as the Inklings. Imagine, dreaming up dwarf books while sitting in a pub. Some folks have all the luck.” They moved on, then, carrying their full glasses, looking for a place to sit.

  I said, "But the demon knows we know. Logan wasn’t a powerful wizard, so why kill him? I think he's toying with us, trying to scare us."

  "I don't think he knows about me,” Logan mused. “That's one card we still have up our sleeves."

  I wasn't certain. This evil thing, whatever it was, seemed vastly powerful to me.

  I felt as though I were being constantly watched, and that it was just biding its time. The tension of waiting, and wondering when the attack would come, was getting to me. I said, still keeping my voice low, "Do you know anything about Logan's death? Anything that might help us?"

  He shook his head. "I didn't even hear about it until his body had already been moved. I managed to magic my way into his room, but there was nothing there. His belongings looked undisturbed."

  "Had his bed been slept in?" I asked.

  He narrowed his eyes, and I could tell he was concentrating. He shook his head. "No. The bed was still made.”

  "Have you talked to Priya?"

  He shook his head. "I didn't know what to say."

  "You have her contact information?"

  He pulled out his phone. "Yeah."

  “Logan left my flat with Priya. Maybe she saw or heard something."

  He nodded. "I'll text her right now."

  He sent out the text and we both pushed our half-eaten plates of food to the edge of the table. "I'll get us some coffees," I said. Before he could protest that he would get them, I was already standing. I headed to the bar, which had a crowd around it, big enough that I could stand beside Rafe without it looking remarkable. Knowing he had excellent hearing, I spoke just above a whisper. I let him know that Pete was one of my kind, and that we were going to try and visit Priya.

  He said, "I think you should go straight home. There’s a funny energy about, tonight."

  Chapter 15

  I turned to stare at him, forgetting all about my intention to look as though we were complete strangers who happened to be standing at the same bar. "I thought it was just me being strung out. I feel it, too."

  Rafe glanced over my head, and scanned the bar, much as Pete had been doing all evening. "I think he's going to strike, and strike soon. He's already managed to get into a college and kill. I don’t want you anywhere near there. It's too hard to keep you safe."

  "But, Priya might know something. Anything that might help us defeat this evil can only add to our weaponry."

  I knew he was about to argue further, but at that moment Pete walked up to me and said, "Forget
the coffee. I've heard from our friend. She wants to meet up."

  He cast a curious, and what I considered rather male and possessive, glance at Rafe, and then we left.

  Once we were outside, in the comparative quiet of Giles Street, he said, "Who was that bloke?"

  "What bloke?"

  He stopped walking and turned, putting his hands on my shoulders and holding me still. "Don't play games with me. That bloke you were talking to in the pub. You two were eyeing each other all night."

  If I had doubted he had the extrasensory abilities of a wizard, I no longer did. I said, "He's a friend. We can trust him."

  Pete's eyes were hard on mine. "He's not a wizard."

  "No. He's not."

  "Then what's his deal?"

  I hesitated, but I had no right to tell a comparative stranger that he just been sharing the pub with vampires. Perhaps, after so many centuries of being distrusted by humans, witches were equally distrustful of other beings they didn't understand. I couldn't risk him spreading the word about our local vampires and putting them at risk. So, all I said was, "He's an expert in ancient manuscripts." And then, I sighed, realizing I was going to have to tell him more if I was going to trust him to help me.

  I'd been keeping the existence of the mirror to myself, but he was right, I couldn't fight this thing on my own. So I told Pete about the mirror, how my mother had been impelled to bring it to me, and that I had asked Rafe for his opinion, both on the age of the item and the meaning of the ancient Egyptian words. I was, in fact, completely truthful. I just kept back one salient fact. That Rafe was a vampire.

  Pete asked, "Where is this mirror?"

  This time, I did tell a lie. On one level I felt I could trust him, but on another I was cautious. "I left it at home."

  I don't know whether he believed me or not. "Priya said she'd meet us at the coffee shop on the corner. I think she's too frightened to go far."

  "I don't blame her."

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, both of us no longer having to pretend that we weren't extra vigilant. My ears weren't as sharp as Rafe's, but my hearing was fairly acute. Every footfall, every cough or low conversation, had me turning to spot the source. But the only people out tonight were tourists, a giggling bunch of drunk women in heels celebrating a hen party, and students.