by Eloise Flood
“It’s right here.” Phoebe held up an eight-by-ten photo in a cardboard frame that read “A Souvenir from Bombay Cottage.” A woman at the restaurant had taken it the night of her first date with Niall. In the photo, Phoebe was smiling, but Niall’s eyes were wide with alarm. One hand was raised as if he were trying to shield his face.
“He looks like a man with something to hide,” Piper commented. She glanced at Phoebe. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Phoebe gazed at the picture, trying to ignore the pang that went through her. “I’m getting used to it.”
“Come on.” Prue took the photo and tucked it into her bag. “The hotel will have a fax machine. We’ll fax this to Darryl from downstairs.”
“Then what?” Phoebe wanted to know. “
I had an idea,” Piper spoke up. “I thought maybe we could walk over to Diana’s place and sort of case the joint. Maybe we could pretend we wanted to rent an apartment and ask the landlord about her or something.”
“That’s a great plan,” Prue said. “Let’s go.”
The girls headed over to the Oxford Road. Phoebe pointed out a four-story brick Victorian set back from the street. “That’s the place.”
“Okay,” Prue said. “Let’s do it.”
She marched briskly up the front steps and pressed the button marked Caretaker. Phoebe’s nerves were jumping as they stood there, waiting. What if Diana came home while they were still here? Worse yet, what if Niall came home? She didn’t think she could face him. Not right now.
Then the door swung open and a short, heavyset man in a ratty old beige cardigan stood facing them. He had a red face topped by thinning black hair, a few strands of which were carefully combed across his head and plastered down. He peered suspiciously at the sisters.
“Yes?” he said gruffly. “Can I help you ladies?”
“Hi,” Prue said, giving him a big smile. “We’re Americans who are in town for a while, and we’re looking for an apartment to rent.” She giggled. “Whoops—I mean a flat.”
Wow, Phoebe thought, impressed. She does a good imitation of an airhead. Already the caretaker was looking less suspicious.
“An acquaintance of ours lives in the building,” Piper added. “Diana Jones. She said she thought you might have something available.”
The caretaker’s heavy black brows drew together. “Did she, now?” he said. “I’m sorry, but—”
“She said it was a wonderful building,” Phoebe jumped in. She was starting to get into the swing of things. “She said the caretaker keeps it very well cared for.” She gave him a flirty look. “You’re the caretaker, right?”
The man’s ample belly swelled a little more. “I am indeed. Why don’t you young ladies step inside for a moment? I was just making myself a cuppa. Let me turn the kettle off.”
As soon as his back was turned the sisters gave each other triumphant looks.
“We don’t have no vacancies at the moment,” the caretaker said over his shoulder. Phoebe noticed that his accent was different from the Welsh burr she’d been hearing around Hay. He sounded more like a Londoner, with long, drawling vowels and dropped H’s. “But I can put you girls down on me list if you like. You never know, something might open up.”
“That would be great,” Prue said. “We don’t know Diana very well, but . . .” She trailed off, smiling.
The caretaker led them into a small, dark apartment cluttered with broken kitchen chairs and other cast-off furniture. A small television in the corner showed a billiards game in progress.
“I don’t know Miss Jones too well, either,” the caretaker said as the girls followed him into a messy kitchen. “Keeps to herself, she does.”
“I met her in a shop that sells books about magic,” Phoebe said, taking a wild stab.
“Don’t tell me a nice young lady like you is into that nonsense, too,” the caretaker said, giving her a disapproving look.
“Me? Oh, no,” Phoebe said quickly. “I was just browsing.” She tried to sound casual. “Is Diana really into magic, then?”
The caretaker picked up an electric kettle and poured hot water into a mug that looked as if it hadn’t been washed in a week. Phoebe had a moment of panic. What if he offered them some tea?
Thankfully, he didn’t. “Like I said, I don’t know her very well,” he said, stirring the tea with an equally encrusted spoon. “But I’ve been inside her flat a few times, fixing things and whatnot. It’s full of candles, and what do you call ’em, pentagrams, and bunches of holly and all that. One time I went to move a bit of holly as was tied over one of her kitchen cabinets. I needed to get at the plumbing inside, see? Well, she nearly took me head off, screaming about how I wasn’t ever to touch anything without her permission and if I needed something moved, I was to ask her to do it.” He shook his head in disgust. “It’s all that Druid rot. Earth magic, what have you. Long white robes and midnight ceremonies. There’s lots of people in these parts as believes in it. Me own wife was from here. She used to yammer on about it all the time.” He cast his eyes up to the ceiling. “Not anymore, thank the Lord.”
“I’m sorry,” Piper said politely. “Did she pass away recently?”
“Pass away? Her?” The caretaker let out a bark of laughter. “Not bloody likely. She ran off with our bank manager. Left me to look after this mausoleum by meself.”
“Oh.” Piper gave Phoebe and Prue a helpless look. Phoebe struggled to suppress a giggle. This was too much!
Prue’s next words brought her back down to reality with a thud, though.
“What about Diana’s boyfriend?” Prue asked the caretaker.
The caretaker scowled. “You mean that shifty-looking fellow? The one with the long hair and the silly clothes?”
Phoebe’s heart contracted inside her. That was Niall.
“That’s him,” Prue said. “Is he into magic, too?”
The caretaker scratched his belly reflectively. “Couldn’t say. Never saw him before two weeks ago. He just showed up out of the blue.”
Phoebe’s heart lifted a little. Was there a chance that Niall’s story was true? That he really was staying with Diana on business?
“But I reckon they go back a long ways, those two,” the caretaker added. He gave a sour chuckle. “All they ever do is fight.”
“Fight?” Piper leaned forward. “About what?”
“Who knows? I hear ’em yelling every bloody night. ‘I’m not going to be your tame stallion!’ says he, and she comes back with, ‘You got no choice and you know it.’ Maybe she wants a baby and he doesn’t. Ain’t that always the way?”
Phoebe’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. None of this made any sense. What did any of it have to do with her, or with the weird Druid ceremony Piper saw? Looking at her sisters, she could see that they were confused, too.
“Well,” Piper said. She stood up. “We’ve taken up too much of your time already. You’re obviously a busy man.”
“That I am, that I am,” the caretaker agreed with a sigh, even though Phoebe could see no sign that he’d been doing anything but watching TV all morning.
He heaved himself to his feet. “About that apartment, then. Shall I put your names on me list? If you’ll give me the number where you’re staying, I could ring you if something comes up.”
“We’ll—uh, we’ll call you,” Prue said quickly, backing out the door. The three girls made their escape, blinking as they came out into the bright summer sunshine.
Prue looked at Piper and Phoebe. “So what do we know now?”
“Not a whole lot more than we did twenty minutes ago,” Phoebe said gloomily. “Okay, so we know Diana is into this Druid stuff. And that she and Niall fight a lot.”
“I know one other thing,” Piper volunteered. She put a hand on her stomach. “I am starved! Anybody have any objection to talking about this over lunch?”
No one spoke up. Piper sighed. “I can see it’s going to be another cheerful meal. Come on, let’s go back to the hotel
.”
Piper sat in the small rose garden behind the Trelawney Hotel, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face. I guess a sedentary afternoon isn’t so bad after all, she thought.
She’d tried to persuade her sisters to drive down to the ruined abbey that afternoon, but with no luck. Prue and Phoebe were haunting their suite—Prue was waiting by the phone in case Darryl called, and Phoebe was moping over Niall.
Poor Phoebe. Suddenly, Piper’s problems with Leo didn’t seem so terrible. She looked down at the pile of wilted wildflowers in her lap. She’d retrieved them from her backpack, intending to start on her love-charm posy this afternoon.
I wish this posy thing really did work, she thought. Maybe I could make a charm to help Phoebe get over Niall.
Oh, well. At least the attraction hadn’t gone too far. With time, Phoebe would get over it. Sighing, Piper flipped open Wild Flowers of the Wye Valley and turned to the section on charms.
Hmmm. As she began to work, she realized it was trickier than it had seemed at first. This posy was actually supposed to be braided together into a heart shape. Piper teased at the delicate flower stalks, biting her lip as she concentrated.
A shadow suddenly fell across the open page of her book. Piper glanced up to see a stocky, bald man in a tweed jacket standing next to her. He looked vaguely familiar. He was peering around the garden as if searching for someone. But apart from Piper, there was no one there.
As Piper stared at him, he pulled a watch on a silver chain out of his vest pocket and consulted it. What he saw seemed to displease him. “Hoom, hahm,” he sniffed.
The throat-clearing noise made Piper remember where she’d met him before. Right. Sir Andrew, from the bookshop.
“Oh, hello,” she said, smiling at him. When he glanced down at her, she held up her book so that he could see the cover. “Remember me? Wildflower girl?”
“Er . . .” Sir Andrew looked vaguely alarmed. “Quite, quite. Charming to see you again. Now, if you’ll just excuse me . . . meeting a fellow, don’t you know . . .” He gazed around the empty garden as if willing his absent companion to appear from thin air. Then he turned and hurried back inside.
Grinning, Piper went back to her posy. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually frightened a grown man away. Aside from the occasional warlock, that is.
A few moments later she held up her work and examined it critically. The heart was a bit lopsided, but definitely recognizable. Not bad for a first try, Piper decided. I bet if I dry this, it’ll be really pretty. If nothing else, it’ll be a nice memento of this trip.
She glanced back at the book. “Whoops! Almost forgot to say the charm,” she murmured. Holding the posy over her heart, as the book directed, she chanted:
“For constancy, this mallow blue
Shall never give me cause to rue.
Bloodred wort makes passion blaze;
Add fire of stars for length of days.
Behold the spell I weave for you!
Lover, to me alone be true.”
She finished, then closed the book a little self-consciously. Had anyone overheard her? She glanced around the empty garden.
Make that the not-quite-empty garden. Sir Andrew had come back out, presumably to take another look for his friend. Piper hadn’t heard his footsteps on the soft turf.
But he seemed to have heard her chant. He was staring at her with a peculiar expression on his blunt-featured face. He shook his head as if an insect was buzzing around him. “Excuse me, could you repeat that?” he asked slowly, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation.
Piper blushed. “Oh—uh, it was nothing, really,” she said quickly. “Just a silly rhyme I found in this book. I was reading it aloud, that’s all.”
She stood up to go inside.
“Wait!” Sir Andrew cried suddenly. “Don’t go!”
Piper stared at him, astonished.
“Er, that is . . . I mean to say, well, what’s the hurry?” Sir Andrew babbled. His heavy cheeks began to turn red. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it? I always say June is the finest time of year. Don’t you think so?”
“Uh, sure,” Piper agreed, keeping her eyes on him. What was going on? Why was he so friendly all of a sudden?
“Have you seen the tea roses?” Sir Andrew went on. “The Trelawney has a creditable garden, quite creditable indeed. May I show you these over here?” Without waiting for a reply, he herded Piper toward a bed of small, fragrant, peach-colored roses. Stooping, he plucked one of the blossoms and handed it to Piper with clumsy gallantry. “If I may say so, its beauty pales next to yours, my dear,” he said, then turned even redder. “Hoom, hahm!”
Oh, no! Piper’s mouth practically fell open. She was starting to feel the prickings of a horrible suspicion. . . .
Could it be that the love posy had actually worked?
Worked on Sir Andrew?
“Yes, well, it’s been great, but I really have to run,” she began, edging toward the French doors that led back into the hotel lobby. “I’ve got all kinds of things to do.”
“Wait!” Sir Andrew hurried after her. “Er . . . perhaps you’d care to come out and have a look at my roses, Miss . . . I beg your pardon—I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Piper,” she answered automatically. “Piper Halliwell.” She strode toward the elevator and pushed the button urgently.
“What an extraordinarily lovely name,” Sir Andrew declared. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a name so lovely. Miss Halliwell—Piper— you’re utterly enchanting. Do have dinner with me tonight. Please!”
Oh, no. It’s true, Piper thought. She put a hand to her forehead, mortified. The stupid charm actually worked. I put a love spell on Sir Andrew!
Where on earth is the elevator?
“I know a charming little spot by the river,” Sir Andrew was saying. He took one of her hands and pressed it between both of his. His palms were hot and moist. “Do say you’ll come.” He took a step closer, so that he was practically crushing her against the closed elevator doors. “Do!”
“Uh, well, I already have plans,” Piper said. She glanced around her with rising desperation. How was she going to get out of this?
Fortunately, at that moment, the elevator arrived. With a soft chime, the doors slid open.
Piper practically fell in, pushing past a stout elderly woman who was trying to get out. The woman gave her a dirty look, but Piper ignored it. She slapped her palm down on the button for her floor.
Sir Andrew was trying to follow her, but he was being thwarted by the stout woman, who inadvertently kept getting in his way. “If you please, madam!” he snapped.
“If you please, sir!” she shot back icily.
“Nice seeing you again, Sir Andrew,” Piper called as the doors began to slide shut.
Sir Andrew stared at her, stricken. “But—but, Piper! Darling! I love you!” he blurted out. The last image Piper had was of him reaching imploringly out to her as the stout woman gave him a disapproving glare. Then the doors closed in his face.
Piper sagged against the wall and let out a long sigh.
What had she done?
“No, I don’t think you really want to know any more than I’ve already told you. It’s witch business. That’s right, the W word. Well, sorry, but I told you you didn’t want to know. Thanks again, Darryl.”
Prue hung up the phone and sat back in her chair, frowning. She was feeling more and more worried.
“So?” Piper asked. “What did he find out?”
Prue threw a quick glance at Phoebe. Phoebe caught the look.
“What?” she said with a groan. “Are you going to tell me Niall has a rap sheet as long as my arm?”
Prue shook her head. “Nothing like that. No, the weird thing is, Niall doesn’t have any kind of records at all. No birth certificate, no address, no phone number, no credit history . . . nothing. I mean, he could be using a phony name, but you’d think he would do that only if he had
some kind of criminal past that he was trying to cover up. But even with the photo, all Darryl’s searches there came up negative, too. If Niall is a criminal, he’s good enough that he’s never been caught.” She held out her hands. “But then why bother to use a phony name?”
Phoebe jumped up and began to pace back and forth on the sitting room carpet. “I’m sick of this,” she burst out. “I’m sick of trying to guess who he really is and what he’s really up to. I say we just confront him and make him tell us.”
Piper pursed her lips. “Phoebe, that’s pretty risky, especially since we know so little about him.”
“How risky can it be?” Phoebe argued. “We’re the Charmed Ones. Together, we’ve got the Power of Three. Even if Niall is a warlock or a demon or whatever, I’ll bet you we’re stronger than he is.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Piper glanced at her older sister. “Prue, help me out here.”
Prue twiddled a strand of her dark hair thoughtfully. She knew Phoebe was mostly trying to get the painful part over with as fast as possible. But still . . .
“Actually, I agree with Phoebe,” she said. “The Power of Three is a serious weapon. And we’re not exactly getting anywhere using more conventional methods. I think we should try it her way.”
“You’re kidding!” Phoebe looked surprised and pleased. “I mean—you’re not kidding. Let’s give that jerk the real third degree.” She winced slightly. “By which I mean, you two can give him the real third degree. I will be hiding in the bathroom because I’m too chicken to face him right now. But if you need me for the Power of Three,” she added hurriedly, “I’m with you. One hundred percent.”
Prue laughed. “Okay. Good to know we can count on you.” She checked her watch. “You’d better get going into the bathroom. Niall’s picking you up at six, right? Well, that’s about two minutes of now.”