by Nancy Warren
He snapped his fingers, the unexpected crack of sound making me jump. “Not Hodgkins, Hodgins. Yes. Martin Hodgins must be her father. She has a similar look.” We walked on. "There was an unpleasant scandal at the time. Forty years ago or more, I suppose, Dominic Sanderson and Martin Hodgins were students together and friends. Inseparable, really. Both studied English literature as I recall, at Cardinal College. Both had very promising futures. They were extremely bright, studious, and stayed out of trouble. Great things were predicted for both of them."
"Well, certainly Dominic Sanderson has enjoyed an illustrious career."
"Oh yes. Brilliant. Not only is he a distinguished professor but those books, well, I don't need to tell you. It's not every fantasy novel writer who is honored by a retrospective of their work at the Bodleian." I stifled a smile. I got the feeling that he wasn't entirely approving of living fantasy authors getting retrospectives at the Bodleian.
"But what happened to the other student? His friend and, presumably, Gemma’s dad?"
He shook his head. "It was very sad. Or foolish. Or both. Martin Hodgins was in his last year. He’d nearly made it to the end when he submitted a paper that contained large passages that were not his own work. Of course, in those days, there were no computer programs that scanned every student’s essay and detected similarities to published work. He might've got away with the plagiarism if the professor doing the marking hadn't recognized the source material. Naturally, he was caught. And sent down. He never received his degree. He was rather in disgrace."
I felt there was more to the story so I waited. Sure enough, Rafe continued, "But, it didn't end there. A year later, Dominic Sanderson sold his fantasy trilogy. He was in the right place, at the right time, with the right agent. Still, it was an extremely lucrative deal for a first time author, especially one so young, and he got quite a bit of publicity, as you can imagine."
“He sold three completed novels a year after he graduated?” I’d only managed two years of business college, but I couldn’t imagine turning around and writing three massive fantasy novels right afterward. Or even during my studies.
"Oh yes, he was in his early twenties. I think that contributed to his celebrity status.”
I was still thinking about the timing. “But, he must have written them while he was at Oxford. He couldn’t possibly have written the Chronicles of Pangnirtung in only a few months.”
“You’re right. He’d written most of them while a student. Well, the next thing that happened was that Martin Hodgins claimed the fantasy trilogy had been his idea all along. It was dreadfully embarrassing. I believe Hodgins even hired a lawyer and tried to sue. But, of course, Dominic Sanderson had the original manuscripts and his publisher and agent stood by him and put their considerable resources into fighting the claim. Meanwhile, Martin Hodgins had already been discredited as a plagiarist." He shook his head. "No one likes to see a promising young man end like that."
"What happened to him? Martin Hodgins?" He was interesting to me because he was Gemma’s dad.
"I don't know. He disappeared."
"That must be what Gemma meant when she said that Dominic Sanderson had ruined her father's life."
"I rather think her father ruined his own life."
"She was brought up by her mother, I got the feeling she was pretty much a single parent. She said her father did his best but he had no money. I guess he never recovered from the scandal." Poor Gemma. I’d grown up with two professor parents and, while life with a couple of geniuses was far from perfect, I’d always been proud of them and their accomplishments. What must it be like to grow up with someone who’d started out so promising and ended so badly?
As the following week progressed, I began to think that every fireplace mantelpiece in all of Oxfordshire would feature extra long hand-knitted stockings this year. If we hadn't had more than twenty vampires with extraordinary speed and skill knitting all night long, we never could've kept up with the demand. As it was, I made two trips to the bank most days and Meri or I kept delivering an incredible assortment of stockings.
I got into the habit of returning to help close up and taking the last deposit, in its special pouch, to the bank’s night safe drop box. I also popped by a couple of times a day to check stock or even help with the selling. I hated to admit it, but hiring Violet had been a great idea. She had lots of retail experience and she could knit, plus, my grandmother was just upstairs if she had any questions. Meri might not be the hippest girl on the planet, but she was an incredibly hard worker and had a sweetness about her that just drew people. I thought sometimes that they bought more than they intended to make her happy. Of course, she had no idea of the effect she had on people, which was part of her selling superpower.
Violet and Meri got on well, too. I think because Meri considered me as her new mistress, akin to the pharaoh’s demanding wife in her last gig, she was never quite as relaxed around me. But Violet was another witch working in the shop, so she could let her guard down and ask her questions that she hesitated to ask me.
It was fun working outside at the Christmas market. Sure, it was much harder on the feet and legs to be standing all day on pavement, and I had to bundle up warm because of the chill in the air, but I was not short of hand-knitted sweaters, coats, gloves, and hats, so I managed to stay toasty warm.
It was Wednesday afternoon and the day was heavy with unshed rain. I headed to Timeless Treasures with twenty-five stockings so freshly knitted I swear they were warm. I glanced up at the brooding, dark clouds, wondering when the first drops would fall. I had my rain jacket in my bag just in case.
The market was bustling in spite of the threatened rain. I could smell gingerbread, and chocolate, and as I grew closer I could smell the delicate fragrances—all natural, she assured me–emanating from Bubbles, Gemma’s soap store.
There was a good crowd gathered around Timeless Treasures and I immediately stepped up to help. A woman I recognized as one of Cardinal Woolsey’s customers came up wearing a sweater she’d knitted herself from wool and pattern that I’d sold her. “Well, hello, Lucy. Isn’t this fun?” She handed me five of the long stockings. “I could knit these myself, but I can’t keep up with my knitting projects as it is.”
I laughed and told her I completely understood the appeal of purchasing things that were already finished. When I’d taken her money and given her change, she gathered up her stockings. “I’ll just pop them in here.” Her bag was from the Sanderson retrospective. Half the people wandering around the market seemed to have come from the exhibit.
Clara surreptitiously passed me a fat envelope of cash to deposit. Her eyes were sparkling. "We’re doing so well," she said. "I had no idea running a market stall could be so entertaining. You see such an interesting cross-section of people."
I loved their enthusiasm. I’d kept an eagle eye on the vampires the first couple of days, in case they should get hungry, but someone, no doubt Dr. Weaver, was making sure that they were fed regularly, so they were never tempted by the smorgasbord of humanity walking up and down in front of them.
There were quite a few shoppers milling around Bubbles. I glanced at Gemma, ready to give her a wave by way of greeting and stopped, with my hand half raised. Gemma looked as though she were on the verge of tears. Her eyes were red-rimmed and over bright, and her smile looked forced.
I didn't know what to do. She was busy, but not overwhelmed with customers. Had someone been rude to her? I hovered in the background and she glanced up, as though she felt me there. She motioned me forward with one hand and then went back to serving her current customer.
I walked into her chalet and stood beside her. She leaned closer to me. "Can you take over for a few minutes? I've got to get out of here."
I’d been right, she was close to tears. I could hear the tremble in her voice. Naturally, I told her to take as much time as she needed. I was in no hurry. She nodded gratefully, finished up with her customer, and then, excusing herself, left the bo
oth.
I put on a professional smile. "Yes, how can I help you?" I asked the next person in line. She was a young mother pushing a sleeping baby in a pram and she asked which soaps were the most gentle. Fortunately, I'd spent enough hours in the stall already that I could answer most of her questions. Gemma had soap and shampoo specifically for babies, which the woman happily purchased, along with some soaps as gifts for her co-workers.
I got the feeling she needed some pampering, herself, so I said, "You have to smell these bath salts. They've got lavender in them and special salts and minerals. After a long day at work, when you’ve finally got the baby to sleep, you should treat yourself to a nice bath with these." I took the stopper out of the sample bottle and offered it to her. After an appreciative sniff she agreed and bought herself several packages.
As I was wrapping her purchase, I watched Gemma. She hadn’t gone far and was acting very strangely. She seemed to be searching for someone. She walked up and down, her eyes constantly searching the crowd. She didn’t look hopeful of seeing an old friend. I felt her distress so keenly my chest tightened. My witch powers did not come without a price.
An older man came up. He was holding one of the Sanderson retrospective bags and it was so bulging I suspected he’d really gone to town in the gift shop. I was happy Gemma wasn’t around to see it. He asked if I could recommend something for his wife, who loved roses. I took my eyes of Gemma and smiled at him. "I have the perfect gift." I offered him another sample bottle to sniff. "These bath salts contain actual rose petals as well as essence of roses, neroli, and a complex blend of other essential oils. I think it smells like a rose garden on a sunny afternoon." If Gemma had been there she would've itemized every one of those oils and scents, but I couldn't remember them all. I was thinking on my feet here.
He seemed quite pleased with my answer and happily bought his wife the bath salts. I suggested the matching soap, which was a lovely pale pink color. I was able to tell him the color was achieved, not with artificial dye, but with French pink clay, that was also very good for the complexion. He also bought the body cream and a dry skin ointment marketed for men.
He looked about him as though not quite sure what else he might purchase. I leaned forward. "If you're looking for something to put those in, may I recommend the extra long stockings over at Timeless Treasures? They’ve been very popular this year. People seem to love them." I couldn’t think of a reason why Gemma and I shouldn’t promote each other’s goods.
He raised his brows and looked over at the knitting stall. "What a good idea. Why, I haven't had a Christmas stocking since I was a boy."
"You and your wife should start a new tradition. Buy two stockings and you can fill them with fun little gifts for each other."
He looked as delighted as he probably had when he’d opened his stocking when he was that little boy. "That's a wonderful idea. Thank you, my dear."
It was nearly an hour before Gemma returned. I'd seen her a few more times in my peripheral vision, wandering around the market, obviously searching for someone. I had no idea what was going on and, anyway, I was kept busy packing soaps and enticing browsers closer so I could turn them into purchasers.
I liked the challenge of helping a shopper find the right gift. Plus, I thought that Gemma needed all the profits she could earn from her stint at the market.
She returned at last, looking almost more upset than she had before she left. As soon as there was a lull I asked, "Is everything all right?" It was a leading question, of course, since it was very clear that everything was not all right with my new friend Gemma.
She shook her head, sharply. Glanced up and down out of narrowed eyes and said, "Darren, my ex-boyfriend is here."
No wonder she was upset. "Are you sure?"
"He texted me and said he had to see me. I told him not to come. I don't want to see him. I broke up with him. We’re done.” She vibrated with negative energy. “I don’t even know how he found out I was in Oxford.” Her voice rose.
“He probably did an Internet search. If he used your name and the name of your stall, you wouldn’t be that difficult to find.” Sometimes, the oh-so-connected world wasn’t our friend.
She rubbed her arms as though she were cold. “He's acting like a stalker. It's horrible. I feel violated."
“I don't blame you." I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if Todd a.k.a. The Toad suddenly decided to fly to England and try to win me back. Not that I was in any danger of that happening, since the only time he’d contacted me since we’d broken up was to ask if I had an old hoodie of his. It wasn’t very flattering to my ego, but it was better than being stalked.
I asked, "What can I do?"
She shook her head, looking helpless. "I don't know. I searched all around but now I can't find him. He didn't even come right up to the booth. He sort of hovered in the background, making sure I knew he was here, and then he disappeared."
"Maybe he left?" I said it more to comfort than because I thought her stalker had given up so easily.
“I wish. I can't stand knowing he’s here, skulking around, watching me. If he’d come up and talk to me, I could tell him to go away. But having him hover around is doing my head in."
I didn’t know if her ex was dangerous, but I didn’t want to take chances. She’d be safe enough at the market with so many people about, but I didn’t like the idea of her going to her hotel alone. I said, “Why don't you come home with me and stay the night?" Even as the words left my mouth I realized that was a terrible idea. Poor Gemma had enough problems right now, she did not need to walk into a nest of knitting vampires. Even as I tried to think how I might take back my spontaneous invitation, she was already shaking her head.
"I can't. I really appreciate it, but I've got a lot of product that I need to cut and wrap. I'll be busy all evening. But thanks."
We’d exchanged mobile numbers earlier, so I said, "Make sure you call me when you get to the hotel. If that creep bothers you, I'll come over to your place. You’re not alone."
She got that look again, as though she might cry. "I can't tell you how much this means to me. I hardly even know you and you’re already a good friend."
The rain came late that afternoon and I hoped it drenched Darren and drove him, wet and miserable, back to wherever he’d come from.
Thursdays the market stayed open until eight, so it was a long day for the vampire sellers. The rain had pounded the city overnight, and the streets were still damp but it was clear and cold.
After dropping off yet another lot of stockings and a few more sweaters and scarves, I headed over to Bubbles. Gemma seemed calm enough and as soon as she’d finished with her latest customer, I asked, “Did you hear from him anymore?”
She rolled her eyes and pulled out her mobile. “I shouldn’t have texted, I was just so furious.” She showed me her text which read: Please leave me alone.
He’d replied almost immediately: Just let me see you so I can explain. I love you. We’re meant to be together.
She rubbed the heel of her hand against her temple as though she was fighting a headache. “I didn’t reply after that. I was a fool to contact him, you don’t have to tell me.”
“Hey, you have all my sympathy. Do you think he’s gone?”
“I haven’t seen him, so maybe?” She didn’t look convinced.
I headed back over to Timeless Treasures and as I did, I glimpsed a man who stood out because he was doing exactly that. Standing. Not shopping, ambling from one stall to another, chatting or visiting. He stood, stock still, and he was watching Gemma. I glanced her way but she was busy with another customer and didn’t see him.
My returning spell had been slightly disastrous when I’d tried to send Margaret’s hat home, but the circumstances had been peculiar. It had been Samhain and I must have harnessed the collective power of the assembled coven, plus the magic of the ancient stones themselves. I was certain that if I cast the spell again, focusing only on Darren, I could send him back to
whatever hole he’d crawled from.
I hesitated, never having tried the spell on a living thing before. No, I decided. I could do it. I turned, ready to return Darren like a piece of rejected mail, only to find he’d already disappeared. Since I’d had nothing to do with his vanishing, I suspected he’d snuck away again.
I didn't think vampires could get tired, but at the end of the evening, both Clara and Mabel were complaining that their legs ached. They did look worn out. Of course, for them, working all day was like me working all night. I wasn’t sure they were able to switch over their schedules and sleep at night. "You go on now," I said. "I'll finish closing up."
They didn't argue with me, simply nodded, gratefully, and headed home. After the market closed, it was like a circus breaking down. We pulled in all the displays and products and closed everything up in its cozy little shed for the night. The chalets each had a heavy padlock, but still, I wouldn’t have wanted to leave anything too valuable inside. When I was finished with my stall, I went over and helped Gemma close up. Her face was flushed with excitement.
"Guess what? I made five hundred pounds profit today. Doing this market was really a good idea. It will help me make a dent in my student loans."
"That's great," I said. I was genuinely pleased for her. She seemed like someone who worked very hard and didn't always catch the breaks. She put her cash in a vinyl zip up bag, the kind they give away free with cosmetics bonuses. I said I'd walk up with her to the bank but she wanted to finish tidying up and so I went on alone.
I got to the bank and reached into my handbag for the envelope of cash from Timeless Treasures. It wasn’t there. My heart lurched in a terrible moment of panic. Had I passed someone on the street who'd slipped his or her hand into my bag and taken the money without me noticing? I didn't remember brushing against anyone. And what was the point of being a witch if I could be pick-pocketed so easily?