The first one, pink sweater girl, hadn’t lasted long. The second one, teacup puppy girl, always carried the cutest familiar in her designer bag. And this one, the third one, had already lasted over two weeks, which was saying a lot… I wanted to come up with a nickname for her, but she seemed too nice. And that made matters even worse.
Ransom was handsome in blue denim pants and a casual hoodie, snug fit sweatshirt hinting at the muscular body underneath… I wished the gentle rain would turn into a raging deluge so they might leave — but what if they entered the shop instead?
Wind chimes echoed in the shop when the door opened.
Fuck. I must be cursed with the gift of premonition.
“Shop’s closed!” I said, sweeping my teacup from the counter, flustered, unable to focus as I tried to gather something that would come close to a poised demeanor. “Sorry!”
“Why is that odious pig hanging out here?” a voice said.
The room’s motion came to a stop. I finally focused on the figure at the doorway. She pulled back her raincoat’s hood, dark curls bouncing on her radiant face. Her hazel eyes were bright and joyful, a dimple pierced her cheek as she smiled.
“Meredith!” I said, setting the cup on a table as I reached to embrace her. I’d known Mer ever since I’d moved to London. She was the best friend someone as peculiar as me could ever have. Mer knew everything about my family’s witchy status, often indicating how she was a witch by adoption, a Stone Witch, like me.
Meredith welcomed my hug with a warm hold, and slowly parted to speak, eyes fixed on Ransom. “He’s got feelings for you, love. Otherwise, why would he be here?”
“Do you think he still loves me?” I asked, curious, analytical, and perhaps a bit hopeful to hear what I wanted.
“Love you?” Mer frowned. “Honey, he’s got issues. Serious issues.” She paused. “Can’t you craft some magic to send him away?”
I nearly laughed, but I pursed my lips instead. “I can’t. He’s a warlock, remember? The rules say there’s to be no hexing between my kind.”
“Well, someone has to revise those rules,” she added, shaking her head in disapproval. “No matter… I have a better way to punish him.”
“Oh?” The word punishment caught my attention. I sat on a comfortable blue velvet wingback chair nestled by the window, fighting against every fiber in my being pushing me to look at Ransom and the third girl.
“Tell me more,” I added, lifting the cup to meet my lips.
“There’s this new underground club near London Bridge Station…” Mer pulled a chair and joined me.
“Do you mean the London Bridge Cellar?” raising my brow.
Excitement gleamed in Meredith’s widened eyes. “So you’ve heard about it!”
“Word gets around fast…” I shrugged. “Do you know? For such a hush-hush place, it’s sure widely spoken of. Clients have talked about it for weeks!”
“Yes, but only a few know the exact address…” Mer said conspicuously, pulling a card from her jeans pocket like a magician. She placed the card on the table between us and squared it straight with her fingertips.
“Interesting…” I mumbled, studying the card printed in old-fashioned calligraphy; the paper, golden brown and seemingly creased with age. I had bookcases filled with spell books written in that style. “Quite familiar, actually.”
“John got us in,” Mer added, trying to refrain her eagerness but failing altogether. “What do you say, Kiki?”
“Must you call me that?” I rolled my eyes back. “It’s been ages, Mer…”
Meredith pushed the chair next to me. She held me in a loving embrace for a minute. “You’ll always be my beloved Kiki.” Slowly releasing me, she pursed her lips. “Say you’ll go, and I promise I’ll stop calling you that.”
I hugged her back. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I teased.
Mer cocked her head and looked me dead in the eye. “So, will you go?”
“Hell, yes.” I raised my teacup. “Getting rid of that nickname and drinks on top? You sure know how to strike a bargain!”
“That’s all right, love,” Meredith said under her breath, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure I’ll find several other ways to torture you.” A playful grin followed.
We locked eyes for a second and chuckled.
“Oh, bugger!” I scowled. “I can’t go.”
“Why on earth not?”
“It’s Book Club Night at my Auntie’s.” I dug my face in my hands. How could I have forgotten? I was already running late. Peering through my fingers, I added: “I’m supposed to help with the snack table for the ladies.”
“Okay, so let’s call her,” Mer said.
“She’ll never answer.” I dismissed the idea with a wave of my hand. “She has that thing against telephones, remember?”
“Brilliant.” Mer knitted her brow. “Well, we’ve only got one choice then, don’t we?”
“What’s that?”
Meredith picked up the card and slipped it back into her jeans. She grabbed her purse and rose from the seat. “Let’s go set up that snack table.”
“Are you mad?” My eyes flew open. “Are you aware of how hazardous it would be for you to set a foot in a coven’s meeting?”
“Witches are nice,” she said with a shrug.
“Yeah, well, usually we are.” I rose from the chair. “But everyone has a bad day once in a while, and you don’t want to get caught up in a witch’s foul mood.”
My last words seemed to rattle some sense into my dearest friend. For a minute she glared at me, speechless, as her mind probably whirred with a dozen dreadful scenarios where her plan failed.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“Huh…” I nodded, impressed. “That’s not a bad idea. Yeah, let’s do that.”
I cleared the table and moved around the counter to pick up my bag and keys. Something seemed different in Stone’s Teahouse by the time I pulled the door open.
“He’s gone…” I mumbled like a fool. Ransom no longer stood on the sidewalk. I had trouble deciding if that caused me relief or disappointment. It was no secret I had mixed feelings about him, hating him for what he’d done, yet caring about the selfish bastard out of stupid habit.
“Good riddance!” Meredith said.
“Yeah,” I said, locking the door. “Good riddance.”
I had to say the words out loud, to hear myself say them. Maybe if I said them enough times, it would work like a charm and I’d start believing them.
Chapter Two
Music blasted from the house when I opened the door. The smoke of cigarettes and incense swirled in the air, tangling in a pungent fragrance that enveloped me as I stepped inside.
I recognized The Cure’s Close to Me almost immediately. Songs from the eighties were my Auntie’s favorites — and her witch friends’ too. A dozen guests already roamed across the hall, magnificent women dressed in vibrant colors, billowy shirts with whimsical prints, flowing gossamer dresses. They danced and sung, drinks and cigarettes in hands.
“Looks like everyone’s already settled…” I mumbled as I ambled through the hall, heading to the kitchen where the blender roared in paused episodes.
“Hello, Kiera,” a woman said. She was sitting in the parlor, relaxed, holding a margarita in her hand.
Lara Knightley. Always composed and collected, flawless in her conservative style; her jaw-length straight black hair covered half her face as she moved forward.
“Hey, Lara…” I said, pulling a lock of hair behind my ear.
Lara was intimidating as hell. A gorgeous woman in her forties, but more imposing still, she was Head Witch of her lineage, a title not easily earned. She also happened to be Ransom’s mother, and my future mother-in-law until a few months ago.
The Head Witch got on her feet. Still holding her drink, she sashayed out of the parlor, heading towards me with the grace of royalty.
A subtle smile loomed on her crimson lip
s. “Are you joining us tonight, dear?” Her delicate fingers slipped through my hair. Her deep green eyes glimmered with flames of magic as she held me in a tender stare.
“Oh, I’m not ready for that yet,” I mumbled, slowly stepping back. “I’m just here to help set up, as usual.”
Lara’s crimson lips thinned in a forgiving smile. Her hand landed on my shoulder and dabbed it. “We’ll be here when you’re ready,” she said with intention. “Have you given any thought to what we discussed last time?”
Lara Knightley was determined to buy Stone's Teahouse from us. As Auntie Prim often refused, she’d recently resorted to working the matter through me… I never knew someone could hold such a passionate interest over a humble thirty-square-feet shop.
“I’m sorry, Lara.” I shrugged. “Prim’s already decided. We’re not selling.”
“I see…” The Head Witch pursed her lips, struggling to conceal her vexation. She inhaled sharply and then said, “Your Auntie is in the kitchen, fixing margaritas for everyone.” She gave me a quick nod with her drink. “They’re quite good, actually… rather strong, but good.”
“Thanks, Lara.” A nervous grin was all I could manage before escaping the powerful woman. Turning my back to her seemed like a dangerous move, but I did it anyway.
I finally arrived at the kitchen. The room resembled a Dalí painting: melting ice dripped from the counter, slices of lime rolled on the floor towards me, and empty tequila bottles lay scattered wherever I looked.
Behind the roaring blender was my Auntie Prim, dancing as she held the appliance’s lid, singing through the powerful engine’s noise.
“Auntie,” I called through the cacophony of The Cure, the blender, and my aunt’s adorable — but still out of tune — singing.
She showed no reaction to my voice.
“Auntie!” I insisted. Still nothing.
“Prim!”
At last, Prim stopped the blender. She turned, radiant in a white cotton dress, naturally wavy fawn hair cascading over her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were wide and gleamed with joy.
She was a lovely woman of thirty-eight, happily single. Taking me on had meant quite a challenge for her at twenty-nine years old. Ever since then, we’d grown up together, facing the hardship of losing our loved ones — I, my parents; she, a sister. Primrose Stone had been a blessing in my life. I loved her to pieces, like an older sister.
“Snap out of it, Kiera!” Prim laughed. “Here, have a margarita.” She swept a glass off the messy counter and handed it to me.
I took the glass by reflex. “Where did you learn how to fix margaritas?” I asked, puzzled. Prim knew nothing of bar tending. That was the whole point of my presence on Book Club Night.
“Google,” she dismissed with a shrug. “When I realized you weren’t coming, I thought I’d look it up and try to do it myself, for once.” She stared at the blender. “Turns out, it’s easier than I’d ever imagined!”
“That’s nice, I guess…” I mumbled, ambling through the kitchen, sweeping the room with a quick glance. “There are a lot of tequila bottles in here, aren’t there?”
“It’s tequila night,” Auntie Prim said. “The girls brought some. We ordered the rest.”
Something didn’t seem right. There were too many empty bottles for a dozen women. “Prim…” I frowned. “Just how much tequila are you serving in these margaritas?”
Prim opened the blender to pour another drink. “Well, the recipe called for thirty ounces, but I thought that was a tad too much. I’m adding just ten instead.” She nodded in reassurance.
“Ounces?” I gasped.
“Per drink,” she added, winking at me in confidence.
“Prim, those were supposed to be milliliters!” I grabbed the blender and emptied the mixture in the sink.
Auntie Prim stood in the middle of the kitchen, bemused. She pouted her lips. “But I don’t understand,” she said. “Everyone said my drinks were fabulous…”
“Because,” I said, cleaning the counter with a kitchen cloth, “they’re pissed.”
Prim took a hand to her lips and giggled. “You said pissed,” she pointed out.
Then it dawned on me. “Goodness,” I mumbled, transfixed as I stared through her. “You’re hammered too.”
I quickened the pace at clearing the mess, tossing bottles and limes into the bin with a single sweep of my hand. “Prim,” I said. “Your bar tending days are officially over,” putting away the blender. I opened the cabinet and took out the coffeepot.
“I’m making coffee for everyone,” I said, plugging in the appliance.
“Oh, Kiera…” Prim clucked her tongue. She stopped behind me and hugged me, affectionately leaning her head on my shoulder. “We’ve gone through some rough times, you and I. You’ve always been so brave, so mature and responsible… and wound up so tight.” She paused. “Did I do that to you, dear? Was that my fault?” Prim slowly shook her head. “No, of course not.”
Wound up tight? I turned, shocked by her words. Was that what she really thought about me?
Prim held my shoulders. “You really must learn to loosen up, dear. Have some fun!”
“Well, there’s this thing tonight…” I mumbled.
“Oh!” Auntie Prim clapped with enthusiasm. “Is it a party?”
“Sort of, I guess.”
“Will there be boys and girls your age?” she asked.
I winced. “Yes?”
“Then you must go,” she said, victoriously shaking both fists in the air.
“Mer is outside waiting for me, actually,” I added.
“Oh, Meredith!” Prim's eyes filled with loving warmth. “Sweet, adorable child... Is she your date?”
“What?” I said, furrowing my brow. “No.”
“Because you know that would never be a problem, sweetie.” Prim gently nodded.
This was such an odd conversation to be having with my aunt. We were close, but not that close. My cheeks burned. “Yeah, I know that…” I mumbled, looking away. “But that’s not what this is.”
“All right, then.” Prim tossed back her untamed mane of fawn hair. “You go fix up. I’ll take care of this.” She stepped close to the counter and opened the cabinet. Out came the most singular item. I'd never laid eyes on it before, not here in the house.
“Is that a cauldron?” I said in awe of the magnificent piece.
“Fifteen-inch, cast iron, my dear.” She winked. “I bought it at Sotheby’s some weeks ago. It finally arrived today… It’s a gorgeous antique. Only the best for us Stone Witches, right?”
“It’s beautiful,” I ran my hand over its mysterious engravings. “I hope you’re not thinking on pouring margaritas in it,” I teased.
“Don’t give me any ideas!” Prim wrinkled her nose. “Now, off you go,” she said, ushering me out of the kitchen, as loving and endearing as she ever was towards me.
Looking back, I noticed Prim line up a dozen cups of coffee. As she poured the first one, she resumed dancing and singing. Her enthusiasm made me smile.
I ambled into the hallway, picking up glasses on the way to the stairs, either hiding them or tossing their contents into the pots of our ill-fated plants. None of this would have happened had I arrived on time to fix their drinks and set up the snack table as usual. The coven's meeting would not have turned into a disaster, and Prim's reputation as a coven hostess would have remained unspoiled.
But then, one last look back as I mounted the stairs showed me a different picture. These powerful women sauntered across the living room, singing and dancing in absolute bliss. A few skulked in the parlor, practicing the art of chiromancy or casting runes. No sullen faces dwelled in our house. Laughter and sisterhood bloomed into a beaming aura of delight that spread in the air as smoothly as fresh butter on warm biscuits.
These witches were having a blast.
I deserved to have some fun too.
Chapter Three
My thighs were flushing red with cold as Mer and I brisk
-walked out of the alley where she’d parked her car. Wearing no stockings and a miniskirt in the middle of October had probably not been the best idea on such a chilly evening; but it seemed the perfect frock to blend with the Cellar’s crowd.
“They were wasted?” Meredith laughed, locking her arm around mine. “I wish I could have seen that!”
“Smashed!” I sniggered. “They looked so freakishly happy, though… I need that joy in my life.” My cheeks burned with the freezing wind as my lips stretched in a shy smile.
Mer stopped. Her hazel eyes fixed on mine with fondness. “And that is why we’re here, love,” holding my shoulders. “Come on.”
We arrived at the address printed on the business card.
“This can’t be right,” I mumbled, furrowing my brow. We stood on Borough High Street, the same number as the one on the card, but this place looked nothing like a nightclub.
“It has to be,” Mer said, checking the card. “We’re at the right address.”
“It’s a Kebab joint, Mer.” I all but rolled my eyes back. The shop was vibrant with neon lights and an alluring fragrance of roasted beef filtered in the cold air. I wouldn’t have minded grabbing a bite while we were there, though. Nope. Not at all… But did they sell booze?
Two women brushed past us on their way inside the shop, both fashionably dressed; hair and makeup too elaborate for a simple dinner.
“Kiera,” Meredith whispered. “Look.”
A woman flashed a business card to the man behind the counter. It was a card just like ours, the same calligraphy and vintage paper texture.
The man behind the counter nodded swiftly. He moved to the back of the small shop and pulled a curtain through which the women joyously entered.
“What the devil…?” I mumbled.
“Wicked!” Mer gasped, eyes widened with excitement. “Don’t you see, Kiera? It’s like a James Bond movie… A secret entrance!”
“This is insane,” I said, shaking my head. Part of me wished I had stayed at home with Prim and gotten blissfully drunk with the witches, while another part was keenly curious to discover what lay behind that flimsy curtain… and also craved a warm kebab.
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