After I got home and dried off, I went straight to see Olivia—it was confession time, and I didn’t know who else to tell. It was so awesome to have her living right next to me. She’d only just arrived, but the house felt cosier with her in it. I never thought I’d be happy to live with two other people after living alone for so long, but it was actually nice.
I knocked on her door.
“Come in.”
She was sitting on her bed, leaning against the headboard, a paperback in her lap. “How’s it going?”
I sat on the chair next to her desk, tension knotting my shoulders. I knew I wasn’t just here for a social call. “Not too shabby. I went to the Westerham Art Society’s gallery today, and I bought a picture.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Was it a print or an original?”
I laughed, pretty sure that was her attempt at subtly asking if I could afford it. “An original, by Mrs Valentine. And before you say anything, it was seven hundred pounds, but I had to buy it. It called to me.”
She raised her brows. “Called to you?”
I nodded, then joked, “Ah huh. It hiss-whispered, ‘Buy me now. Buy me now.’ Like in a scary movie.”
She grinned and rolled her eyes. “Very funny. You almost had me, though. I’m sure witches could spell their own paintings to call out to people. You should try it.”
“Yes, but one thing at a time. And maybe I should learn to draw better first. No one wants saggy-balls paintings.” We laughed.
She did make a good point about me learning new spells. There were so many things for me to try, yet I hardly ever had time to get down to creating any new spells. I was still behind on making one to protect Olivia from telling people about witches. I should get onto that soon. I also needed to learn some attacking spells and detection spells, to see if someone had protection spells on them that would bounce my attacking spell back to me. Sheesh, this stuff was complicated.
Olivia put her book on the bed, wriggled to the edge, then stood. “So, where is it?”
“I don’t have it yet. It was raining, and I walked, so they’re going to deliver tomorrow sometime. I’m probably going to be here, but if Angelica calls any meetings, I may have to go out. If that happens, will you be here to answer the door?”
“Yep. I have nothing planned, and I have an exam in two days, so I was going to study. I’m kind of over it, but I don’t want to fail.”
“You’re going to ace it. I just know.”
“Thanks. Well, if I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying.” She sat back down, cocked her head, and narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me, miss?”
So, here was the part I didn’t want to talk about, but I had to tell someone, in case my plan went downhill in a red Ferrari with no brakes, and I needed backup. “I need to tell you something, but you can’t tell Angelica, or anyone, including Beren, and especially not my brother. If you don’t want to keep a secret from them, it’s okay. I don’t have to tell you.”
“What the hell, Lily? You can’t say all that, then not tell me. I can keep a secret, unless it’s something really bad, like you want to kill yourself or something.”
“Oh my God, no! I can assure you, as shitty as my life gets at times, I would never do that. Once you’re gone, you’re gone, and I like being here, even if it’s painful sometimes. I can’t leave without falling in love at least once, can I?”
She grinned. “Nope, definitely not. So, what’s the big secret?”
I hesitated. Should I get her to swear on a spell? It would guarantee her compliance, but then, she was the closest thing I had to a best friend here, and I should trust her. Hmm, definitely no spell. “I’m trying to go undercover.”
She scrunched up her face. “What?”
“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Knight, the fox, told us about a man he didn’t trust because he was searching through Mrs Valentine’s drawers in the barn conversion. So I took photos, and I saw the guy in the past, doing just what Knight said he had been. Anyway, I was just scouting things out at the art society, because I think they stand to inherit a lot of her money.”
“But aren’t Beren and William questioning the art society people anyway?”
“Ah, yes. William and Dana are.” I ground my back teeth together. Deep breaths, Lily.
“We hate Dana. She’s such a witch.” She nodded.
“Yes, we do.” We both smiled. Joking about it made it easier… sort of. “Anyway, when I went to the gallery today, guess who was there to sell me the drawing?”
Her mouth opened wide, and she made a shocked noise. “No way! The guy from your photo?”
“Yep. And he’s about our age and attractive. So I’m going to try and get to know him better. I see a few more trips to the gallery in my future. I don’t want to come on too strong because he’d probably run a mile, but I’m thinking of asking him out for coffee, to chat about art. I’ll use the excuse that I don’t have many friends here yet.”
“Good idea. But is he dangerous? I mean, if he was stealing from her. Oh my God. What if he’s a witch?” Her eyes widened.
“I don’t know.”
“Is there a way to tell?”
“I have no idea. I’ve been meaning to ask Angelica, but I keep forgetting.” Gah, there was so much to do and find out. Being a witch was more taxing than a full-time job. “I just want to make sure we find out what happened to Mrs Valentine and Knight. The longer she’s missing, the more I think she must be dead. If they were willing to kill a fox who only had a limited way of communicating, I imagined killing the source of the information would be a necessity if they were trying to hide something, and if they wanted her money, well, that wouldn’t happen unless she was dead.”
Lightning flashed outside, and two seconds later, thunder boomed, and the rain pelted harder. I shivered. We looked at each other.
Olivia said, “Yikes.”
“Why don’t we do something pleasant?”
“Like what?”
“I bought ingredients for chocolate chip cookies the other day. Why don’t we go and bake up a storm?” The thunder cracked again, rattling the window. “Come on. A storm of cookies is much better than sitting here waiting for a bolt of lightning to crash through the window.”
“You have a point. Let’s go.”
That night, Olivia and I ate dinner together—Angelica still hadn’t returned from work by seven, and we were starving, even after our cookie binge that afternoon. We then retired to the living room, the fire cheering up the fireplace because the temperature had dropped to twelve degrees. Olivia laughed at me for being cold, but I still hadn’t acclimatised. She sat there in T-shirt and shorts, and I had on tracksuit pants and a jumper. The table lamps were our light source, and it was like being embraced in a giant cuddle. This was definitely my favourite room in the house.
We were each sitting in an armchair near the fire, reading, when Angelica entered. “Good evening, ladies. How was your day?”
We answered simultaneously, “Good, thanks.”
She came all the way over to us and stood next to my chair. Her poker face, carefully neutral, spoke volumes and did the opposite of what it was supposed to. I sat up straight. “What’s wrong, Ma’am? Did something happen?”
“No, dear. But I have the results of Knight’s autopsy.”
That was unexpected. Sadness, thick and stifling, coated my heart, and I dropped my head for a moment, remembering both Knight and Mrs Valentine. Angelica waited until I looked up before she continued.
“He died from choking, but it wasn’t accidental. Someone spelled the food to swell once it was in his throat. It expanded and cut off his airway.”
“What a horrible way to die. Bastards.” I hoped whoever did this died the same way and suffered even more.
Olivia shook her head. “That’s just terrible. Poor fox.”
“Were you able to get the magical signature from the spell?” Surely something helpful had to come of the autopsy.
“As a matter of fact, we did, but it doesn’t match anyone in our database.”
“So now what?” This got more depressing by the minute.
“We’d love to get a read on the suspects’ magic signatures, but unless we have more than a hunch, we don’t have a good enough reason to test someone—it’s the same with regular police and fingerprints. You can’t just take people’s prints for the hell of it.”
“Also, another question,” I said. “How do we tell if someone’s a witch? I mean, I can’t tell the difference. Is there a way to tell without asking?”
“Good question. There are two ways. One is if you feel that telltale tingle of someone performing magic, you can cast a spell asking to see who it is, and their aura will become visible. Everyone has a similar-coloured aura, which is the same golden hue as our magic signatures. Our auras flare brighter when we perform magic because as well as using energy when you cast a spell, you also draw energy from the pool of magic. The other way to tell if someone is a witch is to develop your second sight, and then you’ll be able to tell just by looking at them.”
I smiled. “You know what my next question is.”
She laughed. “Of course. You need to focus on the spot at the top of your nose, between your eyes. Then send a bit of magic into it, and it will give you other sight. You’ll not only see witch auras but human ones too.”
“Wow, okay.”
“But be careful not to draw too much power because you might burn your third eye out forever. And if you draw way too much power, you could fry your brain.” She smiled, as if she’d just imparted a secret cake recipe. What was wrong with her?
“Right. I’m surprised witches try anything for the first time. I wonder how many died figuring this out.” I shook my head.
“You know what they say, dear: no guts, no glory.”
“More like, no guts, no gory.” I giggled, and so did Olivia. She was a true friend.
Angelica managed a tiny upward curl of her lips, but that was it. I stopped myself from insisting it was funny, but only just. “Okay, time for me to head to bed. We’ve a big day tomorrow. I’ll be compiling reports from the rest of the interviews and deciding how to deploy our valuable resources.” Her mouth twisted in a manner that suggested she was thoroughly unimpressed by Drake’s decree.
“So I won’t have to come in tomorrow?”
“Not at this stage, Lily, but probably the day after.”
And wasn’t that fantastic news. I wouldn’t have to see William and his future ex ex. And I’d be home to receive my sketch. “Okay, sounds good. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight, ladies.”
“Night, Ma’am.” At least Olivia had to call her Ma’am too. I would have been really offended if it were only me—we were at home, after all. At work, I could understand. Was it so she could keep some kind of distance between herself and others? Yet another thing to figure out later.
About an hour after Ma’am retired, Olivia and I said our goodnights. I went to have my shower—Olivia showered in the morning—then I snuggled up in bed with one of Mum’s diaries. I’d neglected my hunt for clues because life had been so busy. A little voice deep inside me admitted I was afraid of what I might find. Last time I’d accidentally crossed paths with my parents’ history, I’d seen them in my camera, and it was like they’d died all over again.
The desperate ache that could never be soothed invaded my skin, my blood, my heart, my marrow until I throbbed with it. I sightlessly stared at the page. A tear landed on it, smudging the ink. I started and quickly wiped it off. I didn’t want to ruin anything she’d left me, and what if something crucial was there, and then I couldn’t read it because I’d cried over the whole thing?
I grabbed a tissue from my bedside table, wiped my tears, and blew my nose. Be strong. What if they’re waiting for you? And even if they’re not, think of James’s little one. He or she would be in the world in a few months, and I wanted them to be safe.
My eyes stayed dry, and I read until I was too tired to keep my eyes open. I read the same pages over and over until a brilliant yet scary idea came to me, but I was too tired to do anything with it except acknowledge it was there.
I put the diary under my pillow, turned off my lamp, and promptly fell asleep.