I thought it was a cynical attitude, but I kept my mouth shut. This woman had been a practicing witch longer than I had. A lot longer if Gran was right. I should probably pay attention.
Then I tried to imagine Violet stealing my secrets and nearly laughed. Vi was more interested in working as few hours as possible for the maximum paycheck possible. My business secrets were mine to keep.
But then Gran had been a witch for a really long time, too. She’d never seemed to have that attitude. Gran was open and giving. From her cookie recipes to her knitting patterns, she was always willing to share.
And if anyone had come to her looking for a hex, she would have sent them on their way with a sharp word of warning.
I’d much rather model myself on my grandmother than this frighteningly young-looking witch.
Chapter 4
When we returned to Oxford, it was after six. Nyx acted like I’d been gone for a year instead of an afternoon, so I spent some time fussing over her and feeding her before heading down to the shop. Violet had closed Cardinal Woolsey’s, but I wanted to make sure everything was tidy, and to see if she’d left me any notes about anything that needed doing.
I flipped on the lights, and there was a note from Violet. She’d sold a lot of the sock yarn I’d talked about in my last newsletter. I was going to have to remember to order extra of the products I highlighted in the newsletter. It was an obvious thing to do, but I was still finding my way and cautious about overordering stock. I set to work preparing an order, and as I was working, someone rapped on the front door. This was annoying. The closed sign was clearly visible, but sometimes people thought if they saw lights on, I might let them in anyway. Depending on who was at the front door, I sometimes did.
I went towards the door and peeked out to see two familiar looking people standing there.
I opened the door wide. They weren’t customers.
They were my parents.
As she came inside, my mother clapped her hands and laughed, looking delighted. “Surprise!” She turned to my dad. “Oh, look at her face. We definitely got her this time.”
I tried to change my expression from one of shock to delight. “What are you doing here?”
“We came early to help plan your wedding,” Mom cried. “You’re my only daughter, and I couldn’t bear to think of you planning your wedding without me.”
“But I’m not getting married for weeks yet.” Behind her, my dad looked like he’d been dragged away from things he’d rather be doing.
“Exactly. Oh, what fun we’ll have.” Dad came in, and I looked behind them for luggage.
Mom said, “Oh, don’t worry. We’re not staying with you. Your father has a colleague who is working in New York for a few weeks. He’s lent us his flat. Isn’t that jolly?”
“Just jolly,” I said. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my parents. I did. But my mother was a woman of strong opinions and a witch in denial, which could be challenging. Besides, my wedding was going to be small. William could plan an event better than I could and definitely better than my mother, who was a woman of intellect, not practicality. I glanced at my dad, and he lifted and dropped his shoulders imperceptibly. This had definitely not been his idea.
Before I could ask them anything more, Mom said, “And we have another surprise for you.”
“I’m not sure I can take any more surprises.”
Then, as though they’d been hovering around the corner waiting, two more people came through the door and into the shop. “Meri! And Pete!” I hugged them both.
Meri was short for Meritamun. She’d been an Egyptian witch trapped in a magical mirror for a very long time when I helped her escape. She’d been my shop assistant for a while, a very willing worker, but it was difficult to get somebody comfortable with an electronic cash register when they came from the time of the abacus.
Pete was an Australian Egyptologist who’d managed to get work with my parents on their dig in Egypt. Meri had gone back with them, and her knowledge of the Middle Kingdom was invaluable.
Mother looked around. “I see your little shop hasn’t changed. But then it never does. I think it looks the same as it did when my mother ran it.”
I was never certain whether she intended to insult me when she said things like this. My mom had made no secret that she felt I should be doing more important work than running a little knitting shop in Oxford. I disagreed. I was proud of Cardinal Woolsey’s and what I’d achieved with it. But I was never going to change her mind. I thought by now she realized she wasn’t going to change mine, either. I wouldn’t suddenly chuck in the knitting shop and go into law, or politics, or medicine, or, horror of horrors, archaeology to be just like them.
They’d met Rafe when they’d last been in Oxford and had renewed their acquaintance with him when we’d visited them in Egypt to tell them we were engaged. At least in my marriage, they couldn’t fault me. Rafe was pretty much an ambitious mother’s dream groom for her daughter. He was rich, handsome, and probably best of all to my parents, he taught occasionally at university. He was a world-renowned expert on old manuscripts. He and my dad could spend a whole evening discussing the Dead Sea Scrolls, and even though my eyeballs would be falling out of
