For this one night only, they had brought in a mirror. I had no idea where it came from, but it was a proper triple mirror like you’d find in a dress shop. I was dying to go and look at myself, but Sylvia put up a single finger and then went to fetch lipstick. She applied the creamy pink that we’d chosen and then blotted it carefully before standing back once more and giving me a nod. Then she said, “Now you may look.”
I trod over to the mirror, and I thought, how did I ever get so lucky? I had the kind of friends who would crochet me a wedding dress and was marrying someone who would love me forever. Above ground, I had slightly eccentric and deranged parents, but I knew they loved me. I had good friends. I had a life. My shop was never going to set the world on fire, but it made a lot of people happy. It made me happy.
I tried not to be vain and was always too quick to note my own faults, but in that moment, looking at myself in that dress, my hair swept up but still loose and casual and my face made up so that everything looked slightly better than what nature had given me, I felt beautiful. The dress had simple lines. All the fanciness was in the handiwork—the individually crocheted flowers that were as delicate as the finest lace, the train that swept behind me but not so crazy long I’d need three people to hold it up. It was perfect.
Sylvia said from behind me, “Now don’t go spoiling that makeup with tears.”
That was exactly what I needed to stop me. I burst out laughing. And then I turned and put out my arms, planning to hug each of them in turn, but Sylvia jumped back, horrified, and put her hand up.
“Out of the dress. You’re not to touch anything until you’re safely out of that dress.”
Abashed, I waited while they carefully took me out of the gown, and only then was I allowed to hug them all.
Gran said, “Do you really like it, dear? Because if you don’t, we won’t be at all hurt. You could go to a boutique and buy something else.”
“I could never find anything as beautiful as this. And besides, it was made with love. Every bride should be so lucky.”
The next morning, I was standing over orders that needed to be mailed out, but my hands were still. I was daydreaming. I saw myself again in that beautiful wedding dress and pictured Rafe’s face when he first saw me coming up the aisle. I was pretty sure he was going to approve.
Then I pictured Margaret Twigg standing there, getting ready to marry us, and thought, What on earth am I going to do?
She’d probably do a really good job. And, when she wasn’t being sarcastic and belittling me, she’d been an excellent mentor and taught me just about everything I knew about being a witch.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. As I thought about my wedding day, I wondered if we should have a wedding rehearsal. It was going to be very casual but I wondered if I should get my dad to practice the walk up the aisle since it was going to happen on grass and I didn’t want either of us to trip.
Rafe called, and I said, “I was just thinking about you and our wedding.”
“That’s nice.”
I told him about getting Dad to practice walking me down the aisle.
“Good idea, but don’t call your father today.”
“Why not?”
“He’ll be in a delicate condition, I suspect.”
“My dad? What happened to him?”
“We had my stag do last night.”
I nearly laughed thinking of the vampires and the Egyptologists whooping it up. “You did? What did you do?”
“Lochlan has a business acquaintance who owns a private collection of astonishing quality. Egyptian treasures mainly. Your father was fascinated.”
“So fascinated he has a weak head this morning?”
“I suspect that was the brandy.”
I chuckled. “Was it here in Oxford?”
“No. Amsterdam.”
“You know, when guys head to Amsterdam for a stag party, they don’t usually go for the mummies.”
“Of course not. Few people in the world will see that collection of antiquities.”
So not what I’d meant.
We finished the call and then Nyx jumped up beside me and needed attention. I told her about Margaret Twigg officiating at the ceremony, and she nodded her little chin up and down, though that could have been her way of telling me that she would like to be scratched there. That’s usually what that movement meant. While I complied, my phone rang.
“Lucy Swift,” I said. I didn’t even bother to see who was calling. Between the shop and things for the wedding, I always answered that way these days.
A soft, breathy voice said, “Hello, this is Tilda Ramsay. From Wallingford Botanicals?”
Wallingford Botanicals? What? And then I realized who she was. “Oh, Karmen’s assistant. How are you?”
I didn’t know what else to say. The poor woman had lost her boss to a violent death. No doubt she was struggling a bit. Was she even still employed?
“I’m all right. Thank you for asking. I wanted to let you know that your bridesmaid gifts are ready.”
“Oh, right.” I had completely forgotten about them in all the chaos. “Where should I come and pick them up?”
“I’m still operating the business. If you’d like to come to Wallingford, you can pick them up there. Or I’d be happy to drive them to Oxford for you. I know it’s what Karmen would want me to do.” Her voice trembled at the end, on the edge of tears. I hastened to assure her that it was no problem at all for me to come up to Wallingford.
It wasn’t only that I didn’t want to put the poor woman out of her way, but I hadn’t done a single thing about trying to solve the murder of
