A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft (A Society of Witches #1)

Chapter One

Society’s most notorious witch lived in a pink cottage.

It made it surprisingly difficult for Ethan Swansea, also known as the Dragon, not to feel like a great sodding git for coming for a woman who lived in a pink sodding house.

Never mind her reputation.

Or the power in the amulet she had stolen.

Word had gotten out that a certain moon charm was no longer in the possession of London’s Museum of Magic, sitting pretty in a display case as it had for decades.

Surrounded by layers of defensive shields set by obsessed curators as well as Keepers from the Order of the Iron Nail.

Not to mention tagged by every Iron Crow who had ever sauntered through the museum dreaming of the most perfect, most celebrated heist. Keepers patrolled; Crows stole. Curators obsessed.

And it was suddenly not enough.

Needless to say, the moon charm had been missing for little over an hour and every Iron Crow was already hunting for it.

Including Ethan.

Especially Ethan.

He was a little faster than most.

Mostly, it had to be said, because he’d been on the witch-island of Lyonesse on another job, already itching to take to the seas.

The docks outside the village of Haven were clean, painted white, and teeming with witchlights scented with lavender.

Scented. There wasn’t a mermaid to be seen, nor even a fishing boat.

Both would have been too messy for this bedeviled village.

The docks were for pleasure cruises, stealing kisses under spectacular sunsets, gathering beach glass.

Definitely not for the likes of him.

And if the ridiculously named Miss Foxglove did not want to end up in iron chains in the custody of the Order, or else her magic drained by a warlock, she’d give up the amulet at the first opportunity. Give, sell, physically eject from her presence. Anything.

Especially before the curators came from her. The Sea Hags save him from curators and librarians.

And, of course, her name was Petal.

What could you expect from a woman who lived in a pink house in the magical spa town of Haven? Her familiar was likely to be a butterfly. She probably ate cake for breakfast.

Kraken’s balls, but he hated Haven with its sweetshops, salt bathing machines, and frilly parasols for sale on every corner. Ladies, apparently, feared freckles the way sensible folk feared famine.

He’d be long gone if he could.

If he could.

There was no earthly reason why his ship was still docked, the waves refusing to answer his summons. The waves always answered his summons. What was the bloody point of being a water-whisperer if they didn’t? Water listened to him, raindrop to ocean drop. That was fact, not boast.

Until tonight.

And since there was no earthly reason for the waves to be silent, that left only a magical reason.

Fucking Iron Crows.

Just because he was one himself, didn’t mean he had to like the lot. They worked alone for a reason.

Never trust a Crow.

He could have told Miss Foxglove that, even before everything went thoroughly and spectacularly to hell.