Chapter Nine #2
“There,” Briar said, pointing. “My favorite teapot. And as you can see, quite unsalvageable.” She scowled.
“It was rather expensive, I don’t mind telling you.
Do you think the Order will compensate me?
I thought the control of Iron Crows was under your purview.
” She had no idea if that were true. None at all.
Lyonesse was the witching answer to Brighton, and it had very different objectives than London.
Pleasure gardens, rest, the sea cure for ailments.
Diversion for witches without having to hide what they were.
“Are you Miss Petal Foxglove?” Oliver demanded, exasperated and suspicious.
He marched around the shop, glaring into the shadows.
Bear merely stood, all politeness. Briar knew without being told that he would be the one to watch.
Oliver would cause her no end of trouble, but Bear might actually see what she did not wish him to.
She raised her eyebrows at Oliver. “Am I to understand that you show up unannounced at my door and do not know who I am?”
“We are here for Miss Petal Foxglove.”
“Ah. Well, I am not she. I am Briar Foxglove. Proprietress. I have never had any Council infractions.” Which was saying something when your mother used to deal in love spells.
The Council of Witches and the Council Arcanum, who oversaw all magical beings, were not particularly fond of the trouble a love spell could cause.
Obsession, secrets shared, magical etiquette abandoned, oaths broken.
It was a messy, unpredictable business. With some success, certainly.
But it required more care and respect than most people cared to give it.
“I demand you tell me where your sister is.”
Briar leaned on her cane. There was no pretense in the fatigue in the motion. This had already been the longest night of her life, and it promised to go on for some time more. “Why?”
“Because I am a Keeper!”
Briar knew she did not look impressed, because she was not impressed.
“St. John is the Keeper assigned to Haven. He’s been in charge for the last twenty-five years.
” He mostly dealt with tourists and security around the portal.
But the shields were every witch’s responsibility, from the Iron Witches to the scullery maids of the fine vacation houses on the lower streets of Haven.
“We are from the London chapter,” Bear said, mildly.
“I see.”
Oliver was getting rather red in the face. She nearly offered him that syrup of violets again. “Your sister,” he spat.
“What about her?”
“Where is she?”
“She is not here.”
“But where is she?”
She shrugged. “I imagine she is at the assembly rooms for the dancing. Or on the beach for the bonfires.”
“She is not.”
“Ah.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
She frowned. “My sister is a woman grown, Oliver.”
“Mr. Dawson,” he corrected her stiffly.
“Mr. Dawson, then,” she amended. “It is Midsummer. We do not ask questions that could prove to be awkward. Even in Haven. Surely you have been to a Midsummer Festival before?”
“You are not asking the questions—I am. And you will answer.”
“I thought I just had?” She shot Bear a questioning glance. Oliver’s bluebird familiar was flying in increasingly frantic circles overhead. “Poor dear,” she said. “Are you anxious? Familiars can sense your emotions, you know. You should have a care.”
Her own swan was shivering inside her chest, frantic to be released so it could do some damage.
“I have a tea of chamomile and rose petals that ought to do the trick,” she added. “If you are not fond of violets.”
“As amusing as this is,” Bear said quietly, “I am afraid we really do need you to answer our questions.”
“Or we shall take you in chains to the jail!” Oliver added, with some relish, it had to be said.
“You say an Iron Crow broke in?” Bear asked. She nodded. “How do you know he was a Crow?”
“I interrupted him.”
“What was he looking for?”
“He did not say.” She shrugged. “Money, I assume, though we mostly have teas and flowers here.” It was becoming a bit of a problem that there were more flowers than coins, truth be told.
Midsummer was meant to keep them in flour and sugar and meat until the next festival.
“Threshold Days always bring in more business, so I suppose I should only be surprised this has not happened before. He was tall, brown hair. Not very amiable.”
“What did he take?”
“I’m not sure. He dropped me with a sleep spell and it’s all been a bit muddled since.”
“That’s convenient,” Oliver snapped.
“I did not find it so.”
“I say we take her in. Question her properly!”
Briar’s pulse was too loud in her ears. Keepers had spells and charms she could not hope to fight against, not with ivy vines and rose petals. Not even with a helpful blackberry bush or a giant oak tree. Or poison berry.
Bear only asked her, “Where were you that you came upon him? Did you not hear him break in? The state of your door implies he was not subtle.”
“I was out for a walk,” she replied.
“At night?” Oliver asked.
She laughed. It only sounded a little strangled.
Surely allowances could be made for a shopgirl who had faced down an Iron Crow.
Not to mention the Sea Dragons. Not that she had any intention of telling them about Ethan.
Nor his crew, or his ship. And not that she was entirely sure why she was determined not to.
“It is the Midsummer Festival, Mr. Dawson. You will struggle to find anyone at home.”
The actual solstice was not for several days, but Haven was already bustling.
The bakeries were filled with pastries and pies, the bathing machines lined up on the beach for rental.
Bunting draped from the white houses with fluttering ribbons.
There were bonfires in the sand, fireworks, stalls that stayed open late to sell strawberry wine and pasties filled with potatoes and green peas.
And by now, she imagined Haven was fair bursting with whispers of the shields slamming shut.
“What is this about?” she asked. “Why are you looking for my sister?”
“We have it on good authority that she has stolen something of great import.”
Briar sucked in an offended breath. “How dare you, sir. My sister is not a thief.” Except for when she absolutely was.
“If we could talk to her, we could be on our way,” Bear said.
“I wish you would, as I am quite sure she could clear up this ridiculous misunderstanding.” She tilted her head. “Surely you have charms and the like? For tracking? As Keepers.”
“We do,” Oliver replied stiffly.
She was going to hazard a guess that that meant they had tried but not been successful in tracking her sister. Some of the trepidation tightening her chest loosened. Bramble must be the reason behind it. Rabbit-girl magic was the best for hiding. Even the Order was no match for them.
As to that, Briar ought to take advantage of it while she could.
“You are welcome to check her room upstairs,” she offered. “If it will put your mind at ease.” Better to search her room now than later. It might buy them a few days. A few hours. Even a few minutes would help at the moment. “If you’ll follow me?”
Briar stopped to take a lemon sweet from a glass jar on the long counter. Fatigue was nibbling at her, and even the fear was not enough to stop it fuzzing her thoughts. And she could not afford that.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” Oliver demanded suspiciously.
Briar showed him the candied lemon drop before popping it in her mouth.
“It was made with water and honey gathered under the noon sun last Midsummer. People use them on solstice night to stay awake for the dawn watch of the sunrise. It should help counteract the last of the sleep spell. I am not feeling at all well.” She wondered if being ill all over his shiny London Hessian boots would hurry him along.
It was not outside the realm of possibility. She really did feel awful.
The white stairs were painted with red roses, pots of wild mint and violets on each step.
There was a crack in the plaster they had not had a chance to mend.
The traditional blue evil eye was painted over doorways and windows.
Just the very ordinary cottage of two witches on a summer island. Nothing of import to see.
No stolen moon charm.
No Dragon.
“What did you say Petal was accused of hiding?” That was something she ought to ask, wasn’t it? “And who accused her? I should like to give them a piece of my mind.”
“A moon charm has gone missing from the Museum of Magic,” Bear said.
Briar frowned. “The museum in London?”
“The very one.”
“Well, that solves that,” she said with a shrug. “Petal has never been to London.”
“And yet she used the portal twice today to that very purpose before the shields locked it down.”
“She…did?” Briar halted on the stairs. She had forgotten the portal tracked who used it and to what purpose, as she had never had occasion to use it herself.
Blast. Petal was really in it this time.
A house tour of crocheted blankets and seashell wind chimes was unlikely to halt the tide of this investigation for very long.
“You did not know?”
She shook her head and forced herself to keep climbing.
“She must have gone for provisions. We are perilously low on water from Saint Dympna’s well in Meath.
Outside of Ireland, it’s only available at the Goblin Market and makes the best tea for the nerves.
” She eyed Oliver again, full of false sympathy. “You might want to try it.”