Chapter One #2
The problem was, it was perfectly obvious—to the government, and everyone else—that the members’ clubs that were owned by powerful magical families must be dealing in an illicit potion trade, but they failed to account for how much money the magical community possessed, and how easy it was to convince underpaid civil servants to accept bribes.
Vesper sniffed. “I’m always careful.”
Freddie raised an eyebrow.
“All right, I’m sometimes careful,” she amended, and was rewarded with a grin from Freddie.
“Though I don’t think the raids are anything to worry about—hasn’t Daddy said that he’s paid off his contact at the Home Office?
” The unofficial Holloway motto was that there was little that couldn’t be bought for the right price.
“He has,” Freddie agreed, his expression thoughtful. This was an unusual enough sight that Vesper frowned.
“Freddie, what is it?”
“I’ve heard rumors that they’re looking to make an example of someone—one of the most prestigious clubs.” Like ours went unspoken.
Vesper sighed, frustrated. The Forbiddance laws had come into effect during the war—“public war readiness” was given as the initial excuse, and then the laws were extended for public health reasons during the flu pandemic, since crowded clubs full of people with lowered inhibitions seemed like a perfect way to ensure germs spread quickly.
Later, they became permanent, and had been a source of constant consternation for certain magical families ever since.
Most of the members-only clubs—like Holloway’s—that had done a roaring trade in the concoctions for hundreds of years had swiftly pivoted, keeping their public operations entirely aboveboard and relegating the purchase and consumption of potions and spell powders to secret back rooms. Everyone had carried on quite happily, though prices had gone up as a result, and many operations that had once catered to a more working-class clientele had been driven out of business.
Freddie and their elder sister, Cecily, worked dedicatedly to try to turn public sentiment against the laws, but Vesper was not terribly political.
However, things might turn very nasty indeed if the government actually raided Holloway’s—for one, if she were arrested, she could not imagine that the photographs would be particularly flattering.
“Have you spoken to Simon?” she asked, naming Cecily’s husband, an MP who was leading the coalition attempting to overturn Forbiddance laws in Parliament.
Freddie shrugged. “Not since dinner last week—last time we spoke about it, he simply said that”—he cleared his throat and dropped his voice an octave—“ ‘it always pays to be cautious.’ ”
Vesper laughed. She was fond of Simon—the entire family was—but he was considerably more straitlaced than anyone in the Holloway clan, including his wife, and she occasionally caught him blinking around the table at family dinners, likely wondering how he’d managed to get himself chained to this bunch of lunatics (complimentary).
Vesper glanced at the clock and realized that she needed to get to work; the enchanted syrups they used to make their potions tended to lose a bit of their flavor after twelve hours or so, meaning a member of the family had to be present at the club every evening to ensure that they had enough fresh magical supplies.
She crossed to the worktable and began assessing the ingredients laid out before her.
“Well,” she said over her shoulder, “you may inform Simon that I’ll keep a wary eye out and will do my best to keep my legs closed around public servants going forward. ”
Freddie rolled his eyes. “I will not be having that conversation with my brother-in-law. But it wouldn’t hurt for you to start taking things a bit more seriously.”
Vesper smiled charmingly at him. “I do take things seriously. How do you think Holloway’s is still running?
” She turned back to the table before her.
The ingredients were all prepared in advance by a trusted member of staff—the spices ground, the herbs crushed, the lemons squeezed.
It was up to whichever member of the Holloway clan was present to assemble the components into the necessary configurations and speak the family’s Word that would imbue them with magic.
For the powders, this merely involved a mix of dry ingredients measured into a sachet and then whispered over; for potions, they mixed a series of magic-infused syrups that were later added to the soda water, champagne, and spirits that the bartenders used as each drink was ordered at the bar.
Vesper picked up a flask of hot water and carefully measured some into a large vial, then stirred in sugar, lemon juice, and muddled basil.
She paused for a second; then, with her hand carefully gripping the base of the vial, she closed her eyes and spoke the family Word, quietly but precisely.
There was a sensation like sparks racing down her right arm, then a tingling in her fingers, and the glass beneath her hand briefly warmed, then cooled again.
And like that, it was done, and Vesper was reaching for a cork with which to seal the vial, then affixing a label identifying it as the syrup used for the Gin and Giggles, one of the club’s most popular offerings.
One down; only another dozen or so to go.
She glanced back at Freddie. “You might look more impressed when I do that, you know.”
He waved a hand. “I can do it too.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“All right. Sort of,” he amended.
It was true; magic was passed down along bloodlines, but for reasons no one understood, it tended to manifest more strongly in some members of a given family than others.
Freddie could do magic if required; the Holloways’ Word worked for him, just as it did for Vesper, Cecily, and their father, but the effects of him employing it were never quite as impressive as for other members of the family.
“If you’re done trying to warn me about the dangers posed by underpaid government workers, then I’ve actual work to do here.” She turned back to the worktable before her, reaching for dried lavender. Behind her, she heard Freddie making rather a production of getting to his feet.
“I should be off anyway—don’t want to be late to rehearsals. I need to properly channel my character.”
“Isn’t it a clown?” she asked. “I wouldn’t think that would take a great deal of effort—not much acting involved for you.” Without even glancing behind her, she ducked, narrowly missing the napkin Freddie had lobbed at her head, and laughed as she heard him leave the room.
There was magic to be done, and a club to be run, and—most importantly—an approaching weekend’s worth of plans to be made.
Brothers and their dire warnings could be safely ignored.