Chapter 11 #3
“You can’t know that for sure.” There’s something in his eyes that makes my stomach tighten. A realisation washes over me, leaving me cold. “Except you do know, don’t you? What did you do?”
He sighs. “I suppose it’s time you know.
” He moves his teacup aside and leans towards me, his voice dropping so we can’t be overheard.
“I came to London. You were about five years old, and it had become very obvious to me and your dads that you were incredibly powerful. I still have never seen anyone with the kind of natural magical ability that you demonstrated.”
“You came to London looking for my mother.” I swallow tightly.
He nods. “What I found was a scared kid. She’d lost both her parents in a car accident, and she’d already had to give up her baby. She’d taken over running the bookshop.”
“Did you…did you tell her who you were?”
He shakes his head. “But I shook her hand and I read her. I also stood inside that bookshop and felt the darkness, the weight of that family’s secrets, and I knew she had done the right thing.
It would have been extremely dangerous for you to have been raised in that place. You needed time and safety.”
“To what?”
“To grow up, to come fully into your abilities. To learn how to protect yourself. Because just as I knew Vivienne had done an incredibly selfless thing by giving you up, I knew that one day her family legacy would catch up with you, and you needed to be ready.”
I slump back in my chair, my head reeling. “Did my dads know? That you went to London and met my mother?”
He nods. “Of course. The three of us decided the best thing to do would be to train you in the craft and keep you safe until you were ready to start asking questions about where you came from. Although we worry about you, we’re so proud of you.
You’re not just a powerful witch, you’re a good man.
I wish you didn’t have to face what lies ahead of you, but I don’t think you can avoid it. ”
“I don’t know what to say.” My throat burns as I blink back tears.
“You don’t have to say anything, Harry, but you aren’t alone. We’re all standing behind you. Which is why I told you to tell your dads. Secrets don’t do anyone any good.”
“I will, I promise.” My phone pings in my pocket. I pull it out and read the message, then sigh loudly.
“What is it?”
“Tristan. He’s managed to misplace Dusty...”
“Dusty?”
“The dead drag queen spirit guide in training slash Tristan’s sidekick.
Those two are practically inseparable most days.
Apparently, she’s missing, but if he’s concerned, there’s probably a reason to be.
He wants me to use, and I quote, my magical mojo to find her.
” I blow out a breath as my mind ticks over various possibilities.
“I could try a summoning circle,” I muse.
“Sounds fun. I’d come with you, but I’m meeting that friend of mine I mentioned. He has the largest underground archive in England. Some of the manuscripts and reference materials go back to the Dark Ages. If we’re going to unravel the mystery of the Crawshanks family, that’s where we’ll do it.”
“An archive?” I perk up, and he chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I won’t go without you, but I need to catch up with Eli first.”
My phone pings in my hand again, and I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry, Grumps, I’m going to have to go. Tristan is getting panicky and that’s usually how he gets himself into trouble, especially with the Grim Reaper as one of his friends.”
“Blimey, you do lead an interesting life. I might just stick around for a while.”
“Won’t your harem of lady friends miss you at the retirement home?”
“I’m sure I can make some new friends.” He looks around. “You know, I spent some time in London back in the sixties. It wasn’t like this though.”
“Well, I imagine a lot has changed since then.”
“Yes, obviously, but that’s not what I mean.” His eyes narrow, and his tone turns contemplative. “There’s something here, a strange kind of energy. It hums just beneath the surface, flowing through the streets like ribbons of energy crackling with power…with magic.”
“Sam thinks something has changed in London in the last year or so. People who’ve had no previous connection to magic are now developing psychic abilities.”
“I think your Sam might be onto something,” he rumbles.
“He’s not my Sam,” I protest, but it’s half-hearted.
He looks at me and raises one bushy eyebrow. “No? So that’s not a hickey just underneath the collar of your shirt?”
My mouth falls open. I made doubly sure it wasn’t visible when I showered and dressed earlier. “How did you know?”
“I’m a witch, boy.” He chuckles, a wonderfully low, growly sound that warms my belly and reminds me of when I was a child.
“I didn’t think that came with the side benefit of X-ray vision.”
He chuckles again. “Go, help your friend. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Fine.” I rise and grab my coat from the back of the chair. “But knowing Dusty, this summoning spell is going to require a disco ball, a pair of stilettos, and a soundtrack that includes Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive.”
Grumps amused laughter follows me out of the café.