A friend of Warrick?
I think of the forty thousand pounds in our joint bank account, and of Veronika’s panic, and of Hayes’ suggestion about organised crime. Maybe her visit isn’t about finding her lover?
A chill settles across my shoulders.
“He’s never spoken about anyone named Stuart,” I say, moving as slowly as I dared towards my phone. I don’t dare break my gaze from the man, in case he sees what I’m trying to do. “And even if he had, we’re still closed.”
Stuart whips one hand from behind his back. In it, he holds a bottle of my mead. Not from the stocks we sell in the store, but a bottle from my stash at home with a handwritten label. Apple and amaranth.How did he get that?“Your husband sold this to me,” he said. “It’s an intriguing use of spellwork. I haven’t seen the like before.”
What?
This man knows about magic?
My gaze flicks over the man again, and this time I notice the signs – the ring on his finger emanating a dark, sickly aura, the wayhe was able to sneak through a locked door, the strange scent of sulphur clinging to him.
It hadn’t occurred to me because magic is passed through female lines. He’s not a witch, but he’s…something else. Hehumswith magic. And Warrick was selling him my apple and amaranth mead. After I told him how potent it was, how dangerous.
“He promised me there was more to come,” Stuart continues, sloshing the bottle. “I gave him a generous deposit for a full barrel, but the mead hasn’t eventuated. So I’ve come to collect what’s owed me.”
That’s what Warrick was doing with my mead stores.My mind races through the horrific details as I put it all together.That’s what the money in our account was for. He’s selling my magical mead to this guy without even telling me?
My head spins. After everything Warrick made me give up, after the way he treated my magic like a cute little hobby, he was selling my mead to men like this?
Rafe, I wish you were here right now.
“I’m afraid my husband was mistaken,” I say with more bite than I feel. “He shouldn’t have sold it. It’s much too strong. I don’t have any available right now, although I have some other meads to fulfil the order you made.” I gesture to the wall behind me. “There’s an orange blossom mead for memory, and this blackberry and bramble for protection.”
“I’m not the one who needs protecting.” Stuart’s smile taints the edges of the world. “I’ll take the mead that your husband sold me.”
Bees slam against the windows, buzzing with agitation. They’re so thick in the glass that I can’t see the pub’s lights outside. Weirdly, none of them has got inside. I usually have them on me all the time.
“I can’t help you, and neither can Warrick. He’s vanished into thin air. I don’t have any more of that mead. I’ll return your money to you, every last cent.” I scramble for my ordering pad. “Just write down your bank account, and I’ll do it right now?—”
“That’s not how this works.” Stuart’s voice takes on a gloomy edge. “I have clients waiting for this stuff. When Warrick didn’t make the delivery, I knew I had to come and make sure my investment wassafe. And what do I find but his little witchy wife in the very same shop where I’ve had dealings before.”
What’s he saying? That he’s been here when Old Widow Hardcastle was alive? What did he want from her? What might he have done if she refused him?
This is very not good.
Rafe, where are you? If you can hear me, find a way to let the bees in.
I shove the pad aside. My fingers graze the edge of my phone. I pull it towards me, never taking my eyes off him. “What are you going to do?”
Stuart reveals his other hand. It’s empty. He bobs it in the air, fingers splayed, like a puppeteer making his dolls dance. A pale shape rises from the floor at his feet.
No, please no.
My heart turns to ice.
It’s Rafe in his cat form, his paws wheeling in midair, held by an invisible hand.
Unhand me, you vile fiend!Rafe swipes at thin air.I’ll scratch your eyes out! I’ll put teeth marks in your yoga mat?—
My eyes are fixed on Rafe as he spins, choking and hissing, through the air, rising higher and higher. The man squeezes his fist, and Rafe’s protests cut off into wheezing gasps. I see his fur tighten around his neck.
“Stop,” I beg. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
Stuart turns his head to the side as he flicks his wrist, making Rafe turn flips in the air. I reach for him, trying to pluck him from the air as a strangled yowl escapes him. My arms freeze over my head. I try to yank them free of whatever spell he’s worked to trap them, but it holds fast.
