Книга - I Put A Spell On You

I Put A Spell On You
Kerry Barrett


A touch of black magic….For Harmony McLeod – Harry, for short – life is going swimmingly in Edinburgh. Her exclusive spa, specialising in ‘spiritual counselling’ alongside massages and yoga (read: solving clients’ problems with a little bit of harmless witchcraft) is flourishing… Until she discovers one of her employees dead.This spells out real trouble - trouble that even a perfectly cast spell can’t fix because the person out to destroy Harry is using magic too – dark magic…Luckily DI Louise Baxter is more than willing to go the extra mile to help Harry solve the mystery and she’s pretty easy on the eyes too…Don't miss the Could It Be Magic series:1 - Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered2 - I Put a Spell on You3 - Baby It's Cold Outside4 - I’ll Be There For You5 - A Spoonful of Sugar (novella)Praise for Kerry Barrett'I was absorbed from the first page' - Pass The Gin'It was just lovely! I loved the plot, I loved the spells and the magic, I loved the characters and I loved the writing. Kerry Barrett is a talented writer and I’m so pleased I got the chance to review her debut novel and here’s hoping there will be many more!' - Chick Lit Reviews and News










When Harmony McLeod – Harry, for short – discovers one of her employees dead in the reception of the exclusive spa she owns and runs, she is shocked, upset and more than a little spooked. You see, Harry is a witch, and her speciality is the ‘spiritual counselling’ that she offers her clients alongside the massages and yoga – in other words, she gives them spells to help deal with specific problems. So when she senses dark magic in the air at the crime scene, she suspects sabotage from another witch.

But who would want to kill her receptionist, hurt Harry and destroy her business? Surely not her cousin and fellow witch Esme? She and Harry may have had their differences, but they’re still family. And her colleague Xander has been a rock for her since her last breakup, and works so hard at the spa. He’s keen to learn magic skills to help out, and if he had some grievance then Harry would know – wouldn’t she? But as more unexplained events continue to unfold, Harry starts to suspect even her closest friends. It’s lucky that DI Louise Baxter is willing to go the extra mile to try and help solve the mystery – and the fact that she’s easy on the eyes hasn’t escaped Harry either…


Also available by Kerry Barrett (#u3ac9f77c-5426-536d-9754-572f7d72b631)

Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered


I Put a Spell on You

Kerry Barrett







Copyright (#ulink_db9fe1b4-8a6b-5d61-b257-979cc9b5d4fc)

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014

Copyright © Kerry Barrett 2014

Kerry Barrett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2014 ISBN: 9781472095244

Version date: 2018-10-30


KERRY BARRETT

was a bookworm from a very early age, devouring Enid Blyton and Noel Streatfeild, before moving on to Sweet Valley High and 1980s bonkbusters. She did a degree in English Literature, then trained as a journalist, writing about everything from pub grub to EastEnders. Her first novel, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, took six years to finish and was mostly written in longhand on her commute to work, giving her a very good reason to buy beautiful notebooks. Kerry lives in London with her husband and two sons, and Noel Streatfeild’s Ballet Shoes is still her favourite novel.


Big thanks as always to Darren, Tom and Sam for their support. Thank you to Jo for providing me with excellent information about police procedures. The advice was hers, but any mistakes are all mine. Thanks to the team at HQ Digital – Lucy, Victoria and Helen – for all their help, and thank you to everyone who read Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered. A special mention must go to Star Poling, whose husband Phil bought her the chance to name a character in the book in an auction to raise money for my friend’s little boy, Ted, and who chose to be killed off in the very first line. Find out more about Ted’s fund at http://treatmentforted.com (http://treatmentforted.com).


For Mum and Dad


Contents

Cover (#u83f61ec8-6675-561b-8aa0-ccb3a23f492b)

Blurb (#u4cc95e9f-f5b9-59ed-b635-fb045022b501)

Book List

Title Page (#u0a29c664-cd0a-570f-b6f5-699698786994)

Copyright (#u9e208983-c86e-537e-b200-d370fb376985)

Author Bio (#u4393b0d5-4676-58a4-8476-d57587c03cc6)

Acknowledgements (#ua33305bc-446b-56a5-9f22-6eb5970dbce4)

Dedication (#uf368743f-0765-5210-aeb4-14c8049999b2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Epilogue

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#u3ac9f77c-5426-536d-9754-572f7d72b631)

She was dead. There was no question about that. She was slumped in her chair, head slightly to one side, blonde curly hair in front of her face, and her eyes open and glassy.

“Oh shit,” I said. “Shit.”

I walked towards her, not sure what to do.

“Star?” I said, though I knew she wouldn’t answer. “Star? Wake up.”

She didn’t move.

A chill came over me and I started to shake.

“Star?” I said again. Nothing. I took a breath and picked up her wrist, feeling for a pulse. Her skin was cool and smooth and there was no sign of life. Carefully I put her hand down, feeling close to tears but knowing I had to keep it together.

“Star, I’m going to phone for an ambulance,” I said, wondering why I was talking to her. “It’s going to be okay.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialled 999. The operator was so nice, telling me to how to check for a pulse properly this time. She kept me talking until a paramedic arrived, just one, in a car.

“What’s her name?” he asked, going quickly to Star’s side, lifting her wrist and looking at his watch.

“Star,” I said. “I think she’s…she’s not breathing…”

He gave me a sympathetic look and a quick nod. Then he gently let Star’s wrist go.

“Do you know if she was taking any medication?” he asked.

“She’s got a heart condition,” I said. I pointed to Star’s bag, which was tucked under her desk. “I expect her pills are in there.”

“Could you find them for me, love?” he said. He was busy listening to Star’s chest and taking her pulse again.

I scooped up Star’s bag, found two bottles of pills and handed them over, just as an ambulance pulled up outside, along with a police car. The paramedic looked at the labels then showed them to his colleagues who had just arrived. They all exchanged a glance.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

I felt dizzy and let one of the paramedics steer me towards a chair.

“I expect the police will have some questions,” he said, handing me a bottle of water.

I watched the Christmas lights twinkling gently in the window and thought how out of place they looked now the festivities were over and Star was dead. I felt I should start taking them down but I didn’t want to move.

It was like a strange nightmare as the room, which had been empty apart from Star sitting working at her desk when I headed to my office earlier, filled up with people – the three paramedics, two – very young-looking – policemen in uniform, and an older female detective – about my age – in a silvery grey suit. I sat still and watched, not sure what to do.

One of the policemen took a step towards me.

“Miss McLeod?” he said.

“Ms,” I snapped.

“We’ve got some questions,” he said carefully.

He asked me all about Star, about her heart condition – which I didn’t know much about except she joked about her ‘dodgy ticker’ – whether she was married, or had kids. When I said she was divorced, the policeman excused himself for a second to speak to his colleagues, then sat down again.

“We’re sending someone to speak to her parents,” he said. “Were you the last person to see her?”

I nodded.

“She was here alone,” I said, feeling guilt wash over me. “She should have been home by now, but she wanted to talk to me and I was too busy. I think she was waiting to see me before she left.”

I looked over at where Star still sat.

It felt like I was there for hours, answering questions and wondering what would happen next.

Eventually, one of the paramedics came up behind the policeman and spoke quietly to him. Too quietly for most people to hear. But not me.

“There’s nothing more to do,” he said, nodding in Star’s direction. “We’re going, and we’ve arranged for her to be taken to the morgue.”

“Oh no,” I said to myself. I wasn’t used to being in situations I couldn’t control and I felt horribly helpless and out of sorts.

The policeman asked me some more questions. He was very capable, I thought, looking at him, for someone so young.

“We’re going to have to seal off the area,” he explained. “Just until we know what’s happened. I don’t think there’s any crime been committed but we have to make sure.”

I was relieved. Criminal activities weren’t good for business. Then I felt bad for being relieved. Crime or no crime, Star was still dead.

More people had arrived.

“Undertakers,” the policeman murmured to me.

I watched as they brought in a stretcher and carefully lifted Star onto it. One of them shook out a blanket and, as he pulled it over her face, I caught sight of her expression. It was fixed in a kind of horrified grimace. She looked terrified. So terrified, in fact, that I gasped out loud.

“I know it’s a shock,” the policeman said with a sympathetic pat to my arm. “We’re pretty much done here but I’m going to leave someone outside tonight. I’ll get you a lift home.”

I moved away so he couldn’t touch me again.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m fine.” I really wanted to be on my own to take stock of the situation. I needed time to think about why Star’s face would have been so scared.

The undertakers picked up the stretcher with its sad burden and we all stood, respectfully silent as they took Star outside. Then the policeman who’d asked me all the questions picked up my bag.

“Do you live nearby?” he said.

“Five minutes,” I said, trying to make it sound even closer. “Really, I’m fine to walk.”

He looked unsure. He glanced at his colleague then back at me. I gave him a fierce look and he handed me my bag.

“I’ll get someone to call you tomorrow,” he said. “Check you’re OK.”

I gave him a half-smile, then I slumped onto one of the sofas in the waiting area, exhausted and emotional. I couldn’t quite understand what had happened. Star was so young, only a couple of years older than me. And the expression on her face – that scared – terrified – expression had really unsettled me.

The police had huddled by the door, talking to another officer who’d just arrived, while they started taping off the entrance and, now the room was quieter, I realised what else was unsettling me. It was magic. Everywhere.

I’m a witch, you see. Always have been. And I’m a really good one. That’s why I could hear the police when they were talking too quietly for anyone else to eavesdrop on them. It’s why I could ‘persuade’ the officer to let me walk home alone and it’s why I could see there was magic in the room.

Witchcraft isn’t just a hobby for me – it’s my career. I run a website called inharmony.com (Harmony is my name though everyone calls me Harry) which is a bit like Mumsnet but for witches. And I run this spa, which is also called In Harmony. Star is my receptionist. Or she was.

I walked over to Star’s desk. Magic hung in the air. You can’t see it, magic, but it tends to hang around for a while after it’s happened. Good magic – our sort – often just shimmers a bit. Black magic is heavier, more like an unpleasant atmosphere. Not everyone can see it, but I believe everyone can feel it – it’s just we know what it is and you don’t.

Star wasn’t a witch, so I had no idea why there would be magic hanging about her desk. Except, she’d been trying to talk to me all day. I’d not seen her for a while – I’d been away on holiday at the start of December and then the spa had been closed over the Christmas break and today was our first day back at work. Like I’d said to the police officer, Star had been desperate to grab five minutes with me. But I’d had back-to-back clients and I hadn’t had a minute. I knew she had been waiting for me to finish this evening so we could talk.

I had an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. Uneasiness, perhaps, or maybe just guilt that I hadn’t been there for Star when she wanted me. I glanced over my shoulder to see if the police officers were watching me, but their attention was all on each other, then I opened the filing cabinet next to Star’s desk, where she kept all our HR records, and started to flick through… Her surname was Poling but I couldn’t find anything under P. Filing had never been Star’s strong suit. Frustrated, I waggled my fingers. Silvery shimmers flew from the tips and the files ruffled in an invisible breeze. Then, slowly, one file rose up above the others in the cupboard. ‘Star Poling’ it said along the top.

“Gotcha,” I said.

I opened it to check Star’s address was written inside, then I opened my bag and stuffed it inside. Taking a last look at Star’s desk, I left the building. I politely thanked the police for their time, as though they’d been customers who’d booked a spa day, handed over my spare keys, and left.

It was freezing. I thought it might snow though it hadn’t yet, and it was dark. I huddled down in my coat and pulled my hat down over my ears, feeling sorry for myself and very alone as I tramped along the main road to home.

I was unsettled. Really unsettled. We – me and my family – had had a rough couple of years. About eighteen months ago my mum, Suky, had been diagnosed with breast cancer and at the same time we’d been the target of a pretty nasty hate campaign aimed at driving my mum out of the café she runs with my Aunt Tess – who’s my mum’s twin sister. I’d split up with my girlfriend Natalie, leaving me with financial troubles and a broken heart, and my cousin Esme – Tess’s daughter – had almost ruined her own love life. It wasn’t a great time for any of us.

Thankfully Mum was now well on the mend, the café was secure once more and all the trouble seemed to be behind us – at least it had been, until now. I was really worried this might be the beginning of another bad patch. Though, obviously, it was going to be a whole lot worse for poor Star’s family. I shivered as I hurried along in the biting wind, desperate to get home and hoping I’d have the flat to myself for once. I shared with my cousin Esme who rented a swanky New Town flat in Edinburgh from a banker friend of her boyfriend. It was huge – too big for her on her own – so I’d moved in when I sold my place in Leith to fund the spa. Ez and I were like sisters with all the bickering, sniping and affection that entailed. Esme and I were living together like a couple of students – though without the fights over who cleaned the loo – as witches we could simply do the cleaning with a wave of our hands. Things were fine until she decided she missed her boyfriend too much. Jamie was a GP. He had been planning to take over his dad’s practice up in Claddach in the Highlands, where we’d all grown up. But his dad wasn’t ready to retire quite yet and after rekindling their teenage romance, he and Esme were inseparable… So we all ended up living together. I adored Esme, and I loved Jamie, who’d been a brilliant support to my mum when she was ill. But even so, our living arrangements weren’t exactly where I’d intended to be in my late thirties, but needs must, I told myself, and it was a great flat.

Anyway, after everything that had happened, I was desperate just to be by myself and as I walked up the stone stairs that led to our front door, I crossed my fingers that Esme and Jamie were out tonight.


Chapter 2 (#u3ac9f77c-5426-536d-9754-572f7d72b631)

I was out of luck. As I opened the door I was greeted by the sight of Esme and Jamie snogging. They sprang apart when I came in and grinned at me, identical stupid love-sick grins. In the mirror on the wall opposite I caught a glimpse of my reflection; my face was ashen and my lips white, stark against my dark brown hair. Then I looked at Esme, who was glowing with health and happiness.

“Why are you standing in the hall,” I asked, though I didn’t really care. Then I burst into tears.

Esme exchanged a glance with Jamie – he looked concerned, she looked more pissed off. Then, together, they bustled me into the kitchen, and sat me at the table. Esme put the kettle on and Jamie found a bottle of brandy in one of the cupboards and poured me a stiff measure.

I knocked my drink back in one mouthful and wiped my eyes carefully to avoid smudging my make-up.

“What’s happened, Harry?” Esme said.

I shuddered.

“God it was awful,” I said, reaching for the brandy bottle.

“I’d been with clients all day – I hadn’t had more than five minutes to myself all afternoon,” I explained glugging brandy into my glass. “Star wanted to speak to me though, and she said she’d wait for me to finish. So when I was done, I went into reception. And that’s when I found her.” I took a long jagged breath and stared into my glass.

“Who?” Esme said. “Who did you find?”

“Star.”

“But you wanted to see her, surely?” Esme looked confused and I rolled my eyes.

“Not like that,” I said.

“Why, what was she doing?” asked Jamie.

“She was dead.”

Esme gasped.

“I’ve been with the police for hours,” I continued, rubbing my forehead as I thought about how to explain it all. “The paramedics said it was a heart attack and the police aren’t suspicious. And yet…”

“And yet…” repeated Jamie.

I leaned forward so they knew how important this was.

“I saw her face,” I whispered. “She was terrified.”

“Really?” Esme said doubtfully. “Can you tell?”

“Oh you can tell,” I said, with all the wisdom of a woman who’d seen her first corpse just a few hours earlier.

Jamie nodded.

“You can, actually,” he said. “I’ve seen all sorts of strange facial expressions on bodies.”

Esme shivered and I scowled at her.

“That’s not all though,” I said, perhaps slightly over-dramatically. “There was magic there. Dark magic. Hanging – you know how it does – like a heat haze. Over Star’s desk.”

“Oh that’s not good,” Esme said with a shiver. “Do you think something sinister has happened? Something that could have hurt Star?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said. “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt her.”

“Is Star, erm, was she, you know?” Esme began.

“A witch?”

She nodded.

I shook my head.

“She was interested,” I said. “Actually she was really interested. She was always asking me stuff and I’d helped her out a few times with advice and explanations about spells and things. I know that was why she took the job in the first place. She dabbled in a bit of aura cleansing and she did a lot of our yoga classes. But she wasn’t a witch – not by birth. It’s not in the terms and conditions of our contracts, you know.”

I call my spa a holistic life centre. We offer things like yoga, acupuncture and Pilates, slightly more off-the-wall things like Reiki and aura cleansing and, what I like to call, spiritual counselling. That’s spells to you and me. People come to see me, they tell me their problems and I give them a spell to help. My mum, Suky, and Esme’s mum, Tess, do a really similar thing in their café up in the Highlands – it’s where I got the idea from, if I’m honest. They sit people down with a cup of tea, have a chat, find out what the problem is and cast a spell to help. Sometimes they don’t even wait to be asked. I took it bigger, giving people the chance to ask for help online. But I found I was missing the personal touch, so now I’ve gone back to basics – meeting clients at the spa and offering them one-to-one counselling. We’ve not been going that long, but it’s all working out brilliantly – or at least it was. Until our receptionist turned up dead.

I pulled Star’s HR file out of my bag.

“She wanted to tell me something,” I said. “Maybe she was worried about something – or scared even – so I’ve had an idea. This is her address. I thought we’d go round and…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Jamie. “You’re not going anywhere. You can’t break into a dead woman’s flat.”

“I agree,” Esme said firmly. “Even I know Star had health problems and she didn’t always look after herself. If the police don’t think there’s anything to worry about, then we should listen to them.”

I got up from the table.

“You didn’t see her face, Ez,” I said. “I can’t get it out of my mind. And I can’t help thinking that it must have had something to do with me. It’s my business, after all. What if she was just in the way? What if I was the real target?”

We all stared at each other for a moment and I could see I’d struck a chord with Esme. It had been awful when we’d been targeted before – one of the worst times of our lives.

I saw Jamie catch Esme’s eye and shake his head ever so slightly. She looked at me and I could tell she was wavering. So she was a lawyer and I was asking her to break into a house. We wouldn’t get into trouble – we had ways round that and she knew it.

The ring of the doorbell made us all jump. Esme gave me a glance that said ‘we’ll talk about this later when Jamie’s not around’ and went to answer it. Jamie and I looked at each other awkwardly. I thought Jamie was lovely and, like I said, I’d always be grateful for how caring he was with Mum, but he could be a bit risk-averse sometimes.

Esme poked her head round the kitchen door.

“Harry,” she hissed. “The police are here.”

Alarmed, I followed her back out into the hall. The tall detective I’d seen at the spa stood there.

“Harmony McLeod?” she asked, showing me a warrant card.

I nodded.

“DI Louise Baxter,” she said. “I just have a couple more questions about what happened today.”

“Let’s go into the living room,” I said, directing her. She walked into the room, looking round her – I could tell she was taking everything in. Then she turned round and smiled at me. She was very pretty.

“Call me Harry,” I said. “Please sit.” She sat on the sofa and I sat opposite her. Esme, who’d followed us into the room, perched on the arm of my chair nervously. She was one of those people who always got stopped on her way through customs because she looked guilty even when she hadn’t done anything and she was very twitchy now.

“I’m Harry’s cousin,” she said in a rush. “My name’s Esme. McLeod. Esme McLeod. I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“This isn’t really an official visit,” DI Baxter said, giving a quick, amused glance at Esme then turning her attention back to me. “I just thought you looked a bit odd back there. I wanted to see if there was anything else you wanted to say.”

I shrugged, wondering how much I should say.

“Just shock,” I said, not looking her in the eye.

“What was in the folder you took?” she said.

I screwed my nose up.

“You saw that?” I said, wondering if she’d seen how I’d found the right folder. She didn’t seem the type who missed much. She certainly wasn’t fazed by it though, even if she had seen, and that intrigued me.

“Uh huh.”

I thought about lying then changed my mind.

“It was Star’s HR folder,” I admitted. “I just wanted to have a look at it.”

“Why?” she asked. I felt like squirming under her cool, clear gaze.

“I just think there’s more to Star’s death than her dodgy heart.”

“Why?”

I looked at Esme for guidance – it wasn’t easy explaining witchcraft to people who thought it was all Harry Potter and Muggles.

“I just had a bad feeling,” I said pathetically.

“Why?” she said again. She was beginning to annoy me.

“It’s complicated.”

I paused for a moment, staring at DI Baxter. She was maybe a tiny bit older than me and a tiny bit taller. She had blonde hair in a pixie crop and cool grey eyes. She looked back at me and I knew she thought I was up to something.

“Try me,” she said.

A tiny smile edged its way onto my lips.

“I might,” I said. “But not now.”

DI Baxter stood up.

“If you change your mind, you know where I am,” she said, giving me a business card. Her long strides meant she reached the front door in seconds. “And Harry? Don’t try anything, will you? You’re not Miss Marple.”

I tried to look innocent.

“I wouldn’t dare,” I said. “Keep in touch.”

On the surface I meant she should keep in touch with any news on Star’s death, but deep down I was intrigued by her and I couldn’t help hoping I’d see her again.

I reached past her to open the door and as I did, Jamie came out of the kitchen.

“Lou?” he said in surprise.

“JB!” DI Baxter – Lou apparently – threw her arms out in joy. Jamie walked into her embrace and they performed a complicated manoeuvre that began with them bumping stomachs and ended with DI Baxter holding Jamie in a headlock. They were both laughing uproariously. I was not. Nor was Esme, who was watching on in something resembling horror.

“Ez,” said Jamie, unravelling himself from DI Baxter’s grip. ‘This is Louise. We played rugby together at uni.”

Esme smiled a small, tight smile.

“Lou,” Jamie continued, “this is Esme – she’s Harry’s cousin – and my girlfriend.”

“Fiancée,” Esme said, frostily.

“Really?” I said in surprise. “Since when?”

Jamie took Esme’s hand and grinned at DI Baxter and me.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Earlier I asked Ez to marry me and she said yes.”

Esme beamed in pride and snuggled up to Jamie in a proprietorial manner.

“That’s great news, guys.” I said, giving them both a quick hug. For some reason I felt very close to tears again.

DI Baxter looked awkward.

“I’d better go,” she said. Jamie looked crestfallen.

“Let’s get together soon,” he said. “We’ve got years to catch up on.”

She felt in her pocket and handed him the same business card she’d given me.

“I’d love to,” she said. “Good to meet you, Esme.”

She let herself out of the door and I heard her footsteps disappear down the stone steps.

“She seems nice,” Esme said. I could read Esme’s thoughts as easily as I read my own – it was partly witchcraft and partly just that I knew her so well – and I knew she was lying.

“I liked her,” I said just so she knew I knew what she thought.

“I’m going to bed,” I added. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

Jamie slapped Esme’s bum gently.

“Come on then, Mrs B-to-be,” he said. Childishly, I made sick faces behind his back. Esme grimaced at me.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she said to Jamie. She waited until he’d gone down the hall to their bedroom, then she took my arm.

“I’m in,” she whispered. “ I’ll come with you to Star’s flat. Jamie’s playing rugby tomorrow anyway.”

I was pretty certain she was only saying it because DI Baxter had told us not to do anything, but I didn’t care.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” I said.


Chapter 3 (#u3ac9f77c-5426-536d-9754-572f7d72b631)

I love Esme. I do. But she’s always been a bit of a goody-goody. When we were younger, she followed me round like a lost lamb and I must admit, I wasn’t always very nice to her. In fact, in the spirit of full disclosure, I will admit I’m still not always that nice to her. She just, you know, rubs me up the wrong way. But, I can’t lie, I was amazed by how she handled all that stuff last year. And, I was really pleased – surprised but pleased – by how quickly she agreed to come with me to Star’s flat, even if she’d only agreed to go because she knew it would annoy Jamie. It didn’t stop her going on about how bloody scared she was though, did it?

“Harry,” she whispered as we walked down Star’s road. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

The same thought had crossed my mind, but I wasn’t going to tell Ez that.

“I liked Star,” I said to Esme. “She was nice. I feel like I owe it to her to dig a little bit deeper.”

Esme pulled her coat round herself a bit tighter.

“It’s funny, isn’t it, that someone can be here one minute then gone the next?” she said. “I wonder if she had a feeling when she woke up yesterday morning?”

“What, that it would be her last day on earth?” I said. “I don’t expect so.”

“Do you think we’d know?” Esme looked serious.

“Because we’re witches you mean? I’m not sure.” I looked at the map on my phone and guided Esme down a side street. “It’s possible. We do know stuff, I suppose.”

Esme gave a dry laugh.

“You know stuff,” she said. “I’m oblivious most of the time.”

“Probably the best way to be,” I said. But I didn’t really mean it. I wouldn’t swap my witchcraft for anything.

I looked at the numbers on the houses around us. “This is it.”

Star lived in a maisonette, on the outskirts of the city. Her street was neat and quiet, with identical houses evenly spaced. It looked like a model town.

“Come on,” I said. I led the way up the stairs, my heels echoing along the road. Esme followed. I tried the front door. It was locked, of course. But we witches are nothing if not resourceful. I waved my hand over the handle and heard the lock click.

“After you,” I said, standing aside to let Ez past. She gave me a look of contempt and walked into the hall.

“Bloody hell,” she gasped. Magic hung heavily in the air. The flat was alive with it like a gas leak in a sealed building. Now we’d opened the door, the oppressive atmosphere was lightening, but it was still really unpleasant.

“Oh Star,” I murmured as I walked along the hall, my skin prickling with enchantments. “What have you been up to?”

Esme was in the living room. I found her looking at a photo.

“Remind me which one is Star,” she said. I peered over her shoulder and pointed. Star had been in her early forties – about five or six years older than me. She had obviously been very pretty as a youngster and she was still working her good looks – almost. Her hair was, perhaps, a bit too blonde, her skirt a bit too short, but it wasn’t a bad package. In the photo she was drinking champagne with two other smiling women. She looked young and happy and I felt a new wave of guilt.

“What was she like?” Esme said, looking at the photo. “Was she married?”

“She had been,” I said. “Her husband cheated on her. They’d been together since school.”

“Like me and Jamie,” Esme said, conveniently forgetting the ten years when they hadn’t spoken.

“Except Jamie wouldn’t cheat on you,” I said. I had a lot of time for Jamie who was fiercely loyal and had been impressively unfazed when Esme had revealed the truth about our family’s odd behaviour.

“I wouldn’t cheat on him either,” said Esme. “Never.”

I wandered round the flat, finding out more about Star than I’d ever bothered to when she was alive. She read crime novels, watched box sets of US dramas – Mad Men lay open on her DVD shelf – and had good taste in interior decoration. I couldn’t see any evidence of her ex-husband, and I wondered if she’d been lonely.

In her bedroom we found a pile of witchcraft books. Esme picked up the top one and began leafing through it.

“I thought you said she wasn’t a witch,” she said. I rolled my eyes.

“She wasn’t.” I picked up a guide to incantations and flapped through it without interest. “What witch would read a book like this?”

Esme made a face.

“Well, there is a lot of magic in here and what with this and the books it looks like she was trying to learn,” she pointed out. “Can you do that?”

I grinned at her.

“I taught you, didn’t I?” I said. Esme and I were born witches, of course. But while I embraced my witchiness, worked hard at it, embraced it, developed it, even made it my career, she shunned it. It was always one of the things that annoyed me most about Esme over the years. Then, last year, when the family business was in trouble and my mum was ill, she finally realised it was time to get to grips with it. And who was there to help her out? To mould her natural ability and teach her everything she needed to know? Her loving cousin, that’s who (that’s me, by the way). She’s pretty good actually – she should use magic more often. She could do with a bit more sparkle in her life if you ask me.

Now she shot me a barbed look.

“I meant can normal people learn?” she said. “People who aren’t witches.”

“She had a go,” I said, sitting on the bed. “But there’s only so much you can do without natural talent. And it’s always dangerous for anyone to dabble in things they don’t understand.”

Ez nodded and I was grateful that she didn’t mention that out of the two of us, I was the one who’d dabbled dangerously in the past. She wasn’t so bad, really.

I picked up another book and a sheaf of papers fell out. Esme bent down and picked them up.

“Photos,” she said. “Oh god.”

She spread them out on the bed. They were mostly pictures of Star, selfies, obviously taken with her phone, and printed out onto A4 paper. And they were pretty shocking. One was a photo of her hand, covered in blood, with jagged pieces of blue glass sticking out of her palm. In another, she had a nasty bruise and a cut on her browbone. In another she had bruised knees, in another burns on her arm, and in yet another a neck collar.

“Shit,” Esme said. “Was this her husband’s handiwork?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “She had this neck collar just before Christmas – she said she’d had a prang in her car. I remember her saying she’d missed spending the weekend with her best friend because of it. The burns on her arm were from the accident, too. Air bags burn apparently. Her husband’s not been around for ages as far as I know.”

I looked at the photo and shook my head.

“She said it was an accident,” I said. “Why would she take photos if she believed that?”

I picked up the book again.

“There’s some more,” I said, pulling them out. There were two more. Both of the outside of the spa. One showed a broken window with a board nailed over it. I remembered that happening a couple of months before. Just kids Xander, my deputy manager, had said at the time. The other, more shockingly, showed the front door of the spa scrawled with graffiti reading WITCH.

I felt sick.

“Look,” I said to Esme. She put her hand over her mouth in horror.

“Who would do that?” she said. “That’s awful. Did you know about that?”

“Didn’t have a clue,” I said. “Not about the graffiti anyway. “Star must have scrubbed it off before I saw it. She was protecting me, Ez. Do you think that’s why she died?”

Esme looked terrified.

“No,” she said firmly. “That can’t possibly be it. She was ill, Harry. She had a weak heart. Her bathroom cabinet’s full of medicine. No one would have hurt her deliberately.”

I gathered up the print-outs.

“But what about all these injuries?” I said, waving them in her face. “And Star wasn’t a witch – this abuse wasn’t aimed at her – what if she got hurt trying to stop whoever it was hurting me?”

“Right, well there’s nothing we can do about it now,” Esme said, all business-like. “Let’s go home and think about what we should do from here.”

She was right. I got up off the bed, and Esme did the same. After a moment’s consideration, I put the printed photos into my bag, and we left, putting everything back the way we’d found it with a quick wiggle of our fingers.

As we walked down the stairs a voice called out.

“Who are you?” A woman stood at the bottom of the steps, arms folded in front of her.

“Star’s not here,” she said.

I nudged Esme out of the way and held my hand out to the woman.

“I’m Harmony,” I said, shaking her hand and keeping hold of it. “I was Star’s boss – and friend.” My eyes filled with tears. They were genuine, but behind me, Esme harrumphed. The neighbour tried to take her hand away, and I held on.

“Were you in Star’s house?” she said. “I heard the door go.”

Gently, I squeezed a pressure point on her palm.

“We weren’t in her house,” I said. Around her the air began to shimmer. “We just came to see if we could help.”

“To help,” the neighbour repeated. “You weren’t in her house.”

Smiling at her, I let go of her hand and pulled Esme past her.

“Bye then!” I called. The neighbour raised a hand to wave, a confused look on her face.

“Well done, Obi Wan,” said Esme as we rushed along the road towards home. “But that was a bit too close for comfort.”

I ignored her. I was too busy wondering what we should do next. I thought perhaps I should phone DI Baxter. It would be tricky though, explaining what had happened without explaining exactly what had happened. I wondered if we could tell her the whole truth. She’d seemed very nice, but that didn’t mean she’d understand when I told her what we were. I really needed to meet her again to check her out.


Chapter 4 (#ulink_db9fe1b4-8a6b-5d61-b257-979cc9b5d4fc)

We talked about everything on the way home, except Star. I asked Esme all about how Jamie had proposed – in the kitchen while she was washing up, apparently. “How romantic,” I said, dryly. I would never understand why she washed up when she could simply do the dishes with a wave of her hand. But she claimed she liked it.

She talked a bit about how she wanted to get married back home in the Highlands, and I offered some suggestions about dresses she might suit. But we didn’t mention Star, or the horrible photos.

Wearily we made our way through the heavy door at the bottom of our tenement block and up the worn-away stone steps. As we reached our flat, a tall, lean figure uncurled himself from where he’d been sitting leaning against our door.

“Xander!” I called. I flung my arms around him and leaned against his chest. He kissed the top of my head.

“I got your message,” he said in his soft Dublin accent. “I couldn’t let you deal with all this by yourself.”

Beside me, Esme stood up a bit straighter. I wasn’t surprised. Xander was gorgeous, and very charming. He had quite a staggering effect on most women. He even had me wrapped round his little finger.

I hadn’t known Xander that long, but he’d made himself indispensible to me at a time when my business plans had been about to derail.

I’d launched my website alone, but when I’d come up with the idea of the spa, my girlfriend Natalie had been right behind me. I’d met her when I was studying business in the States and she was a high-flyer for a management consultancy. When I’d decided the time was right to expand, she’d offered to invest. I was thrilled. Not surprisingly, it was quite hard to find investors in a witchcraft-led business. You can’t just go to the bank or approach a venture capitalist and tell them you’re selling spells. Anyway, Nat seemed the perfect business partner and for a while things were really exciting. Then she went home to Connecticut for a few weeks – and she never came back. Suddenly I was single, heartbroken, and my career had taken a battering too.

I wallowed in self-pity for a while, then I brushed myself off and set about raising the money I needed to buy the surprisingly spacious mews house that would become the spa by selling my flat. Once my flat was sold, the house was signed and sealed, and the builders had started work, I knew I had to make some contacts, so I forced myself to a networking event.

I saw Xander as soon as I walked into the West End hotel where the event was being held. He wandered over to me in the casual way I now knew so well, handed me a glass of Buck’s Fizz and said: “Thank god you’re here.”

“Have we met?” I said in surprise.

“We have now,” he said with a grin. “You look a lot more fun than the rest of these stuffed shirts.”

I glanced round me at the many middle-aged men chatting and laughing in a self-congratulatory way and drained my glass.

“Let’s go?” I said. So we escaped to a little deli, treated ourselves to brunch, and chatted for hours. He didn’t so much as try to flirt with me, which was refreshing if a little unusual. I don’t want to blow my own trumpet but I know I’m what you might call good-looking. I’ve got long dark hair and good skin, and I really love clothes so I make an effort with my appearance. And though I’m gay and have no interest in men in that way, they seem to like me. Well, they like the way I look at least – I can’t imagine I win them over with my sweet personality and happy demeanour, because frankly that’s not me at all. Anyway, Xander seemed oblivious to my charms, which I loved. And he was very easy to talk to. I told him all about my plans for the spa and he revealed he had a head for business himself. He worked for a big international hotel chain.

“I’m bored,” he confided, tearing a croissant in half. “I thought I’d enjoy working a hotel but I’ve had enough of people telling me what to do. And I like Edinburgh. I don’t want to have to move again whenever they decide it’s time.”

I sipped at my latte thoughtfully.

“I’m going to need a deputy,” I said. “A right-hand man. Someone who can look after the business and the customers.”

Xander smiled at me, that devastating, heartbreaking smile. He would be perfect with my clients.

“Me,” he said.

“You.”

And that was that. He handed in his notice and had been by my side ever since. He offered to buy into the business, but though we’d hit it off, I wasn’t quite ready to hand over complete control yet.

He had been a brilliant choice as a deputy manager. He was sharp-minded and we thought alike when it came to business decisions. Plus, my clients loved him. He was tall and slim, with wide shoulders. He had dark curly hair, a bit like Orlando Bloom’s, that fell across his perfect eyebrows. His bright blue eyes were clear and his smile was wide. Many women had come in just to book a yoga class and ended up splashing out hundreds of pounds on ten Reiki sessions.

My only complaint was that he was perhaps a bit too keen. I’m ambitious, of course, and I admire ambition in others, but not when their ambition is centred on my business. I know I’m a bit overly controlling, but it’s mine, you know? So Xander was a little too eager to take over, in my opinion. He kept offering to do more and more at the spa. He was like my shadow, which most of the time I didn’t mind, because he was such good company. I was a solitary soul by nature, though, and every now and then I just had to be alone so I made an effort to shrug him off occasionally. Yesterday I’d almost pushed him out of the door when he’d mentioned he had a date with someone he’d met at the gym. And then typically, when he wasn’t by my side, I’d found Star.

Anyway, he was here now, and I had to admit though he smothered me at times, I was delighted he’d arrived on my doorstep.

“Am I pleased to see you,” I said, opening the door. Together we all trooped into the flat and straight into the kitchen.

Esme was obviously very taken with Xander.

“Tea?” she asked in a funny voice. Xander grinned at her and I shot him a warning glance.

“Please,” he said, winking at her. Esme blushed and, turning on the tap to fill the kettle, splashed herself from head to foot with water.

“Back in a mo,” she said brightly, obviously hoping Xander and I hadn’t noticed. Xander, bless him, pretended not to spot the huge wet patch down her front. I didn’t bother to disguise my laughter.

I took over the tea-making duty and told Xander all about how I’d found Star.

“So the spa’s sealed off?” he said. “Is it like CSI Edinburgh?”

I squeezed a teabag against the side of the mug.

“Not really,” I said. “They’ve got one poor community support officer standing guard outside.”

I concentrated hard on stirring the tea.

“They’re doing the post-mortem today,” I explained, trying hard to keep my voice steady. “Once they’ve confirmed it was Star’s heart condition that killed her, we’ll be able to go back in.”

“But it was, though, wasn’t it?” Xander said. “Her heart condition I mean. So there shouldn’t be any problem.”

I handed him his tea, giving him a fake, bright smile.

“Oh I’m sure it’s just ticking boxes,” I said. “We all knew Star had health problems.”

I leaned against the counter and sipped my tea. For some reason I didn’t want to tell him about the expression on Star’s face or the magic that I’d seen hanging in the air.

Xander was cool when it came to magic. I told him about my, ahem, talents shortly after we’d met – sooner than I’d ever told anyone, even Natalie – and he didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. He was really interested and was always asking me to teach him a few spells. I hadn’t, yet. But despite how accepting he’d been, something made me hold back from telling him my fears about Star.

Esme came back into the kitchen. She’d changed into a fitted pink T-shirt, which really suited her, and if I wasn’t mistaken she’d put on a bit of make-up. Bloody Xander was like the Pied Piper when it came to women. Even ones who’d recently got engaged.

“Sounds like it’s been pretty horrible,” Xander said. Esme nodded and I was a bit put out. It hadn’t been horrible for her. I didn’t say so, though, because my phone rang. It was DI Baxter. My stomach fluttered, ever so slightly at the sound of her voice. I told myself it was hunger.

“The post-mortem’s been done,” she said. “We’re satisfied there are no suspicious circumstances. You can reopen whenever you want.”

“Okay,” I said doubtfully. “You didn’t find anything at all?”

“Nothing,” she said firmly. “But if you have any worries, about anything at all, please call me.”

I said goodbye and hung up, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment.

“Well, let’s go,” Xander said.

I looked at him blankly.

“We can go back to the spa, right?” he said. “Let’s go now, and make sure everything’s ready to open up on Monday.”

“I suppose so,” I said. I was nervous about going back to where Star had died.

‘I’ll come,’ Esme said, she was looking at Xander, but I thought she should be looking at me.

“I can help you get stuff sorted out. I’m sure I’ll be useful,” she added weakly and unconvincingly.

Xander was obviously a hit with my cousin.

“Okay. There’s not masses to do, but you’re very welcome,” I said, giving her a sly, sideways look. “I know Jamie’s busy today, right?”

I wanted Xander to know Esme was spoken for.

“He’s er playing rugby,” she stuttered. She turned to Xander. “Jamie’s my erm, my erm, boyfriend,” she said.

“Lucky guy,” he said in his Irish drawl and Esme nearly fell off her chair.

I laughed out loud and whacked Xander round the head. He was shocking. I was just glad Esme loved Jamie so much.

“Let’s go,” I said.

There wasn’t much to do. We tidied up a bit, and Esme hoovered the reception area. I looked at the chair where Star had sat, then shook my head. Xander understood and, without speaking, he wheeled it outside. I went into my office and got the chair from there.

“I’ll order a new one,” I muttered as I pushed it under Star’s desk, then I wandered over to tidy the magazine rack.

Xander sat down and switched on the computer.

“We need to send out a flyer,” he said. “We’ve been closed all day. People will wonder why. We need them to know we’re still here and we’re still in business.”

I looked over his shoulder.

“Don’t put any prices on that,” I said. “We’re exclusive. Just put what we do.”

Esme looked intrigued. She leaned over Xander’s other shoulder to see what he was typing.

“How are you going to do that?” she asked. “How are you going to tell people what you do, without actually, you know, telling them what you do?”

Xander looked round at Esme. His face was far too close to hers for my liking – he was so cheeky – and I gave him a nudge.

“We don’t tell them on a flyer,” Xander said. “We work hard to attract a certain type of client.”

“What type?”

“Rich, of course. But also creative, open-minded, interested in things a bit wooohooo.” He waggled his fingers in front of Esme’s face and I was pleased to see her pull back.

“And the most important trait,” I said, “is that they’re a little bit unhappy.”

“Oh yeah,” said Xander. “You know the sort. A bit dissatisfied, looking for more. So they’re amenable when we offer our spiritual services.”

“That is shocking,” Esme said. “Have you no shame?”

“Nope,” I said cheerfully.

“Of course some people only want yoga lessons,” Xander admitted. “We cater for them, too.”

Esme perched on the edge of the reception desk and studied Xander.

“So, Xander,” she said in an overly casual manner. “Are you, ahem, one of us?” She looked at me. “What’s it called when men do it?”

“Some people say warlock,” I said. “But that’s got a bit of bad history attached to it – mostly now men are just witches too.”

Esme nodded and looked back at Xander.

“So are you a witch?” she asked.

A shadow crossed Xander’s face.

“No, unfortunately,” he said. “I just look after the business side of things.”

“You can learn,” Esme said. “Harry says anyone can learn. I’ll teach you.”

There was a pause.

“Are you serious?” Xander and I asked together. I knew I sounded disbelieving – after all, it wasn’t that long ago that Esme herself was the pupil. Xander, however, was more enthusiastic.

“Can you do that?” he asked.

“Of course she can’t,” I said abruptly. “She’s busy. She’s got a job and a fiancé and a wedding to plan.”

Grumpy suddenly – it was always weird when two friends got on and left you out – I stood up straight.

“I’m going for a wee.”

But when I came back to reception, Xander and Esme were chatting, their heads close together.

“I’m going to give Xander some lessons,” she said, a hint of defiance in her eyes.

I looked round me.

“Have you started already?” I asked. I could sense some magic in the air.

Esme looked alarmed.

“No,” she said, looking at Xander. “We’ve just been sorting out a date to get started. I’ve not done anything.”

She lifted her head and sniffed the air like a bloodhound.

“There’s something here, isn’t there?” she said. “A feeling.”

I nodded. I felt very uneasy.

“You want to learn the basics?” I said to Xander suddenly. “Why don’t we go over some now? I want to do a rebalancing spell.”

“What do you want me to do?” Esme asked. I didn’t really want her to do anything; I was quite capable on my own. She was obviously trying to prove she was able to teach Xander so because of that, I said: “Just stand there and look pretty.”

Esme rolled her eyes at me and I nudged her.

“I was joking,” I said, though I hadn’t been, not really. I picked a piece of chalk out of Star’s pen pot and drew a pentangle on the floor. A rebalancing spell had no need for a pentangle – in fact in all my years of casting spells I’d never come across a spell that needed one – but Xander looked impressed and I felt it was important to instil a sense of theatre into the proceedings.

I sat on the floor next to the pentangle and Esme sat opposite me. We held hands over the chalk outline and I murmured the words, quietly and softly. As I spoke, the air above our heads shimmered and soft drops of invisible rain fell onto our shoulders.

Xander breathed out. I caught Esme’s eye and winked. And then her phone rang. With the Bewitched theme tune.

Embarrassed, she jumped to her feet and scrabbled in her bag, trying to find it while I laughed.

“Jamie’s idea of a joke,” she said as she grabbed it and answered.

I watched as she spoke to Jamie, turning away from us as she told him she was coming home now.

“Put the wine in the fridge,” she said. “I’ll be home in half an hour.”

She kissed me on the cheek, threw her phone in her bag and picked up her coat. Then, awkwardly, she kissed Xander on the cheek too.

“Nice to meet you finally,” she said.

“I’ll call you,” he said, giving her a wink.

She giggled like a schoolgirl and stumbled out of the door, gawky and blushing.

I had a very bad feeling about this.


Chapter 5 (#ulink_db9fe1b4-8a6b-5d61-b257-979cc9b5d4fc)

It was strange going back to work the next day, knowing Star wouldn’t be sitting at reception, her blonde curls bouncing and her smile welcoming. She wouldn’t bring me a cup of tea, or tell me about her weekend. I got to the spa early, so early it was still dark outside, and printed out a notice. I found a photo of Star taken at our opening party – she was laughing and looking over her shoulder at whoever had taken the photo – and she looked lovely. I added it to the poster and wrote a brief announcement explaining Star had suddenly passed away. Then I pinned copies on the front door, the reception desk and in every treatment room. I wanted to make sure people saw it; I couldn’t face having to tell clients over and over again that Star was dead. Then I looked in the stationery cupboard and found a new notepad and a nice pen, which I left on the reception desk so people could write messages of condolence in there. I thought I could pass it on to Star’s parents later.

I took over on reception that morning. But I didn’t have the smile, or the ability to remember every last detail about clients’ children/husbands/parents/dogs that Star had. By lunchtime I was convinced I was actually putting people off so I rang a temping agency and asked them to send me a receptionist.

“We’ve got a lovely lady called Nancy,” the consultant said. “She’s free all week. She’s very experienced – one of our more mature temps.”

“How mature?” I said suspiciously. “Is she healthy?” I couldn’t bear the thought of having another receptionist expire.

She assured me Nancy was in fine fettle and I booked her for a fortnight. She arrived within an hour, a neat woman in her fifties with a sleek grey bob and a pale pink cardigan buttoned all the way up and I almost kissed her, because I was so pleased to see her.

The rest of the day went in a blur. I was so busy I didn’t have time to fret about the photos we’d found in Star’s house. I didn’t even have time to look at them until the next day. I worked late on Tuesdays, so I started late too.

I did yoga every day. If I missed it, I was grouchier, pricklier and generally more unpleasant than usual – and I was quite aware that was bad. Sometimes I took a class at the spa, other days I just did my own exercises at home. I found I had some of my best ideas when I was upside down.

That morning I spread Star’s photos out on my bedroom floor so I could see them, then I put my yoga mat down and began.

As I went through my sun salutation, I looked at the pictures, peering at them through my legs in my downward-facing dog pose. By the time I’d been through my regular routine, my mind was clearer and one thing was certain – I had to phone DI Baxter.

Gently I eased myself into a headstand, just as my phone rang. It was on the floor next to the photos. I squinted at the display – it was DI Baxter. I grinned to myself, not entirely surprised. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought of someone and they’d phoned straight away.

I lowered my legs, sat back on my haunches and answered.

“Harmony,” she said. Again I felt a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Now that did surprise me. Since Natalie left I’d shut myself off from any thought of romance, concentrating all my energy on work and my family. Had DI Baxter broken through the shield I’d built myself? I didn’t even know if she, you know, played for my team.

I took a breath.

“Please call me Harry,” I said. “Everyone does.”

“Then you call me Louise,” she said. “I just phoned to see how you are.”

“Oh you know,” I said, plopping down onto my bum and stretching my legs out in front of me. “Back to work. It’s strange, without Star.”

“I’m sure it is,” Louise said. I could tell the sympathy in her voice was genuine. “Are youokay?”

“It’s easier to keep busy,” I said. I paused. “Louise.”

“Yes?”

“I went to Star’s house.”

She groaned.

“I knew you were up to no good,” she said.

“I found something.”

“What did you find?” She sounded annoyed.

“Some photos of Star. I need to show you really,” I said, knowing I could easily just tell her what was in them.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m free later – I could come to the spa?”

We made arrangements to meet, and I hung up feeling slightly relieved but nervous about what she’d say when she saw the pictures. Would she be angry I’d not shown her straight away?

I turned my phone over in my hand, knowing I had another call to make. Then I leaned over, picked up my diary, found the number and dialled before I had time to change my mind.

The phone rang once, twice, and then a voice answered. Star’s mum.

“Mrs Douglas?” I said. “It’s Harry.”

“Oh Harry,” she said. “It’s good to hear from you.”

I had a real soft spot for Star’s mum, who was an old hippie just like mine. Star and I had laughed about our hippie names many times and shared stories about being sent to school with lentil cutlets in our lunchboxes when everyone else had square crisps. Talking to Mrs Douglas now made my eyes fill with tears.

“How are you?” I said.

“We’re getting on,” she said. “It’s hard.”

“I’ve put Star’s things together,” I said, swallowing my tears. “I’ve got them at work. I thought you might want them. It’s just stuff from her desk – but I didn’t want to throw it away.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” she said. “Fiona’s here – I’ll get her to pop down this afternoon if that’sokay?”

Fiona was Star’s best friend.

“That’s great,” I said. “I’ll see her then.”

As I took a shower I wondered if I could ask Fiona about the photos. I knew she and Star had been very close and thought Star had been bound to tell her friend if she was worried about something.

But later, Fiona looked blank when I asked her if Star had confided in her.

“She was hurt?” she said, looking horrified. “How was she hurt?”

“She was in a car accident,” I said. “And she cut her head. I just wondered if she thought the two things were connected?”

Fiona put down the box she was carrying – the box holding Star’s things – and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. She was a large woman, with dark red hair and pretty freckles.

“She was coming to see me,” she said. “When she crashed her car. She was coming across to Fife to stay for the weekend.”

I didn’t speak – I wanted her to keep talking.

“She was so stressed, her mum thought it would do her good to get away. I knew she was worried about something but she wouldn’t talk about it on the phone.”

She paused again.

“But I didn’t know she’d hurt her head. When did that happen?”

I shrugged. Fiona carried on.

“She wasn’t looking after herself. Her doctor changed her pills and I don’t think she was taking them. She wasn’t eating right…”

She started to cry.

“I should have come down to see her. I could have done something to help.”

She wiped her eyes clumsily with her sleeve and I picked up the tissue box we kept on reception. It was empty. Fiona sniffed loudly and I subtly waggled my fingers over the box and watched as tissues appeared inside.

I handed her the box with what I hoped was a sympathetic smile.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

Even I didn’t believe myself, but Fiona gave me a grateful look, then took me by surprise by throwing her arms around me. I tried to wriggle out of her hug, but she just squeezed me harder.

“Thank you,” she said in my ear. “Thank you for caring about Star.”

As if I didn’t feel bad enough.

After Fiona left, I was edgy and nervy. If I’d felt bad before, meeting Fiona and seeing her grief close up made me feel even worse. I felt dreadful about Star and I was desperate to find out more about what had happened to her.

Listlessly, I drifted around the spa, unable to settle to anything or concentrate on any of the jobs I had to do. Eventually I sat down at my computer and forced myself to do some admin on the website. I had a manager who ran it for me now – she was brilliant – but I liked to keep an eye on things.

As I scrolled through the site, making notes on things that needed tweaked or changed or deleted altogether, Xander put his head round my office door.

“I’m just popping out,” he said. I eyed him suspiciously; he never, ever went out during the day.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting Esme,” he said. He looked very pleased with himself. “She’s going to give me a lesson.”

“Now?” I said in astonishment. Esme and I didn’t see eye to eye on everything but one thing we did share was a fierce work ethic. Her leaving work early was equally unheard of.

“We’re going for a walk in Princes Street Gardens,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

I waited until he shut the door then I picked up my phone and called Esme. She didn’t answer. Crafty.

“Esme,” I hissed into her voicemail. “Be careful with Xander. He’s got a bit of a reputation with women.”

I knew she’d ignore me, but I felt duty-bound to warn her. Xander was a dreadful womaniser, though he did it without malice – he just really, really loved women and the more attractive the better. I didn’t for one minute think Esme would cheat on Jamie – she was properly smitten with him – but something about the way she’d had her head close to Xander’s yesterday made me uneasy.

I did a bit more work, trying to concentrate and ignore the butterflies that flapped in my stomach every time my thoughts turned to Louise. I wondered when she would show up and what she would think of the photos. And then my phone rang.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Louise said. “I’m snowed under. Can we meet tomorrow instead?”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound like it was fine. “I’m busy myself actually.”

“I’ll give you a call in the morning,” she said. “And, Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Be careful.”

I pressed end and sat turning my phone over in my hand. I was disappointed not to see Louise, and I was still feeling edgy and out of sorts. I was also really aware that my stress levels were affecting my magic. I always struggled to keep my spark when I was stressed – another reason why I loved yoga so much.

What I needed, I thought, was wine. Or possibly vodka. Or both. I swiped my phone again and called Lucy, an old friend from uni who was a stay-at-home mum and consequently always up for a night out.

“Abso-bloody-lutely,” she said, when I asked if she wanted to meet. “I’ll ring Georgia, too.”

I sat back in my chair, feeling better already. Then I looked down at my boring black skirt and functional white shirt and grimaced. I couldn’t hit the town looking like this.

Picturing my wardrobe – which I kept in strict colour-coded order, natch – I thought about what to wear. Mentally I chose my favourite skinny 7 For All Mankind jeans, a black top with a slash neck and some leopard-print heels, waggled my fingers and, with a spark, my clothes appeared, hanging neatly from the picture rail in my office, the shoes arranged below. I grinned. I was down, but I wasn’t beaten. Not by a long chalk.


Chapter 6 (#ulink_db9fe1b4-8a6b-5d61-b257-979cc9b5d4fc)

At first it didn’t even cross my mind that anything more sinister than a power cut had happened.

I was about to get ready for my night out. The spa was quiet because most of the therapists had finished for the day. There was a Bikram yoga class on in one of the studios, Nancy – the new temp receptionist – was putting on her coat, and Xander was sitting in her chair, fiddling about with her computer.

He’d been tight-lipped about his lesson with Esme.

“Yeah it was good,” was about all he’d said. “She took me through some basics, the rules and whatnot.”

I’d narrowed my eyes.

“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me what she told you.”

“Okay, scary controlling lady,” he’d said with a grin. “She told me about all the three stuff.”

I’d been impressed that Esme had started ‘by the book’ as it were. Uncharitably I assumed the lessons I’d given her were still fresh in her mind. I wanted to know exactly what she’d said though, so I got Xander to talk me through it.

“She said the most powerful magic is made by three witches together,” Xander explained carefully. “And, she told me that if you do a nasty spell, it’ll come back on you three times as bad.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Doesn’t stop me forgetting about it when I’m in a mood though.”

Xander chuckled.

“Seems unfair,” he said in an overly casual manner. “That you can’t hurt someone who’s hurt you.”

“It’s not worth it,” I said. “Our magic all comes from positive energy – if you start messing with the dark stuff it gets scary pretty quickly.”

Xander’s eyes darkened for a second, but he didn’t push it.

“That was about it,” he said. “We didn’t have much time.”

I let it go, but I made up my mind to ask Esme more about what they’d got up to.

Leaving him to it – he was working on more flyers advertising the spa to new customers – I took my make-up bag and clothes into the deserted changing room. I was quite capable of doing my hair and my make-up magically, but I found it frustrating as if I liked it, I could never recreate it, and if I didn’t, it was a bugger to change. So I stuck to doing it my own way, even if some other witches turned up their noses at me.

I’d stripped off my work clothes and swapped them for the outfit I’d summoned earlier, and was just touching up my make-up, when all the lights went out. The little red light on my hair straighteners, that I’d plugged in to heat up, went out, too.

I paused, mascara wand aloft, knowing we had an emergency generator. There was a beat, then a whir as everything started up again. I smiled at myself in the mirror, pleased the expense had been worth it.

And then the emergency power went out.

There was a shriek from the yoga studio as twelve sweaty women felt the heating go off and the cold air of an Edinburgh winter creep in.

“Bugger,” I whispered.

It was pitch black in the changing rooms, which had no windows. Keeping one hand on the wall, I felt my way round the lockers towards the door and then out into the corridor. It ran along the edge of the building, so it had windows but the sun had set hours ago and it wasn’t much lighter there. Finding my way through memory and touch, I made it to reception where Xander was lighting candles. He made a spooky face at me through the flame, but I was in no mood to laugh.

“I pinched these from one of the treatment rooms,” he said, lighting another tealight. “Are youOK?”

I nodded. Half-finished make-up wasn’t a worry for me at the moment.

“Shall we go and rescue the hot-yoga girls?” Xander asked.

I sighed.

“I suppose so.”

Using our phones as torches, we headed to the yoga studio, where the instructor was trying to calm the nerves of her shivery charges. Like grateful lambs, they followed us out of the studio and into the changing rooms. Xander lit tealights and scattered them on every available surface. It actually looked quite pretty.

“Ladies,” he said, giving a little bow. “I’ll leave you to it. Last one out, blow the candles out.”

As one, the yoga class all simpered at Xander. I tutted and headed back to reception, Xander following. We sat together and waited for the yoga crew to leave while I rang Lucy and Georgia to explain. Then I rang the electricity company.

“EH4?” the very helpful operator repeated, in a shrill Scouse accent. “There’s no problem reported in that area.”

My heart sinking, I walked to the door of the spa, phone still clutched to my ear, and peered out. We were on a side street mews, away from the main road of Raeburn Place. Everything was dark and quiet – perhaps it was a problem in the area after all.

“I’m just checking for you,” the operator was saying. I wandered down the mews and cursed as I saw Raeburn Place lit up like a Christmas tree. The pub and pizza restaurant were buzzing and the flats above, and street-lights, obviously all had power.

“I think the problem is at your premises,” I heard the operator say.

“I think you’re right,” I said, hanging up.

I went to the cupboard next to Star’s old desk and found the fuse box. But none of the switches had tripped. Not really sure what to do next, I sat in reception next to Xander. We said goodnight to all the yoga class as they filed out, laughing among themselves.

“Can you do anything?” Xander asked as the last woman left. I shook my head.

“There are some things witches can’t mess with,” I said. “Life and death – that’s the biggest. But also electricity, water supplies, that kind of thing. It’s too risky.”

Xander gave me a sympathetic look.

“I’ll just go and check there aren’t any stray candles burning in the changing rooms,” he said. He wandered off – and suddenly the lights came back on.

“Harry!” Xander came thundering along the corridor. “It’s back!”

“Thank bloody god,” I said, throwing my head back against the sofa cushions. I looked at my watch, wondering if it was still worth going to meet Lucy and Georgia. It wasn’t too late, I decided. I’d just check my appearance in the mirror in the changing room.

Xander sat down in front of Star’s computer again.

“Are you staying?” I asked.

“I might just finish these flyers,” he said. “I think we should get them out soon as.” I was impressed and even felt slightly guilty that I wasn’t staying to help. Grabbing my bag, I walked towards the changing room.

“Oh fuck, no!” Xander cried.

My stomach lurched. What now?

“Xander,” I called. “What’s up?”

There was a pause.

“Erm, everything’s gone,” he said.

Not understanding, I went back into reception. Xander was staring at the computer, a puzzled look on his face.

“It’s empty,” he said. “There’s nothing here.”

I looked over his shoulder at the screen. It was blank, except for the little icon that showed our server.

“Click on that,” I said, my jaw aching with tension. Xander clicked and the server opened, but there were no documents inside.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All the spa’s records were on there. Client histories, orders, receipts, advertising, accounts. How could it be empty? Xander rebooted the computer and looked again. It was gone.

A moment passed as I decided whether to have a meltdown or put on my business head. Meltdown almost won, but I pulled myself together.

“Right,” I said. “I’ll ring Malcolm. He’ll know what to do.”

Malcolm was our IT guy. He lived in Glasgow, and worked remotely most of the time – just popping in to us a couple of times a week. I hoped he’d be able to help from over there.

I slumped on the sofa and dialled the number. Xander watched me explaining what had happened, then got up and wound his scarf round his neck.

“Back in five,” he mouthed at me. I nodded, trying to concentrate on what Malcolm was saying.

When Xander came back, Malc was still talking. He’d accessed our server remotely and confirmed there was nothing there, but he couldn’t work out why.

“I’ll call our back-up company,” he said. “Don’t worry, Harry. This will be sorted out in no time.”

I hung up and looked at Xander.

“He’s not worried,’ I said in relief. “He’s going to call back in a mo.”

Xander grinned and produced a bottle of wine from behind his back.

“Let’s have a glass,” he said. “We can celebrate our lucky escape.”

“Ah, is this where you went?”

“I thought we deserved it.” Xander sloshed wine into two mugs and we chinked them together.

“Here’s to In Harmony living to fight another day,” I said, taking a huge mouthful then texting Georgia one-handed to tell her I was stuck at work.

Xander swigged his wine.

“And the Harry/Xander dream team,” he declared. “Nothing fazes us.”

We clinked mugs again. I drained my drink and refilled, and then my phone rang. It was Malc.

“There’s been a fire.” His voice was slow and his words well thought out. I wondered if he’d practised what to say.

“A fire,” he repeated. “At our back-up’s HQ.”

“So…” I prompted, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

“There is no back-up.”

I breathed in and out, not knowing how to react.

“Everything’s gone, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

Unable to speak, I passed the phone to Xander and walked to the front door. I put my hand on the In Harmony sign. I loved this business like it was my child. Tracing my name with my fingertips, I narrowed my eyes. I was bloodied and battered, yes. Things were tricky, indeed. But I wasn’t giving up yet.


Chapter 7 (#ulink_db9fe1b4-8a6b-5d61-b257-979cc9b5d4fc)

Xander insisted on calling a cab to drive me home and for once I didn’t argue. All my fight had left me and I just wanted to go home and get my thoughts in order.

Wearily I tramped up the stairs to our flat wondering for the umpteenth time why anyone had decided to build tall tenement blocks before they’d invented lifts. As I reached our front door and rummaged for my keys, the door flew open. Esme stood there, a candle in her hand, looking for all the world like Jane Eyre or some other Victorian heroine with her hair round her shoulders and wearing a long fleecy nightie.

“Harry, thank god,” she said. “Do you know how to change a fuse?”

I looked again at the candle. Maybe it wasn’t Elizabeth Bennet night after all.

“Power cut?” I said, my heart sinking.

Esme nodded.

“But weirdest thing,” she said. “I phoned the electricity company and they said there was no problem in the area. It’s just our flat.”

“And the spa,” I said. I put my bags down on the floor and peeled off my gloves and coat.

Esme looked at me in astonishment.

“Really?” she said. “Oh god.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” I said, following her into the living room. “The power cut wiped our server.”

She grimaced.

“But you’ve got a back-up, right?”

“Right,” I said. “And wrong.”

I told her about the fire.

“Shit,” Esme said. She blew her nose loudly and for the first time I noticed she looked dreadful.

“Are you ill?” I said.

She pulled her horrible fleecy nightie round herself.

“I’ve got a rotten cold,” she said. “That’s why I came home from work early. But then I couldn’t actually do any work because there was no sodding electricity.”

A thought struck me.

“Are the fuses blown?” I said.

“I thought that might be the problem,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m not sure what they’re supposed to look like. I wondered if you’d know what to do.”

“Did you try magic?” I asked.

Esme gave me a shocked look.

“With electricity?” she said. “That’s asking for trouble.”

“You’re such a goody-goody,” I said, ignoring the fact that I’d shied away from trying to sort the power cut at the spa with magic.

“Where’s Jamie?” I had a vague – possibly ridiculous – notion that men knew about electricity.

“Rugby,” said Esme, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But he’d be no use anyway. He can’t even change a lightbulb. It’s just you and me, sister. Let’s do it the old-fashioned way,”

With the help of the iPad, Google and the torches on our phones, we found the fuse box and peered inside.

“I think we just flip this switch,” Esme said, looking at the instructions on the iPad.

I flipped it, and the lights came back on.

“It’s like magic,” Esme said with a grin, wiping her nose again.

I gave her a most un-Harry-like hug, then bustled her through into the living room, tucked her up under a blanket and made her a hot toddy. Then I poured myself a stiff measure of whisky – I hardly ever drank whisky but I felt it would be medicinal – and curled up on the sofa next to her. I couldn’t face thinking about the computer at the spa.

“Tell me about your lesson with Xander,” I said.

Esme shrugged.

“Not much to tell,” she said.

“Liar,” I said. “Tell me. Did you agree to teach him because of that detective?”

“Louise,” she said in a passable imitation of Jamie’s voice. “She’s brilliant, she’s such a laugh and she’s great on the rugby pitch.”

“Ooh,” I said. “Have I touched a nerve?”

Ez blew her nose again.

“I know I’m being ridiculous but we’d had such a nice evening, you know, and we’d just got engaged and suddenly he’s all over another woman…”

I had a feeling – a hope – that Louise was gay, but I didn’t say anything. Interrupting Esme mid-rant was more trouble than it was worth.

“So, I was feeling a bit contrary when I met Xander anyway, and he wanted me to teach him, and you said I wouldn’t have time…”

“Ah,” I said. “It’s my fault.”

She scowled at me over the top of her hot toddy.

“No,” she said. “I just felt like I couldn’t say no.”

“So what happened?” I asked. “At the lesson?”

“Xander rang me and asked if I was free,” she said.

“But you weren’t free,” I pointed out. “You were at work.” Esme never left work early.

“I know,” she said. “But I felt rotten with this cold, and suddenly I just wanted to get out of there.”

I was amazed. And uneasy. Xander was handsome and charming and funny – but so was Jamie, and I’d never known Ez to leave work early for him.

“I met him in Princes Street Gardens, by the clock,” she said. “We just walked really. It’s all because of you, H, that he wants to learn magic. He wants to help you.”

That was sweet, I had to admit. Xander was protective of me, which I’d found very odd to begin with. I was used to being fiercely independent and just getting on with stuff. Sometimes I liked him looking after me. Sometimes it annoyed me massively. Today, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“So you just walked,” I said. “Did you touch him?”

“Harry!” Esme said in mock outrage. “I’m an engaged woman. I wouldn’t touch another man.”

“Did you touch him?” I asked again.

“It was cold in the park and I took Xander’s arm as we walked and chatted,” she said sulkily. “That’sokay, isn’t it? We’re friends. It didn’t feel wrong.”

“What did it feel like?” I said.

“It felt nice,” she said. “Warm, mostly.”

I let it drop.

“And what did you teach him?”

“Mostly he wanted to know about Star,” she said. “And why you couldn’t save her.”

“No one could save her,” I said, feeling my stomach plummet again, like it did every time I thought about Star.

“So what did you say?”

“I told him that when someone, or something’s gone, it’s gone,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I said that we can’t raise the dead. What we do is a kind of extension to real life. We can speed things up, or slow them down, or intensify things. Not create things out of thin air.”

I nodded, relieved that she’d explained it all so well.

“And did he understand?” I asked. I was desperate to know Xander didn’t blame me for Star’s death.

“Oh completely,” Esme said. “It’s funny…” She trailed off.

“What?” I said.

“When I was telling him stuff – like the rules of three and whatever – I got the impression I was telling him things he knew already.”

I screwed my nose up.

“He’s probably picked some stuff up,” I said. “He’s always been interested.”

“I guess so,” Ez said. “He asked how often I do magic.”

“What did you say?” I asked. Despite my best efforts, Esme still didn’t do a lot of magic, preferring to do things like actually clean the loo or wash the dishes with her own fair hands. I’d almost given up trying to persuade her that spells were the way forward. Almost.

“I told him the truth,” she said, sounding surprised. “Hardly ever, I said. I told him I use it more now than I used to, but still not much. I sometimes tidy the flat with it. I’ve been known to make a bus come quicker. And I do protective enchantments if a friend’s in trouble. But that’s about it.”

I was pleased, reluctantly. I’d thought Esme might try to big herself up magic-wise, just to impress Xander.

“So what are you going to teach him?”

“More rules, I guess. They’re so important. And I can go through some incantations with him.”

She looked serious.

“I suppose I should warn him that I can’t guarantee it’ll work,” she said. “I have no idea how much is learned and how much is innate.”

I didn’t know either.

“I couldn’t teach Natalie anything,” I said, remembering how keen she’d been to learn at first and how quickly she’d grown to resent it. “Not even basic stuff. She just couldn’t do it. I reckon Xander might be different, though.”

Esme nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “I think he might be. And he’s so desperate to learn – he just wants to keep you safe.”

“I can keep myself safe,” I said, bristling.

“He wanted to know if we could harm someone who’d harmed us,” Esme said. “But I reminded him that witchcraft – at least our kind – was based on goodness and that any negative spells would return on the witch threefold and taught him that we harmed no one.”

That was exactly what Xander had told me she’d said.

“And what did he say to that?” I asked.

“I think he was a bit disappointed,” Esme said. “But we didn’t talk about it for long.”

“I’m not sure these lessons are a good idea, Ez,” I said. “I’m not really comfortable with Xander’s views on magic, and” – I paused, knowing I was about to annoy her – “I think you’ve got a bit of a thing for him.”

“I have not got a thing for him,” Esme said, as crossly as her bunged-up nose allowed her to sound. “I love Jamie. Xander’s just a friend.”

I kicked myself inwardly for mentioning it. Now she’d go all contrary again and be arranging another lesson before I could say incantation.

“I’ll ring him tomorrow,” she said. “Arrange another lesson.”

See.

“All right,” I said, getting up and rubbing her hair, the way I knew she hated. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She grinned at me.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can look after myself.”


Chapter 8 (#ulink_c9df3dff-e849-59b8-ba27-bb36bb3f6989)

The next day was chaos in the spa. Malc had saved some of our stuff to the ‘cloud’ – I pictured folders floating gently in the sky – so he was gradually retrieving a few bits. I had some things saved on my laptop, too, and by an amazingly fortunate quirk of fate (if you believe in those, which I don’t) I’d saved our entire database to a memory stick a few weeks earlier. I’d intended to use it to send out a Christmas email from home and never got round to it. When I’d found the little stick (in the fruit bowl would you believe?) I’d kissed it joyfully. I copied it on to my laptop straightaway. I even thought about asking Esme and Jamie to do the same, just to be sure, but dismissed the idea almost as fast. I was just being paranoid. What we didn’t have was our appointments diary – it had all been on Star’s computer and it was gone. All morning people were turning up for appointments we didn’t know about, and I had therapists wandering into reception and saying things like: “Anyone here for acupuncture?”

So, I sent an email to everyone on our database explaining our technology problems and asking them to email back with details of any future appointments they had booked. I was acutely aware it all seemed dreadfully incompetent but I wasn’t sure what else to do.

I knew that Esme had been right when she’d told Xander that when something was gone, it was gone, but I still tried magic, waving my hands over the computer and straining every bit of my brain desperately trying to restore all the lost files. But nothing happened. As the email responses began to trickle in I sent Nancy out to buy an old-school appointments diary and she laboriously jotted down every appointment we knew of by hand.

I was so busy just firefighting that I didn’t have time to dwell on what had caused the power cut. I couldn’t quite bring myself to think that the chances of there being a power cut at my work and my home – and nowhere in between – were very slim. I was too frightened about what that would mean.

But, eventually, as the sky outside darkened and things began to calm down, I got out the pictures I’d taken from Star’s flat and looked at them again.

They might not even all be of Star, I told myself. The one of her with a neck collar on was the only one that showed her whole face. But the close-up of the cut on her eyebrow showed a lock of curly blonde hair – Star’s hair – and anyway I remembered her having cut her face. She’d said a car had thrown up a loose stone as it drove past her. Had that been true?

The bruised knees could have belonged to anyone, and the burned arms and bloody hand. But why would she have photos of injuries someone else had suffered?

A knock on my office door made me look up. Fallon, one of the yoga instructors, stood there.

“I’ve found my diary,” she said. “I’ve got all my classes written in there – thought it might be helpful.”

“Brilliant,” I said. “Give it here and I’ll pass it to Nancy on reception.”

She came to hand it over and as she did so she glanced at the photo on top of the pile.

“Oh god,” she said. “Was that Star’s hand?”

I looked at her in surprise.

“Yes,” I said. “I think so. Did she cut it?”

Fallon picked up the photo and shuddered.

“She did it on one of the baubles from the Christmas tree,” she said. “She said it had happened when she was decorating it. But she was sitting at her desk when I found her. It was really strange.”

“It’s a nasty cut,” I said. “It’s deep.”

“I know,” Fallon said. “Like she’d fallen on it, not just that it had shattered in her hand. I bandaged it up for her and it took ages to pick out all the bits of glass. Poor girl. It must have really hurt.”

“Why would she lie, though?” I said.

Fallon shrugged.

“Why would she take a photo?” she pointed out. “I wondered…”

“What?”

“Just that she was so cagey about it, I wondered if she’d done it herself.”

“Really?” I said in surprise.

“You never know what’s going on in people’s heads,” she said, darkly. She tapped the diary on my desk.

“I’ve got a class,” she said. “Leave this in my pigeon hole when you’re done.”

I stared at the door as she left. She was right, in a way, I thought. You couldn’t really know what was going on in people’s heads. Except I did. Some of the time, at least. It was one of the witchy skills that I had that I enjoyed the most. Had I missed something terrible going on in Star’s?

On a whim, I pulled Louise’s business card out of my bag for the hundredth time and typed out an email.

“I know you’re busy,” I wrote. “And I don’t want to be in the way. But I found these photos in Star’s house and I wondered what you thought?”

I snapped photos of the photos with my phone – they weren’t brilliant quality but they’d do – attached them to the email and pressed send before I could change my mind.

Really what I wanted, I thought, was DI Baxter to come back to me and say I had nothing to worry about. The graffiti on the spa’s front door, and the broken windows, and Star’s injuries, and her death, were all just coincidences. A run of terrible, awful, horrific bad luck.

Feeling sick again, I stuffed the photos into my bag, and wandered off to find Xander. He’d told me he’d arranged to meet Esme again the next day and I’d pretended to be pleased.

“You’re so stressed, H,” he said, using the nickname my family used. I quite liked it when he called me H. “I can help you if I learn more about magic.”

He’d wrapped me in a hug and I’d let myself snuggle into his chest. I’d never had many close male friends, and I’d never known my dad so when I first met Xander with his tactile nature and habit of draping his arms round my neck or my shoulders, I was thrown for a while by his sheer maleness. But now I enjoyed how he was never afraid to give me a hug when he thought I needed one.

He kissed the top of my head.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “With my brains and your beauty we’ll have things back to normal in no time.”

I patted his chest and ducked out of his embrace.

“My brains,” I said. “You’re just the wallpaper.”

He stuck his tongue out at me.

“Go home,” he said. “I’ll close up.”

I suddenly realised how tired I was.

“Thank you,” I said. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be bored,” he said with a grin.

I doubted that, but I grinned back as I put on my coat. The weather was getting worse and outside it was sleeting. Dirty grey freezing sleet covered car windscreens. Everywhere looked dark and gloomy because Twelfth Night was gone and now the Christmas decorations had been taken down. I felt uncharacteristically sorry for myself.


Chapter 9 (#ulink_3c068e8d-e811-59ce-b3b2-a4be80950059)

Esme and Jamie, however, had obviously not received the misery memo, because I arrived home straight into wedding planning central.

They were in the living room, surrounded by magazines, Esme’s laptop open, foolish grins on both their faces and an enormous sparkler on Ez’s finger.

“Look!” she shrieked as I walked in. She waved her finger in my face and I caught her hand. It was a beautiful ring – a traditional solitaire with a square diamond set in a platinum band.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said truthfully. “Well done, guys.”

My bone-aching weariness was actually beginning to wear off in the face of such happiness, so I flopped down beside Esme.

“Are you making plans?” I said.

“We are,” she said. “You can help. Jamie, give Harry some fizz.”

Jamie went off to the kitchen and came back with a champagne glass and a bottle of Prosecco.

“There’s another bottle in the fridge,” he said, handing me the glass and filling it to the brim.

We chinked glasses.

“So what are you thinking?” I asked.

“We looked at some fancy Edinburgh venues,” Jamie said. “But they weren’t really us. And then Esme had an idea.”

“I want to go home,” she said with a smile. “I want to get married at the café.”

My mum, Suky, Esme’s mum, Tess and their friend Eva, ran a café on the banks of Loch Claddach, where we’d grown up. It was a thriving little business with amazing views. They’d had a difficult time a couple of years ago, when my mum had been diagnosed with breast cancer and the vultures started circling their business. But things were on the up again. In fact, they were expanding. Eva’s husband, Allan, who was a landscape artist whose paintings adorned birthday cards, posters, prints and teacups across Britain, had come up with a plan. He’d persuaded Mum and Suky to clear the top floor of the café – a little-used attic space with incredible light – whitewash the walls, sand the floorboards and turn it into a gallery. Claddach was brimming with artists, writers, poets, musicians – it was that sort of place – so there was no shortage of interest.

He started with an exhibition of his own work, had quickly found other artists to feature and now ran poetry readings, concerts and all sorts in the room upstairs. In fact, that’s what he’d called it – The Room Upstairs. Cute, huh? He was in the process of drawing up plans for an extension out the back, which would allow the gallery and the café to grow. I’d helped him out with business plans and accounts and the like and been pleasantly surprised by his financial acumen. He was a dark horse, Allan, I’d decided. But he was making a massive success of the gallery and it was, without a doubt, the most perfect place for Esme and Jamie’s wedding. I clapped my hands in a very girly way – apparently talk of brides and flowers can do that even to a cynic like me.

“What an amazing idea,” I said. “Have you asked your mum?”

“I have,” she said. “She was thrilled. Your mum was in the background shouting out ideas. We’ll have to go up and have a look and make some lists.”

“Oh that’ll be nice,” I said. “You guys can tell me what the gallery’s like.”

“Not Jamie,” Esme said. “He’s too busy to come up. I meant you and me.” She looked shifty for a second. “Actually, H, I’ve got something to ask you.”

“What?” I said warily.

“I rang Chloe,” she said. “I asked her to be bridesmaid.”

I nodded. Chloe was the obvious choice – she’d been Esme’s best friend forever and knew all about our family and its quirks.

“She said no,” Esme said.

“What? Why?”

Ez screwed her face up.

“She’s pregnant.”

“Again?” I said in horror. “She’s got about four kids already.”

“She’s got two,” Esme said, in a tone that suggested she thought I was less intelligent than either of Chloe’s sprogs. “I think this one was a bit of a surprise and she’s only just found out.”

“So why can’t she be bridesmaid?”

“Because her baby is due in August,” Esme said. “And we’re getting married in September. She says she’ll do a reading, or be a witness, or whatever. She just doesn’t want to be bridesmaid and have to squeeze into a fancy frock while she’s sore and lumpy and breastfeeding.”

I shuddered.

“You’re not selling it, Ez,” I said. “So what has Chloe’s fertility got to do with me?” Realisation dawned.

“No,” I said. “I’m not the bridesmaid type.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Mum would love it. Your mum would love it.”

Esme looked at me, her blue eyes twinkling.

“Will I have to organise a hen night?” I said.

Esme shook her head.

“What about the dress? Can I choose it?”

“You can even choose mine,” she said. “You’re much better at clothes than I am.”

I knew when I was beaten.

“Okay,” I said. “But you are not to call me anything vile like matron of honour.”

Esme grinned.

“Maid of honour,” she said. “Because you’re not married.”

I whacked her with a wedding magazine and she chuckled.

I left her and Jamie to their plans, ran myself a bath, and sank into the bubbles, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift. It was just what I needed after such a stressful few days.

I didn’t think about Star, or the power cut and our lost files, or Xander’s pursuit of Esme, or even the fact that I’d just agreed to be a bridesmaid. It was bliss.

Maybe it was all coincidence, I thought. This wasn’t the Wild West. No one had a grudge against me, no one would have targeted Star deliberately. It was just bad luck. I got out of the bath, and into bed feeling much better about everything. And then, the next day, it all went wrong again.


Chapter 10 (#ulink_c5c31439-fb07-523e-a7ac-8fd5968f1db1)

The first thing that went wrong the next day was that Louise rang. Not that it was wrong that she rang exactly, it was more what she said.

“I looked at those pictures,” she said. “Do you think Star was in some kind of trouble?”

“It looks like it,” I admitted. “She must have thought so – otherwise why would she take those photos?”

I was sitting at my desk in my office. I twirled round on my chair, and stared out of the window.

“I was worried that she might have been protecting me,” I said. “That someone was targeting me and she got in the way.”

There was a pause.

“Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt you?” she said.

“No,” I said. “There’s no one. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with and I sometimes rub people up the wrong way, but there’s no one I can think of who hates me.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said. “Just a bit of bad luck.”

“Do you really think that?” She spoke in a soft voice.

I paused.

“Not really,” I said. “It’s too much all at once.”

Louise agreed. “Listen,” she said. “I can’t officially reopen the investigation at this stage but I will do some digging. Off the record. Let’s meet up and talk everything through.”

I felt a small glimmer of excitement that I’d see her again, then stopped myself. She was just doing her job, I told myself sternly. This wasn’t a date, or even a social meeting. It was business.

We arranged to meet the next day.

“See you tomorrow,” I said.

“Looking forward to it,” Louise said. Did she mean it? “And Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Please be careful. If you’re worried about anything, just ring me.”

I allowed myself a very small smile, then put Louise out of my head and got back to work. I had decided to send our regular clients each a special offer tailored just for them, in an attempt to get some professionalism back, and I was trawling through the list, trying to decide who to send for an aura-cleansing session and who to offer Reiki, when Xander breezed in without knocking.

“Morning!” he sang.

“You’re very late,” I said. It was nearly lunchtime. “But also very cheerful, “I added. Xander was a lot of fun when he was happy and I didn’t want to dampen his good mood.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. He pulled up a chair and looked at what I was doing. “In fact, it fits right in with all this.”

“Go on,” I said, feeling a tiny spark of excitement. Xander was a genius when it came to business ideas.

“Let me do some spiritual counselling,” he said. “No, don’t disagree – listen first.”

I sighed, knowing he was right.

“Let’s offer some half-price sessions, with me doing the counselling and you sitting in. That way, you can make sure I’m doing it right and I can get some feedback. Plus, I reckon a cheap deal will get all the customers flooding back.”

I wrinkled my nose up. Xander definitely had a point about attracting customers, but he was very new to magic; I wasn’t sure how he’d handle the counselling. Plus, of course, it’s my thing. Mine. I wasn’t completely happy about

Spiritual counselling is the name I’ve given my witchcraft. It’s not explicit in my ads, or even talked about with my clients. But they come in with a problem, we chat about it, talk about some solutions and I come up with a spell. The way I see it is I’m almost writing them a prescription. I’ve got a loyal group of discreet clients and all my new customers come from word-of-mouth recommendations.

I looked at Xander.

“Have you had another session with Esme?” I asked him. He nodded.

“We’ve had a couple of sessions now. She’s a good teacher.”

“What have you done?”

Xander sat on the desk next to me and gave me a dazzling smile. He really was beautiful. I could see why he had the effect he did on women. He saw me looking and stretched his arms up above his head. It was obviously a well-practised move. His T-shirt slid up, revealing his smooth, taut stomach with a sprinkling of dark hairs. I prodded his six-pack with my biro.

“Stop it,” I said. “You know that doesn’t work on me. Tell me what you know.”

Giving an over-dramatic sigh, Xander ran through what he’d learned from Esme. I was impressed. She’d covered all the basics and even started him on a few simple incantations. She wasn’t normally so keen. I wondered if he’d tried the midriff trick on her.

“Okay,” I said, pushing him off the desk and starting to type again. “You can sit in on my sessions for the rest of the week – we’ll work together – then from Monday you can go it alone. As long as you run everything past me first.”

Xander blinded me with his smile.

“It’s going to be brilliant,” he said.

He was right, of course. I emailed the flyer about Xander’s half-price sessions to my regular clients and asked them to pass it on to their friends. By the end of the day our new appointment book was full for the next two weeks and beyond and any fears I’d had about the future of the spa were calmed. At least for a while.

At about five pm I decided to call it a day. It had been an exhausting week and I was desperate for a hot bath and a night in front of rubbish TV.

I switched off my computer, put on my coat and picked up my bag, then I paused at the door of my office and thought again. Spinning round on the heel of my boot, I marched back to my desk, unplugged my laptop and slipped it into my bag. Then I dug through my desk drawer for the keys to my office, the keys I never used, and took them out. As I left, I locked the door behind me for the first time ever.

I walked down the hall, towards reception and allowed myself a tiny smile. The spa was comfortably busy. Lots of the treatment room doors were closed and inside I could hear a quiet murmur of voices and the soft music we played. I walked past an open room and caught the eye of the therapist, Jane, who was in there preparing for her next client. She smiled at me as she smoothed a clean towel over the bed. And then the plinky-plonky calming music stopped. Jane raised an eyebrow at me, questioning what had happened. I shrugged.

“I’ll go and find out,” I said, walking on.

I pushed open the door to reception and suddenly deafening heavy metal music blared through the sound system.

Two women waiting on the sofas shrieked, and Nancy leapt to her feet in shock from behind the reception desk, knocking over her chair.

I dropped my bag and ran to where the spa’s iPod was plugged in.

Soothing Sounds 2, it read. Whatever this noise was, it certainly wasn’t soothing. I jabbed at the buttons. Nothing happened.

“Turn it off!” squealed Nancy. I glowered at her and yanked the iPod out of the dock altogether. Nothing happened. She dived past me and pulled the plug out. The music continued to blare.

Women – and one man – were flooding out of the treatment rooms in various states of undress, pressing their hands to their ears. The two women who had been waiting grabbed their coats and fled outside, followed by a flock of therapists and clients. I looked round in desperation, my head pounding and my ears ringing. At a loss about what to do next, I grabbed a pile of robes and handed them out to clients who weren’t wearing many clothes.

“I am so sorry,” I bellowed over the music. “I have no idea what’s going on. Please get dressed and I’ll refund the cost of any classes and treatments.”

Nancy had put on her coat. Now she went to leave and I caught her arm.

“Wait,” I said in her ear, fishing a handful of notes out of the till and shoving them at her. “Take everyone for a cup of tea while I sort this out.”

She took the money and almost ran out of the door followed by a crowd of clients. As she went out, Xander came in, his face a mask of horror.

“What’s going on?” he yelled.

“I don’t know,” I shouted back. “I don’t know what this is.”

Xander smiled briefly.

“I think,” he said, “it’s Iron Maiden.”

I thumped his arm.

“I meant, I don’t know why it’s happening.”

“Can’t you shut it up?” he asked. “Man, it’s loud.”

He put his hands over his ears.

I waved the unplugged iPod in his face.

“I tried,” I said. “It’s still going.”

Xander put his mouth to my ear. I could feel his breath hot against my face.

“Harry,” he said. “Do something.”

I suddenly realised what he meant and cursed my own stupidity.

Raising my arms into the air, I waggled my fingers and muttered some words.

A shower of sparks flew around the room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling and startling me. And the music switched off.

Xander hugged me.

“Well done,” he said. “Must have been an electrical fault.”

But I wasn’t pleased. I was relieved the noise had stopped, but something wasn’t right. That wasn’t an electrical fault. No way. An electrical fault wouldn’t have sparked back at me like that when I tackled it with magic. All witches send out sparks when we use magic, but each of us spark in our own way. My silver shimmers are very like my mum’s. Aunty Tess produces a cloudy grey mist and Esme shoots out pink sparkles that I love, but which I can see are pretty hard to disguise. When I’d switched off the music, it had sparked back at me, sending vibrant blue crystals shooting across the room. An electrical fault wouldn’t have done that. In fact, an electrical fault wouldn’t have responded to magic at all. Only another witch could produce sparks like that. I was convinced this was witchcraft. And I had absolutely no idea where it was coming from.


Chapter 11 (#ulink_bbf65b44-7f6c-5203-8b72-f4367c8d343f)

I didn’t want to think about how much the Iron Maiden incident, as I’d started calling it, had cost me in refunded classes and vouchers for free treatments to apologise for the inconvenience. But, the only silver lining to the whole nightmare was that for a few days everything calmed down. There had been no more loud music, no more power cuts. All my staff were fit and healthy. I tried not to hope that it was all over, but it certainly looked that way.

Lou had emailed to say things had kicked off on the case she was working on. She reassured me that she was still looking at Star’s death, but she didn’t have time to meet up right now. I swallowed my disappointment and told her to ring me when she was less busy at work.

A week after the Iron Maiden incident, I was in Esme’s room, watching her get dressed for a night out with Jamie’s parents, when her phone rang.

“Answer it,” she said. She was trying to get into a posh-looking dress and failing miserably. I looked at the screen.

“It’s Xander,” I said. “Why’s he phoning you?”

I swiped the screen and put it on speakerphone, holding it up to Esme’s face as she twisted round and tried to get her arm through the sleeve.

“Hello,” she shouted.

“Howarrya,” Xander drawled. Esme sat down, suddenly, on her bed, the back of her dress gaping. I eyed her suspiciously. She could deny it all she wanted, but Xander definitely had an effect on her.

“I’m stuck in my dress,” she panted. ‘I can’t reach the zip and there’s no one to help me.” She looked pointedly at me and I stuck my tongue out at her.





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