Page 10 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Me:Long auburn hair. Short, curvy

Lola:Can you sneak a pic?

Me:No, because I’m not a creep.

Minho:Says who?

Me:Never mind.

Minho:Relax, I’m only taking the piss. CCTV footage?

Me:Is that better or worse?

Lola:Definitely better. Everyone at least knows they’re on CCTV.

Minho:She has a point.

Me:Fine. Give me a few.

Really, I needed more than a few. A few to weigh the morality of the situation, and a few more to make a decision. Lola was right. Everyone did technically know they were always on CCTV footage. But was taking a picture of said footage and sending it to the group chat to identify a customer unethical? Though I couldn’t expect them to identify her from my description alone, and it wasn’t like they could just camp out in the shop until she eventually did or did not come back, so what choice did I have?

With a glance over my shoulder to confirm she was once again safe from an audience and also not looking anywhere near my computer screen, I switched to the camera view and snapped the clearest picture I could find.

Within seconds of sending it to my friends, my phone was ringing with an incoming call from Lola.

Me:Did we not just establish I’m very obviously working and cannot answer because there are customers in here?

Lola:That was before we established Willow fucking James is in your shop!!!

Willow James.Willow James.

Minho:Bloody hell. The actor? The one from French 75? And that sad film Lo is obsessed with?

Lola:Red Garden! And The Truth About Holly!

ThatWillow James? WasthisWillow James? The more film titles Minho and Lola volleyed back and forth, the faster my head spun. It couldn’t be. This shy, clumsy woman in my shop was the same woman apparently racing to the top of Hollywood’s A-list? I recognized her name more from the tabloids and Lola’s unnecessary recaps of award shows than from any of the films she’d been in, but I’d seen enough to know her voice, apparently. And to know she was a pretty big deal. And to know there was no denying the truth. It was the same Willow James.

And I supposed it would explain the hat, the sunglasses, the shapeless clothes. A disguise.

What it didn’t explain, however, was the basket.

Or what the hell she was doing here.

I looked up from my phone just in time to see her slip through the doorway, bells chiming in her wake, their sound feeling like the only indication she was ever really here. And while I knew it was against everything in my best interest, I couldn’t stop myself from hoping she came back.

Chapter 7

Willow

Well, that was a bust. Not only was I recognized almost immediately, but I was faced with the grim realization that once again, it seemed I’d have to know the spell in order to reverse the spell. Dumbass logic if you asked me.

What I really needed was more time. I needed to be able to comb the shelves without being recognized, needed to pull books out and sit with them for more than a minute or two to figure out what could be useful without having to buy every book in the shop. Not that I didn’t want to give Coven & Codex my business, but I couldn’t exactly be lugging the entire Reversals, Retractions, and Revocations section around Notting Hill, could I?

So I did what any sane person would do. I sat in a pub across the street all afternoon, staring at the entrance, waiting until five minutes before closing time to make my move. If I could just slip in after the last customer left, ask nicely to browse while Oliver and his assistant were preparing to close, I might have a chance at finding what I was looking for. I would also runthe risk of exposing myself, but since Oliver hadn’t seemed to recognize me the first time we met, I hoped I was in the clear. And if he did, well, it was better than fans asking for selfies in the stacks.

Not that I didn’t love selfies with fans. I just didn’t love them when I was trying to reverse a spell, when my manager was a cat, etcetera. Knowing I was an actor was fine. Knowing I was a witch wasnot.

So, I waited.