Page 25 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Diane’s door was, indeed, painted green and hanging haphazardly from the hinges, granting us a peek inside. She sat in a ripped leather chair facing away from the door, her sleek gray bob a stark juxtaposition to the chaos around her. Stacks of books, dripping taper candles, dishes filled with vintage jewelry—the occult proprietors were definitely cut from the same cloth.

And they all reminded me of Granny Annie.

“Who’s going in?” Minho whispered.

“Me,” Oliver and I said at the same time.

“You’ve done enough,” I assured him. “Let me handle this one.”

“Let’s do it together,” he said, releasing the knot of anxiety at the base of my throat. “I met her at an auction last year and we got on. Well, we got on enough, anyway.”

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“What happened to trust?”

“You trust this wanker?” Lola whispered to Willow.

“Can’t you two go wait outside?” Oliver asked, though it sounded like more of a demand. “Min, thank you for your help.And, Lo, thank you for your, er, moral support. Now let us get to it before we all get kicked out, will you?”

“Fine, fine,” Lola said, raising her hands in surrender. “Let’s go, Min. Let these two have their moment.”

“No one is having a moment—”

“Oliver, stop taking the bait,” Minho said, shaking his head as he followed Lola down the stairs in the direction of the front door.

“Ready?” I asked, trying to ignore how adamantly he’d insisted we weren’t having a moment. Which we weren’t. But why was he so desperate to convince them? And if he really was, why was he standing so close?

“Let’s.” He rapped twice on the door high over my head, careful not to knock it off the hinges entirely. “Diane Hughes?” he asked. “It’s Oliver Hadley, from Coven and Codex? We met at the Occult Premier Oxford last year. Bromley sent me—well, my friend and me—and we’re hoping you have some information aboutRewind: A Manual for Counter Magic?”

The door swung open so quickly I was pretty sure I gasped out loud. She stood with one hand on her hip and the other tapping her fingertips against deep purple lips, studying the two of us from behind wire-framed glasses.

“Arthur’s nephew?” she asked. “Shop in Notting Hill?”

“The very one.”

“And who is this?” She turned her gaze to me, and I swallowed hard.

“This is Willow,” Oliver said. “An old friend from, er, childhood.”

“Ah,” she said, but it didn’t seem like she believed him. I couldn’t tell if it mattered. What I could tell, however, was that the pitch of her voice sounded exactly like my grandmother’s, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by how much I missed her. How much I wished she was here to help me get out of this.

And how desperately sad I felt that she wasn’t.

In the months since she’d passed I’d returned to a sense of normalcy, and I was generally able to keep the tears at bay when I wasn’t in the comfort of my apartment. Myflat. But there were times I was bombarded with an unshakable longing. It wasn’t grief, necessarily. She was an old woman who’d lived a beautiful life and she’d accepted it was her time to go, but that didn’t stop me from missing her down to my bones.

And now was one of those times.

Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes in that kind of unstoppable way I hadn’t felt more than a handful of times since I was a kid, and I knew there was no saving myself from the embarrassment of crying in front of near strangers who were going out of their way trying to help me.

“Are you all right?” Diane asked, squinting her eyes like getting a closer look would help her figure out what inappropriate emotion I might have been experiencing.

“Fine, fine,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Why d’you look like you’re about to cry, then?” Oliver asked, his expression noticeably more concerned than Diane’s.

“I’ll just... If you’ll excuse me... I’ll just wait in the hall if that’s all right,” I mumbled before hustling out the door and into the hall, where I attempted a few deep, steadying breaths. With my back against the wall, I lowered myself to the ground, dropping my head onto my knees and breathing in the pattern I practiced with my therapist. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

“Willow?” Oliver asked after who knew how long. “Is everything all right?”