Page 37 of A Witch in Notting Hill

Well done.“Thank you.” I sighed. I didn’t have it in me to hold a grudge. Especially against a man I hardly knew. I had enough to keep me busy.

“And I do hope you can forgive me, because I—we—would like to help.” This last part came out a bit like he was announcing he wanted a root canal, but the words held meaning all the same.

“The three of you?” I asked. “Want to help me...”

“With the quest,” he said, smiling a little when I laughed at the word. “Lo’s been calling it that and it just kind of stuck.”

“But you don’t even believe in any of this. Why would you want to help me?” It made sense for Lola and Minho to want to help, but Oliver?

“Well, those two are interested in the list itself,” he explained. “The tasks, the items, the whole lot.”

“And you?” I asked, holding my breath.

“I’m interested in you,” he said. The words floated between us like snowflakes: beautiful and sparkling and gone before I knew it. “Your safety, I mean. I’d like to come along to make sure you aren’t swarmed in the Tube station or anything like that.” The callback to our moment in the cutout made my face warm. As did his four simple words:I’m interested in you.

In fact, my face wasreallywarm. Warmer than was appropriate for a comment that was quickly modified to be something entirely platonic.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You’ve gone quite... rosy.”

I tried to laugh, to seem like I had control of the situation, but as he brought the back of his hand to my forehead and I pulled away, my hair started to float up from my shoulders, and I knew it was hopeless.

“Fine,” I said, closing the door a little. He didn’t budge. “Just a bit warm in here. You know how it is, no AC here in England.” I tried to shrug, but it was manic. More of a twitch, really. An unfortunate muscle spasm.

“Are you sure? Your hair, it’s—”

Smoking.My split ends weresmoking.

“Heat damage,” I yelped. “Anyway, thank you for the apology and for the offer to help. Let’s talk tomorrow? I’ll come by the shop? It’s late, so I should just, you know, good night, Oliver.”

I closed the door before he could respond and dashed into the bathroom, dunking my head in the sink and turning the faucet on full blast.

Fire? My hair was catching onfire? Because a man touched the back of his hand to my forehead to make sure I was all right?

I wanted to accept their help, but I needed my magic to work now more than ever. I couldn’t afford for it to go haywirebecause Oliver touched my forehead with the back of his hand, for god’s sake.

If I was going to accept their help, I needed a plan.

And no one was better at a plan than Vera. Which was why, first thing in the morning, I was getting her to talk.

Sip of wine on the edge,

Pruning like you would a hedge.

All that’s left is an

Upright walk.

Big deep breath

And now you talk.

The spell was simple enough in nature: formulaic, like the ones we practiced as children. Only I really had to muster the conviction not to mess this up. The words were basic but the magic was advanced, and I couldn’t afford any more mistakes.

“All right, Vera,” I muttered, studying the spell once again. Wine on the edge because alcohol and nerves made everyone talk too much; pruning and upright walking because the more animals acted like people, the more likely they were to speak. It made sense. I believed in it. And I believed in myself. Or at least I believed Ivy believed in me, which was even better. “Here we go.”

I used nail scissors from the complimentary vanity kit in the bathroom to trim the hair around her eyes and on her tail, brushing her gently and smoothing every stray whisker into place. She was as beautiful as a cat as she was as a person, even before I started the grooming, but I hoped this would do the trick.

Then, with my feet hanging off the edge of the bed (it was the best I could do in the hotel room), I poured us both a healthyswig of minibar wine, held Vera by her front paws with her back feet planted next to mine, and recited the spell.