Page 11 of A Witch in Notting Hill

The pub across the street was much like the others in Notting Hill: charming, classic, but just a touch more upscale. I’d been to pubs all over the city throughout the years, but the Notting Hill ones didn’t have the same sticky floors, jaded bartenders, and watery drinks so many of the others were famous for. This particular one was also literary in theme, with deep bookcases and wing-back chairs lining the back wall and coasters that looked like library cards. It was the perfect place to camp out.

The cider was pleasantly dry but unpleasantly warm, and since apparently all bets were off with how I typically chose to conduct magic in my day-to-day, I figured it wouldn’t hurt if I chilled the cider by just a few degrees. (At least Ihopedit wouldn’t hurt... but lately, who could tell?)

With a quick, deep visualization of glaciers, tile bathroom floors, winter mornings on the East Coast, my high school ex-boyfriend, all things good and freezing, I tapped the glass in a pattern my sister and I had practiced endlessly as children to keep our ice cream from melting. To my relief, frost began to collect on the outside of the glass and nothing exploded in the process.

At the very least, I could still conduct a basic chilling spell, and I was prouder than I should have been. But a win was a win.

After a short, eye-to-eye conversation with Vera, we agreed (or at least I think we agreed) to leave her in the room beforeI settled in the pub, and I thought (hoped) it was for the best. There was no real reason for me to be schlepping her back and forth, and since we weren’t doing anything particularly exciting that I thought she might want to see, even through her cat eyes, I figured she could relax in the room while I tried to take care of this mess.

If only she could tell me what she was thinking.

Holy shit.

If only she could tell me what she was thinking.Was I an idiot? (Yes.) Why hadn’t I thought of this before? If I could at least figure out how to make it so Vera could communicate, I could buy myself more time to sort out the spell. If she could at least speak, maybe I wouldn’t have to be in such a mad rush and could take my time doing it right. It was such an obvious idea I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner.

Though with all the chaos of the last few days, I suppose it wasn’t such a surprise that rational thinking had slipped my mind.

So my first stop when I went back to Coven & Codex wouldn’t be Reversals, Retractions, and Revocations. It would be Anthropomorphism.

At 4:56, I signaled the bartender for the tab, mildly alarmed at the total. And then I stood up, and it all made sense. It wasn’t just the inflated price of pints on this side of the city. It was the three I’d managed to drink during my stakeout.

I’d been so wrapped up in my plan that I’d completely lost track of the afternoon as it slipped by in a haze of crisp cider and a bottomless bowl of salted peanuts. Classic. Now not only was I the chaotic American who’d been drawing a crowd and talking to her cat, but I was also the tipsy American who would crashthrough the door right before closing time. Really doing my people justice here on this side of the pond.

Either way, it was now or never.

It took me nearly twice as long as it should have to cross the street, given my vaguely warped depth perception and the unfamiliar traffic patterns, but I made it to the door in one piece with two minutes to spare. I straightened my dress and shook out my shoulders, then did my best impression of a sober person and pushed open the door.

“Sorry, love, we’re about to—oh,” Oliver said as he turned around and caught my eye. “It’s you.”

Mortifying.“It’s me,” I said, forcing a laugh. “But I’m not here to explode anything. I promise.” I held up my palms to demonstrate my innocence, but he only looked more confused.

“Hardly your fault,” he said.If he only knew.“But we are about to close in a minute or so—”

“Please,” I said, embarrassed by how desperate it sounded. I cleared my throat before I spoke again. “I, uh, I know it’s late. I was just hoping for a minute to browse, maybe while you locked up?”

“You had a minute to browse earlier, no? Reckon I saw you taking selfies in the stacks there.” He stood from the box he was unpacking and brushed his hands off on the back of his jeans, and I was surprised by how long it took him to get to his full height. I’d seen him a few times already, but I didn’t remember him being this tall.

I did, however, remember him being this handsome. All long limbs and dark waves, flushed cheeks and the kind of indiscernible green-gray eyes that looked like the sky before a storm. He wore a simple pale blue button-down and a pair of dark jeans, but somehow he looked like he’d stepped out of a spread inGQ.

And despite the fact I knew I was staring, I couldn’t look away from his hands. Veins stretched across the back, and long fingers with short, square nails held a stack of books I wasn’t sure I could hold with my arms.

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that I remembered he was waiting for me to respond. I blamed the ciders.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “That’s kind of why I couldn’t browse earlier? It’s stupid, and you don’t care, so I’ll spare us both. But I was hoping to maybe have a minute without anyone else in here?”

He laughed, but I couldn’t tell if it was because he thought something was funny. “Always the Americans, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Wanting special treatment and that.”

“This was a mistake,” I said, already resigning myself to failure and turning toward the door. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll just—”

“I’m kidding,” he said. “You can shop. On one condition.” I raised an eyebrow. “Tell me who you are. And what it is you’re looking for in here.”

“That’s two conditions.”

“Semantics.”