Page 8 of A Witch in Notting Hill

I hustled down the cobbled sidewalk, trying to keep both Vera and myself under the cheap umbrella and out of the direct path of the screaming wind. Fortunately, the Adams Arms really was only a short walk away, and we were stumbling through the door and into the warmth before I knew it.

“Oi, hello there,” the bartender said, likely shocked by the force with which we crashed through the door.

“Hello, hi, sorry for all of that,” I said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of my entrance.

“That’s quite all right.” She offered a warm smile. “What can I do for you... two?” She peered over the bar and into Vera’s carrier, cocking her head to the side. “Who do we have here?”

“Oh, that’s Vera,” I said. “Is that okay that she’s here? Sorry, she’s my, uh, emotional support cat. But I can—”

“Nonsense,” she said. “Welcome in, Vera. Nice name for a cat, that. Bit regal, isn’t it?”

That would be because it’s a name for a person.

“And you are?” she continued.

“Willow,” I said without thinking. “Willow Jones.”Terrible save.

“Well, welcome in to you, too, Willow Jones. Do make yourself at home.” Another weird look at the sunglasses. “Have a browse at our menu here and let me know what you’d like. I’m Gloria.”

“Thank you, Gloria.”

I looked around the pub as she busied herself cleaning glassware. It seemed to be a safe place to shed my disguise. Orat the very least the ridiculous sunglasses. I’d colored my hair a deeper shade of red in the hotel bathroom as soon as we arrived in a desperate attempt to further hide my identity, and I could only hope it would work the way I’d imagined it would when I was elbow deep in the drugstore dye I’d grabbed on the way to the hotel

The only other patrons were an elderly man and a young couple, but they were far too busy feeding each other fries and sharing a pint they likely weren’t old enough to drink to pay attention to the soggy American at the bar.

After storing my sunglasses in my bag, I opened the menu in front of my face and tried to keep my gaze low, but I was relieved to be able to finally see. The pub was dimly lit in a way that was cozy instead of depressing, with sconces lining the walls and candles flickering on the high-top tables. The pattern on the carpet clashed with that of the wallpaper so badly it somehow circled back to charming, and it made me think of my grandmother. She would have loved it here. Hell, maybe she’d even been here. After all, it wasn’t far from Coven & Codex, and she did love a good pint.

“What’ll it be, love?”

“A cheese toastie, please. And an English breakfast tea,” I said, closing the menu and glancing down at Vera. “And a small piece of fish? If that’s possible. Just one is fine, whatever you have.”

“Coming right up.” She smiled and collected the menu, leaving me to my afternoon.

I unpacked my journal and my iPad from my tote, determined to search the virtual stacks before I searched the physical ones so that I wouldn’t be so lost when I mustered the courage to go back.

The only problem was I hardly knew where to begin.

I tried vague phrases like “shape-shifting reversal” and “how to undo a shape-shifting spell,” bookmarking tabs for books titledThe Challenging Art of Changing FormsandThere and Back Again.Though if they were anything like my initial internet search, they would more than likely tell me I would need to know how I did the spell in the first place in order to reverse it.

There was a tab on the Coven & Codex website titled Special Requests, and a quick scan of the page informed me that the owner, Oliver Hadley, would help customers “locate and procure unique titles, antique volumes, and any additional curiosities.”

Oliver Hadley.Did he count as additional curiosities?

Before I could dive any deeper down that dangerous, highly unnecessary rabbit hole, the bartender returned with the most beautiful, gluttonous sandwich I’d ever seen. Cheese oozed from all sides of the thick-cut bread, and a pile of French fries—chips—overtook every spare inch of the plate.Yes.This was perfect. What better than melted cheese and greasy fries to get my mind off a man?

And since Vera was a cat at the moment, that meant she couldn’t give me a hard time about not eating enough protein. So far, it was the only upside to this whole debacle, and I felt guilty for even thinking it. But I thought it nonetheless.

As she delicately tore through a flaky piece of white fish from the comfort of her carrier, I continued scrolling my iPad with greasy fingers, studying the sections of the bookshop, the featured titles, and the bottomless depths of the internet for guidance, before finding the first thing that actually seemed to hold some promise: a section on Coven & Codex’s website called Reversals, Retractions, and Revocations.

Maybe there was hope after all.

I wiped my hands clean, prepared to do a deep dive of the section’s contents in the hope of not having to do it in the store. The less time I spent in there the better, for more reasons than one.

Only my research was quickly interrupted by the sound of the bells over the door, followed by a low voice with a posh English accent I was certain I’d heard before.

“All right, Gloria?”

“Ah, Oliver, dear. A pleasant surprise. Do come in.” Gloria gestured to a seat beside me at the bar, and the last bite of my toastie lodged itself in my throat. This couldn’t be happening.