Page 25 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

“The very one.”

“Well, that solves that,” she said with a shrug. “Petal has never been to London.”

“And yet she used the portal twice today to that very purpose before the shields locked it down.”

“She…did?” Briar halted on the stairs. She had forgotten the portal tracked who used it and to what purpose, as she had never had occasion to use it herself. Blast. Petal was really in it this time. A house tour of crocheted blankets and seashell wind chimes was unlikely to halt the tide of this investigation for very long.

“You did not know?”

She shook her head and forced herself to keep climbing. “She must have gone for provisions. We are perilously low on water from Saint Dympna’s well in Meath. Outside of Ireland, it’s only available at the Goblin Market and makes the best tea for the nerves.” She eyed Oliver again, full of false sympathy. “You might want to try it.”

The Goblin Market was hidden on London Bridge, filled end to end with shops that sold grimoires and rare gold teeth from giants, scales from sea serpents. It was frequented by witches from the oldest families, but also Iron Crows and goblins and ghosts and animal shifters. She had heard the stories of siren songs trapped in glass bottles, of goblin men with bewitched fruits. Fairy women who could drive you mad with a single kiss.

“Here we are.” Briar set the lamp down inside Petal’s bedroom, on a table cluttered with ribbons and pencils and shells gathered from the beach. There was a brass rabbit on the windowsill, sketches of hares framed on the wall. Muddy boots, a gray cloak. The coverlet was crocheted in a rose pattern, with yet more hares painted on the floorboards.

“Her familiar is a hare,” Briar explained before they could get the idea to question the rabbit witches or link the moon charm to those same witches who were obsessed with the moon. “As you can see, she is not here. You may check under the bed, if you like.” She rubbed her arms, feeling chilled from the weight of the day. Had it really only been an hour since she had stabbed a man with a fork?

Not just a man. The Dragon. She did not know why she needed to keep reminding herself of that fact.

“I hope you find Petal soon,” she said quietly. “If the portal locked, as you said, might she be trapped in between?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then find her,” she begged, and her desperation was not feigned. “Please.”

Briar waited half an hour before going back out into the gardens. She sent her swan out to patrol in case the Keepers had left behind their own familiars. Or in case Oliver was lurking. If he was hiding in a tree, she would make sure the branch broke beneath him. But the Keepers had moved on to the next house and the next, and now it was only the storm growing wilder and wetter. The lights from the village square and down on the beach flickered, bonfires struggling to burn.

Not at all a favorable omen.

As if Briar needed reminding.

The evening festivities would have been interrupted by the news of the shields and the locked portal by now. Villagers and tourists alike would be starting back to their beds at the various inns and boardinghouses.

“How is she?” Briar asked, crouching next to her sister, too pale and too still. “Has she woken at all?”

Bramble shook her head. Lightning flashed, sending fingers of sharp light between the leaves.

“We need to get her inside. I know it’s too obvious to hide her in her own bedroom, but we don’t have any other options at the moment. I had them search her room before they left.”

“Clever,” Bramble approved. It was the most she had ever said to Briar at one time. “Hiding in plain sight is underestimated, but it’s effective. And it will do for one night. I’ll stay with her.”

“Thank you. They as good as admitted they could not track her.” Briar knew she had Bramble to thank for that.

“As if a Keeper could track a rabbit,” Bramble said with her own particular brand of feral haughtiness. Briar found it rather comforting. Especially as they struggled to lift Petal off the ground. Bramble was stronger than she looked, but Briar had already pushed her hip too far.

It was very slow going, with the thunder shaking the sky and the branches and vines receding just enough to let them pass. Thorns snagged at Briar’s dress, in warning, in comfort. Sometimes it was hard to tell with thorns. Blood bloomed over her knuckles, on her wrists.

They managed to get Petal inside and then set her down behind the tea counter so they could catch their breath. The witch knot on Briar’s left palm stung as she pushed more magic through her exhausted body, pulling ivy and roses and nettles thickly around the broken doorway. It would not stop a Keeper or an Iron Crow, but it would give them a warning, if nothing else. A few extra minutes to pray to the Green Man for a miracle. Or to the Moon Mother, which might be more appropriate.

“Did you find the amulet?” Briar whispered. Her sister was wearing her best dress, edged with a blue ribbon. It had no pockets underneath, as it would have interfered with the fall of the skirts. She carried no reticule. “Do we even know what it looks like?”

Bramble shook her head grimly. “There’s nothing.”

They dragged Petal to her room, and it was an ungainly, awkward affair that would result in headaches and bruises for all involved. But finally she was in her own bed, Bramble squeezing water from Petal’s hair with a shawl she found in a heap on the chair. Fear scratched at Briar’s throat. “We should fetch a doctor. Or a curse-breaker? Do you know anyone discreet?”

Bramble shook her head again.

“Bloody hell, this is a mess.” Briar scrubbed a hand over her face. “Do you need anything? Tea?”