I Put a Spell on You (6 page)

When Xander came back, Malc was still talking. He’d accessed our server remotely and confirmed there was nothing there, but he couldn’t work out why.

“I’ll call our back-up company,” he said. “Don’t worry, Harry. This will be sorted out in no time.”

I hung up and looked at Xander.

“He’s not worried,’ I said in relief. “He’s going to call back in a mo.”

Xander grinned and produced a bottle of wine from behind his back.

“Let’s have a glass,” he said. “We can celebrate our lucky escape.”

“Ah, is this where you went?”

“I thought we deserved it.” Xander sloshed wine into two mugs and we chinked them together.

“Here’s to In Harmony living to fight another day,” I said, taking a huge mouthful then texting Georgia one-handed to tell her I was stuck at work.

Xander swigged his wine.

“And the Harry/Xander dream team,” he declared. “Nothing fazes us.”

We clinked mugs again. I drained my drink and refilled, and then my phone rang. It was Malc.

“There’s been a fire.” His voice was slow and his words well thought out. I wondered if he’d practised what to say.

“A fire,” he repeated. “At our back-up’s HQ.”

“So…” I prompted, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

“There is no back-up.”

I breathed in and out, not knowing how to react.

“Everything’s gone, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

Unable to speak, I passed the phone to Xander and walked to the front door. I put my hand on the In Harmony sign. I loved this business like it was my child. Tracing my name with my fingertips, I narrowed my eyes. I was bloodied and battered, yes. Things were tricky, indeed. But I wasn’t giving up yet.

Chapter 7

Xander insisted on calling a cab to drive me home and for once I didn’t argue. All my fight had left me and I just wanted to go home and get my thoughts in order.

Wearily I tramped up the stairs to our flat wondering for the umpteenth time why anyone had decided to build tall tenement blocks before they’d invented lifts. As I reached our front door and rummaged for my keys, the door flew open. Esme stood there, a candle in her hand, looking for all the world like Jane Eyre or some other Victorian heroine with her hair round her shoulders and wearing a long fleecy nightie.

“Harry, thank god,” she said. “Do you know how to change a fuse?”

I looked again at the candle. Maybe it wasn’t Elizabeth Bennet night after all.

“Power cut?” I said, my heart sinking.

Esme nodded.

“But weirdest thing,” she said. “I phoned the electricity company and they said there was no problem in the area. It’s just our flat.”

“And the spa,” I said. I put my bags down on the floor and peeled off my gloves and coat.

Esme looked at me in astonishment.

“Really?” she said. “Oh god.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” I said, following her into the living room. “The power cut wiped our server.”

She grimaced.

“But you’ve got a back-up, right?”

“Right,” I said. “And wrong.”

I told her about the fire.

“Shit,” Esme said. She blew her nose loudly and for the first time I noticed she looked dreadful.

“Are you ill?” I said.

She pulled her horrible fleecy nightie round herself.

“I’ve got a rotten cold,” she said. “That’s why I came home from work early. But then I couldn’t actually do any work because there was no sodding electricity.”

A thought struck me.

“Are the fuses blown?” I said.

“I thought that might be the problem,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m not sure what they’re supposed to look like. I wondered if you’d know what to do.”

“Did you try magic?” I asked.

Esme gave me a shocked look.

“With electricity?” she said. “That’s asking for trouble.”

“You’re such a goody-goody,” I said, ignoring the fact that I’d shied away from trying to sort the power cut at the spa with magic.

“Where’s Jamie?” I had a vague – possibly ridiculous – notion that men knew about electricity.

“Rugby,” said Esme, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But he’d be no use anyway. He can’t even change a lightbulb. It’s just you and me, sister. Let’s do it the old-fashioned way,”

With the help of the iPad, Google and the torches on our phones, we found the fuse box and peered inside.

“I think we just flip this switch,” Esme said, looking at the instructions on the iPad.

I flipped it, and the lights came back on.

“It’s like magic,” Esme said with a grin, wiping her nose again.

I gave her a most un-Harry-like hug, then bustled her through into the living room, tucked her up under a blanket and made her a hot toddy. Then I poured myself a stiff measure of whisky – I hardly ever drank whisky but I felt it would be medicinal – and curled up on the sofa next to her. I couldn’t face thinking about the computer at the spa.

“Tell me about your lesson with Xander,” I said.

Esme shrugged.

“Not much to tell,” she said.

“Liar,” I said. “Tell me. Did you agree to teach him because of that detective?”

“Louise,” she said in a passable imitation of Jamie’s voice. “She’s brilliant, she’s such a laugh and she’s great on the rugby pitch.”

“Ooh,” I said. “Have I touched a nerve?”

Ez blew her nose again.

“I know I’m being ridiculous but we’d had such a nice evening, you know, and we’d just got engaged and suddenly he’s all over another woman…”

I had a feeling – a hope – that Louise was gay, but I didn’t say anything. Interrupting Esme mid-rant was more trouble than it was worth.

“So, I was feeling a bit contrary when I met Xander anyway, and he wanted me to teach him, and you said I wouldn’t have time…”

“Ah,” I said. “It’s my fault.”

She scowled at me over the top of her hot toddy.

“No,” she said. “I just felt like I couldn’t say no.”

“So what happened?” I asked. “At the lesson?”

“Xander rang me and asked if I was free,” she said.

“But you weren’t free,” I pointed out. “You were at work.” Esme never left work early.

“I know,” she said. “But I felt rotten with this cold, and suddenly I just wanted to get out of there.”

I was amazed. And uneasy. Xander was handsome and charming and funny – but so was Jamie, and I’d never known Ez to leave work early for him.

“I met him in Princes Street Gardens, by the clock,” she said. “We just walked really. It’s all because of you, H, that he wants to learn magic. He wants to help you.”

That was sweet, I had to admit. Xander was protective of me, which I’d found very odd to begin with. I was used to being fiercely independent and just getting on with stuff. Sometimes I liked him looking after me. Sometimes it annoyed me massively. Today, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“So you just walked,” I said. “Did you touch him?”

“Harry!” Esme said in mock outrage. “I’m an engaged woman. I wouldn’t touch another man.”

“Did you touch him?” I asked again.

“It was cold in the park and I took Xander’s arm as we walked and chatted,” she said sulkily. “That’sokay, isn’t it? We’re friends. It didn’t feel wrong.”

“What did it feel like?” I said.

“It felt nice,” she said. “Warm, mostly.”

I let it drop.

“And what did you teach him?”

“Mostly he wanted to know about Star,” she said. “And why you couldn’t save her.”

“No one could save her,” I said, feeling my stomach plummet again, like it did every time I thought about Star.

“So what did you say?”

“I told him that when someone, or something’s gone, it’s gone,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I said that we can’t raise the dead. What we do is a kind of extension to real life. We can speed things up, or slow them down, or intensify things. Not create things out of thin air.”

I nodded, relieved that she’d explained it all so well.

“And did he understand?” I asked. I was desperate to know Xander didn’t blame me for Star’s death.

“Oh completely,” Esme said. “It’s funny…” She trailed off.

“What?” I said.

“When I was telling him stuff – like the rules of three and whatever – I got the impression I was telling him things he knew already.”

I screwed my nose up.

“He’s probably picked some stuff up,” I said. “He’s always been interested.”

“I guess so,” Ez said. “He asked how often I do magic.”

“What did you say?” I asked. Despite my best efforts, Esme still didn’t do a lot of magic, preferring to do things like actually clean the loo or wash the dishes with her own fair hands. I’d almost given up trying to persuade her that spells were the way forward. Almost.

“I told him the truth,” she said, sounding surprised. “Hardly ever, I said. I told him I use it more now than I used to, but still not much. I sometimes tidy the flat with it. I’ve been known to make a bus come quicker. And I do protective enchantments if a friend’s in trouble. But that’s about it.”

I was pleased, reluctantly. I’d thought Esme might try to big herself up magic-wise, just to impress Xander.

“So what are you going to teach him?”

“More rules, I guess. They’re so important. And I can go through some incantations with him.”

She looked serious.

“I suppose I should warn him that I can’t guarantee it’ll work,” she said. “I have no idea how much is learned and how much is innate.”

I didn’t know either.

“I couldn’t teach Natalie anything,” I said, remembering how keen she’d been to learn at first and how quickly she’d grown to resent it. “Not even basic stuff. She just couldn’t do it. I reckon Xander might be different, though.”

Esme nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “I think he might be. And he’s so desperate to learn – he just wants to keep you safe.”

“I can keep myself safe,” I said, bristling.

“He wanted to know if we could harm someone who’d harmed us,” Esme said. “But I reminded him that witchcraft – at least our kind – was based on goodness and that any negative spells would return on the witch threefold and taught him that we harmed no one.”

That was exactly what Xander had told me she’d said.

“And what did he say to that?” I asked.

“I think he was a bit disappointed,” Esme said. “But we didn’t talk about it for long.”

“I’m not sure these lessons are a good idea, Ez,” I said. “I’m not really comfortable with Xander’s views on magic, and” – I paused, knowing I was about to annoy her – “I think you’ve got a bit of a thing for him.”

“I have not got a thing for him,” Esme said, as crossly as her bunged-up nose allowed her to sound. “I love Jamie. Xander’s just a friend.”

I kicked myself inwardly for mentioning it. Now she’d go all contrary again and be arranging another lesson before I could say incantation.

“I’ll ring him tomorrow,” she said. “Arrange another lesson.”

See.

“All right,” I said, getting up and rubbing her hair, the way I knew she hated. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She grinned at me.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can look after myself.”

Chapter 8

The next day was chaos in the spa. Malc had saved some of our stuff to the ‘cloud’ – I pictured folders floating gently in the sky – so he was gradually retrieving a few bits. I had some things saved on my laptop, too, and by an amazingly fortunate quirk of fate (if you believe in those, which I don’t) I’d saved our entire database to a memory stick a few weeks earlier. I’d intended to use it to send out a Christmas email from home and never got round to it. When I’d found the little stick (in the fruit bowl would you believe?) I’d kissed it joyfully. I copied it on to my laptop straightaway. I even thought about asking Esme and Jamie to do the same, just to be sure, but dismissed the idea almost as fast. I was just being paranoid. What we didn’t have was our appointments diary – it had all been on Star’s computer and it was gone. All morning people were turning up for appointments we didn’t know about, and I had therapists wandering into reception and saying things like: “Anyone here for acupuncture?”

So, I sent an email to everyone on our database explaining our technology problems and asking them to email back with details of any future appointments they had booked. I was acutely aware it all seemed dreadfully incompetent but I wasn’t sure what else to do.

I knew that Esme had been right when she’d told Xander that when something was gone, it was gone, but I still tried magic, waving my hands over the computer and straining every bit of my brain desperately trying to restore all the lost files. But nothing happened. As the email responses began to trickle in I sent Nancy out to buy an old-school appointments diary and she laboriously jotted down every appointment we knew of by hand.

I was so busy just firefighting that I didn’t have time to dwell on what had caused the power cut. I couldn’t quite bring myself to think that the chances of there being a power cut at my work and my home – and nowhere in between – were very slim. I was too frightened about what that would mean.

But, eventually, as the sky outside darkened and things began to calm down, I got out the pictures I’d taken from Star’s flat and looked at them again.

They might not even all be of Star, I told myself. The one of her with a neck collar on was the only one that showed her whole face. But the close-up of the cut on her eyebrow showed a lock of curly blonde hair – Star’s hair – and anyway I remembered her having cut her face. She’d said a car had thrown up a loose stone as it drove past her. Had that been true?

The bruised knees could have belonged to anyone, and the burned arms and bloody hand. But why would she have photos of injuries someone else had suffered?

A knock on my office door made me look up. Fallon, one of the yoga instructors, stood there.

“I’ve found my diary,” she said. “I’ve got all my classes written in there – thought it might be helpful.”

“Brilliant,” I said. “Give it here and I’ll pass it to Nancy on reception.”

She came to hand it over and as she did so she glanced at the photo on top of the pile.

“Oh god,” she said. “Was that Star’s hand?”

I looked at her in surprise.