Saved by the Spell. House of Magic 2. Read online

  SAVED BY THE SPELL

  House of Magic 2

  Susanna Shore

  Saved by the Spell

  Copyright © 2021 A. K. S. Keinänen

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, translated, or distributed without permission, except for brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogues, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, except those in public domain, is entirely coincidental.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design © 2021 A. K. S. Keinänen

  Illustration, girl © Sergey Myakishev

  Editing: Lee Burton, Ocean’s Edge Editing

  www.susannashore.com

  Twitter: @SusannaShore

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  House of Magic

  Hexing the Ex

  Saved by the Spell

  P.I. Tracy Hayes Series

  Tracy Hayes, Apprentice P.I.

  Tracy Hayes, P.I. and Proud

  Tracy Hayes, P.I. to the Rescue

  Tracy Hayes, P.I. with the Eye

  Tracy Hayes, from P.I. with Love

  Tracy Hayes, Tenacious P.I.

  Tracy Hayes, Valentine of a P.I.

  Tracy Hayes, P.I. on the Scent

  Two-Natured London Series

  The Wolf’s Call

  Warrior’s Heart

  A Wolf of Her Own

  Her Warrior for Eternity

  A Warrior for a Wolf

  Magic under the Witching Moon

  Moonlight, Magic and Mistletoes

  Crimson Warrior

  Magic on the Highland Moor

  Wolf Moon

  Thrillers

  Personal

  The Assassin

  Contemporary Romances

  At Her Boss’s Command

  It Happened on a Lie

  To Catch a Billionaire Dragon

  Which Way to Love?

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Tracy Hayes, Apprentice P.I., Excerpt

  Also by Susanna Shore

  Chapter One

  I ran into a wolf outside my bedroom. Not literally, or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.

  I was sleepwalking to the bathroom early Monday morning, and there it was, as if the hallway were a perfectly normal place for a woodland beast. My body froze in shock even as adrenaline surged through my veins, screaming for me to flee.

  The conflicting commands were enough to jolt me wide awake.

  The larger than normal grey wolf loped past me with an amused snarl—though I don’t know how I could tell. Probably because I didn’t get eaten.

  My legs lost their ability to support me, and I leaned heavily against the doorjamb, heart beating like after a spin class that I’d recently started again and wasn’t in shape for.

  “Bloody hell, Ashley, you scared me to death.”

  The wolf sat calmly outside the bedroom next to mine and shot me a commanding look I had no trouble interpreting.

  Gathering myself, I went to open the door for her. “You could’ve shifted, you know.”

  Ignoring me, the wolf entered her room and pushed the door closed with her head. I was alone in the hallway again, wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing.

  A month ago, I would have had my head checked. That was before I’d moved into House of Magic and learned that I had a lot in common with Hamlet’s Horatio. There definitely were more things in heaven and earth than I’d dreamt of in my philosophy. Such as it was.

  House of Magic was a magic shop in Clerkenwell, Central London, the kind that sells herbal teas, tarot cards, and healing crystals for regular shoppers, and special ingredients for spells and potions for those in the know. Those would be mages.

  The shop had been there for decades, but I’d only noticed it when I spotted a to-let sign in its window one memorable night. I’d been facing eviction, thanks to my then flatmate Nick, and in urgent need of a new place to stay. I’d thought it serendipitous that I’d been the first to notice the sign. But according to my landladies, there had been magic in play.

  That’s right, magic. Genuine, manipulating physics, no sleight-of-hand witchcraft and wizardry. The sign had been spelled to allow only the person who suited the house to see it. I’d been sceptical, to say the least.

  Grateful, but sceptical.

  Then I’d accidentally triggered a curse meant for my boss, Archibald Kane, and a whole new world had opened for me.

  I’d learned that there truly was magic and people who were born to wield it. My landladies, Amber Boyle and Giselle Lynn, were mages. And to my utter shock, so was my boss whom I’d thought to be a perfectly boring antiques dealer. He was their leader even.

  With the curse making my life difficult, I’d just about come to terms with magic existing. But then I’d learned that vampires and werewolves were real too, and that specimens of both were sharing the house with me.

  One of them was Luca Marlow. He looked like a carefree Californian surfer about my age—twenty-six—with a muscled body and sandy hair in a short ponytail. But he was a vampire who had been alive for at least a century—if I believed his stories. His real age was shrouded in mystery.

  Well, I’d refused to hear the truth.

  And then there was Ashley Grant, the werewolf who had just given me the coronary. In human form she was a firefighter in her early thirties, easily tall and strong enough to pull off the job even without supernatural strength. With it, she was unstoppable.

  I’d only seen her in wolf form once before, so it wasn’t a wonder the encounter had shocked me. Maybe I should start keeping track of the full moon so that I’d be better prepared for the next time. But I hadn’t expected her to run around the house as a wolf, full moon or not. Shouldn’t they be a great secret?

  I was still a little rattled when I entered the kitchen forty-five minutes later, after taking my time to calm myself and prepare for the day. I was wearing a new pair of blue jeans that hugged my legs and bottom in a becoming way—I noticed Amber check me out—and a light pink polka dot blouse with a large floppy bowtie at the front. I’d paired them with a brown corduroy blazer and knee-high leather boots. The day wasn’t quite that chilly, but it was September in London; you never knew when it was going to rain.

  Besides, i
t looked fabulous.

  Giselle stood by the stove, making breakfast. The rent included meals—and chores—and she took care of cooking. Her excellent food was the reason I’d had to start spin classes again.

  She was a tad over forty, short and round, with steel-grey pixie-cut hair, and a smiling countenance. She flashed me her dimples in greeting. “Morning, Phoebe. You look ready to face the new week.”

  I took a seat at the table. “Thanks. I don’t feel like it. Ashley just gave me the shock of my life.”

  Amber grinned. A couple of years younger than her wife, she was pretty much the opposite of Giselle, tall and reed thin, with a shock of short red curls, and a stern demeanour that even a grin didn’t properly soften.

  “She takes a little getting used to in her other form. And it’s good to be frightened. Just because she’s not a threat to you doesn’t mean other werewolves won’t be.”

  A shiver went through my spine. “I’ll try to avoid them.”

  “I’ve never met other werewolves than her, so chances are you’ll never do either,” Giselle consoled me as she placed a plate in front of me. “But I’m afraid having her in wolf form means there’s no bacon today. I gave it all to her, because the wolf craves meat.”

  I dug in. “She’s welcome to it.”

  “I usually reserve raw meat for her, but with the inventory at the shop, I completely forgot it’s full moon.”

  “Can’t she hunt for herself?” I asked, curious, not having come to think of this before. “London is full of rabbits. And there’s deer in some parks.”

  “They hunt when it’s not the full moon, but during it they’re too volatile to be allowed out of the house,” Amber explained. “We lock her in the basement until morning so that she doesn’t hurt anyone.”

  “But Luca lives in the basement.” He had a sun-proofed studio there. He was sensitive to sunlight and slept during the day. But not in a coffin. I’d checked.

  Giselle nodded. “He keeps an eye on her, makes sure she stays safe.”

  I tried to picture it. Luca was about an inch taller than my five-foot seven, tightly muscled and likely stronger than I believed, but Ashley had huge teeth and sharp claws in her wolf form. She’d make mincemeat of him in no time.

  Then again, he’d protected me from a huge hellhound with magic, so maybe he could handle himself against her just fine.

  I finished my baconless breakfast and, thanking Giselle, rose from the table to head to work. That roused Amber too.

  “This waited for you in the post box. It must’ve been hand-delivered.”

  She gave me a heavy, cream-colored envelope that had my name and address written on it in professional cursive, but no stamp. My brows shot up.

  “A wedding invitation?”

  I ran through a list of friends in my head, but none of them had even hinted at that they’d be getting married. And I couldn’t remember a casual acquaintance either who would be seriously involved with anyone. Curious, I opened the envelope and pulled out an elegant card with golden lettering.

  The Right Honourable Hector Sanford and Lady Sanford are honoured to invite you to celebrate the engagement of their son Henry and Miss Olivia Radcliff at their home on Saturday, September 18th, at 6pm. RSVP by…

  I stared at the invitation, blinking as I tried to make sense of it. I read the envelope again. It was most assuredly addressed to me, but I didn’t know any Sanfords, no Henry, and definitely not any barons. Their address didn’t ring a bell either, but it was in London, somewhere around Hampstead Heath, judging by the area code.

  It wasn’t until the third read that the name of the bride-to-be registered. My cousin Olivia.

  Bloody hell.

  My face must have shown my emotions because Giselle lifted her brows. “Not a happy invitation?”

  I sighed. “It’s an invitation to my cousin’s engagement party. Actually, she’s my cousin’s daughter, but we’re the same age, so it’s always been more natural for me to think of her as my cousin instead of her mother.”

  Aunt Clara, Dad’s older sister, had had her daughter in her early twenties, whereas my father had been over forty when I was born, so my actual cousin and I belonged to different generations.

  “Olivia and I aren’t close. I don’t really understand why she’s invited me. And judging by the fact that the event is this Saturday, she didn’t do it voluntarily.”

  It wasn’t pleasant to know that I’d been an afterthought, but that wasn’t why the invitation dismayed me.

  “My mother will not be happy that Olivia is getting married before me. She’s a year younger.”

  According to my parents, marriage was pretty much the only thing that I was good for. It aggravated me to no end, but since they lived in the south of France and I only saw them during holidays, I could ignore their opinions most of the time. But a wedding in the family would give Mom new wind for her demands.

  I was currently single and not looking, so she could pester me all she liked. Nothing was going to change in a hurry.

  I slipped the invitation into my tote to answer it during the day, and headed to work.

  Monday morning, the Tube from Barbican Station at the north edge of the City was full of commuters, mostly businesspeople who worked in the City or Canary Wharf. I crammed myself into a train car and suffered the pressing bodies and jostling about. I switched lines at Liverpool Street Station and the pressure eased a bit, as most of the people continued east whereas I took the Central Line west.

  Maybe it was the emptier car, maybe I was still jittery from the fright Ashley had given me, but halfway through my journey I started to feel like someone was watching me. It was like a pressure in my neck that wouldn’t go away, an unpleasant sensation that made me want to hunch my shoulders to evade it.

  As casually as possible, I turned to look behind me, but nothing caught my eye. The car was full of men and women in business casual, all keeping their eyes on the ads, their phones, or their feet as was proper. No one was staring at me.

  I faced the door again and the sensation returned. It followed me out as I exited the train and climbed back on the street. Only there did the pressure ease, but I kept glancing back at every opportunity as I walked the last stretch of my commute.

  Mayfair was on the west side of central London, the fashionable heart where aristocrats used to live and where all the luxury shops still were.

  Kane’s Arts and Antiques was located on a pedestrian court north of Oxford Street—technically in Marylebone—a little away from the tourist routes. You had to know it was there to find it, but we did excellent business.

  The court was busy of people popping into the cafés along it to pick up their morning lattes on their way to work. Usually I wasn’t one of them—there was a perfectly good coffeemaker at the office—but I needed something to calm my nerves. Coffee would do.

  I chose a small place in the middle of the street, right opposite the gallery. It was my favourite café—their blueberry muffin was to die for—and it was relatively empty compared to the chain cafés on its sides.

  I’d barely taken my place in the queue when a new customer entered and stepped behind me. The most delicious manly scent reached my nose, teasing my senses, conjuring images of handsome strangers.

  I didn’t want to turn to look, in case he was an octogenarian with good taste in colognes. That had happened to me before. I tried to spy him from the reflective surfaces in front of me, but all I could see was a tall form.

  More people came in and he stepped closer to me. He wasn’t quite touching me, but his nearness made my skin hum. My entire body became aware of him.

  It was all I could think of. When it was my turn to order, I struggled to tell the woman behind the counter what I wanted. Luckily, she just asked if I wanted the usual, and I nodded, finding it easier than telling her I didn’t want the muffin.

  I fumbled in my tote for my purse, still painfully aware of the man. I pulled the purse out and promptly dropped it, spi
lling coins and cards everywhere.

  My cheeks turned crimson as I hastily kneeled to gather everything. To make matters worse, he crouched to help me.

  “Here, this should be everything.”

  The voice was wonderful, with a slight upper crust drawl, and the hand holding my cards was long-fingered and well-manicured. I lifted my gaze to his face—and forgot to breathe.

  He had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen, so bright blue they seemed almost turquoise. The rest of him registered more slowly, the straight russet brows and the dimple that appeared on one side of his mouth when he flashed me a smile.

  My fingers numb, I took the offerings. “Thanks,” I managed to say as I rose back up. He rose too, steadying me from my elbow even though I didn’t need it.

  He was half a head taller than me, slim and dressed in business casual, blue jeans, white shirt, and black waistcoat under a black blazer. His dark russet hair was in careful disarray, and his features were delicate but defined enough to be manly.

  I found him utterly handsome.

  The dimple made another appearance. “My pleasure.”

  Fighting my embarrassment, I paid my purchases and moved to the other end of the counter to wait for my order. It arrived fast and I hurried out without a glance at the man.

  I paused outside to gather myself, fanning my face to make the blush go away. I only had the pedestrian court to cross, but I didn’t quite trust my legs to carry me.

  “May I walk with you?”

  I jumped as the rich voice spoke next to me. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d followed me out. He was carrying a bag of muffins with no coffee, so he’d got his order fast.

  “No, I … work over there.” I nodded at the gallery and his brows shot up.

  “You’re a gallerist?”

  “Assistant to one,” I managed to say.

  This was ridiculous. I could not lose my composure over a man like this. I inhaled deeply, straightened my spine, and gave him my most professional smile. “I have to go. Thank you for your help.”

  “At least tell me your name. I’m Jack.”

  “Phoebe.”