Magic by the book, p.1
Magic by the Book, page 1
MAGIC BY THE BOOK
House of Magic 4
Susanna Shore
Magic by the Book
Copyright © 2023 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 © 2023 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
Third Spell’s the Charm
Magic by the Book
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
Tracy Hayes, Unstoppable P.I.
Tracy Hayes, P.I. for the Win
The Reed Files
The Perfect Scam
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
Magic for the Highland Wolf
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Tracy Hayes, Apprentice P.I., Excerpt
Also by Susanna Shore
Chapter One
When you kiss your boss on Saturday, and don’t hear back from him on Sunday, going to work on Monday is nerve-racking. Take it from me.
Not that I habitually kissed my boss, Archibald Kane, the owner of Kane’s Arts and Antiques. Or had, in fact, kissed him. He kissed me. But I’d participated, enthusiastically.
And then he hadn’t acknowledged it in any way since.
As his assistant, I was used to keeping a respectful distance, and after-work calls had almost never happened. Or in-work calls for that matter, especially those that informed his poor assistant where he was when he didn’t show up at the office, having gone for one of his days-long hunts for antiques.
But these past couple of months we’d grown closer and begun to socialise outside work, so I’d sort of hoped he’d call. If for nothing else, then to apologise for acting so out of character. It seemed more his style than ardent declarations of love.
I won’t lie though. If he brushed the kiss aside, I would die.
The new phase in our outside-work relationship had started when I moved in the House of Magic in August. It was a shop in Clerkenwell, Central London, that sold tarot cards, healing crystals, and herbal teas among other witchy New Age things, with housing in three storeys above it.
My room was perfect and came with meals, and my new housemates were wonderful. I’d been amazed with my luck of finding lodgings in London after being evicted from my previous place, let alone one reasonably priced and within fare zone 1.
And then I’d learned that luck had had nothing to do with it. Magic had.
That’s right, magic. The House of Magic wasn’t merely a cute name for a charming shop and the house above, it was a home for people who could do magic. And not card tricks either; actual transmute-the-elements, shoot-lightning-from-your-fingers kind of thing.
My landladies, Amber Boyle and Giselle Lynn, were mages. It wasn’t a thing you could simply become, you had to be born one for the spells to work. There were entire families of mages all over the world, and London was one of their largest communities. They were well-organised and highly secret.
Incidentally, the magic shop also sold real spell and potion ingredients for those in the know.
The room next to mine was rented by Ashley Grant, a firefighter a few years older than my twenty-six. She was also a werewolf, as in transform into a huge wolf during the full moon—and pretty much whenever she wanted. Also something she’d been born with.
The basement was occupied by Luca Marlow, a vampire who looked my age but was at least a hundred. I’d never seen him transform into anything—I was hoping for a bat—but he could fling battle spells and was averse to sunlight, but not to garlic or holy objects. I’d asked.
I’d barely begun to process that what I’d thought belonged to urban fantasy books with bare-chested men on their covers was real—with great disbelief, I might add—when I learned that my boss, the always elegant and proper antiques dealer, was a mage too. He’d been their leader at the time even, but currently he was studying to become the archmage of London, which was the most skilled you could become mage-wise.
Well, there were warlocks, but they were evil and dealt with death magic; no respectable mage wanted to have anything to do with them.
Together with my housemates and him, I’d been plunged into a series of harrowing events that had tested not only their skills as “enhanced humans,” as they called themselves, but my abilities and resilience as well. I’d been cursed, twice. We’d thwarted a warlock bent on taking over London, twice—though we’d only faced him the second time. I could only hope that he was gone for good, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
Then I’d found out to my utter amazement that I, Phoebe Thorpe, was a mage too. I should’ve learned about it much earlier, but because my Great-Aunt Beverly, who was the previous mage in the family, died before I was in a suitable age, it had never happened. I’d begun to learn spellcasting, and after a lousy start—I kept creating accidental fires—I was finally getting the hang of it.
Last week, we’d defeated a vampire warlock on a revenge spree. We’d been celebrating surviving the final showdown with him when Kane had kissed me.
And then he hadn’t called me.
Now I didn’t know how to take it. Had he merely been swept up by the emotions of the moment, expressing his relief that we were both alive? Or was he, like I hoped, romantically interested in me?
That he didn’t show up at the House of Magic on Sunday seemed to indicate the former. He’d started to attend the Sunday lunch regularly, lured in by Giselle’s excellent cooking, so missing it had to be deliberate. I could only hope that, like me, he’d slept most of the day. It wasn’t the late-night partying, it was recovering from all the magic we’d wielded—he more than I, naturally. It tended to completely wring out a mage.
Not knowing for sure had messed up both me and my morning routines. I’d slept poorly, which made me cranky and distracted. I agonised over my clothing and tried several hairdos, only to leave my long cinnamon hair down in the end. I left for work early, having skipped breakfast, and then I zoned out in the Tube, forgetting to switch lines at Liverpool Street station and found myself at Aldgate. Instead of heading back, which would have been the sensible thing to do, I switched to Circle Line, rode it to the Monument, and took a bus to the Bank where I could take the Central Line to Bond Street.
Needless to say, I was late arriving at Kane’s Arts and Antiques at the edge of Mayfair and Marylebone, north of Oxford Street. I somehow managed to switch off the correct alarm to the offices upstairs, leaving the shop’s alarm on as we weren’t open on Mondays. I gathered the mail, only dropping it once, and carried it to my desk in the lobby outside Kane’s office.
That’s as far as I got. I slumped in my chair, mail unsorted, my laptop unopened. I was supposed to make tea for Kane for when he arrived at
As the clock crept towards nine, the pressure to get my act on made my skin tighten, but I was more nervous than before a dentist’s appointment and I couldn’t decide which task I should do first. My stomach was in a huge knot that would’ve pushed my breakfast up if I’d had any.
Frustrated, I picked up a pen, but instead of doing something useful with it, like writing a to-do list, I tried to levitate it. Amber had taught me a simple levitation spell the previous day, but what had seemed easy yesterday wasn’t that easy today. Spellcasting required concentration that I simply couldn’t muster, and more energy than I had to give.
I should’ve called in sick and stayed in bed.
But practising the spell was better than obsessing about the kiss and agonising over what Kane would do, so I prevailed. Gritting my teeth, I forced my mind to calm, and coaxed the spark inside me that was necessary for casting spells. I made the correct movements with my hands and fingers and said the spell aloud.
The pen rose into the air, hovering a hand’s width above the desk. It wasn’t much, but even that made my head sway as a dizzy spell washed over me.
“I thought I told you not to strain yourself.”
The spell cut as I lost concentration. The pen dropped. I’d been so engrossed in my attempt that I hadn’t noticed Kane arrive.
Archibald Kane, or Kane as he’d asked me to call him, was thirty-five, with a lean, handsome face, deep blue eyes, and thick black hair that I itched to sink my fingers in. He was tall, lean, and surprisingly muscled underneath the precise three-piece suit he was wearing, thanks to long daily jogs.
I had colourful fantasies about those muscles that I’d witnessed first-hand once. I’d been attracted to him ever since I started as his assistant a couple of years ago, to his serious demeanour and precise, slightly old-fashioned manners coupled with great intelligence and occasional glimpses of a lighter side. And that was before I knew about magic.
After witnessing him fight magical battles with warlocks, I was pretty much completely smitten. He transformed into a fierce and strong warrior, capable of anything.
Though not this morning apparently. He’d halted at the door, a shoulder propped against the frame, hands pushed into the pockets of his suit trousers, and was watching me with a kind of adorable confusion from under his dark brows. I wasn’t the only one thrown off by the kiss.
He removed one hand from the pocket and ran fingers through his thick hair, as if searching for words. “Sorry, I … didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”
I hadn’t noticed the tone, the spell taking my attention. “Amber is much harsher.”
He flashed me a smile that brought out an elusive dimple on his right cheek. If I’d been casting a spell, something would’ve caught fire for sure—and not because that used to happen every time I was spellcasting.
“In that case, good morning, Phoebe.”
It wasn’t the dreaded talk, but I couldn’t relax yet. “Good morning, Kane. I’m sorry, but I’m running a bit late this morning, and your tea isn’t ready.”
He cocked an amused brow. “Too busy learning the levitation spell?”
It was as good an explanation as any—and would make me seem more competent than the truth—so I nodded and rose up, steadying myself against the desk as the strain of the spell made me sway.
“I’ll start the tea immediately.”
He halted me by lifting a hand. “I’m not staying. I need to go visit a few clients, and I’ll be away the whole day.”
My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach. “Oh…” I managed to say with great intelligence. “Thank you for letting me know so that I…”
…won’t work myself into a panic thinking you hated the kiss so much you can’t come to work…
“…won’t worry.”
“Phoebe…” He took a few steps closer but paused before reaching me. He ran fingers through his hair again, his forehead knitting slightly, and I braced myself for a talk about how we should ignore the kiss or something. Then he straightened, tilted his head, and gave me a questioning look.
“Would you like to come with me?”
Ever since I started working at Kane’s Arts and Antiques, I’d wanted to learn the practical side of the antique business. I wanted to hunt through old homes, barns, and county fairs for old furniture and paintings, knickknacks and books that had been forgotten. I dreamed of finding the hidden gems, preferably as bargains that showed how clever I was recognising them, and making a good profit in the process.
I’m not saying I’d watched too much Lovejoy as a child, but it was my mother’s favourite from before I was born. She had all six seasons on DVD that we watched together between reruns.
I’d studied art history in university, and trained in auctioneering at Sotheby’s, so I had the theory side covered. But while I had a fairly free hand at organising exhibitions and auctions we held, most of my duties consisted of office work.
Kane handled the acquisitions we sold at the shop, travelling up and down the home counties—and sometimes farther. He had never asked me to come with him before. I was giddy with excitement, the kiss almost forgotten, as I followed him to his car. If he didn’t want to bring it up, I could ignore it too—for now. I didn’t want to ruin my first opportunity with awkward conversations.
To my disappointment, he wasn’t driving his Jag this morning. It was his old, faded-blue Land Cruiser that was roomy enough for transporting anything smaller than sofas and dining room sets. The engine was in good condition, as were the seats.
“Where are we headed and what do you expect to find?” I asked as he drove out of the garage near the shop where he parked during the day.
“Brighton. We should be there before midday.”
The distance wasn’t terribly long, under ninety kilometres to the south, but it would take us close to an hour to drive through Central London to Brixton and Croydon on the south side of the Thames, no matter what the GPS tried to say.
“And then down the coast to Portsmouth, with maybe one stop on the way,” he added, joining the heavy morning traffic.
“Sounds exciting.”
He shot me an amused glance. “Well, don’t get used to it. I still need you to handle the office chores.”
I could’ve told him he should hire an actual office person, but I didn’t want to push my luck. “With the right tools, most of that stuff can be handled anywhere.”
“Hmmm…” was all he said. I hoped that meant he was considering giving me the right tools and not that he wouldn’t invite me again.
The traffic eased a little once we were past Croydon, but the speed remained low. The Land Cruiser couldn’t really do high speeds anyway, so it didn’t matter. I was in no hurry, and Kane seemed comfortable driving.
But I couldn’t sit in silence all the way to Brighton. Well, I probably could and Kane likely wouldn’t even notice, but I was brought up better.
My hands were getting a little clammy as I tried to come up with a neutral topic that didn’t sound like I was desperately trying to come up with one. I couldn’t very well point at every cow on the fields we passed, even if, as a city girl, I always found proof of their existence satisfying.
“So … should I do research in preparations for today’s meetings?”
Kane shot me a baffled glance. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, eighteenth-century sea chests typical of the area or something.”
He tilted his head. “Won’t hurt, even if those aren’t the target. The first meeting is about snuffboxes. Richard Walters was a known collector of them. He passed away recently, and his estate wants to sell his collection. I’m getting the first look. I went to school with his son Patrick.”
Of course he did…
The most aggravating feature of the antique business in England—or any business, really—was that it tended to hang on who one knew. This, more often than not, was synonymous with men one went to Eton or Harrow or some other expensive private school for boys with, which effectively kept women out. Kane had the right background and connections, which in part made his shop successful.
If I wanted to make it in this business, I needed to cultivate those connections every opportunity I had. At the auctions and exhibitions we held, and at antique fairs and conferences, I tried to make the acquaintance of the people in our business, so that one day a person selling something would think of me first.
