“Speaking from experience, she won’t be by the end of the day.” He tugged his palm out from under her trailing finger and laced their fingers together. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

Mika made a face, torn between dread at the thought of what was coming and humour at the absurdity of the situation. “If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I’d turn to Primrose for help—”

“If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I wouldn’t shudder at the sound of her name—”

They both laughed.

“It’s nice to be home,” Mika said softly. “I missed this attic.”

“Are you willing to share it?”

She smiled. “Only if you bring pink gin.”

“As much as you want.”

Her phone rang, interrupting the too-brief peace of the moment. “It’s her.”

“That was quick.”

“She’s where I got my speed spell,” Mika said ruefully, and answered the call. “Hi.”

“Mika, I’m afraid I cannot find this house you spoke of,” came Primrose’s crisp, precise voice, sounding slightly aggravated. “The satnav informs me that I’m in the right place, but I see no house.”

“Oh, give me a minute and I’ll come find you,” Mika said. “It’s very easy to miss the gates because of the wards.”

She hung up and clambered off the bed. Jamie gave her a questioning look. “You want me to go with you?”

“No, I should talk to her alone first. Keep the girls inside as well, okay?”

It took more than a minute for her to get downstairs, put her shoes on, and jog all the way down the drive to the gates, but Mika’s phone didn’t ring again, so she assumed Primrose had discovered how to be patient in her old age. She stepped out between the gates, looking left and right along the narrow country lane, and spotted Primrose’s sleek black car about twenty yards farther down the road, parked on the verge, hazards flashing.

Mika waved to get her attention and stepped aside to let the car pass. Primrose cut the engine the instant she was within the gates, abandoning the car on the drive and getting out with a look of intense curiosity on her face. “These wards are very powerful. Who cast them?”

“I’ll get to that part.”

Primrose snorted. She inclined her head at the house. “So this is where you’ve been since you left Brighton. And that story about the class reunion at UEA?”

“Sorry.”

“I can’t imagine what I’ve done to make you feel like you have to lie to me,” Primrose said, frosty and rigid, like she might be genuinely upset and trying to hide it. “Never mind. What about the unlikely tale you told me over the phone? About three young witches and a solicitor who knows too much?”