Page 59 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

“Excellent. Now I don’t have to murder him. I’d hate to get blood on my chocolate.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Ethan said drily, not looking up from his dagger. The chunk of linden wood in his hand was taking the shape of a swan.

Sorcha choked on a chocolate drop. “Oops. Good morning, Dragon.”

“I’m not sure he wants people to know he’s the Dragon,” Briar murmured, watching one of the gentlemen nearby give a full-body start. He was pale as boiled milk.

“Then he shouldn’t have let his very large dragon take a nap on your roof.”

“What?” Briar stepped out and squinted against the sun. Ethan’s familiar was indeed curled up on her roof. He barely fit. His scaled tail was wrapped around the gargoyle crouched on the corner. He glowed, not like fireflies and starlight, but like sunlight off the sea. Like knives. He was menacing and beautiful. So much like Ethan.

“He’s protecting you,” Sorcha said smugly. “Ethan.”

“He’s protecting his path to the moon egg.”

“Well, you’re in the middle of that path, so I’m glad you have someone keeping an eye out.” She shook her head at Aidan, who really was staring at a moon-white peony blossom. He was dressed exactly as one would expect from an earl who worked in a museum: tidy, a bit formal. Expensive. “Who is he, really?” Sorcha asked under her breath.

“He works for the London Museum of Magic. He came yesterday with two Keepers.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. Outrage and worry sparked off her. Her crow flew out of her chest, screeching a warning.

“You probably can’t eat his eyeballs,” Briar pointed out mildly.

“Spoilsport. You can’t just let him poke around.”

“I don’t like it either, but I only look guiltier if I don’t.”

Sorcha huffed out a breath. “I suppose. Luckily, I don’t have that problem. Oi!” she added with a sharp whistle. “You!”

Aidan straightened, his serious-scholar face a combination of arrogance and curiosity. Sorcha marched right up to him, her red tangled hair in its unfashionable plait, no bonnet to be seen. One would never guess her grandfather had been a duke. Disgraced, of course. But still a duke. Her green eyes flashed.

“You gave him something to eat?” Sorcha said to Briar before he could say anything at all. She shook her head, even more outraged with Aidan after a glance inside the paper bag. “And you chose marzipan?”

Aidan frowned. “Yes.”

“The worst of the sweets. The most boring.”

“I was not aware there was a hierarchy.”

“That seemed unlikely.” Sorcha scoffed. Aidan blinked. He did not seem the type accustomed to women who scoffed. Or shouted “Oi” at him over the hollyhocks.

Briar was not sure if she should save him or throw him to the wolves. “Sorcha Beauregard, this is Lord Coventry.”

Sorcha snorted. Aidan appeared both bewildered and irritated. A common reaction to Sorcha, truth be told.

“It’s not polite to trample about in a lady’s garden,” Sorcha pointed out.

“I assure you, I was not trampling.” Aidan was so serious, so courteous. Briar almost felt sorry for him. Sorcha would find it irresistible to needle him until he turned purple and possibly exploded. He bowed stiffly in Briar’s direction. “I shall be in the orchard for the rest of my inspection.”

Sorcha crossed her arms. “I am coming with you.”

“I do not need assistance.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not helping you. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“I assure you, miss, there is nothing unseemly about this,” he said stiffly. “I am on museum business.”

A snake slithered from behind a pot of thyme. It ought to have been green, but it was white.