Page 6 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

Chapter Three

Briar woke up in the garden.

Naturally, it was raining.

Her hip ached and her eyes were sandy as she struggled to keep them open. Part of her wanted to lay her head in the nearest puddle and sink back into sleep. The swan inside her chest made a sound of pure fury. Witchcraft prickled through her, just out of reach. It was urgent, uncomfortable. The garden trembled but did not answer with a helpful spike of nettle or roots strong as iron chains.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the lady who wore violence like a bonnet was pointing a pistol at her. Briar would have been a lot more terrified if everything wasn’t so hazy and syrupy. She tried to move without casting up her accounts. Although it would serve them all right if she ruined their boots. “That teapot was expensive,” she said, once more.

It was ridiculous to focus on that triviality when she was quite literally stuck between a pistol and a lightning storm. Although, at second glance, the rain fell oddly. It was slow, barely touching her while pouring into the rosebushes as though from a pitcher. The sleep spell had packed more of a punch than she’d thought.

“What?” the lady asked, confused. She was tiny, delicate, but clearly strong as a whip. There was a beauty mark near the corner of her lip. Her hair moved ever so slightly, swaying as though underwater.

“You broke my teapot,” Briar repeated, just this side of sulking. “Why are you stealing from a tearoom?” That was odd, even for an Iron Crow. Even during the crowded chaos of Midsummer. Pickpockets could make a year’s worth of bounty on Midsummer night alone, so she could only imagine what an Iron Crow could do, especially ones like these, who did not work alone. They sought out magic and charms others might be hesitant to touch. Or wield.

Luckily, she kept her poisonous plants locked in a chest in the cleaning cupboard. If that was what they were after, she’d swallow the key before giving it to them.

“We’re not here for the teapot,” the not-quite-a-pirate said mildly. His voice was a contradiction, calm and also full of storms. His dark hair was salted with silver and his eyes were black and hard to read. He leaned against the garden wall as though he were bored.

Infuriating.

She was being robbed and he was bored.

He finally looked her way. The rain ran in rivulets under his boots, but all that thick, dark hair was dry. “Tell us where it is, Petal. There’s only one way this ends.”

The haziness crystallized at the sound of her sister’s name.

It was such a sudden shock to her drowsy system that she flinched. The lady Crow may as well have shot her. She tried to cover the reaction, to blend it into the natural anxiety of waking up surrounded by magic thieves and housebreakers.

She was not entirely successful.

The Iron Crow pushed away from the wall, suddenly interested.

She inched back but there was nowhere to go.

He thought she was Petal.

As long as she did not disabuse him of the notion, her sister was safe. Briar might still be in a bit of a pickle, but Petal was safe. That was what mattered. She’d make that trade any day.

He crouched in front of her as the storm descended in earnest. His shoulders blocked out the garden. He was rather large. Why did his muscles need muscles? “Tell me.”

Briar shivered. “No.”

Never mind that she had no idea what he was talking about—she needed to get them all away from the cottage before Petal returned.

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “No?”

Clearly, he did not hear the word very often. And just as clearly, someone ought to say it to him on a more regular basis. Getting your way all the time was bad for the digestion. There wasn’t enough mint tea in all the gardens of the world.

The woman flashed a grin, and Briar wasn’t sure if it was for her or for him. “Oh, I like this one, Dragon.”

Briar froze. She knew that name. It woke a shiver inside her, as it was meant to. Witches everywhere knew that name.

The Dragon.

Ethan Swansea.

Not just any Iron Crow, but the leader of the notorious Sea Dragons. More of a pirate than she’d realized.