Page 31 of A Kiss from the Fae (Mistress of Magic #2)

Faye had already drunk half her coffee by the time Mallory walked into the coffee shop, shaking the rain from a plain black umbrella.

She wore a long black and grey houndstooth check coat that reminded Faye of a cape and tall black boots underneath.

She was as slight as Faye remembered, yet she made her way imperiously through the café.

‘Hi.’ Faye smiled openly, feeling that her own outfit of blue jeans and a cream knitted jumper was somehow less cool, less elegant, less London than Mallory’s seemingly effortless style.

Today, Faye had plaited her long auburn hair, which hung over one shoulder; she wished she’d perhaps curled it and left it long, and worn something less homely.

Mallory’s hair was as luxuriously long and blonde as she remembered, and when she took off the long coat, she was wearing a plain, fitted black T-shirt and tight black jeans that showed off her petite figure.

‘Ugh, terrible weather out there.’ Mallory threw her coat onto the leather booth seat facing Faye; she didn’t apologise for being late and called her coffee order across at a waitress. ‘Flat white. Extra shot.’

‘I don’t mind it. Reminds me of home a little.

’ Faye smiled, aware that she was being artificially jolly.

It was a lie; London didn’t remind of her of Abercolme at all, but she was making conversation, smoothing out the jagged peaks of Mallory.

Annie, with her actressy dislike of social faux pas and bad manners, would have said something like, Get it up ye, bessie, at least say hullo.

Faye wished Annie was with her; she also knew that Mallory most likely wouldn’t know that bessie was an insult.

She tried again. ‘Thanks for your card. And the flowers. That was kind.’

‘S’ok. I work next to a florist, so it’s no hassle. They give me a massive discount I’m in there so much.’

‘Ah.’ The waitress brought Mallory’s drink and asked Faye if she wanted another. She shook her head hurriedly. If this was how it was going to go, she didn’t want to be stuck here with Mallory for too long.

‘So. Tell me about the coven.’ Mallory leaned back against the blue leather booth and sipped her coffee, watching Faye intently. ‘When I saw you at Rav’s, that’s where you’d been, right?’

‘The coven?’ Faye hadn’t expected Mallory to ask her about that.

When they’d met at the bar, she’d been distinctly uninterested in talking about tarot.

Except, Faye remembered, that Mallory had said she was familiar with it.

It was just her tone and manner that implied she wasn’t interested in talking about it with Faye.

‘Rav said it’s a London-based group. I’m quite keen to find one, so I wanted to know what you thought.’

‘What I thought?’ Faye knew she was repeating Mallory’s words like a simpleton, but she was having trouble getting to grips with the surprising turn the conversation had taken.

‘Yeah. You know. What are they like? What did you do? I mean, I don’t want to join just any group.’

Faye took a drink of her coffee to disguise the laugh that had jumped to her throat, and coughed instead. Mallory obviously thought that joining a coven was like choosing a bikini waxer.

‘Well, they do run open rituals at the seasonal festivals, but you have to be a friend of someone to go. You can’t just say you want to join and they’ll have you.

’ Faye remembered Sylvia going out of her way to make it clear that she was welcome at Mabon, as long as she knew her place.

If they’ve got any sense, they wouldn’t take you in a blue moon , anyway , Faye thought to herself. ‘Why do you want to join a coven?’

Mallory shrugged. ‘Seems like the right thing to do, y’know? Look at me – I always dress in black. I listen to a lot of Fields of the Nephilim. I dunno, it’s obvious…I’m such a witch.’

Faye raised her eyebrow and said nothing.

A favourite colour was hardly a prerequisite for witchcraft.

She’d always chosen to work alone or with Annie, but because of the shop, she knew plenty of local Scottish covens and less formal groups – groups of people that ran regular specialised workshops or retreats dedicated to particular goddesses or gods, or focused on a range of techniques from seership and clairvoyancy to herbalism and healing, incense-making and traditional crafts to shamanic soul retrieval and breathwork, and everything in between.

Everyone who ran those groups, or attended them, was serious about their craft.

No one was in it for the image; most people were distinctly unglamorous and indeed tended not to talk about their work much with those who weren’t in the know.

‘Dunno. Like, I did this love spell when I was twenty or so. Just made it up. And the guy ended up being my boyfriend for, like, years.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Faye raised her eyebrow. She, Annie and Aisha had done a love spell, and it had definitely worked in a way that couldn’t have been predicted.

‘Yeah. I’ve tried some stuff for myself. Crystals and tarot. I just feel like it’s something I want to look into more, so when Rav said that’s where you were, I thought I’d ask you.’

Clearly, Mallory didn’t remember Faye mentioning that she owned one of Scotland’s most well-respected witchcraft shops, or that she was a hereditary witch.

She’d had the opportunity to ask Faye as much as she wanted about her experiences – about Moddie and Grandmother and Black Sands Beach – when they’d sat next to each other at the bar.

But she hadn’t been interested then. Faye also noted that this coffee date definitely wasn’t an opportunity for Mallory to apologise, which was the impression she’d given Faye in her text.

Probably, she knew that Faye wouldn’t have come along otherwise.

Still, Faye gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Mallory might be woefully socially inept, and just because she hadn’t expressed any meaningful reason for making the huge commitment that being a member of a coven was – or, a reason for why she was interested in magic herself, or any sign that she really understood what she was letting herself in for – didn’t mean that maybe this wasn’t the right thing for her on her path.

She’d definitely learn a thing or two by training to be a witch, even if it wasn’t what she expected.

Mallory reached over the table and took Faye’s hand.

‘I’d really appreciate it if you introduced me, Faye. I know I can be a bit of a bitch. I could have been more welcoming, whatever. It’s not me, being all super-friendly, y’know? But at least for Rav’s sake, we should be friends. He’s a good guy.’

Faye was bewildered by Mallory’s sudden direct contact.

‘Well, I can put you in touch with Ruby, and she can tell you when the next open ceremony is.’ Faye found herself offering and regretted it immediately.

She’d enjoyed getting to know Ruby recently, and she felt a little protective of her new friends.

She didn’t have many, and she didn’t want to lose them, too.

Plus, having Mallory at a ceremony would be a huge pain; she could feel it.

‘Great, thanks.’ Mallory signalled to the waitress for the bill.

What just happened? Faye wondered. Clearly, now Mallory had got what she wanted, there was no more reason for her to be here.

‘So, text me? Or give me her number.’

‘I’ll let you know,’ Faye said noncommittally.

Mallory nodded and got up, putting her coat on; they’d been in the coffee shop for twenty minutes at most, and that included Mallory being late.

‘Cool. Sorry, I’ve got to run.’ Mallory picked up her umbrella.

‘What do you do, again?’ Faye asked. All of Rav’s friends worked in the music business in some way, but she couldn’t remember knowing what Mallory did.

‘Music PR. Mostly modern acoustic folk acts, singer-songwriter vocalists, that kind of thing. I get to be artificially cheerful and upbeat all day long.’ Mallory flashed Faye an intentionally false shark-like smile. ‘Like this. Okay Faye, take care, speak soon, yeah?’

Without waiting for any kind of response, Mallory left, swishing her way through the café again. Faye watched her go, feeling ill at ease.