Page 35 of A Witch in Notting Hill

I was falling fast, which meant it was only a matter of time before I hit the ground.

Over the next week or so, I busied myself with everything I could think of to resist the temptation of stopping by the shop.

I ran, I read, I baked even though I didn’t know how, I watched documentaries about religious cults and unsolved crimes and the deep sea, I called Ivy, I drank a lot of wine. None of it helped.

Through it all, my thoughts found their way back to Oliver. What he was doing, whether he was thinking of me. How much I wanted him to change his mind. How his hands felt on my body under the hot spray of the shower. How much it hurt that he didn’t believe me. How much I could see it hurt him, too.

How he saved me.

When the night of the full moon finally rolled around, I found myself wishing I had more time. I wasn’t ready to see him again, and yet, I was desperate to see him again. And conflicting emotions were notoriously problematic for magic’s sake.

But we didn’t have time to wait for the next full moon, so it was now or never.

Lola had found a full moon festival through her tattoo artist, so we were all prepared to head to Shoreditch tonight to check it out (save Vera, who wasn’t at all interested in crowds).

The instructions for the spell weren’t specific regarding what kind of Full Moon Ceremony I participated in, so the Shoreditch Park Full Moon Festival felt just fine.

And best of all, it was a masquerade ball theme. Which meant I could let my guard down a little and actually try to enjoy it, safe behind the cover of my mask.

We’d agreed to meet at the Old Street Tube station at ten thirty, so I put the finishing touches on my look and prepared to head out.

I left my hair down, another security blanket, letting the curtain of messy waves obscure my face.

Hopefully, between the unassuming black dress and the oversize mask Lola had dropped off earlier this week, no one would recognize me and I would be safe to get the job done.

I grabbed yet another cold brew on my way to the train, preparing to be awake until sunset tomorrow.

Which, if you asked me, felt highly unnecessary.

But I wasn’t one to question the spell’s requirements, and I was willing to do whatever it took to get Vera back into her human body, so I had to get in the mood for an all-nighter. Fast.

The Tube roared east, and I kept my face buried in the copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray Oliver had been eyeing when he was at my flat, partially so no one would see me and partially because I couldn’t put it down.

I was usually more of a true crime girl, but something about Dorian’s predicament, watching himself age in a portrait when in life he still felt young and beautiful, felt eerily similar to the experience of the modern celebrity.

I felt for him in a way I didn’t usually for rich white men in classic novels.

And Oliver had been eyeing it, so naturally I wanted something to talk to him about.

When I got off the train at the Old Street station, I didn’t spot any of the others right away, which gave me time to finish the chapter I was on. I found a corner out of the way of foot traffic and leaned my shoulder against the wall, burying my face in the book while I waited.

“ The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. ” Oliver’s voice cut through the buzz of the station, coming to me like a dream.

“What?” I asked, fighting the smile that was already stretching across my face. Apparently, I couldn’t stay mad at him. Though I wasn’t sure how badly I wanted to.

“Lord Henry,” he said. “Say what you will about Oscar Wilde, but the bloke knew what he was talking about when he wrote that line.”

His voice was rough, somewhere between want and restraint. I could tell even in the crowded station. The sound ran through me like a shot of tequila, and I was already craving another.

“Hi,” I said, tucking the book under my arm and letting my eyes wander from his head to his toes.

Navy wool coat, sport jacket, white button-down open at the collar to reveal the slightest bit of chest hair and the glint of his chain, tailored pants, and perfectly shined shoes.

I took my time looking back up, though I couldn’t deny the pull of his gaze.

“Hi,” he said. “Before you say anything, I owe you an apology for the other day. I was rude, and you didn’t deserve that. Belief systems aside, I should have tried to be more open and more respectful about what you were telling me, and I was the opposite, and I’m sorry.”

I didn’t realize I’d been waiting on those words until they washed over me like warm water. “Apology accepted.” I sighed, relieved. “Thank you. And I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have given you such a hard time.”

“Say no more. I deserved it.”

I wondered if this meant he was coming around to the idea of magic, but I knew better than to ask. I wanted this to be a nice night. I didn’t want to risk ruining it with a disagreement. Instead, I decided to move on. Starting with the way he looked.

I held him at arm’s length to get a better view, making no effort to hide my admiration.

“Like what you see, do ya?” he asked, his smile slow and indulgent.

“Can’t complain,” I said, though the reality was I more than liked what I saw. Was drooling over it, maybe. Paralyzed by it. Already memorizing every inch of it.

“If I look even half as good as you, I’ll take it.” He offered me his elbow, and I ducked my head so he couldn’t see how hard I was blushing. It was already like our argument hadn’t happened, and although I was certain it was bound to come back, I was relieved we didn’t have to rehash it now.

And he must have felt the same, because he dropped his lips to my ear and whispered, “Seriously, Willow. I know I’m probably supposed to keep my hands to myself, but that dress is going to make it a proper challenge.”

“You strike me as someone who likes a challenge,” I said, keeping my eyes trained ahead. If this was how we were starting the night, I was hopeless to hold on to even a shred of control. It was slipping through my fingers like silk, and I was powerless to stop it.

“Lucky for you.”

I glanced up at him, watching mischief dance in his eyes like flames. Shame on me for thinking staying up for two days was going to be the hardest part of this night.

Fortunately, Min and Lola came into view before he could say another word that threatened to turn me to liquid before the night even began.

“Look at you two,” Min said, holding his arms out wide. “Clean up nice, don’t ya?”

“Same to you,” Oliver said, clapping him on the shoulder. “And you look fine, I guess,” he said to Lola, laughing when she gave him the finger.

“You look beautiful, Willow,” she said. “That mask really suits you.”

“Thank you for dropping it off. It’s already been a perfect disguise.”

“Not to mention the air of mystery,” Oliver said, dropping his voice low. There was no way we could keep this up all night. But I had a bad feeling we were going to try.

“All right, Lo. Give us the rundown,” I said as we made our way out of the station. I needed to stay focused, to visualize the event and the goal. To stop visualizing the whole slew of other things I’d been visualizing since last week.

“Right, so the festival happens on every full moon, but the location changes and it isn’t announced until the morning of.

There are loads of vendors and artists and performances, some rituals, fire pits, music, dancing, drinks, the whole lot.

It’s a bit of cheeky fun, but you’ve gotta keep an open mind. ”

“Easy enough,” I said.

“For you, maybe.” Min laughed. “For this guy, who’s to say?” He hooked a thumb at Oliver, who rolled his eyes.

“I’m very open-minded,” Oliver protested.

“More now than you used to be,” Lola said, and something like hope bubbled in my chest. It would have been vain to think any of that could have been because of me. But a girl could dream. “Last time we tried to get you to come to something like this you told us to piss off.”

“That’s because it was an ancient crafts festival and I had other plans.”

“With yourself, drinking whiskey on the couch and watching Interstellar for the millionth time.”

“Those are still plans,” he said. “And I’m here now, so.”

“I’m just saying, I think we know why.” She flicked her eyes to me, and I looked anywhere but back at her, too nervous to confirm or deny. Too nervous my hope would be written all over my face.

“D’you have the address?” Minho asked. “Or are we just aimlessly wandering Shoreditch.” He always knew exactly when to change the subject. Bless him.

“You think I’d just drag you guys all the way out here with no idea where I’m going?”

“Yes,” Oliver and Minho said at the same time, with the same level of emphasis.

“God, tough crowd,” Lola said. “For your information, I do know where we’re going. And if I’m right, which I sometimes am, it should be right... up... here!” She sounded surprised to have actually found the place, but we were all under some silent agreement to let her have this one.

We were standing on the outskirts of a park laden with tents so tightly packed together it was hard to see beyond the perimeter. Neon lights and tiki torches lined every inch of the park, and somewhere a drumline was pounding out a tribal rhythm. The sound alone was intoxicating.

We watched groups of people in formal wear, ripped jeans, and what looked like bedazzled bathing suits pouring in through the entrance, already dancing and cheering and holding drinks high above their masked heads.

With the amount of energy this festival alone was going to take, I had no idea how I was supposed to stay up all night.

But one thing at a time.

“Are we ready?” I asked, relieved when Lola grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the gate. Her enthusiasm was infectious. Oliver and Minho followed close behind, equally wide-eyed and curious, and we were swallowed up by the festival as soon as we crossed the threshold.

Belly dancers swinging fireballs wove through the paths, alongside women on stilts with elaborate headdresses and hundreds of people wandering arm in arm from one booth to the next, spilling drinks and buying crystals and dancing to the ever-present drumbeat.

“Holy shit,” Minho said. “Lo, did you know it was going to be like this?”

“They’re all different,” she said, “but they do all have the same kind of energy. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“It’s definitely something,” Oliver said, craning his neck back and forth to take it all in.

“Open mind, remember?” I said.

“For you,” he said, “anything.”

“What do I have to do to get that treatment?” Lola asked. “I’ve been asking you to do shit like this since uni. Willow just waltzes in—no offense, Willow—and now you’re Gandalf the Grey?”

“There are so many things wrong with that sentence I’m not even sure where to begin.

” Oliver shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And need I remind you of the experimental Danish music festival we went to last year? Or the time Min and I came to see you in that play... What was it called? Crock of Bullshit ?”

“ Load of Lies ,” she corrected him, and I bit my lip to stop from laughing. “Fine. Maybe you are supportive.”

“Was that so hard?” he asked, nudging her with his shoulder.

“Keep him in check, will you?” she asked me. “He’s exhausting.”

I saluted her, ignoring Oliver when he threw his hands up in protest.

“Oh, relax,” I said, linking my other arm through his and pulling him deeper inside the park. “The festival awaits.”