Mazes and Mummies Teaser

Chapter 1

It was a quiet Thursday morning in Cardinal Woolsey's Knitting Shop in Oxford, a shop I own and have come to love. It was just after ten on a beautiful September day. There were no customers in yet. My familiar, Nyx, a black cat who is small in stature but big in attitude, was busy with her morning routine, where she prowled the premises searching for any possible rodents that might have tried to party in the shop when she wasn’t around to stop them. But her search was pretty desultory. She sniffed along the bottom of the old wood floor, scarred and stained from hundreds of years of footsteps walking over it. She padded past the baskets of wools and nudged her nose into the corner where the old walls didn’t meet quite squarely.

Her morning rounds completed, she yawned and then jumped up onto the cash desk where I was tidying up the order book. I stroked her soft fur for a few minutes, then went back to work. It was nice to have this peace before the first customers arrived. I loved these first minutes, enjoying the colorful wools, all organized, as no hands had rummaged through them yet. I shifted the rack of hand-knitted garments that were crafted locally and with astonishing speed. My crew of late-night knitters were faster than machines.

I’d inherited the knitting shop when my beloved grandmother passed away and even though I still wasn’t a very proficient knitter, I loved the feel and smell of wool, the gorgeous garments that could be crafted from it. I enjoyed helping customers choose patterns and wools or a kit they might like with everything required to make a designer cushion, a sweater or a scarf. My customers included Oxford residents and students, locals from the outlying villages, tourists, and I had a growing online business. I’d taken to being a shopkeeper much more readily than I’d have imagined I would.

Today I’d chosen to wear a long cardigan in a deep red and gold maze stitch knitted by Dr. Christopher Weaver, who ran a private local blood bank and was a vampire.

In fact, there was a whole nest of vampires living in the tunnels beneath the shop. They’d become friends and valued customers as they knitted so quickly they were always coming back for more supplies. My cousin Violet, who worked full time at Cardinal Woolsey’s, would be in soon but for now I savored the beginning of the day. Who would come in? What might they be working on? Would I be greeting mainly regular customers or might we have new clients show up? Oxford’s such a tourist destination that I often found myself serving knitters from all over the globe. It was fascinating how a love of knitting or crochet bonded people who might have nothing else in common.

And then my musing was interrupted as Nyx suddenly jumped to her feet and arched her back. I turned, startled, as she made a strange sound. It wasn't a hiss. It wasn't a burp. It was sort of a meow that got strangled in the middle. Her eyes opened wide and her fur stood on end. I'll admit this strange action startled me. I glanced around wondering what was happening, but I couldn’t see anything. Nyx didn’t do more than flick her tail if a vampire came up from below the shop looking for a new pair of knitting needles; she merely eyed the many customers who came through the door, and was polite to the witches who sometimes dropped in. Which is to say she was a pretty even-tempered cat. So what had her so riled?

I stroked her and she settled down, but her eyes remained wide open. She was on full alert.

Relax, I told her. I wondered if she was just getting a bit bored because after a couple of years of huge excitement, things had settled down to a nice, comfortable, relaxed pace. I knew what I was doing in Cardinal Woolsey’s. My knitting was improving and my cousin Violet was more or less running things while living upstairs in my old flat over the shop.

My best friend since forever, Jennifer, ran our sister shop in Cornwall and it was starting to do well. It was great fun having two of us in the business now because we could talk about shared expenses and joint projects and marketing, about new wools and new patterns. Our shops didn’t make fortunes but they were doing okay.

Frankly, I didn’t need to make a fortune being married to one of the wealthiest undead creatures on the planet, but I liked to work and to think that I was continuing in my beloved grandmother's footsteps. And besides, if I hadn't taken the job seriously, my gran, who was now an undead member of the Vampire Knitting Club, would have had some strongly worded criticism. She might have passed on, but Agnes Bartlett hadn't stopped being a very present grandmother. Unlike my own parents who were off in Egypt on a dig. They'd been in Egypt as archeologists for a chunk of my lifetime and consequently I'd spent a lot of summers there and as many as I could with my grandmother here in Oxford.

I was happy that we'd fallen into a nice comfortable routine, but I wondered if Nyx was missing the excitement. I mean, in the last couple of years I'd been accidentally involved in murder investigations and some uncomfortable paranormal experiences that I hoped never to repeat. However, I felt like things were settled and it was nice. I was married to the love of my life and the love of his afterlife and while I admit I'd had some reservations going into the marriage, so far it was working. There were some big obstacles to overcome, with me destined to age while Rafe never would, but I'd never been happier. I think we were both taking each day as it came, which, as any mindfulness book will tell you, is the recipe for happiness anyway.

Perhaps I was feeling a little smug about my circumstances and that's why Fate decided to smack me upside the head. Because just as I was thinking I might go into the small kitchen at the back and put on some coffee, the door that connects the shop to a set of stairs leading to the flat upstairs flew open and my cousin Violet came rushing out of the door looking deranged.

It wasn't like she was hurrying to be on time because she was already ten minutes late for her shift and Violet never worried too much about punctuality. Presumably she thought that working for her cousin gave her a free pass on things like showing up for work on time and since I rarely bothered to say anything, I suppose she was right.

She burst into the shop, looking wild-eyed. Her long black hair, which she liked to streak with purple or pink depending on her mood, was flying all over the place where she hadn’t brushed it. One eye was fully made up, the other not so she looked a little lopsided.  She was wearing a long white cotton night dress and socks. So, clearly, she hadn't come in to work.

“Lucy,” she cried, “There's somebody in the attic.” Her voice sounded panicky and rose with each word.

“What?” I was equally horrified. We stared at each other, both wide-eyed and neither of us was rushing upstairs to see what was going on. Nyx, however, had other ideas. With a growl, she streaked through the open door and up the stairs.

“Nyx, wait,” I called, thinking of all the bad things that could happen to a small over-brave cat if confronted with some kind of maniac burglar. Except how had said burglar even got in? You could enter the living quarters either through the front door, accessed by an alley behind Harrington Street, or through the shop. But we hardly ever used the front door and kept it locked. You needed a key code to get in. Could somebody have climbed in a window? All these thoughts were flying through my head as I ran after Nyx.

“Should I call the police?” Violet yelled from downstairs. She hadn't followed me but then it wasn't her cat throwing herself into possible danger. I paused to yell back, “Only if you hear me scream.”

As I got to the top of the stairs, I calmed down a bit. I’m a grown witch with some perfectly good skills. I maybe didn't need to be quite so scared. It was probably a squirrel or a bird in the attic, anyway. Above the shop is a living area, living room and kitchen basically, and then above that the bedrooms and above those the attic.

I stopped to listen, noticed that Violet had abandoned a piece of toast with marmalade, half-eaten. She had a makeup mirror set up and had been doing her makeup, eating toast and, based on her open laptop, checking emails when she’d heard the noise.

There was nobody in the kitchen or living area. I very slowly walked up the stairs to the upper level where the bedrooms were, being as quiet as I could. Nyx was ahead of me. She seemed to have lost a little of her bravery and glanced back at me from time to time. Or maybe she was just making sure I was in range so she could protect me. I stopped in the hallway. And listened. Sure enough, there was a noise coming from the attic.

Both Nyx and I turned our heads to one side, raising one ear in the direction of the attic. It was a strange noise. It didn't sound like a person moving around or like an animal either. It was more like a low hum.

I tried to convince myself it was a bird but it sounded like no bird I’d ever heard. I stood and looked at Nyx, and Nyx stood and looked at me. We do communicate without words. I sometimes have thoughts in my head that I’m pretty sure are coming from her and I’m convinced she can read my mind. The thought in my head was, ‘this probably isn't a police matter.’ Her little head bobbed up and down, which I took as agreement.

I considered the options. I could call in reinforcements. There was a whole nest of vampires living down below the knitting shop. But it was mid-morning and a lot of them would be sleeping. Besides, I didn't really want to rush for backup just because I heard a funny noise in the attic. Violet was downstairs ready to call for help, Nyx was here to support if magic was required.

“I'm going up,” I said to Nyx. Unfortunately, there was no way to be quiet if I was going to access the attic. I had to pull down the extendable ladder and then, making sure the hinges were clicked in, which was a rickety rackety endeavor. First, I had to climb up, then lift the lid of the trapdoor leading into the attic. And then clamber onto the attic floor.

I pulled down the ladder, which made as much noise as I’d dreaded it would, then paused, listening. There was no reaction to the sudden noise. That soft hum continued exactly as before.  I climbed up the stairs as quietly as I could. And then paused again. I glanced down at Nyx, who was looking a little bit worried on my behalf. The thing was, the minute I pushed open the trapdoor and started raising my head, I would be vulnerable. It would be very easy to knock me off the ladder or worse. I listened intently.

The humming seemed softer now. Maybe it was an old record player or something that had somehow got turned on. There was a lot of stuff in the attic. Some of it had been my grandmother’s and I hadn't been through every box.

Even then, I think I knew it wasn’t an old record playing. I gathered myself, pulling power in my right hand until I could feel it, warm and crackling like tiny electric shocks. I was ready to use it if I had to.

One deep breath and then I pushed up the trapdoor. But I didn't put my head up right away. I wasn’t that stupid. I waited a moment but no missiles came flying at me. Nothing untoward happened except the humming grew louder. I risked peeking up over the edge. Nothing.

The attic looked the same way it had looked when I’d last seen it, when I’d dug out my grandmother’s wedding dress on the lead-up to my own wedding. There was the same smell of dust and old wood, the boxes and trunks piled here and there, some old furniture.

There was an electric light, so I flicked the switch and a bare bulb lit the space. I could see at a glance there was no one there. Neither human nor animal nor any creature I would hesitate to meet.

Now I climbed all the way up into the attic. A second later, something soft hit my leg and I nearly screamed, before I saw Nyx had come to join me. If I stood in the middle of the attic, where the roof peaked, I could stand up straight. I did and both Nyx and I stood still, listening. I walked deeper into the attic and saw that something was glowing. Now both of my hands felt tingly and I held them up like a boxer ready to go a few rounds.

Nyx went straight toward the eerie glow and I followed, realizing that it was coming from a chest where I had stored things when I used to live here and hadn’t bothered to move them to my new home. I heaved a sigh of relief. No doubt I’d accidentally powered something up. My magic was strong, but still a little unpredictable. And in fairness, I didn't practice as often as I should. Maybe it was a forgotten magic tool letting me know I needed to bring it out and work with it. I imagined my athame glowering at me like a disappointed teacher as I bent over the chest. Except my athame was at Crosyer Manor, where I now lived. This chest was filled with bits and pieces I rarely used. Still, it was spellbound. I recited the incantation that would open the lid.

And when that opened, I gasped. My scrying mirror was glowing. I had thought it was at my current home, but I must have forgotten and left it here. A scrying mirror is used for divination mostly. As I’d worked with mine, it had given me glimpses of other places and portents of the future. It can also be used for communication between witches, but with modern social media it's pretty unproductive to try mirror-to-mirror contact when you can just open your computer or phone and with a few clicks you're talking to people halfway across the world.

I didn’t think my mirror was reminding me we hadn’t worked together for a while. I had a strong instinct that whatever was making that mirror glow and emit that unnerving hum, was something I’d be happier not to know about. For a second, I had the urge to slam the lid of the chest shut and pretend I'd never opened it.

Nyx put her front paws on the edge of the chest and reached her nose toward the glowing mirror.  I couldn't be less brave than my cat. So, with an inward sigh, I reached down. As my hand grasped the handle, the glow increased but the humming stopped as though, now it had my attention, it could pipe down.

Nothing like this had ever happened to me. Usually, the mirror minded its own business until I brought it into my practice, so I was both curious and apprehensive. I took a breath and cleared my mind. Then, as I’d been taught, I softened my gaze and let it settle on the reflective surface.

A scene came into view. At first, I couldn't make out what I was looking at. The background was both wavery and dark. But as I kept my gaze steady, the image came into focus. I was looking at a wall. It was clearly a very old wall and with scratched markings and tiny paintings in lines. I knew immediately what it was thanks to summer visits to my parents.

I was looking at hieroglyphics. That wall was most likely in Egypt.

Mirrors and painted walls reminded me of my parents out in Egypt on a dig, but also of a witch who’d once been trapped in a mirror. Very softly I said, “Hello.”

I heard a rustle. And then in the mirror appeared the face of a beautiful young Egyptian woman with long dark hair, kohl-rimmed eyes and a look of deep worry on her face.

“Meri,” I cried softly. Clearly, we needed to be secretive or she would simply have called me. Meritanum was a witch nearly 4000 years old. I first met her when I'd come into possession of an ancient Egyptian mirror that poor Meri had been trapped inside for millennia. I'd managed to free her and she was certainly making up for lost time, living the life she’d been frozen out of for so long. She had pretty quickly got herself up to speed on modern language and technology and formed a relationship with an Australian archeologist and wizard who worked with my parents. Pete had taken her back to Egypt with him. I could imagine how valuable she must be to the team since she'd been alive when the buried artifacts archeologists unearthed had been everyday items she would have used or at least recognized.

Obviously, she also had to be very careful not to give away too much information but I knew she made suggestions or ventured ‘guesses’ that helped point the team in the right direction when they were mystified. I knew she'd been happy back in modern Egypt, but the woman looking so troubled clearly wasn’t. My first thought was that she and Pete had broken up.

But, again, there were easier ways to get in touch if she simply wanted girl talk. I whispered, “Is everything okay?”

She shook her head and then glanced around as though frightened of being overheard. When she spoke it was rapidly, in a low voice. “Lucy, my friend. There is great danger here. You must come to Egypt. But don't let anyone know you spoke to me.”

“What?” I said, completely stunned by her announcement. Then, “Why?”

She glanced around looking nervous. “I have very little time. I can't explain. Your father is in grave danger.”

Okay, nothing gets my attention like discovering someone I love could be in trouble. “Where are you?” I asked. “I’ll call Dad right away and warn him.”

“No!” she said. “We must act in secret. His safety depends upon it.”

This was all way too cloak-and-dagger for me. “Meri, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

She glanced to the side and moved, until she was in what looked like a small anteroom in an Egyptian temple. “Go to Cairo,” she said. “I will send you a message there.”

A message? “Can’t you come yourself?”

She shook her head and I could feel that she was tense, listening for danger. “I don’t know. I will try.”

Now I heard voices in the background. I whispered, “What's going on with my father? Please, Meri, I need—”

“Make it look like a holiday.” She was whispering now too.

“But can't I just decide to visit my parents?” I hadn’t visited them on a dig for a while and that seemed the most direct way to find out what was going on. But Meri was shaking her head. “No.” She was most firm. “The danger is not yet here; it is coming his way. Many people come to Egypt for holiday. Come as soon as you can. I will contact you in Cairo. I am so sorry, Lucy.”

Then the voices in the background grew louder. It sounded like archeologists chatting. Nothing sinister, but the mirror went dark.

Meri was gone.