“I hate to disappoint you, but the Central West of New South Wales is far from wild,” Sean said, swirling his Martini thoughtfully. “Why did you come here, if you don’t mind my asking? It doesn’t seem like your sort of place.”
Maxwell hesitated. He considered not telling Sean the truth, but there was something about the man’s quiet reserve – and the fact that he obviously had secrets of his own – that made him want to be honest.
“I was cursed,” he said simply.
“Cursed to live in Crowley Lake? How very unusual.”
Maxwell snorted. “Well, I actually didn’t know what the hell I had been cursed with. But there were reasons I had to leave New York, and Crowley Lake was just about as far away from the witch who did it as I could get. Besides, I heard there was a good-sized magical community here, so I thought I’d be able to find some help breaking the damn thing.”
“What on earth did you do to incur a witch’s anger?”
“It’s complicated,” Maxwell said and was glad that Sean didn’t seem inclined to push him on that. “Let’s just say it was an overreaction.”
“I can imagine,” Sean said. “So, have you worked out what it is yet? Should I be concerned?”
Maxwell paused. “It’s called the Hedgehog Hex. Sounds cute, but it isn’t. If I don’t get it broken by the New Moon, I get poisonous spines all over my face. And so does Chloe, which is particularly unfair.”
“Chloe?” Sean asked. “Chloe Bloom, the real estate agent?”
“You know her?” Maxwell looked up.
“Oh yes, everyone in town knows Chloe and her brother,” Sean said. “I mean, we’re passing acquaintances, really, but she helped me purchase the empty land next to my home.”
“I see,” Maxwell said, and he wondered why it bothered him that everyone in town knew Chloe. Everyone had to include men, didn’t it? Something inside him that he couldn’t begin to explain didn’t like the idea of half the town lusting after her, even if he had done just that on their first meeting. And lust they would, he was sure of it. Especially since she was clearly more fun than he had first thought. Chloe must have fought hard to avoid having a boyfriend.
“You must be concerned about this curse,” Sean went on. “I take it you’ve enlisted the services of Tilly on the matter?”
“Does everyone know everyone here?”
“Mostly, yes,” Sean shrugged, adjusting the neck of his sweater a little higher. Maxwell could see tendrils of the same scars that marked his hands poking out just behind his ears. He wouldn’t ask. It wasn’t his business, and Sean was clearly self-conscious of his scars.
“And there’s still not much nightlife?”
“Well, this place gets pretty busy,” Sean said. “DJs and dancing on Fridays and Saturdays, if you like that sort of thing.”
“But nothing just for our lot?”
“Charles sometimes has parties, especially if he’s got guests from out of town,” Sean offered. “But nothing for a while.”
“I might just die of boredom before the curse gets me,” Maxwell slumped down into the velvet armchair a little lower. “I need something to distract me while Tilly works out the rest of the ingredients for the ritual to break it.”
Sean was silent for a moment, clearly thinking. Then he spoke. “You said you’re a card player?”
“Poker obsessive, if I’m honest,” Maxwell quirked his mouth. “Do you play?”
“I like poker,” Sean said. “And I know Charles does, and he’d know anyone else who might enjoy a hand.”
“So I could put a game together?” Maxwell felt just a hint of his usual enthusiasm returning.
“I expect so,” Sean said and paused again. “We could probably do with a little livening up around here. You could invite Chloe.”
Maxwell snorted. “She’d never take a night off for that.”
“Something tells me you’ll try to persuade her.”
And wow, was Maxwell really that obvious? That was embarrassing. But he gave Sean a rueful smile. “I probably will.”
“Is that Maxwell?”
“It most certainly is,” Maxwell answered the phone with his usual charm. “Tilly?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” she said. “I’ve worked out the next thing we’ll need for the ritual.”
“Another plant?” Maxwell really hoped it wasn’t. While his outing to the National Park with Chloe had been more fun than he had expected, he hoped that the next ingredient involved sourcing a good bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.
“Nope,” Tilly said. “It’s a knife.”
“I’m guessing it’s not just any knife.”
“It’s not. We need a bronze handled ceremonial knife with an iron blade. There was this one workshop that made a load of them in Merthyr Tydfil.”
“Then it should be easy to get?”