Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(75)

Josie was.

Wow.

Try to get your head around that.

Then my mobile rang again.

It was Nerissa.

“Hey Miss Rissa,” I answered.

“Hello Mathilda, my dear, I’m sorry to say but the police are here for you.”

Good goddess and all things leafy and flowery.

“I know, tell them I’m in London and I’ll be home soon.”

“One other thing, there’s a woman here who says she paid for a donut and she’s not leaving until she gets it.”

Oh for crap’s sake.

“Tell her I’ll be home soon too.”

“All right, dear, take care.”

The “take care” was loaded. Poor Nerissa, dealing with blue-haired old ladies and men in blue while bombs exploded in the street.

Good to know, though, that the bomb didn’t drive customers away.

But, it was England and they’d had nearly seventy years of bombs exploding.

It was the “Never Mind Mentality” in action.

You know: “The pipes have burst.” English person response: “Yes? Oh well then, never mind.”

And: “The roof has caved in.” English person Response: “Really? Never mind.”

And: “Someone blew up the road.” English person response: “Oh? That’s a shame. Never mind.”

It may sound crazy but not only is it true, it’s actually quite remarkable. English people make an art of keeping their chin up no matter what the calamity and forging ever onward. Nothing got them down. It was freaking cool.

“The police are looking for me,” I told Ash and Aidan when they both stared at me expectantly.

They both looked away as if having the police hunting you is no big deal.

Oh well then, never mind.

* * * * *

Normally, when I went to London, I went to the good places, the pretty places, like the parks, shops, palaces, museums and martini bars.

The first place we stopped wasn’t pretty except in the terms of pretty scary.

I followed Ash and Aidan into a pawn shop and not a very good one. I’d never been in a pawn shop but I still felt qualified to say that. There was lots of new and not-so-new stuff and a weasel-faced guy with greasy hair sitting behind a counter with bars protecting it.

“No,” he said when he saw Ash.

Not exactly welcoming.

I wondered if anyone pawned shampoo because the clerk could use it.

Ash threw a bit of something charred on the counter. It made a black mark as it slid across.

“No,” the clerk said to Ash again.

“You know what I want, Jack,” Ash said.

“I don’t wanna get involved. You weren’t here, he wasn’t here, she definitely wasn’t here.” He pointed at me.

Well, I am soooo sure!

He continued, “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. Find someone else.”

He pushed the charred bit back at Ash who ignored it but stated, “We’ll be back later today.”

“Mate, I ain’t gonna do it!” he shouted as we walked out.

“You trust him?” Aidan asked Ash.

“Nope,” Ash answered.

Great.

“What was that all about?” I asked as we walked down the street.

“Later,” Ash said.

“Not later, now.” I felt like stamping my foot. “I thought you told me you were going to fill me in.”

Aidan hailed a taxi, Ash gave the driver an address, we all climbed in and we were off again.

“About filling me in…” I said.

“I want you to pay attention to where we’re going. You need to remember it, it’ll be a good source for you,” Ash told me (and, incidentally, didn’t fill me in).

“A good source of what?” I asked.

“Information. It’s called The Hobgoblin. There are other Hobgoblins but not like this Hobgoblin.”

“Oh… kay.” I said.

Me… no… likey.

Hobgoblin?

“It’s a local…as in a local. Whenever you go there you’ll have to blend in or there’ll be trouble,” Aidan added.

* * * * *

In Britain, in most pubs, everyone was welcome.

Then there were pubs where most of the clientele were local (as in lived nearby and came in most every night, like “The Vic” in Eastenders) but new folks were happily accepted into the collective.

Then there were locals – the pubs no one went into but the locals. If you weren’t local and you stumbled into a local, trust me, don’t be brave, just leave.

* * * * *

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Just pay attention, keep quiet and keep your wand at the ready,” Ash replied.

Great.

So, if pretty scary described the last place, seriously scary described this one.

The Hobgoblin was a pub and it was a dive. The English equivalent of the place Jodie Foster got gang-raped in The Accused.

I didn’t like it one bit.

There was practically no one there save two guys at a table, both who clearly hadn’t seen the sun shining in quite some time, they were so pale. One was deeply in need of vitamin E lotion as he had stretch marks all over his arms and face (how you get stretch marks on your face, I do not know, especially when you had about half a percent body fat).