Ribbing and Runes

someone who can make them.”
We all turned to stare at her. “You know someone who can make carved moonstone buttons?” I had to be sure we were talking about the same thing.
“Yes. He lives in Wallingford. I had him do some lovely carved shell buttons for a cloak I made, several years ago now. He specializes in crystals. Herrick’s Crystal is a charming shop near the Sheep Market.”
“Wallingford’s not far,” Sylvia said. “Why don’t we all go? Make a road trip of it.”
I loved that idea. I felt like I’d been cooped up in the shop or buried in wedding planning for too long. The sun was out, spring was springing around the land, and I longed to take a drive. “Didn’t Agatha Christie live there?” It was one of those bits of trivia that I’d obviously read somewhere, and it had stuck with me.
“That’s right. Her house was called Winterbrook. We can drive by it if you like. Agatha and her second husband, Max, were happy there.”
“Did you know Agatha Christie?” I sometimes forgot how much of a celebrity Sylvia had been when she’d been alive and making movies.
Her expression was cool. “Darling, I knew everyone.”

Chapter 2
We decided to go the next day, a Friday. We set out in the morning, leaving Violet in charge of the shop. She gave a long-suffering sigh when she found out she’d be stuck in the shop while I was out. Honestly, most of the time she acted like an overworked slave, when in truth she was well paid. Overpaid for the amount of work she actually did.
Sylvia liked to have a male chauffeur. And, since it was her car, we tended to let her have her way. So Alfred was called into service to drive the Bentley.
Alfred politely opened the doors and helped us all inside. When we were settled and he’d headed on his way, Sylvia said, “By the way, Lucy, if you’d like to borrow the Bentley for your wedding, you’d be most welcome.”
“That’s really nice of you. But I think Rafe has the transport under control.”
She seemed to think about it for a minute. “Perhaps I should lend you my Cartier necklace, then, for your something borrowed.”
I nearly opened the car door and threw myself out of the moving vehicle. I thought Sylvia had finally forgiven me for temporarily losing her most priceless possession, and I’d finally forgiven her for nearly getting me killed, and she was thinking about lending it to me? We were all staring at her, and a terrible silence filled the car. Then I caught the twinkle in the back of her eyes. I burst out laughing, and then, seeing the joke, the rest of us fell to giggling like, well, like a car full of women on the way to do some bridal shopping.
We were an odd bunch, but these crazy, undead women were among my closest friends.
Wallingford wasn’t that far from Oxford, and we hit the outskirts of the town in about forty minutes.
“Oh, dear,” Alfred said as the traffic grew hairy. “I think it’s a market day in town.”
“Market day?”
“Yes. Wallingford has been a market town since Saxon times.”
I was always amazed at these little bits of history. I imagined people trading grain and sheepskins and whatever else they swapped more than a thousand years ago. The traffic might be crazy, but I was excited to be here on a market day. I could play tourist. We decided to visit the button guy first and then wander around the market.
Wallingford was also familiar for another reason. “I think it was in Wallingford that the witch lived, the one who sold the hex that got put on Violet.”
Gran stared at me. “The Wicked Witch of Wallingford.”
I’d barely finished laughing from Sylvia’s joke about lending me her Cartier necklace. Now I was spurting with laughter again. “The Wicked Witch of Wallingford. That’s a good one.”
“I’m not being funny. If it’s the same woman, I’ve known her for years. She was a powerful witch and not the whitest.”
“She doesn’t really call herself the Wicked Witch of Wallingford, does she?”
“Of course not. It’s our nickname for her. Her name is Karmen. With a K,” she said, as though that in itself were unseemly.
I’d been wanting to have a few words with the woman who’d nearly killed my cousin. Seemed like fate was putting me in this Karmen’s orbit. “Perhaps we should drop in on her while we’re here. I really want to meet the witch who sold that hex.”
Alfred finally managed to find parking for the Bentley, and we all piled out. We must have looked like a very odd bunch. The female vampires all had large sun hats made out of sun-screened fabric, and Sylvia had added a parasol. Alfred made do with a fedora. I was bareheaded, though I always wore sunscreen.
The town was bustling, but even among the throngs of people I could admire the Tudor buildings and the quaint little shops that I was dying to dive into. Wallingford was on the River Thames, and I determined to come back one day when there was no market on and wander the path beside the river.
Herrick’s Crystal was on St. Mary’s, a pedestrian-only street crammed with gift shops, sweet shops, a wonderful bookstore and a couple of coffee shops. The little windows glinted with interesting treasures. Half eggs of amethyst geodes revealed the most gorgeous purple. There had to be every crystal imaginable from all over the world in there. Polished agates, spears of quartz, stones made into jewelry. I could feel their energy drawing me in.
We all crammed into the small shop, pretty much filling it up. Fortunately, we were the only customers. A tall, gaunt man with gray hair balding on top glanced up as we came in. He was stoop-shouldered, presumably from bending over all his life. He was inspecting a large aquamarine through a magnifying lens attached to a headband.
“Can I help you?” he asked. One pale