I Put A Spell On You

“Harry, thank god,” she said. “Do you know how to change a fuse?”

I looked again at the candle. Maybe it wasn’t Elizabeth Bennet night after all.

“Power cut?” I said, my heart sinking.

Esme nodded.

“But weirdest thing,” she said. “I phoned the electricity company and they said there was no problem in the area. It’s just our flat.”

“And the spa,” I said. I put my bags down on the floor and peeled off my gloves and coat.

Esme looked at me in astonishment.

“Really?” she said. “Oh god.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” I said, following her into the living room. “The power cut wiped our server.”

She grimaced.

“But you’ve got a back-up, right?”

“Right,” I said. “And wrong.”

I told her about the fire.

“Shit,” Esme said. She blew her nose loudly and for the first time I noticed she looked dreadful.

“Are you ill?” I said.

She pulled her horrible fleecy nightie round herself.

“I’ve got a rotten cold,” she said. “That’s why I came home from work early. But then I couldn’t actually do any work because there was no sodding electricity.”

A thought struck me.

“Are the fuses blown?” I said.

“I thought that might be the problem,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m not sure what they’re supposed to look like. I wondered if you’d know what to do.”

“Did you try magic?” I asked.

Esme gave me a shocked look.

“With electricity?” she said. “That’s asking for trouble.”

“You’re such a goody-goody,” I said, ignoring the fact that I’d shied away from trying to sort the power cut at the spa with magic.

“Where’s Jamie?” I had a vague – possibly ridiculous – notion that men knew about electricity.

“Rugby,” said Esme, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But he’d be no use anyway. He can’t even change a lightbulb. It’s just you and me, sister. Let’s do it the old-fashioned way,”

With the help of the iPad, Google and the torches on our phones, we found the fuse box and peered inside.

“I think we just flip this switch,” Esme said, looking at the instructions on the iPad.

I flipped it, and the lights came back on.

“It’s like magic,” Esme said with a grin, wiping her nose again.

I gave her a most un-Harry-like hug, then bustled her through into the living room, tucked her up under a blanket and made her a hot toddy. Then I poured myself a stiff measure of whisky – I hardly ever drank whisky but I felt it would be medicinal – and curled up on the sofa next to her. I couldn’t face thinking about the computer at the spa.

“Tell me about your lesson with Xander,” I said.

Esme shrugged.

“Not much to tell,” she said.

“Liar,” I said. “Tell me. Did you agree to teach him because of that detective?”

“Louise,” she said in a passable imitation of Jamie’s voice. “She’s brilliant, she’s such a laugh and she’s great on the rugby pitch.”

“Ooh,” I said. “Have I touched a nerve?”

Ez blew her nose again.

“I know I’m being ridiculous but we’d had such a nice evening, you know, and we’d just got engaged and suddenly he’s all over another woman…”

I had a feeling – a hope – that Louise was gay, but I didn’t say anything. Interrupting Esme mid-rant was more trouble than it was worth.

“So, I was feeling a bit contrary when I met Xander anyway, and he wanted me to teach him, and you said I wouldn’t have time…”

“Ah,” I said. “It’s my fault.”

She scowled at me over the top of her hot toddy.

“No,” she said. “I just felt like I couldn’t say no.”

“So what happened?” I asked. “At the lesson?”

“Xander rang me and asked if I was free,” she said.

“But you weren’t free,” I pointed out. “You were at work.” Esme never left work early.

“I know,” she said. “But I felt rotten with this cold, and suddenly I just wanted to get out of there.”

I was amazed. And uneasy. Xander was handsome and charming and funny – but so was Jamie, and I’d never known Ez to leave work early for him.

“I met him in Princes Street Gardens, by the clock,” she said. “We just walked really. It’s all because of you, H, that he wants to learn magic. He wants to help you.”