Chapter Eight
I sucked in deep lungfuls of sweet morning air, inordinately pleased with myself.
Andre was right. With the rest of these books in hand, I finally had a leg up on understanding this alchemy thing—or I was pretty sure I did.
No more scrounging through my grandmother’s journals looking for any scrap of academic rigor.
No more late nights trying to decipher her scrawled handwriting. I finally had a guidebook.
A dangerous guidebook with spells designed to keep witches out, but still.
My good mood evaporated when I pulled into my parking space on Main Street and got a good look at my front window, which was now in pieces. The frosted block windows were littering the ground in glittering detritus.
I turned the engine off, threw open the door and lunged forward, cursing when my seatbelt tried to choke me. It took a few seconds of desperate fumbling to find the latch, and another two to master my trembling fingers to get it undone.
The window wasn’t the only thing that had been attacked.
The front door of Poppy’s Potions was pockmarked.
There was no better way to put it. Parts of the wood had popped open like blisters under a hot and heavy onslaught of what I could only imagine was magic.
Most of the door was still intact, luckily, but the room beyond it? Oh, God.
The scent of patchouli, so comforting most days, was overpowering now, with so many potion bottles lying broken on the hardwood floors.
Shattered glass tinkled and rolled when I pushed the door open further, trying to take stock of the devastation I could smell beyond.
I didn’t have to see to know what the malodorous mélange meant.
I only had to lean past the door to confirm my worst fears.
Someone or something had rained sledgehammer blows down onto my shelves, knocking the potions and their contents to the floor.
Most of the delicate glass potions bottles had smashed, and the brightly colored liquids were now mingling on the floor to make a muddy brown color that smelled as bad as it looked.
Chunks of wood had dug violently into the floorboards, leaving long score marks on my once pristine hardwood floors.
I had to tiptoe over the swirling pools, afraid my emotions might act like a spark to gasoline.
I couldn’t trust myself around potions right now, especially not ones that I’d made and someone had destroyed.
Keep calm, Poppy, I warned myself.
But still, I couldn’t stop staring at the devastation.
Crystals were scattered like crushed marbles around the place, making every step a dangerous proposition.
Good thing I was wearing boots. Not only were the crystals and the potions destroyed, but almost every candle in the place had been melted into waxy goo, save for the black candle I’d received from Wanda, which had survived with only a thick slash through its middle.
It was now leaning like the Tower of Pisa, threatening to drip still-warm wax onto my grandmother’s journal, which was sitting just below it.
A flame had sprung up from it like it was some sort of trick candle, and the first patters of wax hit the cash wrap.
My vision hazed as the stuff oozed onto the counter and down the front of the wrap.
A quick glance into my work room revealed that not even my reserve inventory had been spared.
The wax from a red candle had been smeared like thick, coppery blood on almost every surface back there.
The room was flooded with what remained of my stock, and I had to back out of the room, lest I drop to my knees, tears flowing freely down my face.
And that was exactly what I feared I might do—lose it completely.
I had to get out of here before I went to pieces.
So I did just that, performing another degrading game of shuffle-stepping across what used to be my store.
Every time something shifted beneath my foot, I felt the insistent urge to sob.
I didn’t, thank God, but it was a near thing.
But I also didn’t want to exit the store in clear distress.
It was an overcast day, which meant Wanda could wander into her shop without raising eyebrows, since everyone believed her to be a vampire these days.
To keep that charade going, she normally worked the night shift, but on days like these, she could come in, just to oversee Maverick’s work.
And if Wanda was in, she might spy me from her front door and immediately assume the worst had happened.
Then she’d rampage down Main Street looking for the culprit instead of staying put in her store, where I needed her so I could soothe the emotions currently rampaging through me.
Yes, the last thing I needed was Wanda going ape-shit.
“Someone wrecked my store,” I mumbled, more to myself than to anyone or anything that might have been listening.
Before I could stop myself, I dropped down onto the front stoop, dabbing at my cheeks with my sleeve.
It all just was suddenly… overwhelming. And my knees were suffering—barely able to keep me upright.
I’d seen the evidence with my own eyes, but it was still hard to believe someone could have entered the shop, wrecked it, and waltzed right back out without ever being seen.
Haven Hollow was a small town, but despite that, there was a significant police presence, in no small part due to our local winter princess.
Taliyah Morgan had started her life as the adoptive daughter of a police detective.
She’d honored that legacy by becoming one herself, ranking among one of the best in Portland’s homicide division.
She’d been forced to move here to take care of her brother’s department after his untimely death.
And a good thing too, because she wasn’t human.
No, she was Princess Olwen of the Winter Court of the Sidhe.
Now she was both ruler and Chief of Police, overseeing her kingdom from the safety of the Hollow.
Or perhaps not so safe, judging by the state of my shop.
Which brought me right back to the troubling question—what had happened here and why?
Who was responsible for it? And how the hell hadn’t anyone spotted the culprit?
The wax was still warm and runny in places, which meant I’d missed the attack by only a small margin.
And that meant this had happened in broad daylight!
Probably within the last hour! So why hadn’t anyone called it in?
Magic was the only explanation I could come up with. Without it, someone would surely have seen or heard something and reported it to the police.
Which reminded me…
I pulled out my cellphone, fumbling with it for a second before I could get a grip on it.
My fingers were tingling and my head felt disconnected from my body.
I stared at the screen uncomprehendingly for a few seconds until I remembered to pull up my frequent contacts and scan the list until I found Taliyah’s name.
I must have been more shocked than I realized.
I was aware, distantly, that I probably shouldn’t have been alone here—at the scene of a crime, but I couldn’t force my legs to carry me anywhere.
I wasn’t even sure I could stand at this point.
Most of my attention was focused on the waft of herbs and spices still filtering through my front window.
The one that had been smashed to bits by some unseen and unheard hand.
It took a few rings for Taliyah to pick up, and her first terse word was, “Morgan.”
“Hi,” I said, a little embarrassed at how thick my voice sounded. Maybe it was a good thing to feel anything as human as embarrassment. It meant I wasn’t totally tuned out. That could be dangerous with a vandal on the loose.
“Hi,” Taliyah ventured cautiously. “Poppy?”
“Um, yeah, it’s me.”
“Are you okay? You sound… off.”
I felt off. It felt like someone had upended my entire world with a couple of swings of a baseball bat. Until now, my shop had been a refuge. Somewhere I went and felt proud. Now it lay in ruins, and for what? Who would want to inflict such destruction on what basically amounted to an apothecary?
“Someone vandalized my store,” I said quietly.
“Vandalized as in—“
“—as in the window has been bashed in and everything inside is destroyed.”
“Fuck.”
My sentiments exactly.
“Do you know who would,” Taliyah started but I interrupted her.
“No, I don’t know who did it or how long ago. I just know there’s not much that’s left unbroken. I think the cash wrap is only intact because it was too heavy to overturn. The shelves are in pieces, all my potions are broken and lying in puddles on the floor, and…”
My voice broke. Fresh tears welled in my eyes.
I tried to sniff them back. I didn’t want to go to pieces on Taliyah.
I knew it was stupid to cry. I hadn’t lost anything I couldn’t replace.
Profits had been good in the past quarter.
It was just… such a waste. Most of the furniture inside had belonged to Betanya Tayir.
How disappointed would she be to see it all in shambles now?
I felt like the custodian of precious items—items that had been destroyed under my watch.
No, Poppy, I argued. You didn’t do this. Betanya can curse whoever broke in and messed the place up.
Me, myself, and I weren’t convinced by that line of thinking though.
The sense of guilt that had settled like a weight in my gut wasn’t leaving much room for rational thought.
I felt responsible. If I hadn’t had agreed to take the shelves and such, they would still be in Henner’s basement—dusty sure, but still whole.
“Are you alright?” Taliyah asked, her terse tone startling me out of my miserable reverie.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a little shaken up.”
“Was there anyone in the store when you entered?”
The question was blunt and to the point, but I still caught the undercurrent of concern. Taliyah might seem like the ice queen she actually was, but there was a nice person hiding under all the bluster.
“I don’t think so,” I said, unable to raise my voice above a whisper. The knot in my throat was trying to choke off my air.
“Don’t go in to confirm. I want you to go to Wanda’s place and get Mav. I don’t want you going back into your place alone, just in case. Go, now. Put me on speaker so I can brief him.”
I did as I was told, marching sluggishly forward as though I’d needed permission to go see Maverick.
My face felt warm and puffy, and I lowered my eyes almost at once when I entered the store.
Only Maverick appeared to be in residence.
My heart sank. I’d been looking forward to seeing my best friend’s face.
She couldn’t change what had happened, but being around her would make it better.
Funny how I was worried that Wanda would make things worse and now I wished she was here.
I liked Maverick and all, but he wasn’t Wanda.
“Poppy?” Maverick asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he took in my tear-streaked face.
I wordlessly placed the phone on the counter, letting Taliyah tell him the details.
As she spoke, I stared at my shoes, unsure of what to do or say.
I was out of stock for… everything. God, I could only imagine the work I had ahead of me—it would take months to restock all those potions.
Not to mention the time it would take to clean the store and replace all the furniture.
I wasn’t sure when I’d started crying again, but Maverick offered me a handkerchief from his pocket.
I took it gratefully, mopping at my face.
This morning’s makeup was no doubt ruined.
Just like my shop. Oh, sweet Lord. Someone had destroyed my shop.
Someone was angry enough with me to wreck months’ worth of work and to piss off an entire coven.
There was no way Wanda would let this slide, even if I broke it to her in the gentlest terms possible.
Someone had hurt my feelings, so she’d be on the warpath, regardless of what I said or did.
“We’ll catch the bastard,” Maverick said confidently, handing my phone back.
I just looked at him and nodded, though I wasn’t convinced.
“The window was intact when I opened Wanda’s store twenty minutes ago,” Maverick continued. “That tells me the culprit couldn’t have gotten far. There was a lot of broken glass, too, so Lorcan may be able to scent his or her track this evening.”
“Thanks, Maverick.”
He nodded. “Don’t worry. No one is going to touch you.”
I stared up into Maverick’s solemn eyes. He looked sober and almost… concerned. We’d never been bosom buddies, but we were like distant family to each other now. Though I doubted he’d ever say as much aloud.
“I’ll head over there in a couple minutes and check it out. Will you be okay here?”
I nodded. “Thanks,” I whispered. “But you should be careful. There are potions everywhere. I remember what happened the last time blood magic and a volatile potion mixed.”
He and Wanda had magicked a mannequin to life.
Sybil. She was now a shapeshifter who ordinarily posed as a young woman.
Maverick was the one who had claimed her as his daughter, and he took his job as a father seriously.
It was amazing how much he’d grown as a person since we’d first met.
From douchebag to girl dad. It was almost inspiring.
Maverick grimaced. “I’ll try not to blow anything up.”
“Promise? Because it’s already wrecked as is.”
His smile was brief but still there. “No promises.”