Chapter Nine
“What do you mean, you can’t get a read?” Taliyah asked, tapping her foot impatiently.
I was almost regretting the fact that I’d decided to tag along with Maverick. Seeing the wreckage the second time around was almost worse than the first.
“Maverick,” Taliyah prodded him when he didn’t respond right away.
She’d been tapping or pacing for the last half hour.
It had taken us that long to clear all the crap from my floor so I could mop up the potions.
We’d put some of the shelves in a tentative ‘salvage’ pile, but most had been reduced to matchsticks.
“I mean, I can’t get a read,” Maverick shot back. “The place is inundated with Poppy’s magic. It’s covering the signature of whatever or whoever broke in and did this.”
“Ugh,” Taliyah grumbled.
“I’m thinking it has to be some kind of spirit or monster because I should have heard the commotion,” Maverick continued. “Even from Wanda’s. I mean—I parked out front this morning since I was running late, and I didn’t hear a goddamn thing, Tally.”
Taliyah brushed a lock of hair out of her face with a sigh. “So what you’re saying is the culprit is smart enough to have taken into account magical and forensic countermeasures to be sure we couldn’t catch his or her scent?”
“Right,” Maverick answered.
That sent a little chill down my spine. A spirit or monster smart enough to do this once could probably pull it off again.
I still couldn’t fathom who could hate me enough to do this kind of damage to my store, though.
And in about twenty minutes—that was the time we’d figured it had taken them.
I couldn’t recall a single interaction I’d had with a customer that was anything less than professional.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Maverick continued. He didn’t rise from his position on the floor. Instead, he kept his hand pressed to the floorboards as though he could take the pulse of the building or the ground below. For all I knew, he could.
“Well, damn it. Do you think any of the coven could have better luck?”
Maverick shrugged. “Olga is the oldest. She might be able to sense something I can’t. I’ll ask her to come over. She’s brewing right now, making examples for her potions lessons.”
“Potions lessons?” Taliyah frowned.
Maverick nodded. “She’s going to teach at Astrid’s academy in the fall.”
Taliyah nodded. “Well, get in contact with her as soon as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Taliyah rolled her eyes. “We’re married, Mav. You don’t have to ma’am me.”
“Save it for the bedroom, got it.”
Taliyah’s flush and spluttered attempts at a reply actually managed to lift my spirits a little.
It wasn’t often you saw a winter princess so discomposed.
Or queen, now, I supposed. She’d managed to depose her wicked Aunt Janara only a few months ago, leaving Taliyah in charge of a vast kingdom she’d never wanted.
Last I’d heard, she was building a center for all things faerie diplomacy.
She wasn’t giving up her day job as chief of police any time soon, which I lauded her for.
The moment evaporated though when she turned her chill gaze back to me. All good humor had fled, leaving her looking as remote as a winter sky. I knew what she was going to say before she said it, but it still hurt to hear.
“I think you should go home while we get this mess sorted out, Poppy. It might not be safe for you here.”
“But...” I began weakly.
I wasn’t even sure why I was protesting. It wasn’t as though I had anything to sell or shelves to put potions on, even if I’d had something freshly brewed. Still, walking out in defeat felt like letting the vandal win. Win what, I didn’t know, but I still hated the feeling.
“But nothing, Poppy. Someone wrecked this place while you were gone. I can only imagine what might have happened if you’d walked in while they were doing it. I could have found you hurt or worse.”
She didn’t have to say what the worst could be.
I’d already brushed up against death a handful of times since moving to Haven Hollow.
Some days I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming here.
I loved my friends, and Finn seemed happy enough, but when you lived with monsters, you faced monstrous consequences.
Not to mention what happened when you built your Hollow on the back of an actual monster, the way the residents of Misty Hollow had.
They’d been forced to come here seeking sanctuary from the monster swamp creature and the corrupt winter queen alike.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “But call me when you’re done. I want to help clean up.”
“No need,” Maverick said. “I’ve already stepped out to call the coven. Wanda will have half a dozen witches over here pouring over the place and putting things to rights.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I began, but quailed when Maverick aimed a stern look in my direction.
“Yes, it is, Poppy. You’re a part of the coven.
I may not understand it or entirely approve of Wanda’s bizarre friendship with you, but you’re an honorary witch, regardless.
And covens are supposed to protect their own.
So, you let us deal with this. You go home, brew, hang out, watch I Love Lucy or whatever you gypsies do in your free time. ”
I scowled at him. “You and Wanda always do that—assume I’m only interested in old-school stuff. I’ll have you know that I do get out and experience pop culture every now and again.”
“We assume it because it’s true,” he responded on a laugh.
“And because you look like Pollyanna. But even she wouldn’t be dumb enough to hang out where something intended to hurt her.
So, I’ll tell you again to get on home and make sure Andre doesn’t go anywhere.
We need you and those around you on high alert. ”
And that was when I realized that I hadn’t even called my boyfriend to tell him what had happened.
He wouldn’t like that. And, honestly, I didn’t even know why it hadn’t occurred to me.
Maybe because I’d been relying on myself for so long that even during emergencies, my initial response was to try to take care of it myself.
“He’s right,” Taliyah said.
Maverick nodded. “So, shoo, Poppy. Let us get to work.”
I didn’t see that I had many choices. Not with a determined warlock and faerie queen staring me down. So I went back to my car, feeling miserable the whole way home.
***
Dinner was a largely silent affair that night.
Andre and Finn kept up a conversation for the first few minutes but trailed off into awkward questions about their day when I didn’t hop in to add my two cents.
Of course, I told them both about what had happened at my shop, and just like I’d known would be the case, Andre wasn’t happy that I’d waited so long to tell him.
Neither was Finn. But their hurt feelings had soon faded in the face of my depression, and no amount of assurance that insurance would cover the damages could lift my mood.
I didn’t want insurance to handle the damages. I wanted to know who’d entered my shop and gone to town on months of hard work. I wanted the potions back in their bottles and the candles back on the antique shelves Henner had donated to my cause.
Maybe it was a good thing I wasn’t there helping to clean up the mess because it saved me from having to witness Betanya’s expression when she saw her furniture reduced to what it now was. Thank God for small mercies, I supposed.
Andre touched my hand when I went to push away from the table with a soft and chiding, “Poppy.”
All I wanted in that instant was to crawl upstairs, curl up in bed, and have an epic pity party for myself.
I felt scraped raw, as though someone had taken a spoon and emptied me out like a sad Jack-o’-lantern.
My insides were a hollow, cold place but at his touch, a flame flickered to life.
Faint but still there, convincing me I wasn’t completely empty after all.
I had two pinpricks of light in the darkness.
Andre and Finn. The steady weight of their gazes finally convinced me to sit back down and talk.
“Someone wrecked my shop,” I said softly, as though confessing it all over again could somehow make it less true.
Andre’s eyes softened, and he gently squeezed my hand. “I know, love. I’m so sorry it happened. It must have frightened you out of your wits.”
“Yeah,” Finn chimed in. “And that’s okay, Mom. Remember what you told me when we were at the house in Silver Lake?”
The house we’d lived in before moving here had been haunted by a nasty old poltergeist named Frank.
He’d been Darla’s main squeeze at one point, until he’d blown her brains out the back of her head in a fit of jealous rage.
Then he’d killed himself. Darla had hung around in ghost form, traumatized and pissed about her untimely death.
Frank had carried on simply because she had, and the bastard wouldn’t leave her well enough alone.
Frank had targeted Finn because Finn had been a scared eleven-year-old kid at the time, not a gypsy enchantress who could cast him out. Which I had. Thoroughly. He’d never haunt another soul again.
“It’s okay to be scared as long as you don’t let it paralyze you,” I whispered, weighing the words I’d told Finn all those years ago. Their meaning still held true, even all these years later.
Finn took my other hand, squeezing it harder than strictly necessary. I squeezed back, grateful for the reminder that I wasn’t the only one who felt small and scared sometimes.
“It’s gonna be okay, Mom.”
I sniffled, dabbing at my face with a napkin once he released me. I felt leaky, like every bad feeling was going to burst the dam and come flooding out of me.
“I know, buddy. Thanks for reminding me.”
He beamed. “Always.”