Chapter Four #2
“Darn. The book she ordered came in this morning.” She returned the bundle to the shelf and faced us. “What can I do for you, Betty?”
“I have the PMS tincture for your customer.” I handed the bottle to her. “Two drops, dissolved in four ounces of water. Drink it all at once. Two doses, morning and night. Should help.”
“Looks good. I’ll send you the payment straight away.”
“Thanks,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
Last month, Bronwyn had been kidnapped and bespelled by her ex-coven mate Desmond Mace, the witch who’d cheated Margaux Ramirez out of the Coven Mother position.
“Desmond’s damned spell has taken it out of her.” Maya pulled a razor blade knife from her pocket and drew it along the tape seam on top of the box. “But she’s doing better every day because she’s strong and amazing.”
Oh, and Desmond was also Maya’s husband.
Late husband. The rat pack, a few wolves, and I’d all had a hand in killing him, and none of us regretted it.
Desmond Mace had been a thoroughly despicable person.
Not only had he attacked Bronwyn, but he’d also spelled his own wife to obey him.
Then he’d betrayed his earth magic by trying to take a shortcut with a cursed grimoire.
I hadn’t thrown a party to celebrate the man’s death, but I wasn’t running low on tissues, either.
“My biggest fan.” Bronwyn smiled at her friend.
Maya looked up from her task. “I am.”
As she should be, in my opinion. Bronwyn had saved her life—had sent me to do it, actually. If I hadn’t gotten Maya away from Desmond when I did... I shuddered to think what would’ve become of her.
“Before I forget to ask, did you need more saguaro spines for the park protection spell?” Bronwyn made a pspsps sound at Fennel, who immediately leapt onto the glass countertop for pets.
“Unfortunately, the price has gone up by thirty percent, and I have to order two months in advance. Even your friend in Arizona who was supplying them to us at a discount is experiencing shortages. It’s not easy to find naturally shedded spines from a reputable source. ”
“No need. The saguaros have returned.” I couldn’t keep the joy out of my voice or the smile off my face. It had felt like a miracle the day it happened, and the excitement hadn’t worn off.
“Are you serious?” She squealed. Bronwyn understood what this meant.
“Even better, not only are they back, they’re growing fast.”
“That’s wonderful, Betty.” She glanced around the store to be sure no one was around. “You’ve truly fully connected with the soil, haven’t you? Your magic is at full power again.”
“Yeah.” The gray-faced mirror reflection from earlier popped into my mind, wiping my smile away.
Maya was delicately placing crystals on a soft cloth on the opposite counter, her gaze on her task, and Bronwyn was too focused on Fennel to pick up on my change of mood.
Fennel, however, had noticed.
His copper Bombay eyes stared straight into my soul. “Meow?”
I gave my head a quick shake, which Bronwyn did catch.
One perfectly shaped eyebrow went up. “Everything okay?”
“We’re good. Got another errand to run, so we should head out. Let me know if your customer needs more of the tincture.”
From the corner of my eye, I spied a display of lucky coins. Bronwyn sold real magical supplies and artifacts to paranormals and benign magical trinkets to the humans who frequented her shop. The coins were geared to humans, but I knew someone who’d love one.
I dug my wallet out of my bag.
Cecil was lounging in the cat car seat, hat flopped back, bare feet dangling, when Fennel and I returned. The belladonna was wrapped in a neat bundle in the back seat.
“Thanks,” I said, and gave him the coin.
He took it in his tiny hands and examined the surface. Ran his finger over the reeded edge. Bit down on it.
“Geez, you already know it’s not actual money, Cecil. It’s for good luck. Plus, it’s shiny, and I know how much you like—”
A black SUV with illegally tinted windows appeared on the street, slowing at the entrance to the parking lot. There was a second’s pause then the driver hit the gas and sped off.
Mason?
I narrowed my eyes. Floyd?
Maybe. Weird that he’d show up here, considering even I hadn’t known I’d be stopping by, but then maybe he hadn’t been looking for me. Or it hadn’t been Mason or Floyd.
I really wished I’d taken the time to memorize the plate numbers of all the pack SUVs. Although, given the number of Pallás wolves who owned black SUVs, that would’ve taken a while.
Fennel chose this moment to jump onto my lap and dig his claws into my jeans.
“Ouch!” I bucked, and he flew into the passenger seat, his tail smacking Cecil’s hat back. “That hurt like hell, cat. Trim your nails or I’m going to do it.”
He held up a paw, claws extended.
“What even is your deal?” I looked at him while I asked, but my gaze kept crawling back to where I’d spotted the SUV. It was out of sight, of course, and had been since speeding past the lot. Still, it bothered me.
“ME-OW.”
“Seriously, cat, what is your problem?” But I knew. He wanted to know what had wiped the smile of my face in Wicked.
He growled and held up his right front paw, brandishing all five claws like ninja stars.
“Okay, okay. Sheesh, you’re demanding. I’m going to tell you everything. Back off.”
Cecil tucked the coin into his hat, straightened it atop his head, and sat at attention.
“Yeah. Something’s bothering me. It’s the reason we’re going to see Sexton.”
As I spoke, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Same brown eyes, black-brown hair, killer shade of red lipstick. Still me.
“There was something in the mirror today. Before you ask, no, it wasn’t Bloody Mary. It was me. And yet not.”
Giving the most succinct explanation I could manage, I described the haunting grayed-out image that had popped into my bathroom mirror.
“Me-ow.”
“I know,” I replied. “Coupled with what happened last night, it’s worrisome. Don’t mind admitting I’m a little freaked out.”
Cecil chittered.
“Fine. A lot freaked out. That’s why I wanted you guys with me when I talk to Sexton. I need the moral support.”
Fennel snuggled into the car seat and nudged the gnome with his nose. “Meow.”
Cecil screeched what sounded like a curse and viciously flicked the cat’s whiskers with his toes. Fennel jerked back and immediately began cleaning himself.
“Hey. No whisker flicking. He's right, Cecil. Stay alert and on your best behavior at the cemetery. Don’t do anything to anger Sexton. I need him to cooperate.”
Cecil’s nose wrinkled, and he huffed. I’d obviously insulted him, but there was nothing to be done about it. I wasn’t apologizing. The gnome had a history of causing trouble when he was stone-cold sober, much less high on Fae pastries.
I started the car to the tune of a stream of angry gnome chatter, which didn’t cease until I switched on the radio and “Overkill” by Motorhead started playing.
“No way.” I exchanged a look with Fennel. “No damn way this plays on a normal top 40 radio station.”
His sable tail swished in agreement.
We both looked at Cecil, who was making heavy metal signs with both hands and whipping his head to the rapid-fire beat. I tried to talk to him, but the mid-song drum solo began, and he started jamming to the music with his air guitar.
As the goddesses were my witnesses, I was going to figure out who was running that radio station someday. My best guess was something or someone from Faery, but even Cecil’s people had their limitations.
A type of paranormal I’d never heard of? A lesser god? Aliens?
“Overkill” segued into “Ace of Spades,” which made me even more suspicious; however, by then I was already pulling into the cemetery, so I sent my concerns into the lowest drawer of the filing cabinet in my mind for later retrieval.
I parked on a graveled road beside the path that led to Sexton’s home.
His place was larger than a shed but too small to be a house—and not in a cool, tiny house sort of way, either.
It was too tall, too narrow, too weird to be anything but a doorway to wherever Sexton went when he wasn’t milling around the cemetery like a terrifying spirit.
Fennel hung back, taking a circuitous route through older tombstones, the ones that stuck out of the soil like the crooked teeth of a dragon. Cecil walked beside me, though he stopped from time to time to inspect a wildflower or an interesting species of weed.
He was still pretty much faery-caked out, a fact evidenced by his stumbling gait, his periodic thousand-yard stare, and the series of loud belches erupting from his tiny gut.
“Brrp.”
“I’ve got to have some ginger in here somewhere.” I unzipped my purse and rifled through the pockets, extracting a tiny bag of pale-yellow powder. “Here.”
Cecil scrunched his nose and shook his head. “Brrp.”
“Fine.” I shoved the bag back into the pocket and zipped my purse. “You’re going to be absolutely no help at all today, are you? I should’ve left you at the café.”
“Perhaps your gnome friend is overworked and in need of a day off.”
The voice didn’t send shivers down my spine. It sent icicles directly into my bloodstream, evoking a chill that gripped me from the inside out. My nose itched and my lips went numb.
“Hello, Sexton.”
“Hello, granddaughter.”
The graveyard demon emerged from behind a palm tree with a trunk far too short and skinny to have hidden him. He was always doing unsettling shit like that. I think he sensed that it annoyed me.
Damn it, he really was my grandfather.
“Can you turn down the chill a little, please? My lungs are frozen.”
“My apologies,” he said, straightening his shirt collar.
Lately, Sexton had been making significant changes to his appearance.
Last time I saw him, he’d sported a set of new dentures that he didn’t need because he most definitely had teeth.
This time, it was his clothes. Instead of his usual haunted-mortician look, he wore navy slacks, a short-sleeved, white dress shirt, and a gray windbreaker.
“Are those New Balance sneakers?”
He craned his neck and peered down at his navy-and-white running shoes. It wasn’t a smooth progression, but a series of jerks and joint creaks, like a nineteenth-century automaton.
“I am told they are called men’s trainers and are excellent for walking. Lo, in all my years of existence, I cannot recall possessing foot coverings capable of such comfort.”
“Well, I’m, uh, glad you’re comfortable.
” I glanced over my shoulder at Cecil, who was napping atop the tombstone of a woman who’d died over a hundred years ago.
Fennel sat in front of the stone, a gentle desert breeze ruffling his black fur, eyes green with magic.
Cecil might be out of commission, but my other partner was primed for trouble.
“You do not require a reason, but I would like to understand why you have come to see me today.”
A polite, yet roundabout way of asking, What in the hell are you doing here?
“It’s time,” I said.
“Time?” He blinked so slowly I visually traced the veins in his eyelids on the way up and down. “For what, may I ask?”
“For you to tell me who my father was.”