Page 2 of Silk Skullduggery (Haven Hollow #40)

It was silk, that much was obvious even from a distance.

Silk, really good stuff, at least, has a soft burnished shine to it. And that cloth was practically glowing under the house lights. My fingers itched with the urge to touch it.

Normally, I wasn’t big on white silk. I was much more of a red or black or dove gray girl. Wearing white just made me think of weddings, or someone running barefoot through a rainy moor to get away from some dastardly person. White was just a little young, and a little twee, and I wasn’t a big fan of either of those things.

But this cloth? Yes, this fabric was a masterwork. Even at a distance, my new and improved eyesight allowed me to see the subtle pattern, nearly invisible in white on white. I’d never seen anything like it before, and already, my mind was flipping through all the glorious things I could make with fabric like that.

The auctioneer made a theatrical gesture towards the stand. “This is, of course, no ordinary silk. Not only was it woven by a master of the craft, it is also heavily enchanted. There is a powerful protection spell set right into the warp and the weft, meant to keep the wearer safe. It also prevents damage, intentional or owing to age. This is a one-of-a-kind offering, found only here at the Emerald City Auction House. Shall we open the bidding?”

“Do you want it?”

Surprised, I turned towards Lorcan. “What?”

He was leaned in close, his eyes trained on my face. “I heard that little hitch of your breath. The way your pulse sped up.” He smiled. “You want it, don’t you? I bet you could make something incredible with it.”

Oh, this man was dangerous. He was also right. I did want the silk, and badly. In my head, I was already drafting the pattern. Normally, I had to enchant my fabrics on my own, usually by soaking them in potions that my BFF Poppy brewed. Though my cousin Maverick had gotten scarily good at enchanted embroidery, Poppy was still my go-to.

The thing was, I knew exactly the perfect place to wear a dress that was made with woven-in protection magic. There was a new vampire leader in Portland, and this leader had demanded that Lorcan and I attend a ball, a kind of welcome to the neighborhood shindig, but with more blood. There were, apparently, some suspicions floating around that I wasn’t a full vampire, and the vampires were checking up on us.

Which was a problem because I, of course, wasn’t a fully fledged vampire. Not by a long shot. But going in, dressed in cloth that might actually turn claws away? We might actually be able to pull the whole thing off.

But a lot of people were obviously thinking the same way, because the bids were coming in hot and heavy. Well, the bids were coming in with silently and politely raised paddles, but still, the point remains.

Lorcan must have seen it in my face, because he pressed a kiss to my temple and lifted the numbered paddle we’d been given when we arrived at the auction house.

Watching him bid was really something. There was an air about him—one that was lazy, yet confident. Maybe it was the way he was sprawled on our loveseat, leaning close to me, like he had all the time in the world. Or maybe it was the way his blond hair looked like burnished gold under the room’s lights—whatever it was, Lorcan was the picture of confidence. He reminded me of a lion, replete after a kill.

It made me eager to get back to our hotel room, that was for sure.

The bidders started falling away. Lorcan was confident, smiling, lifting his paddle to top everyone else there.

Honestly, it should have been illegal to look that attractive.

Finally, the auctioneer accepted Lorcan’s bid, and when no one was willing to challenge him on it, banged his little gavel and pronounced the silk ‘sold’.

I was a grown witch, and I absolutely did not bounce in my seat. I did grin, though. And I pressed a kiss to Lorcan’s cheek in silent thanks. I’d really thank him later tonight, back in our room.

I hardly paid attention to the auction after that. There were a few other intriguing pieces, but nothing that really caught my eye. Lorcan did end up bidding on and winning one other piece. It was a pocket watch, a simple old thing on a silver chain, but it was supposed to enhance the natural charisma of whoever wore it. Not that Lorcan needed any help, there. Really, he had charisma coming out of his ears.

“It’s not that my charm needs a boost,” he said in an uncanny echo of my own thoughts. “But I had a watch much like that when I was a younger man. Call it nostalgia.”

I just patted his thigh, because it was his money, and he could buy whatever he wanted. As long as it wasn’t off the rack, or paisley.

As it turned out, when you flashed the amount of money Lorcan was, the auction house employees were wonderfully accommodating, and they promised to have our things shipped right to Haven Hollow, so I didn’t have to worry about finding space for transport.

I almost didn’t want to let the silk out of my sight, though. I was half afraid it would vanish like mist in the sunlight if I took my eyes off it. It made sense to have it shipped, though. The auction house had better means than I did, and I didn’t want my treasure to get all wrinkly in the trunk of Lorcan’s car.

I did get a little bit of time with the silk, though, before the employees bundled it away again. The strands practically hummed under my fingers, magic reacting to the presence of a Blood Witch. It felt like faint pins and needles.

Oh, I was going to make something special with this. I could guarantee it.

***

Thanks to its supernatural citizens, Haven Hollow had a robust night life. It wasn’t like other small towns, where the sidewalks practically rolled up at sundown. But some small-town habits were hard to break, even in a touristy Hollow. On Sundays, even the shops stretching along Main Street tended to close early, and others weren’t open at all on Sundays.

Which meant it was the perfect day to sneak in and work on my own projects.

I’d missed my store while I’d been away. There was something about walking through the racks and past the mannequins. The ones that hadn’t magically been turned into shapeshifting daughters, I mean. Just seeing the work of my efforts. I’d personally designed, sewn, and enchanted almost everything in the store. Sure, sometimes when I found something particularly beautiful, or something vintage, then I worked the spells in after the fact. But the things I made originally, those were the most rewarding.

It certainly wasn’t the life I’d pictured for myself, back when I was freshly kicked out of the Crescent Circle coven. I’d thought my life was over then, when I’d been turned into a Blood Witch. Well, it very nearly had been.

My mother, the leader of the coven, had decided to be ‘merciful’. She’d only kicked me out, away from the protections of the coven, instead of ordering my death directly. Of course, she’d also tried to force me to go into hiding in some little hovel outside of Portland, so that no one would know what a stain on her bloodline I’d become, but still. It had been almost kind of her, I’d thought. Right up until I found out that she was trying to arrange my disappearance, like she’d been doing quietly over the centuries, removing anyone she thought was ‘undesirable’ for the coven.

Mothers, right?

The point was, I’d had a very clear idea of just what my life was going to look like. And then I was suddenly in freefall, with powers I didn’t understand, and a vampire hot on my heels who was compelled to finish the job. I’d barely decided to come to a Hollow for some level of protection before I’d packed up the few belongings I was allowed to leave with and made my way to Haven Hollow.

I’d just been planning to claw back as much of my life as I could. Instead, I’d found a community. Friends. Good friends, even, if a little saccharine. And, yes, a best friend—something I’d never thought I’d ever have. Ever. I’d formed a new coven, a business, and a home. It was more than I’d ever thought possible.

I snorted, letting go of the sleeve of the coat I’d been looking over. Introspection wasn’t really my thing. I blamed Poppy for that. She was the sentimental one, and I’d been infected due to over-exposure to her ridiculous, upbeat cheeriness. It was revolting when I really thought about it.

A quick glance across the street told me that all the lights at Poppy’s Potions were out. She was doing the sensible thing and spending time with her son, Finn, or with her soulmate, Andre. Or maybe with them both and that weird book that acted more like a dog than a book. It was all very fairy tale and all very stomach souring, if I really thought about it.

I wiped the smile off my face as I pushed through the racks to head towards the back of the store. The thing with selling mostly one-of-a-kind items was that I never had much in the way of overstock. Once I finished something, it was out on the shop floor. And with any luck, being fought over by hordes of customers. But really, I didn’t keep many things in the ‘back’.

Instead, my storage area tended to double as my workshop. I had a large table, pins, cabinets for patterns and notions, dress forms, the works. There was also a tub that could be used for dyeing fabric, or soaking pieces in potions. It was my own little oasis of creativity, when I didn’t want to be bothered by customers.

With the store safely closed, and Lorcan at work at his dental practice, I had the whole evening ahead of me, and I couldn’t wait to dig into my newest project.

I did spare a thought for Lorcan, though. He’d been quiet when he kissed me goodbye, and he’d been clearing his throat a lot. If he weren’t dead and immune to most lesser ailments, I’d have worried he was coming down with something.

Any lingering worries cleared right out of my head though, as I came around the corner to my work table and caught sight of the yards of glorious silk waiting for me. I couldn’t get enough of that luster; the way the silk shone softly under the light I’d set up over the table. It really was a piece of master craftsmanship, and it felt like cool water under my fingertips. The weave was so fine, I was sure I could have passed all seven yards through a ring.

Now, again, white silk wasn’t really my go-to. But the idea of dying it another color felt like an insult to whoever had made it. And while going to a vampire ball dressed like the heroine of some gothic novel wasn’t an idea I relished, I could feel the hum of the protective magic under my hands, and that would make it worthwhile. Anything I could put between me and so many fangs was worth its weight in gold.

Besides, if I had to commit to the bit, I was going to do it in a big way. Someone with nothing to hide wouldn’t draw attention to themselves, right?

The silk smoothed over the table like a dream. It was so smooth and slippery that it almost didn’t feel real. Like Rumpelstiltskin had foregone gold and managed to spin mist into cloth. I took my time arranging everything the way I wanted it. I had months to finish the piece, no way was I going to rush things. I wanted it to be perfect.

I had just the pattern in mind. It was something I’d been drafting for myself, specifically for my measurements, and it was going to be a show-stopper. I’d originally intended to make the gown in red, kind of a poke in the eye for the vampires of Portland, but I could swap out rubies for diamonds for an evening.

It took me an hour to lay out each piece, maneuvering carefully to match up the weft of the silk, using every inch I could. It would be a crime to waste even an inch of the gorgeous fabric.

The first problem, of course, was when my pins didn’t want to go through the fabric. Anti-damage, that’s right. It took some careful work, and a bit of reshuffling, but eventually I got my most dainty pins to work their way between the threads instead of piercing the fabric. My back was twinging by the time that was done, and I had to straighten up and stretch the muscles to try and loosen them.

I smoothed back the hair that had slipped free of the messy bun I’d swept it into. This was going to be the tricky part, really. If the pins didn’t want to do what they were told, how in spell’s name was I going to get my shears through the protective magics on the silk?

My shears were impressive. I had them sharpened regularly, and I would have hexed anyone who tried to use them on anything but cloth. Maverick picked them up once to cut paper , and I almost declared a blood feud on the spot.

Yes, they were good shears. But were they up to the task of an indestructible, centuries-old bit of silk?

Well, luckily, I had more options available than most.

I cradled my shears in my hands, my fingers dancing over the sharp blades, careful not to cut myself. A whispered word, a twist of intent, and magic, my magic, spread out in gossamer strands. Scarlet energy twined down the blades, soaking into the metal, and making them more than just physical tools.

Blood Magic could be tricky, and it sometimes went sideways in very odd ways. A spelled potion on a bit of enchantment had netted me a daughter, after all. Not to mention the 1950s house wife I’d accidentally brought back from the dead. And the ghost of a flapper I’d accidentally brought back to life. The less people outside of my immediate circle who knew about that, the better.

But I was careful. I was cautious. And I was also daring, clever and excellent with magic, so the risks were low. Still, I had to brace myself before I made the first cut. It was, without a doubt, the most expensive cloth I’d ever worked with, and as skilled as I was, a certain amount of respect was required. Craftsmanship like this deserved the utmost care.

That, and I’d be furious if I mucked something up. I hated being mad at myself, especially when I deserved it.

Slowly, carefully, I slid the shears over the fabric. For a second, I really thought the metal would be turned away—denied. I thought I wouldn’t be able to cut my prize, and I might have to rethink my dress into some kind of draped toga number. It wouldn’t be a disaster. A lot could be done with some gold brooches, after all. Well, if the cloth would accept the needle in the brooch. Hmm, maybe there was a reason the silk had ended up at the auction…

The silk held, dimpling around the blades of my scissors, refusing to part. My magic sparked up along the blade, casting a ruby glow over the stark white cloth, and with a sound that was almost a sigh, cut through. And then I sighed. In relief.

A spark of magic flickered up the shears and into my hand. It wasn’t mine, but a little electric jolt from the silk itself. It made me drop the scissors, terrified my hand might twitch and I might ruin the piece.

I flexed my fingers, working out the little bit of numbness that still lingered. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the silk or the scissors. I got close enough to the cloth that I almost had to go cross-eyed to see it, but nothing seemed to be amiss with the weft.

The enchantments were still in place, too. I could feel them when I passed the palm of my hand over the cloth, just a half inch above touching it. Nothing was out of the ordinary, at least.

But then, it was very old fabric, and it had been soaked in magic for a while. It might have just been discharge, like some built up static. So, I shrugged and bent my head over my work.

After that first little snag, the silk cut like a dream. It still took me hours to painstakingly finish each panel, the parts of the bodice, the neckline. Finally, when there was only about an hour left until the sun was going to come up, I had all the pieces of what was possibly going to be the most beautiful dress I would ever make laid out on my worktable, and a carefully folded bit of scrap that I would find some use for later.

My shoulders burned, my back was screaming at me, and there was sweat beading along the edge of my hairline, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

Maverick would be in to open the store in a few hours, so I tidied up my work station, putting things away. I could probably wheedle him to stay a bit later, so that I could get started on pinning the dress. Maverick talked a big game, but on nights when his best friend and technically wife, Taliyah Morgan, was working late doing Chief of Police things, he wasn’t usually in a hurry to leave. Especially since his daughter, Sibyl the once mannequin, was having yet another slumber party with her little group of friends.

I ran my fingers gently over one piece of silk that would become a back panel of my dress, meant to drape behind me in a train, and smiled.

I could hardly wait.