Page 9 of Silk Skullduggery (Haven Hollow #40)

Maverick was eager to go when I reached Wanda’s Witchery, and he filled me in on the major events of the day while he grabbed his coat. The biggest event was a woman coming in to waste a lot of time shopping for a dress that she was never going to buy, because all she really wanted to do was flirt with Maverick.

Things were quiet after he left. Even though Haven Hollow tended towards late hours, in order to accommodate our less mundane population, the tourists that flocked here still didn’t tend to shop once normal business hours were done. And it wasn’t quite late enough yet for the evening crowd to really be out and about. That meant I had some time to kill.

I spent a bit of it dusting, straightening the racks and generally tidying up. I made note of what clothes we were running short on and set a mental reminder to myself to get to work enchanting some more athletic wear. Summer and New Years saw such things most in demand, thank you resolutions and wanting to have a beach bod.

But even as I was tweaking skirts to hang nicely, and adjusting hems, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Taliyah and I had spoken about in her office. The memory of the spell, and the way her super secret coroner had described it, kept turning over and over in my head. Because I’d had that sensation too, recently, and it hadn’t been a spell.

There weren’t any customers in the store, and I didn’t see anyone window shopping or lingering outside, so I put my dust cloth down on the counter and headed for the back.

The tragedy of silk was still sitting on my counter. I’d finally come to terms with the fact that a truly ridiculous amount of money had gone to waste, that whatever protection magic was keeping the cloth intact had faded like spun sugar in warm water, and there was just no salvaging it. I’d removed the pins and done my best to fold the rapidly disintegrating pile of thread off to the corner while I stewed about what I was going to do about it.

In my defense, there had been a few murders. Those had been distracting.

Silk was made from the cocoon of the silkworm, the casing that they spun in order to turn into moths. The long filaments were gathered and spun together, but originally, it was caterpillar spit, and that meant that the fibers had a specific texture that was removed with hot water during the processing. That was what I’d noticed was off with the piece, other than the fact that the whole thing was rotting on my work bench. Because when I’d picked up the little threads of the silk, they’d been just faintly sticky, when they definitely shouldn’t have been.

Maybe I’d remembered wrong. Maybe I’d just been so ticked off at the waste that I’d imagined the stickiness, one more irritation to throw on the pile.

Gently, carefully, I lifted one of the fraying pieces. Some of the threads were ragged at the edge, peeling away, and when I ran my fingers over them, they stuck to my skin. A faint catch.

Like a spider’s web.

I dropped the cloth back to the table and resisted the urge to scrub my hand against my skirt. I liked this skirt; no way was I getting creepy magic silk junk on it. I did go to the washroom to scrub my hands under the tap while I worked things through my head, though.

Taliyah was right about one thing; I was strongly starting to believe that there were no coincidences in Haven Hollow. But I failed to see how an old bit of cloth, a very expensive, beautiful piece of cloth, granted, could have been linked to the death and near death of three random people.

None of them had ever even been in to my store before, I was sure of that. We didn’t get that many men, for one thing, and I had a pretty good memory for faces. For that matter, I’d been the only one handling the silk. As far as I knew, no one else had even seen it, let alone touched it. I’d been the one to cut into it. If there was some dire wasting curse on the cloth, and I hadn’t seen any sign of it, then wouldn’t it have struck me?

As much as it pained me, Taliyah was right about something else. I needed more information.

And, fingers crossed, I knew where to get it.

There still weren’t any customers in the store. Bad for business, but convenient for me, at the moment. I tucked myself behind the counter with my cell phone and looked up the number for the auction house.

It was getting late, but this wasn’t the kind of place that did afternoon events that were basically jumped-up rummage sales, or estate sales. They sold not only high-end materials and antiques, but an experience. That was the whole reason Lorcan and I had even gone. We’d wanted a reason to dress up, look fancy, drink, and feel like we were doing something special or forbidden. That was part of the whole allure, and it guaranteed that the auction house wasn’t about to close their doors at four in the afternoon.

It only took two rings before a cheerful voice answered with, “Emerald City Auction House, Claudine speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hello, I was at the auction a week ago, and I purchased a length of white silk.” I rattled off the lot number that I had saved in my phone. “And I was wondering what you could tell me about it.”

There was a hum over the line, and the sound of someone typing. “I’m afraid we didn’t have much for the provenance of that item, ma’am. Only that it was handed down in a family, likely descendants of the original crafter, until one of the descendants sold it to us. Its beauty and its rather special properties were what made it such a luxurious item, not anything to do with its history.”

That was what they’d told me the night we’d purchased it, and it was actually less helpful now than it was then.

“Yes, I understand that. But I’m having some issues with it, and I was hoping that speaking to the previous owner might be able to get those issues sorted out. Do you have contact information for them?” I crossed my fingers, hoping for the best. Talking to the original owners might be my best bet, if the auction house really didn’t know anything.

Assuming, of course, that the previous owners had any idea that the silk was enchanted, and that they hadn’t been trying to unload it quickly for one reason or another.

“The previous owners were interested in remaining anonymous, that was why they used the auction houses’ services,” Claudine said, a little sharp. Then her tone turned suspicious. “What sort of issues are you having?”

It felt like a dead end, but maybe not. Maybe with a little pressure, I could push through this barrier.

I still had memories of my mother’s voice when she was in her ‘wrecking ball’ mode, so it didn’t take any effort to mimic it. I even tilted my head back to make my tone a little more nasal. “My issue is that when I took the silk to be made into a gown, a bespoke gown, mind you, it started rotting and falling apart. And that was after I spent a small fortune on it. Not what I was expecting, to say the least. What kind of business are you running there?”

Playing the outraged old money angle was a risky one. It could make people bend over backwards, but it also could make them dig their heels in and refuse to budge. Nothing I’d said was a lie, though. Claudine didn’t need to know that I was making the dress myself.

There was another pause, and Claudine came back on the line, her voice so chilly I was surprised frost didn’t start forming on my phone receiver. “That isn’t possible, ma’am.”

“Isn’t possible?” I injected some outrage into my voice, and to be fair, some of it was legitimate. “I literally have a pile of disintegrating silk that I paid an insane amount of money for, and you’re telling me it’s not possible?”

There was another pause, and I held my breath, waiting. I thought that might have done it, pushed her over into trying to smooth any ruffles out.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you today,” Claudine said, her voice as smooth and cool as satin. “Any further issues, please feel free to direct them to our legal team.”

And then she hung up on me.

There were too many different emotions bubbling up in my chest as I stared down at the phone. Cellphones just didn’t have the same dial tone that the old rotaries did. Somehow, it made being hung up on feel even ruder.

So, clearly there was something up there, and the auction house was in full ‘cover their butt’ mode. They wouldn’t be coughing up any answers anytime soon, at least not willingly.

For a moment, I seriously thought about hexing Claudine. It was far away, though, and I didn’t have anything personal of hers to act like a catalyst.

Maybe I should have just unleashed Taliyah on them, in all her ‘someone is obstructing my investigation’ glory.

Tempting.

Instead, I thumbed through my contacts and summoned the coven.

***

Gravel crunched under my tires as I pulled into the driveway to the coven house. Lorcan had been generous, getting a place for the coven to base its operations from. It served as a meeting place, a community hub, a spot to cast rituals that we didn’t necessarily want our mundane neighbors to see, and it also had enough bedrooms for coven members to stay, or even live permanently for the ones who didn’t have other accommodations.

It also gave Circle Scapegrace a certain air of verisimilitude. We were a proper coven, not something run out of a witch’s living room. We had a coven house and everything. We could hold our heads up among the other covens, even when they thought we were renegades for including a warlock as a full member, along with a former Blood Witch, and a gypsy potion maker who wasn’t a witch at all.

Circle Scapegrace was something special, and it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world saw that.

I was half annoyed and half resigned when the text came through from Lorcan, apologizing for not being able to attend the meeting. Apparently, there was another emergency at work. A cracked tooth, and a great deal of pain for someone’s sweet old mum, or some other sob story. He also sent along a picture of him at work doing an awkward selfie with one of the hygienists, no doubt so I wouldn’t wonder if he was telling me the truth. In the background, I could see the computer screen, with today’s date and time in the corner, so I knew it was a photo he’d just taken.

It didn’t make any sense. Lorcan was going to such lengths to avoid me, or at least that was very much what it felt like, but he was also practically sending me a documentary to prove just where he was at all times. It would have been sweet, if it wasn’t so aggravating. I knew he wasn’t stepping out on me, no matter what I’d thought when that vampire hag had come sniffing around. Lorcan just wasn’t the type.

That didn’t make not knowing what was going on one ounce less frustrating, of course.

I shut my car door, maybe a little harder than strictly necessary, and turned to head up the steps. Only to be stopped by a nasally little voice with the fakest British accent this side of prime-time television.

“You’re late.”

My eyes narrowed, and I glared at the black cat that had arranged himself sitting upright like a sentinel on the porch banister. His tail was lashing, and he tipped his head back in an attempt to look down his nose at me.

“Hellcat,” I said, my voice sweet enough to choke on. “I called the coven together. It’s my meeting. I can’t be late.”

His own eyes turned into dangerous, spiteful little slits. “And yet, you’ve somehow managed to inconvenience everyone, anyway. You never fail to disappoint.”

I stalked up the porch steps, blowing past my increasingly irritating familiar. “You know, maybe it’s about time you started living outdoors? There would be plenty of mice and rats out in the woods for you to subside on.”

He whirled around, tail puffing up as he yowled in outrage. “You wouldn’t dare, you pox addled strumpet!”

“Keep pushing, Hellcat.” My heels made a satisfying sound against the porch as I stalked towards the door. “Keep pushing and I’ll toss you into the woods myself. Off the balcony.”

I took a great deal of satisfaction closing the door in his spiteful little face.

The hallway was cluttered with coats, but no one was waiting for me. I could hear voices further in, towards the main room of the house. It was a little too warm out to light the enormous fireplace that dominated a whole wall of the great room, but someone had gone around lighting candles. Enough to bathe the place in a warm, golden glow, but kept the shadows thick in the corners. It felt very witchy, light and dark, and some of the tension in my shoulders relaxed.

I stood by the concept that I couldn’t be late to a meeting that I’d called, no matter what Hellcat said. But it did look like almost everyone was already present and chatting amongst themselves.

Olga, originally from Germany and a potion instructor for Blood Rose Academy, who had been abducted and imprisoned by my mother for the crime of falling in love with the wrong men far, far too easily, was sitting on the long couch facing the cold fireplace. She was knitting something, of all things. Soft blue wool spooled down to a ball on the floor, where her familiar, a raccoon named Franz, batted at it sleepily.

Sitting next to her was Betanya, who was the oldest member of the coven, even including the years she’d spent in suspended animation, hiding beyond the veil from the vampire, Roscoe, who’d been determined to turn her. He’d managed to change her into a Blood Witch and got her kicked out of her original coven for it, before she’d fled to Haven Hollow, and eventually beyond even that. We’d busted her out once we’d learned she was still alive, and then we’d taken care of Roscoe, who was barely more than a feral animal at that point. The good news was, with Roscoe gone, Betanya had been cured of being a Blood Witch, and she had settled into Scapegrace very well. To the point that, to the outside world, she was the acting High Witch.

Which didn’t grate at me. At all.

Betanya’s familiar, Willie-Ray the skunk, was curled up on a cushion. He was furled so tightly into a bun that all I could see was his stripey tail and the plaid of his sleeveless flannel work shirt that he always insisted on wearing. It was still better than the lederhosen Franz usually had on. I never thought I’d appreciate my familiar being a nudist.

Imani, our newest member and a transplant from New Orleans, was lighting the last of the candles around the room. The flames reflected off her face and made her dark skin shine. She was grinning, halfway to laughing at something Maverick had said as she slipped past the stairs to the second floor to get the last few candles on the sideboard.

Maverick, in turn, was scowling. It wasn’t an unfamiliar look on my cousin’s face, to be sure. I was surprised the expression hadn’t sprouted roots a long time before, quite frankly. But this was actually his Imani scowl, which he didn’t mean at all, and was only turning his mouth down that hard to keep himself from smiling. I could tell from the way his brows were pinched together over his nose that he was about to pop a stitch if he didn’t laugh soon.

“I’ve only just got some length back to my hair, and now you want me to cut it,” Maverick groused, complaining without any heat.

Imani’s laughter pealed like bells. She laughed without any self-consciousness, throwing her head back, lit up with joy. “I don’t mean a buzz cut, Mav. I’m just saying, you could do something fun with it. Now that you aren’t dragging around that awful little Boy Blue hairstyle.”

Maverick glared. “That was hardly my choice. Besides, what would I even do? It’s hair.”

Imani staggered, one hand clutched to her chest like she’d been shot through the heart. “It’s hair? Mav, seriously?” She tossed her own waist-length, gorgeous coils over her shoulder and plunked her fists onto her hips. “You could do anything. From a trim, to putting some layers in it, to some highlights.”

Maverick pinched a lock of his ink dark hair between his thumb and forefinger and gave her a dubious look. “Highlights?”

“Sure, why not?” Imani tapped her finger to her lower lip, her eyes gleaming. “Or you could even go full blond if you wanted. A nice beachy wave for the summer!”

Maverick sputtered, his face turning red, either from irritation or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. “Blond? No warlock is blond.”

Completely unrepentant, Imani continued. “You could be the first! Come on, Isis, he could pull off blond, right?”

Maverick’s familiar, a mid-sized owl who was perched on the modified coat rack in the corner, gave a low hoot and clicked her beak towards him.

“See?” Imani whooped. “Isis agrees with me.”

Maverick waved his hands in the air, like he could erase the entire conversation. “No, absolutely not. There will be no blonde.”

Imani tapped her lip again. “Hmm, what about–”

“No.” Maverick pointed one long finger in her direction. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, just, no.”

It was good to see Maverick getting along with literally anyone who wasn’t Taliyah, but the weird frenemy situation he had with Imani always made me shake my head. They got on like a bonfire and wood, but when Imani had first joined the coven, I’d thought they might actually get down to blows. Instead, they became whatever the evil version of besties was. Worsties.

With me there, we were only missing Poppy, and that was a little odd. Poppy was one of those irritatingly cheerful people who thought that not being fifteen minutes early to a meeting was being late. I was surprised that I’d beaten her to the Coven house. Maybe she’d gotten caught up at work?

I checked my phone and found a text message from her.

I’m so sorry, Wanda. I can’t make it tonight. I’m not feeling very well.

Well, that was alarming for several reasons. For one thing, Poppy didn’t miss meetings. She was so tickled pink to be included in an actual coven, something a magical human normally would never be able to do. But also, because there wasn’t a single emoji in the text.