Page 265 of The Spider Queen

“I’m going to have to man the shop myself? Without your charming presence?”

“I feel like you’re up to the challenge. Do you mind?”

“No. Go help your mother-in-law.”

“I’m going to need to spike this coffee with Baileys if I have any chance of getting out of this alive.”

“Make Blaze take you out to dinner as a consolation prize.”

“Good idea.” With a wave, Herron slipped through the door, the jingle of the bell quickly falling into silence.

“What to do, what to do,” I murmured to myself. I should’ve locked the front door and gone to the back room to finish the snow globe music box, but I wasn’t ready to sit still.

Instead, I took the feather duster and dusted the globes on the built-in wall shelves, lingering over each one. When they sold, it felt like I was giving away a piece of myself. Strange, perhaps. Like a painter who hated selling his finished canvases.

When the store was swept and tidy, I finally got down to business. I pulled the laptop out of the safe, answered the few non-urgent emails I had received, and then removed the images from my website of the snow globes that had sold. Herron could handle shipping them out tomorrow.

I appreciated every rudimentary, menial task she performed so I could focus on the thing I loved the most: creating new pieces. It was an odd hobby that had turned into a lucrative career. I had gone abroad to cultivate my skills. I had learned how to carve marble figurines from a Swiss hermit whose family had been master sculptors. I’d spent years searching for the perfect glass to use for my domes and discovered that Venetian glass made on the island of Murano was of the highest quality and still made by hand as it had been for centuries. The liquid inside the domes themselves was my own perfected recipe that could not be replicated.

My shop also wasn’t a run-of-the mill tourist trap. You would never find the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty in any of my globes. I made unique, one of a kind pieces that could not be found anywhere else. No two creations were identical, either.

There was no point in manning the front counter when I had a project that needed to be finished. I’d been working on the custom piece for three weeks, and it was one of my best designs—a purple Scottish thistle inside the dome, while the base resembled the craggy Highlands.

I locked the front door, flipped the sign toclosed, and then headed into the back room. I pulled out the lacquer and a small paintbrush and then got down to finishing the base of the dome. Two hours later, I set the paintbrush aside and stretched. It would take at least twenty-four hours for the veneer to dry.

My stomach rumbled. Time for some fresh lo mein from my favorite Chinese restaurant. They’d even deliver it, despite the fact that I was only two doors down.

I’d left my cell phone in the main room. When I went to retrieve it, I stopped. The back of my neck prickled with unease.

On the counter was a box, wrapped in thick cream-colored paper with curled silver ribbons.

I remembered locking the front door before heading to my workspace. I glanced at the sign hanging from the front door. Yep. Still readclosedfacing out to the street.

Why hadn’t I heard anyone break into my shop, and why would anyone do that just to leave me a beautifully wrapped box?

Unease turned to anxiety. But something about the box called to me.

I tore off the wrapping paper, not caring that the edges of it slid underneath my nails. Grimacing in pain, I reached for the box cutter. I sliced the clear tape, moved aside the cream-colored tissue paper, and pulled out the most stunning snow globe I’d ever seen.

The base was gilded with real gold, etched with intricate scrollwork. The glass dome was thin, as if one tap would crack it. It was expertly crafted. Only a master could create a globe so thin without faults or bubbles. But it was the scene inside the protected shell that had me in awe.

A tall, young green tree sat in the center of a garden. Shiny red apples dotted the branches. I saw a tiny forked tongue sticking out between the leaves and recognized the Garden of Eden, but otherwise the slithering form of Satan was hidden within the tree. Two nude ceramic bodies were pressed together, clearly depicting that they were in the throes of passion.

I couldn’t look away.

The details of the Garden of Eden were mesmerizing. I lifted the dome and turned it upside down. There was a crank attached to the bottom of the globe. I twisted it, but no sound emerged from the music box. Frowning in disappointment, I turned it right side up, and delicate flakes of pure gold swirled instead of the usual snow.

After setting the dome aside, I reached into the box, wondering if there was a note or a number. But there were neither.

Who had left such a stunning gift on my counter? How had they gotten into my shop?

My finger trailed over the curve of the glass. It rippled like a pebble tossed into a pond, and then was still.

Surely that had been a trick of the light—or I was more exhausted than I realized.

I took the globe to the back room, suddenly eager to pry open the music box and make it sing.

Chapter 3