Page 4

Chapter

Three

M idmorning, I changed out of my swimsuit and into my dry jeans and a Donna Summer T-shirt I’d rediscovered in Mom’s dresser after moving in.

I hadn’t donated all her things after she’d passed. I’d kept her beloved seventies and eighties concert tees and some jewelry I hadn’t been able to part with.

Good thing, since that jewelry and furniture now made up seventy-five percent of what I owned. Rebuilding my possessions would take time, and I was allowed to mourn my losses, but I was lucky I’d had Mom’s place to fall back on.

I grabbed my purse and keys and the tote bag I’d packed with deliveries and headed outside.

Because I’d only worked in the garden room so far today, I took a moment to slide my fingers into the soil outside mom’s— my —cottage and tap into the power there.

Magic hit me in a quick, sharp snap, similar to walking across carpet and touching a light switch. A little sting followed by a sweet, warm power that thrummed just beneath my skin.

Finally, after three long and lonesome years of silence, I was connecting with the soil beneath the park. Was the connection as strong as before? No. But it was evident, and I was no longer being drained when I reached for the magic in the earth here.

“Thank you,” I whispered, as I scooped fresh dirt into the bag I’d taken to carrying with me, the same one I’d used at the mayor’s place today. “I’m so grateful.”

The minerals in the soil glowed dimly. It wasn’t the Roman candle brightness I wanted, but it was persistent. And it continued even after I withdrew my hand.

It would grow stronger over time. I believed that.

I had to believe that.

The soil lifted into the air, vaporized, and absorbed into my skin. I took a moment to revel in it then tucked the bag of dirt into my back pocket and headed for my orange Mini Cooper in the parking lot.

Cecil buckled himself into Fennel’s booster seat on the passenger side and peered out the window. If he didn’t move too much, people would assume he was a doll. Or a grizzled schnauzer.

Hopefully.

“Thanks for the suggestion to use soil instead of salt for the containment circle this morning. I definitely felt a power difference.”

Cecil looked away. Sniffed. Shrugged.

I switched on the radio, smiling when Cecil chittered along with “Rapper’s Delight” by The Sugarhill Gang.

“How about we pick up a couple of lavender scones before we head into La Paloma?”

Cecil sat up, his purple hat flopping sideways. He seemed genuinely excited to be out of the garden room. I’d brought him with me on other jobs, even one very stealthy Alpha Floyd sabotage job, but I didn’t do it often.

There was a reason for that.

The gnome was a wild card when it came to other people, places, and plants. The reason he’d come into my life was because he’d led a garden revolt in a shifter trailer park outside town, resulting in several pissed-off wolves. I’d had to secure him in a spelled bag to get him home, and he’d made me pay for the indignity for months before finally settling in.

The manifestos he’d scrawled had been violent. At least, I assumed they were. He wrote in Gnomish, so I had only the pressure of the pen against the paper and his angry calligraphy to go by. Though the knife he’d stabbed into Senora Cervantes’s tire after she carelessly threw away the dandelions growing in her yard had been a pretty big hint.

“I’ll see if the fairies will throw in a honey stick for you, too. As a Cinco de Mayo gift.”

The tip of his hat pointed straight up, a sure sign he approved. Cecil expected to be celebrated on every holiday. Not sure Cinco de Mayo counted, but it was best to err on the side of caution with the little dude.

Two blocks south of the Siete Saguaros lay an old house the owners had converted into a coffee shop. Tall front windows gave passersby a glimpse of glossy hardwood floors, wrought iron bistro tables, and a wall mural with pink trumpet-shaped flowers.

I parked on the street in front of the Desert Rose Café and gave Cecil a series of warnings. He nodded solemnly and crawled onto my shoulder. He chitter-chanted a spell that made my ears tingle. My best guess was it was a no-see-em spell for humans. Invisibility spells that included paranormals took much longer.

Cousins Kiv and Gela Melliza were working the front counter. They looked like twins in their jeans, white T-shirts, and khaki aprons, each sporting hair the darkest shade of emerald.

Gela’s was shoulder-length, and today she had it partially hidden under a white bandana while she touched up a section of the desert rose mural behind the counter with a small paintbrush. She’d removed the elven memorabilia from that section of wall, and the tiny scrolls, mosaics, and minuscule silver, gold, and bronze boxes were on a pedestal table at her elbow.

The large desert rose hand-carved from a single piece of peltogyne, or purpleheart wood, remained in place, as a centerpiece to the mural.

“Hey, Gela. Hey, Kiv,” I said, upon entering.

“Hello, magic lady.” Kiv set a drink holder containing four iced coffees on the pickup counter. “ Denise, your order’s ready .”

A short woman in leggings and a long T-shirt bounded forward, scooped up the order, and shot out the door.

Kiv made their way to the other end of the counter where I was standing. Their green hair was cropped short, revealing a pair of impressive cheekbones and brown-black eyes.

“Don’t tell me. A lavender scone and a large, iced—” They halted.

Gela appeared to pick up on their surprise, because she looked over her shoulder at me. “You brought him,” she said excitedly.

Definitely a no-see-um spell for humans only.

Kiv cleared their throat and did what could only be described as a cross between a curtsy and a bow. “Welcome to the Desert Rose Cafe, Mr. Cecil. We’re honored by your presence.”

Cecil chittered what sounded like a greeting and pointed to one of the fae artifacts on the table. He trotted down my arm and across the counter.

“Sure you can. They’re not much, but they’re a piece of home.”

“You’ll especially like this.” Gela handed him a small, gold box. “It’s inscribed with an elderberry wine recipe in ancient Gnomish. We haven’t been able to decipher it. Perhaps you can.”

The box was half the size of the gnome; still, he was able to lift it up and study the inscription. Kiv broke away from the group and started making my iced coffee. I hadn’t ordered anything, but they knew me well.

“Can you add a second scone for Cecil? And a honey straw? He likes sweet treats.”

They smiled. “Of course. Mr. Cecil, would you also like some tea? It’s on the house.”

He nodded, his hat flopping sideways.

“He especially likes basil tea, if you have it,” I said.

“I do. Not many people order it around here, but Gela and I are big fans.” As they prepared the items, I surveyed the rest of the café. The front patio was open, and three people sat in front of laptops at the bistro tables out there.

“Won’t be long until we have to shut down the patio,” Kiv said. “It’s already starting to heat up. June’s going to be brutal. No number of misters can counteract low desert heat.”

Kiv finished our order, and Gela carried Cecil over to us.

“Please come again,” she said, politely. “Kiv and I are honored to meet you. You are always welcome here.”

Gela’s pretty brown eyes met mine. “He’s good luck, you know.”

I looked down at the tiny man who was not-so-slyly pocketing sugar packets from a dispenser. “Since he moved in with me, I’ve been almost dragged to Hell, kidnapped and nearly murdered, and had my trailer burned down. If he’s good luck, my regular luck is far worse than I could ever have imagined.”

Kiv set our items down and handed Cecil a honey straw. “You were almost dragged to Hell, nearly murdered, and you survived your trailer burning down. I’d say that’s amazing good luck. Wouldn’t you?”

Mr. Good Luck and I snarfed down our snacks and headed to La Paloma.

We stopped at a few businesses that sold our herbs and charms, and Cecil mostly stayed hidden by clinging to the back of my neck behind my hair. We hit Beau’s Oddities, a combination paranormal resource and human head shop owned by a friend of mine and a close friend of my mom’s.

Not that I wanted to think about that too much.

“Got a new tome you might be interested in,” Beau said, after the human clientele cleared out. “It’s got some interesting protection spells. Thought you might be in the market for something like that after everything that happened, you know?”

Beau Glazier looked like Nicolas Cage and sounded like Matthew McConaughey. He tended toward jeans and flannel shirts in winter and spring and wore his brown-and-gray beard cropped close.

Despite his appearance, he was not a man to be taken lightly. Beau knew something about nearly everything, and he was my main point of contact for rare paranormal books and artifacts.

“How much?”

“Borrow it, see if it suits your needs. We’ll talk price after that,” he said. It was our usual method of exchange. Beau knew he could trust me. I was pretty sure he and Mom had a thing for a while. They’d been good friends, if nothing else.

I took the book and handed over some fresh charms for him to sell in the store. Cecil popped out of my hair, and he and Beau exchanged a fist bump. Beau gave the gnome a shiny new penny, and they fist-bumped again.

We left and set off for Wicked, parking between the crumbling, two-story building and a duplex hookah lounge and laundromat. The scents of fabric softener and sweet shisha made for a strangely pleasant combination.

“This is a big store with lots of shinies. I’m going to need you to be on your best behavior, okay? I’m not trying to be condescending. I’m genuinely concerned for your safety should you mess around with the wrong spelled object.”

He folded his arms over his beard and chittered a groan.

“I know you, Cecil. Trouble follows you like a tail.”

My cell rang, and I sent it to voicemail like I had the other calls from Ronan. I set the phone to vibrate, extended a hand to Cecil to help him onto my shoulder, and exited the car.

Bronwyn was helping a customer when we walked in, so I hung back and thumbed through a book on herbal remedies. Most of the recipes were missing at least one ingredient to be truly effective, but they wouldn’t kill anyone either, so it wasn’t a big deal. Humans mostly used these sorts of books to sit on coffee tables or elevate bookcases, anyway.

Cecil took umbrage at an herbal treatment for foot fungus and let out a loud, angry chitter that made everyone look in my direction. I closed the book, coughed to cover the sound, and grumbled, “Be quiet,” under my breath.

It was strange that he appeared to have no difficulty reading English but could neither speak nor write it himself. I was starting to think he just didn’t want to do it.

“Betty.” Bronwyn motioned me to the counter.

I set the book back on the stack. “Coming.”

Bronwyn Jonas was in her mid-thirties, same as me, and looked younger. I’d only ever seen her in loose, flowing Bohemian style clothing or a satin witch hat and cape. Nothing else. So it was strange to see her in jeans, boots, and a snug green sweater. Her black braids were tied in a loose knot on top of her head, and her dark brown skin was devoid of makeup.

She looked worn out, annoyed, and burdened.

“Everything okay?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t.

“Sure.” She set a bell and a sign directing customers to ring it on the counter. “Mind if we talk in my office?”

“No problem.”

She led me to a wall of display cases behind the register. She rearranged a collection of stones on one shelf and the door opened with a loud snick . Cecil and I went in first. Bronwyn followed close behind and shut the door/display.

“This is so cool,” I said. “You have a secret lair.”

She let out a surprised laugh. “I never thought about it like that, but I suppose I do.”

“Do you also have any of those paintings with the eyes cut out? Because that’s the only way this gets cooler.”

When she didn’t laugh at my dumb joke, I knew things were serious.

She indicated a green velvet slipper chair in front of her desk, and I sat in it. It was comfy and smelled vaguely of vanilla. Instead of going behind her desk, she sat in the matching one beside it, turning so that our knees nearly touched.

“What is it?”

Cecil’s hat brushed my earlobe. I wasn’t sure whether Bronwyn could see him. She was a learned witch, which meant she was human, though no less powerful for having been born as one. Her knowledge of spells was vast, and I was pretty sure I’d hardly scratched its surface in our dealings.

“This is a little unorthodox.”

Interesting word choice. Not unusual, or strange, but unorthodox . My curiosity was piqued.

“Most of the things people ask me to do are,” I said.

“So I’ve heard.” She rested her hands on her lap. They were ringless, and her nails were painted a pale pink that clashed with my own congealed-blood shade of red.

I gave her a moment because she seemed to be having trouble finding the words.

“There’s no way I can put this so it doesn’t sound like a gross invasion of privacy, so I’ll just blurt it out. There’s something weird going on with my friend Maya Reeves. I want to hire you to find out what it is.”

This wasn’t within spitting distance of the most unorthodox request I’d ever gotten. “You said she’s your friend. Can’t you ask her?”

“No.” She weaved her fingers together and squeezed them tight. “Yes. I mean, I did ask, but all she said was that she was fine, and I didn’t have to worry about her in this over-the-top, dreamy tone. I think someone cast a spell on her, but I can’t detect anything.”

The odd emphasis she put on someone had me interested. “Is she in a relationship?”

“She’s married to a man but didn’t take his name. They’ve been together for five years. Two weeks ago, she confided to me that she was leaving him. Filed papers and everything.”

“And now?”

“She retracted the papers, and everything is just fine .”

There was something Bronwyn wasn’t telling me. I could feel it. “So, you’re saying your friend was Stepford-wifed by her husband. I take it he’s in our world?”

“Yes. They’re both paranormals. She’s a rat shifter.”

“And him?”

Bronwyn cleared her throat. Smoothed her hands over her thighs. Played with a stray braid that flopped over her shoulder.

“He’s a coven witch, isn’t he?”

Now I understood her word choice. Except that a member of a coven requesting an outside magical to investigate another member of the coven wasn’t only unorthodox, it was downright treasonous to the coven’s way of thinking.

“Yes.” Her voice shrank to a wisp of sound.

“Is it Desmond Mace? I’ve never liked that guy.”

She nodded. “It’s Desmond.”

“Now I know why you want me to look into it. He's an … earth witch.”

The words stuck in my throat.

There was a reason people called me when they needed the assistance of a true earth witch. Desmond was only one of us in the loosest sense of the title. He preferred to lean on what he'd deemed was "stronger" magic, but was really just a bunch of learned magic shortcuts.

"We don't claim him," I said.

"I know. Why do you think I didn't bother calling him when I was dealing with that giant Nepenthes ?"

Even then, we'd both agreed I was the only real earth witch in town. And we'd been right about that. One hundred percent.

“The thing is, I can’t figure out what’s wrong with Maya, but maybe it’s because I’m incapable of approaching it like an elemental witch would. That’s something I know you can do, because you are one.”

I thought about it. No, Desmond didn't behave like a proper elemental witch, but that didn't mean he couldn't use his elemental powers. Maybe Bronwyn had a point.

“Obviously, the coven can’t know you asked,” I said.

She nodded. “Even if you don’t take the job, please keep this between?—”

“Oh, I’m taking the job. Though, even if I wasn’t, I don’t sell out my friends.”

A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks for considering me a friend.”

“Well, you know, that’s what you are,” I said, putting as much cringy discomfort into the words as possible.

Clumsy intimacy was my superpower. I’m as smooth as a calm sea when it comes to surface-level friendships and sexual relationships but ask me to dive a little deeper and you’ll find me floundering in awkward-infested waters.

“Cecil, come on out. I want to get your take on this.” I reached under my hair for the gnome. He was gone.

“Over there.” Bronwyn pointed at her desk where Cecil was bent over a ring dish, inspecting a pile of small stones. He’d already pocketed several, which I knew because he clinked with every shake of his tiny hips.

“Put them back. If you want something from Wicked, you can purchase it like everyone else. We don’t steal.”

Cecil scrunched up his nose and dumped the stones out of his pockets and back into the shallow dish.

“He’s only taking basalt pieces. I don’t mind.”

“Stop right there.” I held up a hand when Cecil started to dig in the dish again. “Don’t encourage him, Bronwyn. Also, you can see him?”

She was, after all, human.

“Not until a minute ago.” She held out a finger for Cecil to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Bronwyn.”

Cecil’s hat flopped back, and I caught a glimpse of his beady little eyes. His bulbous nose twitched, and he ever so gently took hold of Bronwyn’s finger and shook it.

Whoa. He’d allowed her to see him, and he was being nice?

“What’s your take, Cecil?” I asked. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He picked up one of Bronwyn’s pencils and scratched out a picture of a zombie. Or a mummy. Or Frankenstein’s monster. I got the point.

“ Mortui viventes , or another type of living dead spell,” I said. “If he used soil as a base, it would be nearly undetectable to anyone but another elemental.”

“Do you think that’s what this is? Can we even fight it?”

“ We ,” I pointed to Cecil and myself, “can fight it. You stay out of it. Margaux Ramirez won’t take kindly to you bringing me into this. ”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Betty. I know how much you hate our coven.” She pushed three irregularly shaped stones toward Cecil. “I hate to even ask, but I don’t know who else to turn to.”

“Don’t be sorry. Like my mom before me, I really dislike it when witches use their power to control others,” I said. “Besides, getting to bring down a member of the coven is a bonus. If I didn’t need the money, I’d pay you for the opportunity.”

Cecil snickered. He didn’t like the coven either. Some of the members had tried to get rid of him before I came along but hadn’t been nearly as courteous about it as me—and I’d shoved him into a spelled bag.

“One thing, though. What was the last straw that made Maya file for divorce?” I asked.

“She told me Desmond said he was going to kill her.”