Pawsitively Betrayed

by Melissa Erin Jackson

Edgar let out a soft, pained sound that Amber wasn’t sure anyone else heard.

  Amber had always assumed her grandparents had passed on, but to have it confirmed so casually by Agent Howe somehow made it sting even more. Her small family seemed to grow smaller by the day.

  “We don’t know how he ended up in this particular institution,” Agent Barker said. “It’s an exclusive and extremely remote place, and has no ties to witches whatsoever. He must have had close friends who felt it necessary to get him off the grid, so to speak. Someone close to him likely worried that the Penhallows would finish the job if they got a second chance.”

  “Valuable information is locked up in Raphael’s head. We’re sure of it,” Agent Howe said. “Your memory magic should allow you to witness what happened to Raphael the day he was hit with that blast. That, or you can sever his tie to the female witch inside his mind, similar to what you did with Kieran.”

  Amber gaped at her. She had no clue how to do this without her mother’s spell, which was hidden three hours away.

  Softer, and with more emotion than Amber thought her capable of possessing, Agent Howe added, “You have an opportunity here to heal your uncle just as you healed Kieran.”

  A little voice in the back of her mind told her she was being manipulated, but a louder voice was cheering. If Amber found a way to heal her uncle, it meant Amber would be that much closer to healing Edgar. She could put what was left of her family back together.

  “Consider this a compromise,” Agent Barker said. “Raphael has intel the WBI desperately needs to help us combat this incoming threat. Get us this, and we’ll give you more time to willingly turn over the book to authorities.”

  What exactly did they think was in Raphael’s head that was valuable enough that they’d temporarily give up the fight to get their hands on an “object of national security”?

  “What do you need me for?” Edgar asked.

  “Your father is still in there,” Agent Howe said. “If there is anyone on this earth who could help jog Raphael’s memories, it would be his son. You are to join Amber to jumpstart his mind. Amber’s job is recon.”

  Over the course of a few short months, Amber had been labeled a psychic, a private investigator, a detective, and now … what … a government spy? What had happened to her quiet days of being a toymaker?

  Noah’s crying face popped up in her mind and she frowned. Her quiet days of being a toymaker were in jeopardy until the Penhallow problem was solved.

  “I’m not saying I agree to any of this,” Amber said, “but when do you expect this recon mission to happen?”

  “As soon as possible,” Agent Howe said. “The Penhallows are planning … something. If what’s locked away in Raphael’s brain can help us defeat the Penhallows once and for all, we needed it yesterday.”

  “Can you give me a week?” Amber didn’t only need the time to help Kim and the others through the Here and Meow, but she also needed to talk to her aunt and sister.

  Agent Howe’s nostrils flared again. “Tentatively, I will say yes. But if things progress, we’ll call on you sooner. You can try to say no, but we’re very persuasive when necessary.”

  Amber couldn’t wait to be rid of them both.

  Agent Howe produced a business card and slid it across the table. “Call me if anything comes up—especially if Kieran makes contact again.”

  Amber managed a faint nod.

  Without a word, the pair slid out of their side of the booth. They adjusted their suit jackets; Agent Barker rebuttoned his.

  “Enjoy your lunch,” Agent Howe said.

  A waiter rounded the fireplace in the middle of the room. He carried two plates—one with a pasta dish and one with a massive salad, as well as two boxes. He nodded once to Agent Barker, who was already striding out of the room. Agent Howe threw several bills onto the waiter’s tray, bid him a good day, and then she was on her way across the restaurant, too.

  The waiter placed the pasta before Edgar and the chicken Caesar salad in front of Amber—it was one of her favorite dishes. Then the waiter placed the two boxes with clear covers on the table. One had “Willow” written in black marker, and then other said “Gretchen.”

  The waiter left without a word.

  “This is all really weird, right?” Amber stared down at her salad. “Are they trying to scare us even more with intuitive food orders?”

  In a soft, faraway voice, Edgar said, “I can’t believe he’s really alive.”

  Amber turned to him. “Edgar, look, I’m sorry that we didn’t—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “I’m too angry to talk about it yet. Just eat your plate of plants.”

  She was just about to do so—Edgar had already shoveled three very large forkfuls of Alfredo pasta in his mouth—when, all at once, she remembered who she’d originally been scheduled to have lunch with. Cursing under her breath, she frantically searched her purse for her phone.

  It was forty-five minutes past the time she was supposed to have met Molly. There were two missed text and three missed calls. All from Molly.

  Is this payback for the article? Marbleglen residents deserve to know the truth about how dangerous your products are. This passive-aggressive tantrum isn’t a good look on you.

  Ten minutes later, she received: Now I know how you treat people you don’t like.

  As Amber stared at her phone, wondering what to tell Molly to assure her it had been an accident to stand her up, another message from her came in, sent fifteen minutes after the previous one.

  Consider this bridge burned.

  Amber groaned and dropped her phone back into her purse. She wondered which was worse: having a Penhallow as an enemy … or Molly Hargrove.

  Chapter 9

  Amber, sitting in the passenger seat of Edgar’s truck, was in the process of organizing her belongings—her purse and two boxes of food—when Edgar said, “Who is that?”

  She looked up just as Edgar pulled in front of The Quirky Whisker and found a woman in a black skirt suit standing in front of the shop. Her back was to Amber, and as she peered in through the front door, a cell phone was pressed to her ear.

  The woman’s red hair was pulled back into a bun. Though nothing about her was immediately familiar, the color of her hair alone put Amber on high alert. In the chaos of this morning alone, Amber had managed to forget about the non-magical problems in her life. When the woman turned around a moment later, Amber’s guess was confirmed.

  “Thea Bishop,” Amber said. “Henrietta’s sister.”

  The woman was so unmistakably related to Henrietta that Amber briefly wondered if they were twins. Upon closer inspection, the differences in their features became clearer. Amber guessed Thea was younger, but likely only by a year or two.

  Amber had told Edgar about the fate of her shop—and the events that had led to her shuttering her doors—over lunch. She’d done most … all … of the talking, as he was still too upset with her to say much.

  Thea said something else into her cell, ended the call, and put her phone into her shiny black handbag. Then she cocked a brow at Amber, as if to say, “Are you going to hide in there all day?”

  Amber considered it. Even from this distance and with a car door between them, Thea was clearly formidable. She didn’t need cursed magic running through her veins to give Amber the willies. All she needed was the poise and confidence of a lawyer—paired with sisterly love that was as powerful as any spell. Willow had worn the same expression in the float barn when the trio from Marbleglen had been rude to Amber. Thea was here as a sister as much as she was here as a lawyer.

  Amber swallowed.

  A moment later, she grabbed her own phone out of her purse and quickly sent a text to Chief Brown. Just a heads-up that Thea is in town and she’s at The Quirky Whisker. Hopefully we don’t get into a brawl and end up at the station.

  He replied almost immediately. I’m not amused, Amber.

  Oh, he was never amused! Didn’t he realize how fun
ny she was?

  “Hey, I have an idea!” Amber told Edgar as she dropped her phone back into her purse. He was eyeing the redhead with an air of trepidation. “What if you take me back to your house and I move into that old shed in the back until this lady goes away?”

  “Nope,” he said. “I think dealing with her is fit punishment for … everything.”

  She frowned as she stared at his profile. “I really am sorry for not telling you about your dad.”

  He sighed, and when he looked at her, a little of the earlier venom had dissipated. “I know. I’ll get over that. It’s just easier to be mad at you right now than being mad about everything else. I know no matter how mad I get at you, you’ll still have my back when I need it.”

  She desperately wanted to hug him, but she knew if she tried, it would take him even longer to forgive her. “I’ll take it. Talk to you later.”

  Once she was out of the truck, Edgar honked the horn once in goodbye. Amber watched him go. Maybe she could sprint after him and launch herself into the bed of his truck. She glanced across the street at Purrfectly Scrumptious and spotted Betty inside. Bobby was out front chatting and laughing with the couple at the door. The line snaked down the sidewalk again. He didn’t see Amber. The Harrises wouldn’t be able to rescue her either.

  Reluctantly, Amber turned to face Thea. Amber’s sidewalk was decidedly less busy.

  “Are you Amber Blackwood?” Thea asked as she took a step toward her with her hand outstretched. She was the same height as Amber, and a light smattering of freckles lined her cheekbones. Her eyes were a startling green behind her glasses. “I’m Thea Bishop, Henrietta’s sister.”

  Amber plastered on her best smile and shook her hand. Thea’s nails were painted a bright red. “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Once Thea let her hand go, she gave Amber an appraising elevator scan. “I was hoping we could have a chat. Inside, perhaps?”

  Amber hesitated, still searching for an escape from this conversation.

  When the silence stretched on for an awkward length of time, Thea, in a volume louder than necessary, said, “My sister is in a coma after purchasing something from your store.”

  A pair of women who had been on the sidewalk nearby quickly crossed the street. Good grief.

  “Sure, let’s go in,” Amber said, and quickly bustled past Thea so she could unlock the door. She mentally uttered the alarm deactivation spell in her head, feeling the magic dissipate. As she stepped inside, she called a loud hello to her aunt and sister but got no response. Amber wondered if Willow and Connor were still at lunch. Would Molly have been so upset with Amber that she’d crash Willow’s lunch? Perhaps it would be Molly and Willow who ended up at the police station for having a brawl.

  Amber flipped on the lights and deposited her purse behind the counter before turning to address Thea. The woman was busily scanning the room, taking in Amber’s wares with big sweeping motions of those green eyes. When her gaze finally settled on Amber, Thea’s lip curled just slightly, like she’d just gotten a whiff of something foul.

  Oh boy.

  Amber headed for her apothecary wall behind the counter and scanned the labels on the drawers until she landed on the one for “sleep.” She trundled it open and pulled out a package of her sleepy tea blend. The round circle on the package featured Amber’s cheeky top-hat-wearing logo, as well as the ingredients for the tea.

  Stopping before Thea, the counter between them, Amber slid the package across the worn wood. “That’s the blend Henrietta has been buying for a year. I make it in-house and have been making it the same way for years. That’s the kind Hen last purchased.”

  Thea picked the package up very carefully, as if it were set to explode. Amber expected her to at least open the package to sniff the contents. But she supposed if the woman thought it was laced with arsenic or something equally as toxic, she wouldn’t risk harming herself. Instead, she slipped the package into her purse, unopened.

  Over the next several minutes, Thea questioned Amber about her business—how long she’d been in operation, how she learned to create tea blends, and if anyone else who had purchased her teas had ever issued a complaint. Based on her line of questioning, Amber assumed Thea hadn’t yet caught wind of the Toast the Bear debacle and decided it best to keep that part to herself.

  Then Thea abruptly changed the subject. “I heard you visited Henrietta at the hospital yesterday.”

  “Yes,” Amber said. “My friend Kim and I went to see her.”

  “Why?”

  Amber cocked her head. What kind of question was that? “Because she’s my friend and I wanted to see how she was doing.”

  “You see, that’s very interesting, because the nurses today told me that shortly after your visit, Henrietta’s vitals went haywire. The phrase they used to describe her condition was ‘acute distress.’ They’d never seen anything like it,” Thea said. “Can you explain what happened?”

  Amber stared at her. “I have no idea what happened. Is she okay?”

  Thea said nothing for several seconds. “They were able to stabilize her again, yes.”

  “Do they have any idea what may have caused her condition?” Amber asked. “The coma, I mean. Not the acute distress.”

  “A toxicology report should be in soon.” After a brief stint of very intense eye contact, Thea said, “You know, Henrietta has mentioned your shop many times. Toys that have more functionality than even the most complex robotic ones. Fluid was the word she used—as if they were alive. On that wall behind you, you have everything from headache tonics to memory supplements, if the labels are to be believed. Henrietta swore by your tea. She said you’d make a killing if you sold the stuff online … that it’s more effective than melatonin.”

  Amber had heard Henrietta say as much.

  “Why haven’t you tried to expand your business if you have a seemingly miraculous item on your hands?” Thea asked.

  Swallowing, Amber said, “It’s not something I wish to pursue at this time.”

  “I see,” Thea said rather unconvincingly. “Did you notice that her purchases of the tea have increased lately?”

  “In the last month or so, yes,” Amber said.

  “And did you think that was strange?”

  Amber cocked her head. If this was how lawyers usually were in court, Amber could see how some people might crack on the stand out of sheer exhaustion caused by a relentless line of questioning. She didn’t want to deal with any of this right now. She also didn’t know where Thea was going and wanted to get to the destination quicker. So without giving it much thought, Amber hurled a truth spell at her. “Why would Henrietta buying more of my products be strange, Thea Bishop?”

  A sense of calm washed over Thea. “Because it was strange. Henrietta was trying to recreate your tea blend. Since you wouldn’t offer the tea on the market, Henrietta was going to try to do it herself. She has an online shop set up and even has a couple of interested investors.”

  Amber lightly shook her head. But Henrietta had asked about the recipe again the other day. Amber had thought it had been part of their usual banter, but perhaps it had been more than that.

  “I purchased some sleepy tea from the drug store the other day and that one wasn’t nearly as effective as yours,” Henrietta had said. “Do you think it’s the valerian root in yours that does the trick?”

  Thea floundered a little as the magic faded. “I’m … I’m not really sure why I said that. Uh.” She cleared her throat. “Henrietta’s been struggling to find a business venture since her divorce.”

  As if this was information she’d had for a while, and not only a day, Amber said, “She’s been looking for something that could match the income she had when her husband was funding their indulgent lifestyle.”

  Thea gave her head a little shake, like shucking off the last dregs of a dream. She eyed Amber warily, and bit by bit, a different kind of calm washed over her. Understanding, maybe.

  “I
see,” Thea said again, then walked away from the counter, running her fingers along the edges of the pyramid-shaped bookshelf nearest her, then wandering farther into the store. “You have dreamcatchers that actually catch dreams. Just over there, there’s an ‘ever-burning candle,’” she said, pointing off to the left. Amber didn’t look; she kept watching Thea. “I explored the town a bit this morning before I came here. It’s so quaint, Edgehill. A town built around its cats. And a town with a resident who everyone seems to have an opinion about. Every time I brought up your name to a shop owner or resident, you know what word came up?”

  Amber pursed her lips but remained silently standing behind the counter. She wondered if Thea was this theatrical in court.

  “Weird,” Thea said after a beat. “Odd was used quite a bit, too. Your toys get mentioned the most. The way children can play with the things for hours and hours and the batteries never die. The way the toys interact with the children as if the toys are powered by breath and a beating heart.” She headed back toward the counter. “When I couldn’t do research on your ingredients, I researched you instead. My profession has trained me to look at something from as many angles as possible. And no matter what angle I chose, quite a few odd events cropped up. Your parents died in a mysterious house fire. A swarm of exotic insects materialized out of nowhere, stung multiple people, and then disappeared again. Several people claimed that when the insects were wreaking their havoc and people were fleeing the building, you ran farther into the building. A maid was killed in a way that defies scientific explanation—a maid who had been cleaning the room of your aunt. Two cars on your cousin’s property were torched with a fire so hot, the vehicles melted as if they’d been made of wax instead of metal.”

  Thea folded her hands on the worn wooden counter and stared Amber dead in the eye. The silence stretched on for long enough that Amber’s palms started to sweat.

  “I’m a believer in what’s real and tangible,” Thea said. “There’s always a logical explanation as long as you keep digging. I’m exceedingly good at digging, Amber. It’s why I’m so successful at my job. No question is too big for me to find the answer to. Usually the answer is simplest and most obvious. Sometimes the answer is much more complicated than one first thinks.” She paused and gave Amber another of her appraising elevator scans. “And, rarely, the most obvious answer is the … weirdest one.”