“It was nice knowing you. Really. A bright spot in a Bright world.” With a bow, he vanished.
“No! You—” I buried my face in my hands, feeling the essence of his sweet-smelling spirit on my skin. Even knowing his origins, I’d always thought of him as a man. But he wasn’t. He was unique. Irreplaceable.
And the Protectorate was going to kill him. Even if I caught Bosko’s killer and they allowed the wellspring to exist, his replacement would be even more brutal. The years of casual management of Silverpool were over.
Tired and demoralized, I stood in the cold dark and cried.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wiping my cheeks, I grabbed my shoes and jacket from inside and set off walking down the street. Given the Protectorate presence, I couldn’t risk driving the Jeep. If somebody tried to stop me, I’d put myself into a convincing trance and claim it was sleepwalking.
I also cast a subtle hiding spell over myself, not too strong to be noticed. I didn’t see anyone, only the lights of agents at the blockade, and walked across the parking lot of Cypress Hardware without being stopped.
I stood in front of the front doors and looked through the glass at the rows of stored shopping carts, waiting for the genie to come to me. In case such creatures slept, and she needed a motive to rise, I lifted my hand and tapped my beaded bracelet against the glass.
“Hello,” I said softly. “Anybody home?”
Before I could tap the glass a second time, the doors slid open. I didn’t see Jen, but I walked inside, my arms hanging by my side, a show of defenselessness. The doors closed behind me.
It was dark except for the glow of security lights at the exits. I didn’t want to be seen from the street, so I walked deeper into the store, moving slowly through the shadowy aisles.
Then I saw a light flicker near the back where the clearance patio furniture had been the other day. Swallowing my nerves, I walked toward it.
Jen Bardak had improved the patio furniture; now, instead of weather-resistant brown plastic, her seat was a wingback chair made of walnut with gold leaf accents in the carvings and down stuffed into the silk upholstery. She gestured to a similar chair next to her.
“Welcome,” she said. Her clothing was a mixture of goth and gardening. Blood-red corset, black leather skirt, a choker in red velvet, and the hummingbird-patterned plastic clogs. “You witches are strangely nocturnal, aren’t you? Like bats.”
“The Protectorate is here and—”
She snapped her fingers. “Before you state your wish, let’s confirm the price.” Her gaze flicked to the bracelet I’d tapped against the glass. “No more beads. You know what I want.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “You want my silence.”
“Guaranteed,” she said. There was a pause, and then she asked, “What is your wish?”
“What I’d like, only hypothetically, because first we have to agree on the limits of the arrangement, is to prevent…” I hesitated, trying to think of the best way to phrase my wish that wouldn’t cause unpredictable damage. “To stop the Protectorate from—”
Jen flung up a hand. “I can’t interfere in their business right now. It’s too risky.”
I stared at her in dismay. I’d expected haggling, but not an outright refusal. “You said my silence was important to you.”
“I’m afraid that my interference in the machinations of dozens of powerful Protectorate witches would cost more than your silence,” she said.
“But if you won’t help me save the town, you lose all this.”
“I love this town, and I love my store.” She cast a slow gaze around the shadows of her remote big-box store as if it were paradise, then sighed. “But I can’t intervene for love. I can only intervene if the payment is satisfactory.”
I was afraid. Giving her a vow of silence was more than I’d wanted to pay, but it was still less than she’d accept. In the back of my mind, I’d been counting on getting her help. “Please?”
She stroked the velvet choker around her neck. “Surely there’s another, smaller wish we can agree on,” she said. “Every once in a while, a human figures out I’m here, we make a deal that benefits both of us, and life continues.”
“Won’t you do anything to save the town from being destroyed? What about the wellspring? Won’t you miss the springwater?”
“You tell me the town will be destroyed, but the future is unknowable, even for a genie.” She extended her hands, palms out, and smiled warmly. “Come on, Alma. You can trust me. Birdie can tell you I was a good boss. I look out for my people—just as I did for their parents and grandparents. What can I do for you? There must be something more… personal. I find that the best wishes are limited in scope. Fewer unintended consequences. Like asking for world peace and ending up with a planet of only koalas. I can’t tell you how often I have to explain…”
While she spoke, I turned my attention inward and asked my instincts to guide me. My mind’s eye saw a sad, playful face, and I knew. There had never really been any question.
“I want to help Seth Dumont,” I said, feeling the rightness of it loosen a knot in my gut. “Since the death of the fairy Launt, formerly the human who owned his body, he can’t leave Silverpool without starting to die.”
Her eyes widened. “You would waste your gift on the changeling?” she asked. “What about that house you rent, perhaps? In the blink of an eye, the deed could be yours. Of course, real estate here might be worthless in a few days. How about a house in Riovaca, Santa Rosa… Tiburon is lovely—”
“The housing market is bad, but I’m not going to let a friend die to save on rent money,” I said.
She shrugged. “I don’t judge.”
I took a deep breath and continued, letting my heart guide me. “I wish Seth Dumont was able to travel freely the way he used to. I will give you my silence in exchange for a safe, reasonable cure for Seth’s condition. No tricks or hidden costs—you have to infer what I mean and not punish him with some kind of sneaky side effects.”
Jen’s face spread into a wide, beautiful smile. Her hair shimmered, her eyes sparkled, the velvet ribbon around her throat was as red as blood. “I’m not vindictive. I understand what you want. My motto has always been to make the customer happy.” She got to her feet, adjusting her corset with a wiggle. “OK, it’s done.”
The next time I drew breath, I was standing in my bathroom, a toothbrush in my hand, the sun streaming through the window.
My phone—my phone was on the shelf above the sink—chirped. Massaging my forehead to shake off my disorientation, I picked it up.
I’m outside, a text from Darius said. Let’s get to work.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I’d done what I could for Seth. Now I’d have to try to save everything else.
Come on in, I texted. I need a minute.
Darius quickly replied, No thanks. I’ll wait here.
I smiled at the screen. In spite of my lack of sleep, I felt refreshed as I got ready. My jacket was already stocked with extra beads and a pouch or two of useful herbs. Darius could be the one to carry a notebook and write things down. My style was more impulsive.
After taking care of Random, who I had to restrain from running out to say hi to his pal Darius, I walked out alone and got inside the black SUV parked way down the street in front of the Souters’ house. I did glance at Seth’s house, but the quiet bungalow gave nothing away. Did he feel anything yet?
“I see you’re not taking any chances,” I told Darius, who was alone in the big vehicle.
“I’ve never felt anything like whatever that gnome did to us,” he said. “I respect it. Not going to lie.”
“He’s a mystery to me too,” I said, buckling the seat belt.
“Want to grab breakfast before we get to work?” He started the engine. “Coffee?”
Now that I was outside the boundaries of my home, I felt my optimism waver. Even if Darius and I found out how Bosko died, the Protectorate might not change its m
ind, and everything I was looking at, the redwoods and sorrel, old bungalows and colorful storefronts, could be magically erased, blocked from human access, forgotten.
I put my hand on my beads and gave myself a shot of energy, a magical pep talk. “I don’t drink coffee anymore. Besides, no time. Let’s go right to the winery. I didn’t get a chance to scan it properly when I was there Sunday.”
“It’s been four days, and countless agents and nonmagical people have been trampling in and out.”
“You never know,” I said.
As he turned at the end of the street, Darius handed me his notebook, open to the last page. “Here’s a sketch of the scene.”
“I remember it pretty well already,” I mumbled, reflecting on my nights with Tristan. Most women in town had gotten to know it too.
“I’ve drawn where Percival and Florence were sleeping, as well as the location of the proposed office space,” he said. “They hadn’t had a chance to set up yet, but the boxes and standard amulets were there.” Standard amulets would include silver jackets for each witch, a few gold chains for dangerous work (which would have to be returned), a vial of springwater, a box of gemstones (also for borrowing only), and an array of silver knives. The junior agent would be in charge of keeping them free of tarnish.
I was imagining Flor cleaning the silver knife that had killed Vera, as Darius parked in front of the winery tasting room. Did she feel the same care for the fae as I did, or was her interest entirely self-serving? I didn’t expect anyone to worry about demon rights the way I did, but the fae were widely viewed as innocent. The destruction of Silverpool would be one more blow to fae habitat, already shrinking worldwide.
“I suppose Percy has an alibi, or you would’ve arrested him instead of my father,” I said, remembering the missing apprentice on the morning of the murder. I handed his notebook back to him.
“He was with friends on the coast near Jenner,” he said, naming a town less than an hour to the west. “Moon party on the beach. We scanned them. Seemed legit.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Shrugging, Darius took off his seat belt but didn’t get out of the car. “Percy is known for his mind magic. That’s why Bosko kept him around—he has a knack for persuasion. If a witch wasn’t careful, he or she would confess their crimes to Bosko without intending to.”
“You think he might have tricked his friends into claiming he was with them when he wasn’t,” I said.
“Maybe. No proof of that, of course. Just wanted you to keep your senses alert when you meet the guy.”
“I did meet him on Saturday night,” I said. “Very briefly. Bosko wanted to introduce us. He seemed kind of wishy-washy, like Bosko had him well trained.”
“Well trained for sure. He idolized Bosko,” Darius said. “When he came back to the winery and found out his master was dead, five agents as well as Raynor were on the scene, able to scan his reaction for falsehood in real time.”
“And?” I asked.
“Totally broke him up. Fell apart crying. He needed a calming spell before he could speak sense.”
I wondered if he’d also been distraught for the man who’d died or if he was actually grieving his career. The death of a master was considered bad luck for the apprentice, both in magical terms and practical ones. An apprentice who hadn’t protected the mage he served wasn’t worth very much on the job market. Flor would face the same prejudice, although at a lesser scale, given how brief and junior her position had been.
We went inside, where Flor and Percy were working with other agents to comb the property repeatedly for any demon sign, which made me think the Protectorate was determined to find it. Flor was crawling on the floor of the hallway with a silver orb in a glass box, watching it carefully as she inched it across the tile. Percy was in the doorway, swabbing the frame with cotton balls, which he dropped into another glass box, this one filled with a cloudy liquid. I had no idea what it was, but it smelled nasty and throbbed slightly, like a lung.
Flor’s hair bow today was black, which I thought was a little overdone. We weren’t Victorians. She lit up at the sight of Darius and got to her feet. “Oh thank Brightness,” she said. “Please tell me you need to ask me more questions. My neck is killing me.”
Darius turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “Which one first?”
Percy frowned, watching the exchange. “Why are you asking her?”
“Witch Bellrose has a special gift I will be utilizing in my investigations,” Darius said smoothly. “Naturally, I can’t tell you what that gift is.”
An awkward silence fell as both Flor and Percy stared at me. They probably thought the gift was a physical magic, like an amulet, and they wondered why the Protectorate hadn’t simply confiscated it from me to use as they pleased. Snapping out of her curiosity, Flor put aside the box and came with us outside to the patio where we’d gathered on Saturday night. When we reached the steps that led down the slope to the vineyard, Darius hung back.
“I’ll catch up,” he said, waving us ahead. “I forgot something in the car.”
Flor gave me another curious look, then shrugged and walked down the stairs. At the bottom, I walked ahead to a path that Tristan had used to peruse the grapevines. I knew nothing about winemaking, but Tristan had loved it almost as much as he’d loved women. And his black-market magic collection—a secret I’d discovered after his death. The assortment of potions, herbs, amulets, and other magic had been stored in a custom-built cabinet that was now long gone, taken by the Protectorate over the summer.
“I hear Percy was at some beach party Saturday night,” I began, giving her an opener to complain, which she took eagerly.
“So annoying,” she said. “So, so, so annoying, but I guess it doesn’t matter now since his career is over. Like mine.” Her voice cracked, and I realized she was crying.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She flung up her hands. “How could I have such bad luck? Why does this always happen to me?”
I thought about the dead body sprawled on the floor. “I’d say it happened to Kurt Bosko.”
Hanging her head, she wiped her cheeks. “You’re right of course,” she said. “I’ve been holding it together as much as I can, but sometimes it just hits me. I thought I was finally on the right path. I should’ve listened to Percy, but I thought he was jealous.”
My interest sparked. “What did he say?”
“Oh, just that Bosko would make me miserable and to stay far, far away from him. He told me more than once. Back in San Francisco—twice—and then again on our first night here.”
The night Bosko was killed, I thought. Had Percy known something was going to happen, or had he just been trying to protect his own job? “Was Percy miserable? Darius said he’d idolized Bosko.”
“I think both things were true. He was like an abused dog, loyal to the end.” Flor suddenly stopped walking, shook her head, then continued, adjusting her hair bow. “He would’ve found the steak dinner Bosko wanted, never mind it was past midnight in the middle of nowhere with more fairies than humans. But me? No luck. I tried to find anything that was open, maybe carne asada at the taqueria, but everything had been closed for hours. What did he expect? He’d lived in New York too long.”
As I walked beside her, I was momentarily distracted by a tiny structure at the end of one of the vineyard rows ahead of us. About the size of a volleyball, it was large for a fairy house. To most humans, it would look like a misplaced hunk of concrete, perhaps the remains of an old retaining wall. But I had the fairy sight and could see not only the shell of concrete but the tiny windows with their candy-wrapper curtains, the path of plastic bottle caps, and the fairies themselves, three gray-skinned figures in green dresses, watching me from the front door. I wondered if they’d stay if the wellspring was buried, if they felt danger coming.
To hide my reaction to something invisible to her, I coughed and bent over to tie my shoe.
“You saw him tell me, so
I assume he’ll believe it’s true, since you two are obviously working together in some weird, secret capacity that I hope you can explain to me someday.” She sighed. “That’s hubris for you. I thought your career was over and mine was taking off. Sure got that wrong. Why do these things always happen to me? What did I do to deserve it?”
If I encouraged her pity party, maybe she’d tell me details she hadn’t shared with Darius. “What happened when you had to break it to him that gourmet meals aren’t available in small towns in the middle of the night?” I asked. “Did he actually blame you for that?”
“That’s what made it worse. He’d gone to bed when I got back to the house. Wouldn’t even see me.” She picked up a stone and threw it into the vineyards. “It was two a.m. before I could go to bed, not that he cared.”
I glanced back at the fairies, who were watching us walk away. Their house was beneath a massive rosebush, still heavy with yellow flowers even though it was the first week of December. I wondered if Tristan’s old magic kept it blooming. Although their choice of home would put them in the path of frequent human contact, it must’ve been worth it to them to be near such beautiful roses.
“Well, he’s dead now,” I said.
She sighed. “I know. I shouldn’t talk about him that way, but I figured you’re a friend. You’ll understand.”
“I’ve never wanted to be an app,” I said, “because I knew I’d never be able to suck up as much as you’re supposed to. I’m not always good with authority.”
With what I thought was an inappropriate level of amusement, Flor laughed. “No, really?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
“And you are?” I asked, my ego stinging a little.
“Better than you are,” she said. “I can fake it. At least I am faking it—Percy, on the other hand, is the real deal. Naturally submissive. I don’t think he ever would’ve left Bosko on his own.”
“Had Bosko told him his days were numbered?”
She shot me a look. “You don’t think Percy could’ve done it, do you?”
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