“Yeah, I have a few. They’re my best sellers.”
***
Dawn broke through the curtains. It was too early to get up given my night had involved discovering poisons, alluring detectives, and conversations with ghosts, but I rubbed my bleary eyes and unwound my legs from the blankets, reaching for the thick robe that hung next to my bed. Cocooned inside the heavy fabric, I considered going back to sleep—but my eyes popped wide open when a horse neighed in the yard.
Impossible.
I scooted off the bed and peered through the window, blinking at the sight of the royal agency’s carriage parked on the gravel road. Apparently, when Derrick had said morning, he meant first thing. Like, before breakfast, and before normal people got out of bed.
At a knock on the door, I whimpered in protest.
“Tessa?”
Darting in front of the mirror, I massaged the bags under my eyes and examined the pillow creases imprinted on my pale cheeks. Running a brush through my hair only made static fuzz the ends.
“Tessa, open up.”
“I’m coming. Give me a second.” As the door shook from another round of knocking, I pinched color into my cheeks and tightened my robe. It would have to do—there wasn’t time for a beautification spell. Not that I trusted myself with one. They tended to have the opposite effect.
I hurried down the steps and opened the door, my gaze narrowing on the ill-timed intruder. “You’re early. Witches need their beauty sleep.”
Derrick’s gaze traveled from my unruly hair all the way down to my bare feet in a slow but thorough perusal. His mouth hitched.
“We don’t have that much time.”
My lip curled in a grumpy snarl. “Did you expect a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed witch, ready to conquer the day and hunt killers? You don’t pay me enough.”
“I’m not paying you at all.”
“That’s a conversation for later.” I waved him into the shop, then headed for the stairs. “Wait down here. Make tea or something.”
“Tea?” He gaped as if no one had ever asked him to perform such a menial task.
“Yes, tea. Leaves are in the cupboard by the window. Water’s at the pump, and I know you can start a fire. I’m going to change.”
He began to protest, but I shot him a grim look that he buckled beneath. Or maybe it had more to do with my wild hair than any sense of authority.
At the top of the stairs, my stomach rumbled, and I shouted, “Make toast too. There’s bread in the pantry.”
He grumbled something unintelligible, and I relished the image of the gruff detective making me breakfast. Early morning visitors weren’t so bad after all. Especially the freshly shaved kind, who wore perfectly tailored clothes that accentuated their broad chest and arms, all before daybreak, no spells needed.
I lingered in front of my wardrobe until the kettle whistle blew, then pulled a hunter-green tunic dress over my shoulders. A leather strap cinched my waist. My hair took more time, refusing to stay in a simple braid to keep the thick strands out of my face. I frowned in the full-length mirror. I felt plain. It was a foolish thought that had me questioning its origin. A witch didn’t impress with her clothes, she impressed with her spells. Too bad I was zero for two.
Needing a little something extra, I rifled through my mother’s jewelry box. She had collected odd but compelling pieces. Her favorite pendant rested at the bottom, strung on a metal chain. It was the size of a large coin and shaped into an oval with an inlaid cat’s eye stone. I hooked the chain around my neck, pleased with how the pendant complimented the dress. Some of my plainness slipped away.
Derrick pinned me with a pensive stare from his place near my workbench as I descended the creaky stairs. There wasn’t a smirk on his face as his gaze traveled over my body, as if to confirm there was nothing plain about me.
“I couldn’t find any jam.” He ran a hand through his hair in a sheepish confession. His collar was unbuttoned, his hair still wet at the ends. He looked nothing like the arrogant detective who had visited my shop the morning of Ella’s murder.
My stomach clenched under the weight of his gaze. I wondered if he saw the same witch?
“Jam’s in the pantry. It’s right next to the bread.”
“Right.” He winced.
“I hope you’re better at finding killers than locating breakfast items.”
He shrugged and took a sip from his mug. “I have a cook. She makes my meals.”
