Sell it, whispered the witch inside me drowning in debt.
And then, a soft current of air tickled my ear. “Help me,” the voice pleaded.
Gooseflesh prickled my arms. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what, dear?” Sylvia didn’t seem fazed at all.
I searched the room, positive the voice was real and alarmingly close. My palm itched around the tender skin where the ring had left its mark. Had the symbols grown darker? Closing my fist, I pushed the unsettling thought away.
Sylvia continued, “Apparently, Ella caused quite a stir. She danced with the prince shortly before midnight. She may have even caught his eye. The royal family is beside themselves after what happened. All talk of the prince’s hunt for a wife is on hold, and the king assigned a detective from the Royal Agency to handle the case. Let’s see, I believe his name is Detective Chambers. They’re questioning everyone Ella came into contact with. Rumors are the detective is especially interested in someone she visited before the ball.”
Me.A slow breath escaped my lips. The detective was interested inme.
“Do the authorities know who she visited?”‘
“I’m sure they do. Ah, to be young again. I hear the detective is incredibly handsome and moving up the ranks quickly for his age. Now, there’s a prospect.” Sylvia jabbed her bony finger in my direction. “You would do well with someone like him. A stable man, respected in the community. I said nothing when you refused to attend the ball, but your magic, it’s…” She sipped her tea. “It’s just terrible.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” I muttered.
“What’s that, dear?”
I spoke louder, “I don’t need a husband. I need a—”
“Miracle,” Sylvia finished.
A miracle. For once, we agreed. But a miracle wouldn’t appear in the form of a detective on a white horse. The man was more likely to arrest me as an accomplice to murder than make me his wife. No, I had gotten myself into this mess, and I would get myself out of it.
Another wave of guilt speared my insides. I should have sent Ella away. Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t have made it to the ball, and she’d still be alive. There had been something off about our encounter. I’d sensed it and ignored my instincts until it was too late. Now, Ella was dead, and a detective—handsome or not—would soon be sniffing around my shop.
“I have to go.”
“But you haven’t finished your breakfast,” Sylvia sputtered. “I still have to tell you about the costumes and the buffet.”
“Another time, Sylvia.”
The mention of food made my stomach revolt. Ignoring her protests, I scrambled for the door and near-ran back to the shop, my mind racing through the inventory on display and the stock I had hidden. A tight feeling constricted my chest. The law and witches rarely mixed. It didn’t help that this particular witch owed a debt to one of the kingdom’s most notorious crime syndicates. Borrowing money wasn’t illegal, but shady dealings with the leader of a gang? It didn’t look good even without a meeting before a murder and a basement full of dodgy potions. If anyone found out about those, I’d have some explaining to do.
Back at the magic shop, I took the porch steps two at a time and fumbled inside my apron for the key. My fingers ran along the seam, and I groaned as my pinky slipped through a hole in the fabric. The key was missing, lost somewhere between my door and Sylvia’s house.
I cursed and peered through the front window, then dropped my head against the glass. A laugh bubbled in my throat as I tried to think of another way inside. An unlocking spell would do the trick. Thankfully, the road leading into town was still empty, not a detective in sight. Whispering the incantation, I lifted my palms toward the lock. A current of magic crackled in the air. It felt controlled, accurate. What a relief.
Thwack!
The door’s deadbolt slammed into place.Damn it!My shoe beat a rhythm against the porch while I considered my dwindling options. A locksmith would take too long, which left me with only the terra-cotta flowerpot at my feet. Well, when a door is double-locked, open a window…
I hefted the pot into the air and swung it over my shoulder.
“Is there a problem?”
The planter slipped from my fingers and smashed against the wooden beams, sending dirt and clay fragments flying. The glass, much to my dismay, remained unbroken. I pivoted toward the end of the porch, where a man lounged against the railing. His boot-clad feet were crossed at the ankles, and his arms were folded over a broad chest, encased in a charcoal gray well-tailored coat.
Amusement sparked in his gaze as I stared, unable to move, with dirt covering my shoes. He pushed away from the rail and walked closer. No, make thatstalked. The hint of a smile softened the motion, but he still moved with authority. His eyes commanded attention. Blue, like the deep end of a pond where it’s easy to lose your footing and drown. He had short copper-brown hair, and a shadow of coarse stubble covered his chiseled jawline. It gave off a formidable impression, and I found myself mesmerized by the hard planes of his face, strong nose, and firm mouth.
He stopped in front of me. Anticipation hummed through my body as I tilted my head back and held his gaze. Up close, his irises appeared darker, and I sensed the intelligence lurking in their depths. I suddenly had the feeling that anyone drowning in them had probably had their feet kicked out from under them first.
“Did you have to startle me like that? Why were you hiding in the corner?”
“I wasn’t hiding. I’m waiting for the owner. Are you the witch?”
