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I slowly crossed to the table. His arm was to one side, his hand hanging off the edge. Quietly, I ran my fingers over the indentation--a band of pale skin that encircled his wrist, a startling contrast to the darker tone of his arm.
"It's Paulo Franco," I whispered, bringing the watch out of my pocket. The watchband matched perfectly with the markings on his skin. "And here's his watch. We know where they got him; we know when they got him. We know what they did with him. Now we just find out who did this and hunt them down."
Chase took the watch and glanced at the inscription, pressing his lips together as he read. He slid it onto the tray next to a gold ring and what looked like an earring. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "I think you're right."
"Damn it!" I grabbed Camil e by the arm. "Let's get the hel over to that magic shop and demand a few answers." As I dragged her to the door, I cal ed back to Chase, "cal me on my cel when you have the definite ID, please."
We jogged out to the car. Camil e had taken one look at my face, and I could tel she wasn't even going to try to suggest anything else. She just motioned for me to get in and pul ed out of the parking lot, making quick time.
As we parked in front of Madam Pompey's Magical Emporium, Inc., she turned to me. "Before you head in there like a hothead, you listen to me," she said. "Wilbur says they're sorcerers. That means they're dangerous and most assuredly more powerful than I am. Do not, under any circumstances, accuse them of Paulo's death or of making the Wolf Briar. Not until we find out just who we're up against."
I stared ahead, sul en, not wanting to listen. "They practical y flayed him alive. They kil ed his fiancee and their unborn child. They have Amber, who has one of the spirit seals. What would you have us do--just wander in and play nice?"
"Exactly. Kitten, I'm working death magic. I know my way around a shop like that. So don't mess it up. We'l find out far more if they don't think we're out to kil them. You got it?"
I knew she was right, though I didn't want to admit it. But I nodded and fol owed her inside.
The shop was like one of those dark, cobwebby little holes-in-the-wal where you could find the most amazing things tucked away in corner baskets or under a table, or in the half-open drawer of some ancient dresser. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the wal s, fil ed with jars of herbs and odd bits of creatures and liquids that I didn't dare speculate on.
In the center of the shop were the tables covered in bones--not human, I hoped--and wands made of metal, crystal, and wood. Decks of tarot cards bordered the tables, surrounding baskets of miniature scrol s radiating a strange light. And behind the front counter were large quart jars fil ed with powders, some glistening with sparkles, others black as powdered ink.
The scent of dark musk and night-blooming jasmine filtered through the air from long sticks of hand-rol ed incense that burned on the counter.
We browsed, Camil e turning over a bone here, a spel there, as she surveyed the shop. I tried to tune in to whatever she was listening to, but al I could feel was an annoying static that set me to gritting my teeth. After a while, she picked up what looked like a rib bone from a smal animal and a deck of tarot cards, and we headed toward the counter.
The woman who slipped from the curtained room leading into the back was striking, especial y for an FBH. A lot of FBH women were gorgeous, beautiful . . . but this woman--she had the spark of magic in her eyes, a dangerous fire that seemed barely contained, ready to lash out. Her hair was raven black, flowing long and straight down her back, and her features were delicate and yet chiseled in stone. She wore a long robe, navy in color and clinging to her body in a lewd way that none of Camil e's fetish gear ever did.
She glided to the counter. On one level, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. On another, I understood exactly what Wilbur had been talking about when he said the woman scared him shitless. Even as magic-blind as I could be, the woman was dark, and a shadow oozed out of her aura to permeate the shop.
"May I help you?" Her voice leeched across the counter, tendrils of that same shadowy energy. She stood near the cash register.
Camil e sucked in a short breath. "I'd like to buy these, and I have a question. I'm in need of several components that most shops around here won't prepare for me. Do you ever make custom-designed powders and potions?"
The woman blinked. "On occasion, when the price is right, if we have the interest. I can feel your energy, death-priestess. Why don't you make them yourself?" She cocked her head, her gaze focused on Camil e.
"I don't have the setup in my home for it, and some of the ingredients are . . . shal we say . . . difficult to procure, and dangerous." Camil e let out her glamour ful y, catching the woman unaware. "What name shal I cal you by?"
"Jaycee," she answered, now total y fixated on my sister. "What are you looking for? We might have it in stock. We keep a select inventory for a few of our regular customers."
"Corpse reanimation powder and demonic sentinel oil." Her voice smooth, Camil e ticked off the components like she might be reciting a grocery list.
"Snake slither, if you have it."
Jaycee's gaze flared. "I have al three, but we don't keep them here. Not wise to keep substances like that in plain view. I can bring them for you when I come in to work tomorrow."
Camil e frowned. "That wil work, although I'd rather have them today." She pul ed out her purse and paid the woman for the bone and deck. "I'l see you tomorrow--I need an ounce of each."
"You know the snake slither's going to run you a good hundred fifty for an ounce," Jaycee said as we headed to the door.
"I'm not worried," Camil e cal ed back over her shoulder.
As soon as we were outside, she hustled me to the car, stopping at a nearby garbage can to dump the tarot deck and bone. "I can't stand having those in my hands. They reek as bad as Demonkin energy."
The minute we were in the car, she turned to me. "We need to find their home address. Wilbur's right. They're the ones making Wolf Briar. I could smel some of the ingredients on her robe, but I'l guarantee you they don't keep it in the shop. And wherever they keep that crap, they're going to be keeping a diary of who brought them the werewolves. Making Wolf Briar's bad, but kidnapping werewolves to harvest their organs? So much worse."
"What about Van?"
"I heard someone in the back and sensed an energy very similar to Jaycee's. Ten to one it was Van. So if they are at work, there's nobody at home to keep watch over things."
