I just had to blurt it out. Just let it rip, like yanking off a bandaid. Lingering on the topic was both painful and annoying. So, I took a deep breath. And another one. And another after that.

  “Wanda? What was the advice you needed?” Poppy prodded me.

  Right. “Ahem, if I wanted to plan an… event…”

  “An event?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, something to celebrate an important date, what might be a good way to do that?”

  There, that was good, right? Poppy was super familiar with all things soft and gushy and lovey dovey and romantic—all things that made my teeth itch. Regardless, she’d be able to steer me right.

  Poppy blinked, her brows pinched together. “An event? Like a party?”

  I could have slapped myself and then her. Apparently, we were going to drag this out.

  My eyes narrowed. “No. Not like a party.” What about this wasn’t she getting?

  “Okay, then?”

  “Well, sort of like a party,” I backtracked. “Or rather, a party for only two people.”

  “Oh.” Poppy’s eyes widened, and she clapped her hands over her mouth, just barely holding back the squeal that tried to burst out. “Oh! Wanda, are you planning a… a date?”

  “Shhh!” I glanced around, but yellow umbrella was still hovering near the back of the store and I was pretty sure she was out of hearing distance. Even so, I still didn’t want this info broadcasted. “Keep your voice down, jeez Louise.”

  A flush crawled up Poppy’s cheeks, so at least we were both blushing now. “Sorry, sorry,” she started. “It’s just… well, planning dates isn’t usually your thing, so I’m excited for you.”

  Yeah, not ‘usually my thing’ did sum it up pretty well.

  Ugh. Why the spell was this so hard? Was I really so incapable of basic intimacy that I had to get a statistical sample of ideas before I could take my husband on a freaking date?

  It seemed so.

  Poppy clasped her hands in front of her chest, her eyes as big and sparkly as a cartoon character’s. “So, what’s the occasion?”

  “Oh,” I said lamely, scrambling and trying desperately not to look like I was. “It’s, uh, the anniversary of when… Lorcan and I decided to make it—you know, official.” I cleared my throat.

  “You mean when you got married?” Poppy asked, eyeing me with amusement.

  “Right.”

  “Wanda, it’s okay for you to say the word.”

  “I know that,” I almost spat back at her. “But that doesn’t mean I like to.”

  “So… you have an anniversary coming up?” Poppy correctly guessed.

  “Right.” I took a deep breath. “And get this!” I continued, leaning forward, incensed just remembering it. “Lorcan forgot about it.”

  “What?” Poppy gasped and shook her head like this was the worst possible thing imaginable. “No.”

  “He did! He told me so himself!”

  “If he told you, then how did he forget?”

  “No, he said he had a dental surgery booked that night. Can you believe that?”

  Maybe the sarcastic air quotes were a bit much but come on. Witches didn’t even have relationships, let alone marriage, and even I’d managed to write our anniversary down somewhere. Yet, our anniversary had slipped his mind? I mean, Lorcan had three separate date books for work, personal life, and vampire stuff, for crying out loud! And yet I hadn’t made it into any of them? Unbelievable.

  Poppy bit her lower lip, looking genuinely distressed. “I’m so sorry, Wanda. Do you want me to say something to him?”

  “No, I don’t want you to say something to him!”

  She looked a little perplexed at that. “Well, why not?”

  “Because think of the miles I’ll get out of this,” I answered, shaking my head.

  “Miles?” She looked genuinely confused.

  “Yeah, he’ll owe me for a year—at the very least.”

  She made a face, but she couldn’t exactly refute my point.

  I grinned, folding my arms so I could lean on the counter. “Don’t you dare say one word to him.”

  “Wanda,” Poppy laughed, trying and failing to look scandalized. “That’s so mean. Why not just remind him? I’m sure he’ll be really upset with himself when you bring it to his attention.”

  “Right—as well he should be.”

  “So—why not just tell him?”

  “I just told you why. Keep up.” I shifted my weight to the other hip, leaning in. “So, what do you think about planning the ultimate anniversary date? It’s got to be amazing, epic.” I felt my lips breaking into a wide smile as I started nodding to myself. “I’m going to win at dating if it’s the last thing I do.”

  That at least managed to get Poppy to stop fighting the laughter that was so clearly bubbling up inside her. But a few seconds later, she rolled her eyes, now gently exasperated. “It’s not a competition, Wanda. You don’t win at dating.”

  “Maybe you don’t.” I tossed my hair back.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, holding up her hands in faux submission.

  “So… come on. What have you got for me?”

  She let out a long breath as one finger rose to tap at her lower lip, her face brightening as she thought about it. “What about a walk along the beach?”

  “Seriously?” I asked, shaking my head. “Have you been chatting with Olga?”

  “Olga?” she repeated, looking lost.

  “Yeah, she brought up the exact same thing—go for a walk on the beach.”

  Poppy smiled. “Well, with the salt air, and the sea birds, and the sounds of the waves on the shore? It would be magical.” She paused for a moment. “But at night, of course.”

  My nose wrinkled up. “The beach is kind of far away. And we wouldn’t be able to be there for sunset or whatever you’re picturing, because of, you know, the sun. Plus, what’s so romantic about cold breezes and sand in your toes? You know that stuff has a way of working up into other crevices of your body and no one wants sand in their crack.”

  Poppy blinked, clearly taken aback. “Only you would think of that.”

  “Still a good point, though.”

  She nodded. “The beach at night can be a little spooky, too. Hmm.” She tapped her finger some more, and I shifted my weight onto my back foot. These were one of my favorite pairs of boots, but they were made for looking gorgeous, not for being comfortable, and my feet were starting to ache.

  I knew the next suggestion wasn’t going to be much better, seeing how dewy Poppy’s eyes grew, but nothing could be worse than the idea of slogging through cold, wet dunes, ruining my nails and getting sand in all sorts of unmentionable places.

  “What about a picnic?” Poppy asked. “Andre, Finn and I had the best picnic the other day, right out back in the cemetery behind the house. They set it up and it was a lovely surprise. What about something like that?”

  “I mean…” I stared at Poppy, feeling a bit like I was about to kick a puppy asking for tummy rubs, but seriously? “Lorcan doesn’t eat, Poppy.”

  She nodded. “Oh, right. There is that.”

  “Not to mention that a Blood Witch and a Vampire hanging around in a cemetery seems like the start to a bad joke.”

  “There is that,” she laughed.

  “Right—way too cliche, and basically just another day at work.”

  Her shoulders rounded forward, and Poppy looked crestfallen. “The picnic idea doesn’t have to be in a cemetery,” she said in a small voice. “But, yes, I see what you mean, since Lorcan doesn’t eat.”

  An unpleasant feeling coiled through my stomach, cold and greasy. It wasn’t guilt because I refused to allow it to be. I had nothing to feel guilty about. Poppy might be all butterflies and rainbows about her blossoming romance with Andre, and she might think it was the height of romance to hold hands in the high school auditorium, or whatever the kids were doing these days, but I was looking for something with a little more… pizazz.

  Yes, I was definitely the Rizzo to her Sandy.

  An awkward silence hung in the air for a second, and I could clearly hear the click of the other customer setting a potion bottle back onto the shelf. Just when I was about to make up some excuse and leave, Poppy drummed her fingers against the heavy wood of the counter.

  “What if,” she started, slowly, like she was picking her way through tangled shrubs. “You get a little creative with the traditional bits?”

  When I gave her a puzzled look, she continued.

  “I know Lorcan can’t eat, so your usual dinner and a movie isn’t going to work out well. But… what if you did some kind of meal where he could eat something?”

  “He can’t eat,” I said and shook my head, wondering if inhaling all those potions she made everyday had finally gotten to her head.

  “Well, are you really sure?”

  “Um, he’s a vampire, Poppy.”

  “Right—which means he consumes blood. Sooooo… what about something blood-based like blood pudding? Is it possible that he could eat that? Or, I don’t know, blood sorbet or something similar—something made from blood?”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about blood pudding in general, never mind feeding it to Lorcan, but I had to admit, a twist on a classic did appeal to me. Thinking outside the box—that was what I’d been trying to do, and I liked the ideas Poppy was giving me. Something that Lorcan could actually participate in, something he didn’t get to do most of the time…

  “You know…” I leaned forward against the counter, excitement bubbling up within me. “That gives me a couple of ideas.”

  I needed some paper, something to write all of this down before it all slipped back out of my head. I glanced around, but other than the receipt book on the counter, there was nothing. I did grab a pen that had been sitting there, half tempted to scribble on the wood of the counter itself. The vague thoughts rolling around in my head were taking shape, forming into something, and I was starting to feel real excitement.

  Oh, this was going to be good. I’d known Poppy would have an answer for me.

  So, of course, with my mood now riding high and a surge of hope flowing through me, disaster decided to strike.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The customer who’d been examining the shelves at the other side of the store, about as far from the counter as someone could get, shifted the umbrella on her arm ever so slightly.

  And with a terrible snap, like a bat’s wings, the obnoxiously bright yellow dome snapped open on its own, slamming into the delicately arranged shelves like it had been planning to do just that all this time.

  The high-pitched tinkling of dozens of dainty glass bottles slamming into one another and then shattering against the wood floor sent a jolt of panic up my spine. I spun towards the sound, just in time to see the woman leap back with a yelp of dismay and slam the now open umbrella into the shelf behind her.

  She hit it and she hit it hard. Unfortunately, Poppy’s shelves, while very attractive antiques, weren’t secured to the floor. So, the wood groaned, the glass clattered, and the wax thumped as all the heavy candles toppled onto the floor.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Poppy’s mouth drop open in horror before both her hands flew up to cover it. There were dozens of potions on that shelf, the light glittering over the glass and throwing little shards of rainbow across the floor as the shelf tipped further and further towards catastrophe. We watched it like it was happening in slow motion.

  Once upon a time, my power had been a thing of night breezes, rich earth, and silver moonlight. Lately, it had been more shadows and heat that pulsed beneath the skin in scarlet rivers. But it still rose eagerly when I reached for it, surging up into my hands as I muttered a word and made a gesture as subtly as I could.

  In response, a surge of shadow flowed up the heavy wood shelf, pushing against it lightly so the shelf landed more solidly back onto its squat feet. Another couple bottles crashed to the ground, but at least the extremely heavy bit of furniture didn’t slam down and crush anything. Or anyone, for that matter.

  The three of us then froze for a long moment while the shelving unit shuddered to a standstill. Glass crunched as the pillar candles rolled slowly across the floor, and the scents of citrus, and lavender, and sandalwood flooded the air.

  The contrasting scents made my nose wrinkle, and I tugged my shirt up over the lower part of my face in a vain attempt to block it out. My sense of smell was way more acute ever since my blooding, and the overwhelming odor was now giving me a headache.

  Thank spell Poppy didn’t really dabble in dangerous or dark potions, or we might have all just gotten blown to kingdom come. The last time I’d dropped a potion, it had blown out the front window of my entire store and my mannequin had come to life, turning into Sybil.

  Luckily, the same thing didn’t happen here and now. Instead, the customer turned around slowly, her face contorted with horror. The umbrella hung off her arm, looking so very innocent, but I now had a feeling it was anything but.

  “I am so sorry,” she stammered, her face pale. The umbrella creaked as she fought with it, bundling it back down into its collapsed form and doing up the snap like she was putting a leash on a dangerous dog. “I don’t know what happened. The umbrella just opened all on its own. I know that sounds crazy—”

  “It’s not crazy,” Poppy interrupted as she turned from the woman to me. “I saw the umbrella do the exact same thing.”

  “So did I,” I answered with a nod.

  “I’ll pay for everything that broke, of course,” the woman continued. “I just don’t know what happened or how it could have happened!”

  I opened my mouth to say, of course you’re going to pay for everything you or your stupid umbrella just broke, but Poppy started waving the woman off like a big naïve dope. Really, my best friend had very little business sense.

  “No, no, please don’t worry about it.”

  “But,” the woman and I said in unison.

  “No,” Poppy insisted, shaking her head. “It was an accident, I know that. I’ll get this mess cleaned up.”

  “Seriously?” I glared at the back of Poppy’s head, but she didn’t pay me any attention. The urge to huff and roll my eyes was almost overwhelming. It was a wonder Poppy’s Potions ever made any money at all.

  The woman still looked miserable, looking around at all the sad shards of brightly colored glass spread across the floor. “I’m really very sorry. I didn’t think the umbrella would just—well, just open up on its own like that! I guess that’s what I get for buying it second-hand.”

  The woman’s words trailed off awkwardly as Poppy went to grab a broom. Rather than leaving the scene of her crime, the woman hovered awkwardly, obviously wanting to leave, but not wanting to look like she was fleeing. It was another second or so that what she’d said twinged in my ear, and my eyes narrowed.

  “Can I see that, please?” I held out my hand for the umbrella.

  It was just too big of a coincidence. Just a little too convenient.

  The instant she handed over the plastic handle to me and I gripped it, I wanted to throw the whole mess out the door. Why? Because the umbrella was cursed.

  Of course, it was.

  I grimaced, feeling the sooty, gritty sensation of the spiteful magic clinging to my palm. What a nasty bit of conjuring. Deliberately designed to go off at the most opportune moment—to deal the most damage. And just like the other cursed items I’d come into contact with, the curse hadn’t been expended. No, it was recharging its energy, so it could erupt again.

  It was a little over the top, in my mind. Sometimes a hex was needed, sure. And among adolescent witches, being able to sling a nasty bit of magic was practically a sport. But if I hadn’t been here, at this exact moment, then there was a huge chance that the heavy shelf would have fallen on the umbrella’s owner, which would have been devastating for both her and Poppy.

  I like a bit of spiteful mischief as much as the next witch. And up until this moment, the epidemic of curses had been nothing more to me than a mystery to puzzle over. Yes, I’d been annoyed that someone was being so blatant around the mundane population, risking ruining things for the rest of us. But now, the nasty spell work had almost hurt Poppy and that, I wouldn’t stand for.

  Whenever something or someone threatened my little, bubbly, blonde bestie, that was when this witch’s claws really came out. Right—the time for reckoning was now upon us.

  My smile had a few too many teeth in it when I offered the woman her umbrella back. Of course, I didn’t want to hand it back to her, and I was contemplating just bewitching her into leaving it with me, but it turned out I didn’t have to.

  Her eyes were huge, her face pale when she said, “you can keep it. It’s not raining that bad out.”

  I did my best to rein my temper in, ignoring the way the shadows at the corners of the room had gotten just a bit darker, a bit more defined. I didn’t argue with her, though, because someone was going to have to unpick that mess of a curse before someone else ended up hurt. Maybe I could turn the umbrella’s curse into a team building exercise for the coven. But for the moment, I had bigger concerns.

  Poppy had emerged from the backroom, broom in hand, to tackle the start of clean up. But she paused in making a pile of glass shards, watching me and the customer, obviously realizing that something was up.

  I bounced the umbrella’s handle on my palm, trying to keep the anger out of my voice—now was not a time for irritation—it was a time to get some answers. “You said you got this second-hand?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, just this morning—because I wasn’t prepared for the rain.”

  I nodded. “Can I ask where you bought it from?” I had a feeling the answer had to do with the pawnshop on Kitrey Street.

  It took her a second to tear her eyes away from the umbrella, like it was a weapon she thought I might use against her. The woman’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Um, I got it at the pawnshop in town.” She made a vague gesture with one hand, towards the north.