Imani gave me a look in the mirror, and it was a struggle not to look away. Her eyes were big and such a pretty brown color, and her makeup had hints of gold in it that made her skin glow. But those eyes just saw too much, and I didn’t want to give away anything at the moment, not when I wasn’t sure how I was feeling or how I should be feeling.

  But she didn’t press, just let out a thoughtful hum as she misted my hair down and began drawing a comb carefully through the strands. “Alright, then. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

  A little bit of tension eased out of my shoulders as Imani soothed the brush through my hair. It snapped right back in though when she spoke in a slightly too casual voice. “You doing okay, Poppy?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” My smile was too wide, I could see it in the mirror. It shot past friendly and crept a little too close to manic. I swallowed hard and tried for something a little more reasonable, and a little less like I wanted to pick a fight with Batman. “How about you?”

  Imani hummed again, reaching over to grab some clips off her work station. “Pretty good, actually. I’ve been trying to coax Mav into my chair, now that his horrible Little Boy Blue hair is finally growing out. He’s dodging me, but I’m wearing him down.”

  That brought a proper smile to my face, at least. I’d been a bit surprised at first by Maverick and Imani’s friendship. As a rule, Maverick was prickly. And by that I meant he had more layers of defence than a paranoid onion and he seemed to think everyone was out to get him. Considering how and where he’d grown up, I couldn’t exactly blame him. I’d only ever really seen four people that he genuinely liked, and even two of those relationships were pretty fraught with their own issues. As far as Maverick was concerned, there were only five people in the world; Wanda, his sister, Astrid, his adopted daughter, Sybil, Taliyah, and everybody else.

  But he and Imani got along like a house on fire, though it had taken me a little while to see it, with the way they threw quips and barbs back and forth. There was no malice in any of it, just two quick witted people who knew the other could keep up with them. They were a little bit like the frenemy version of BFFs. Instead of Besties, they were Worsties.

  The thought made me smile. “You going to convince him to change the color?”

  “Oh, boy, that would be fun. Can you imagine?” Imani cackled. “I should tell him to go red and see how many of the old guard lose their collective broomsticks.”

  All witches had black hair, except for the very rare exception of the red-headed witches, and all of those tended to be seen as agents of chaos and change. Betanya was one, so was Astrid (or she had been, before she was turned vamp), and most other witches tended to regard red-headed witches with something of a suspicious side-eye. Combine that with the fact that Maverick was a Blood Warlock, and Imani said it perfectly. The old covens would lose their broomsticks.

  We giggled about it and gossiped a little about the latest in the coven. Apparently, Olga had been making heart-eyes at some man in town, and the rest of the coven had just about collectively sat on her until she agreed not to throw herself into yet another ill-fated love affair. And we talked and chatted and laughed and sighed for the next hour and a half as Imani trimmed my hair into layers and then gave me light and dark highlights. And then she finished it off with a blow dry and a charm.

  Maybe it was the fact that Imani was very, very good at what she did, or maybe it was just the friendly chat and the act of being fussed over, but when I stood up from the chair, I looked and felt a million times better. My hair fell in gentle waves around my face, so shiny it practically glowed under the lights.

  Imani tried to wave me off with a coven discount, but I insisted on paying full price. The things that woman could do with hair was some of the greatest magic I’d ever seen.

  I honestly hoped that she talked Maverick into letting her do something with his. It had been shorn off unevenly by the vampire that had attacked him, and then he’d been forced to crop it shorter when he went undercover to try and rescue Sybil from a group that had kidnapped her, thinking she was Wanda. Since then, he’d been keeping it in this weird, bowl sort of cut that wasn’t doing him any favors. Before that, he’d always worn it long—to the middle of his back. I thought a visit to Imani might let him take some of his power back from the people who’d tried so hard to humble him.

  I was feeling too good to linger over dark thoughts, though, just about humming to myself as I headed for the door. The two women were still gossiping in the waiting area, oblivious to anyone else around them, but I did my best not to eavesdrop.

  Just as I reached the door, it opened. A woman stepped through. She was in her early thirties maybe, with dark hair just touched with gray at the temple. She was vaguely familiar, not anyone whose name I knew, but someone I’d seen around before. Haven Hollow wasn’t that big of a town, and a lot of people passed by my shop windows on Main Street.

  I gave her a smile, stepping out of the way so she could come into the salon more easily. But she didn’t. Instead, she stopped right where she was, and stared at me, blinking rapidly as all the blood drained out of her cheeks, leaving her looking like she’d seen a ghost. It was an odd enough response that the smile slipped off my face, leaving me a little shaken. Why would a stranger look at me that way?

  Worse, she spun on her heel and ducked back out the door, hurrying down the street and casting furtive glances over her shoulder like she was afraid I was going to follow her. What in the world had that been about? I mean—I didn’t even know the woman. I was pretty sure I’d never even spoken to her. Maybe a ‘good morning’ if we passed each other in the street, but nothing more. So why had she run from me like that?

  Imani and I exchanged a confused look, and I did my best to shrug it off. “Maybe she forgot her purse.”

  The gossipers had fallen silent at the exchange, and the salon was a little too quiet when I slipped out the door.

  A little bit of my new hair happiness had been dashed away. The whole situation left me feeling nothing but uneasy. I wasn’t a scary person, not by anyone’s measure. I was in my forties, and while I was holding up pretty well (if I did say so, myself) I was a mom, and I looked like it. Plus, I had a penchant towards sweaters and cardigans and yoga pants. Not exactly the uniform of a badass.

  Maybe she thought I was someone else? What was it people said—that everyone in the world had a doppelgänger somewhere? It must have been coincidence, or just a case of mistaken identity. Or maybe she’d forgotten her meds this morning?

  But as I made my way towards my store, there was a sense of uneasiness coiling in my stomach.

  Chapter Eight

  Trying to focus on work that afternoon was like trying to balance spinning plates on sticks.

  I was sure some people with amazing skills could have managed it, but I was just going to end up with a mess of cracked china and frustration.

  Anytime I managed to push thoughts about that woman’s expression upon seeing me at the hair salon to one side, it was replaced by worries about something going on at Finn’s school. And then, of course, there was the ever-present concern that Andre was going to be up and moving to Las Vegas. I couldn’t seem to keep my attention on anything, and I had a load of half-dusted shelves, partially arranged displays, and two scorched potions to show for it.

  I tried putting on a Zest potion, but it just left me distracted and with jittery hands. Finally, out of desperation, I dabbed on a little more Memento Mori, trying to recapture some of the good memories from my freshly done hair, or even seeing Finn this morning at breakfast. Instead, I got slammed in the memory banks with a vivid mental picture of finding that darn letter on Andre’s dresser.

  Couldn’t I have been reminded of how wonderful the night had been before that? But no—instead, my brain had to bring up one of the three main concerns it wouldn’t stop stressing over. Then again, my evening with Andre when we’d had, ahem, the best sex of my life, probably wasn’t something I should have been thinking about at work anyway. A little heat climbed into my cheeks, at the thought that someone passing by the store would know exactly what I was thinking about.

  Of course, in a place like Haven Hollow, it might have been possible. Right. I quickly banished any X-rated thoughts from my head, just to be sure. But that left me with the feeling that my stomach was a lead balloon with how fast it dropped when I remembered seeing the casino’s letter head. I couldn’t get the stupid image out of my head.

  My phone buzzed, and I gave up the pretense of working in order to check it. My heart did a complicated little pulse when I saw Andre’s name come up. I felt something somewhere between excitement and nervousness, like my heart couldn’t decide which way to feel.

  There’s a play in the park on Saturday, Andre texted. Something about a man who eats too many pies and then becomes one. It looks fun and funny. Do you think Finn might want to check it out? We could make an afternoon of it, bring some blankets and a picnic lunch? Miss you.

  I read the text twice, a little smile curling my lips. He still wanted to make plans with me and us. That was a good thing, right? It had to be. He wasn’t just ghosting me since we’d already had sex. Maybe that sounded like a reach, but it had happened to me more than once in the past. But Andre was different.

  Right. You already knew he was different, I reminded myself.

  And proof was right there—in that text. He still wanted to do things with me that included Finn. That was promising. That was something I could use to bludgeon back the intrusive thoughts that kept insisting he was going to ditch us and move to Las Vegas. Thoughts that further insisted that everything between Andre and me had somehow just been a long con.

  I gave my head a shake. Andre wasn’t like that. He’d proven that a dozen times over. He’d always looked out for Finn, from the first moment he’d blown into town. Plus, he was literally my soulmate. And soulmates didn’t just use you for sex.

  But did soulmates up and move when their jobs warranted it?

  I thought about that for a few moments, before shaking the thought out of my head. I figured Andre would tell me what was going on when the time was right. And until then, I needed to do my best not to think about it. So, I texted him back.

  That sounds good to me! Let me talk to Finn tonight, just to make sure he doesn’t have plans, but I think we can both make it.

  It did sound fun. The amateur theater in Haven Hollow could be a little hit or miss, but it was always entertaining, that was for sure. And we could make a little picnic out of it, with plenty of cozy blankets in case the weather took a turn for the nippy.

  And what was more—this had to be proof that Andre was setting down roots in town, that he was looking to build a life in the Hollow—right? I was just being silly and overreacting, and there was really no reason for it.

  I chewed on my bottom lip, the memory of finding that letter crowding into my head again. That sickening lurch in my gut, like I’d missed a stair on the way down and was suddenly in freefall, hit me like a truck. Because Andre had kept the letter. He hadn’t thrown it away. So, did that mean he was considering it? Why wouldn’t he get rid of it, otherwise?

  Of course, he was considering it! I railed at myself. He’d be a fool not to consider it. It was a huge offer, a big deal, a life-changing offer!

  I had no idea how I was ever going to bring it up to ask him about it, either. If he’d meant to talk to me about it, he would have already, wouldn’t he? Or maybe he was still planning on bringing it up? In which case, it was probably better if I didn’t, right? So, what was the plan, then? Was he just going to blow town without even talking to me about it? What about Finn? The whole thing left me feeling adrift, unhappy, and a little sick.

  The entire day felt like it was set up to aggravate me, and the few customers I had didn’t help in the slightest. I tried to explain to one man that there was no potion that would make him irresistible to women. And then wracking my brain for a polite way to tell him that maybe if he laid off the body spray a smidge, he might have better luck failed.

  By the time I assured him for the third time, that no, I didn’t have anything that would make his ex-wife love him again and pull her away from her current boyfriend, he reluctantly shuffled out. I was left standing there in the middle of my store, feeling dizzy and there were black spots flickering across my vision. My lungs hurt from holding my breath, but if I’d kept smelling that spicy, cloying, gym locker room stench, I would have gagged, and then I would have choked on our mutual mortification.

  What was a little blacking out between shop owner and customer? I still hadn’t quite gotten my breath back when the bell over the door chimed, and a group of giggling teenagers spilled into the store.

  Now, I always tried not to judge a book by its cover, or by its publication date if I could strain the metaphor to its furthest point. But teenagers tended to come into the store in order to laugh about the fact that I sold potions. It was a lot of picking up delicate things and putting them back in the wrong places, damaged merchandise, and sometimes asking a whole lot of questions they really didn’t want to know the answers to. None of them ever bought anything, which was fine, but sometimes bottles got broken and candles got dinged on the shelves, which ended up being a loss. So, seeing a whole crowd of them coming in my door had me letting out a sigh before I slapped on my customer service smile.

  “Hi, guys. Let me know if you need any help.”

  “Um, yeah. We, like, wanted to buy a potion?” The dark-skinned girl with her hair in a halo of curls around her face glanced back at her posse with a nervous giggle.

  I tried not to let my surprise show. “Well, you came to the right place. Did you have something specific in mind?”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s called… hang on.” She and the other girls (and one boy) converged, talking in not quite a whisper as they had a conference about exactly what potion it was they were trying to get.

  A blonde girl with braces screwed her face up with effort. “Was it… Momentum?”

  A kid with a fake leather jacket and his hair shaved short on the sides and spiked on top shook his head. “No, Momentum is from physics. Isn’t it?”

  “But it starts with an M, right?” The ringleader looked to the others for confirmation.

  Another girl in a pink sweater and pleated skirt was typing away at her phone. “Hang on, I made a note.” She read it over, her lips moving soundlessly. “Memento Mori, that’s what it’s called.”

  The kid in the leather jacket shrugged as surprise rang through me. “Sounds about right. It makes you remember stuff, right?”

  I blinked, taken aback, because the potion wasn’t out on the shelves yet. I hadn’t even advertised it at all and it wasn’t like I’d talked about it with anyone, save for Niamh. Heck, other than the bottle I’d kept, the only ones in town were the two I’d made for Niamh, so how in the world had these kids even heard of it? For that matter, why would teenagers need a memory potion? They had young brains with plenty of elasticity, or whatever it was that kept memories fresh. They shouldn’t have needed potion supplements for at least another thirty years.

  “Memento Mori?” I dug out my order book and made a show of turning through the pages like I was looking up my inventory or something. “Where did you hear about that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  The kids all gave each other cautious looks, which meant I hadn’t been as subtle as I’d hoped.

  The blonde girl just looked a bit confused. “Why? Does it matter?”

  Be cool, Poppy.

  Talking to teens was like trying to coax a wild bird into my hands. If I came on too strong, I knew I’d spook them, and they’d take off. Teens that felt pressed too hard retreated into their shells, fast, and it would be all shrugs and one-word answers, with nothing gained.

  I shrugged, and turned the page of my log book without looking up. “Not really, no. I just like to know how people hear about things in the shop. It helps me to understand if advertising or word of mouth works better, you know?”

  I was making things up with both hands, and just hoping that I didn’t start to sweat. My fibbing abilities weren’t very good at the best of times, and living with Finn, who knew any time I told even a smidge of an untruth, meant that I’d never really bothered with lying (well, with the exception of my lie about my date with Andre). In general, though, what was the point in lying? But I was feeling my lousy skills then, and just hoping it was enough to muddle through.

  The ringleader shrugged, but her eyes were steady. “I don’t know where we heard about it. Around. Someone at school, maybe.” Hmm, maybe Niamh’s granddaughter had mentioned it? It was the only thing I could come up with. But I wasn’t even sure that she went to the high school. I’d never seen her before.

  I dragged my finger down a column of oils I needed to restock sometime in the next month. “I’m afraid we’re all out of that potion. It’s not one of the more popular ones, so we don’t keep many in stock.”

  The ringleader looked suspicious, her eyes narrowing. “Do you know when you’re going to have more?”

  “I don’t.” At least I wasn’t lying now. I really didn’t know when I was going to get a chance to stock the Memento Mori. I hadn’t thought there would be much demand for it, especially so soon. “It needs to be brewed on a certain moon cycle, so it might be a month before I have anymore.”

  There were some disappointed groans, and some muttering, but I guess they found it plausible that magic potions needed specific moonlight. Which was good, because some of them did. Still, I was so curious about what kids were going to do with a memory aid. But asking outright probably wasn’t going to get me anywhere. So, I tried for subtle.

  “I’m surprised it’s so popular.” I made a show of putting the book away. “It’s usually the older crowd that’s interested in it, since they have trouble with their memory in general.”

  There was a ripple of shrugs through the crowd of teens, and none of them seemed interested in meeting my eyes, except one kid. The only boy. All the while, he’d been quietly watching me, a little wrinkle between his brows. Finally, his eyes went wide, and he pointed.