“So, not silver poisoning,” I said with a brightness I didn’t feel in the slightest.

  “Then, you don’t have any idea what could have killed her?”

  I folded my arms across my stomach, thoroughly done with the conversation. “No, I don’t. I didn’t see a mark on her, and I can’t think of a single spell that could kill someone like that—something that wouldn’t leave a trace. By all rights, she shouldn’t be dead, not a healthy young werewolf.”

  I wanted to get up, to move, pace around, but I didn’t like letting someone see my anxiety, so I let my foot bounce up and down to try and burn it off.

  “Tell me about the times you interacted with her. What was said?”

  “I only met her three times, and once was literally a chance meeting where I told her that her order was ready to be picked up.”

  “And where was that?”

  “In Portland.”

  She scribbled that down. “What was her general manner then?”

  “Um… she seemed quiet. Unassuming. You know, like most werewolves.” I paused as I shook my head. “I don’t understand why someone would want her dead.”

  Taliyah carefully gathered the photographs and tucked them back into their folder. “You say magic didn’t kill her, but you’re very certain she was murdered, and didn’t just have a medical event.”

  I snorted. “Come on. I might not be a detective, but someone had to have been with her when she died. She was arranged on the bed. There’s no way she fell back and folded her own arms like that.”

  Taliyah conceded the point, tipping her head to the side.

  “Well, thank you for coming in,” she said, like it had actually been a choice. “If I have any other questions, I know where to find you.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you have any other leads? Any suspects? What about that medical examiner you mentioned, what do they think about all this?”

  Taliyah blinked slowly, her face back to that perfect neutral mask. “You’re aware that I can’t discuss ongoing investigations, Wanda.”

  “You don’t have any leads?” I asked, outraged.

  “Go home, Wanda. And stay away from werewolves, please.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, like her head hurt. “We don’t need any misunderstandings.”

  Clearly, she wasn’t going to give me any more answers, so I stormed out of the nearly deserted police station and back to my car. At least there wasn’t anyone waiting for me outside.

  Taliyah might want me to sit around doing nothing, but that just wasn’t going to work for me. If word started getting around that the Reid pack was accusing me of killing their daughter with an enchantment gone wrong, my business was finished. Lorcan might have money to burn, but I wasn’t about to be some moochy, little house witch.

  When I’d been kicked out of my coven, and I’d come to Haven Hollow, my shop was my salvation. I’d been able to use a lifetime of skill and I’d actually made a living—not just for myself, but also for Astrid. And then I’d been able to build a new coven. I couldn’t just let that all circle the drain. Whoever had killed Bryony needed to be caught, and they needed to face justice so that it was clear that I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

  And if Taliyah didn’t have any leads, well, I’d just have to look into the mess myself.

  No one was going to pin the blame on Wanda Depraysie and get away with it.

  And Bryony deserved justice. She was just a girl, barely an adult, and what had happened to her wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair.

  The steering wheel creaked under my grip, and I had to force my fingers to relax. After my second blooding, I’d become a lot stronger than I’d used to be. I was still getting accustomed to it.

  My indignation managed to fuel me all the way back to Lorcan’s house. I just couldn’t deal with the coven house at the moment, where everyone would have questions, and I didn’t have answers or the inclination to gab about it.

  Lorcan’s Porsche was actually in the driveway when I pulled in, which made sense, since by this point, it was only an hour until sunrise. I’d just put the car into park and killed the engine, when my door was opening of its own accord and then Lorcan leaned in, his beautiful green eyes full of concern.

  “Are you alright, Sweetling?”

  Well, so much for the hope that the rumors hadn’t completely flooded the town yet. Werewolves had big mouths, apparently.

  All at once, I was bone tired. I’d burned all of my anger to get myself home, but it suddenly felt like I had thousand-pound weights attached to each limb, and the idea of moving them was terrible.

  I kept seeing Bryony lying across her bed like a posed doll, flashing through my mind. My throat felt tight. I had no idea what my face was doing, but Lorcan looked like he’d been sucker punched.

  “Oh, Sweetling.” His knuckles brushed against the side of my cheek, tracing the curve. “Come on. Come inside.”

  Lorcan reached in and unbuckled my seat belt, and then scooped me into his arms, bumping the car door shut with his hip.

  He carried me so easily, cradled against his chest like something precious.

  Normally, I would have commented. Maybe even demanded to be put down. But I was so tired, and I couldn’t stop thinking, rolling everything over and over in my head. So, I rested my cheek against Lorcan’s chest and just let him carry me into the house.

  Chapter Seven

  The first step in my ‘prove Wanda’s innocent’ plan, was to make sure that the whole situation was, in fact, not my fault.

  I hated the idea of it, but the truth of the matter was that my magic was unstable compared to how it had used to be. And Maverick’s, goddess, his was a time bomb waiting to go off. Normally, when my spells went wonky, no one died. In fact, it was usually the opposite problem. I’d brought a zombie and a ghost back to life, and combined with my cousin, managed to give life to a mannequin. Bringing life to the dead was one thing. Bringing life to something that had never had the spark in the first place, was very much another.

  That little tidbit wouldn’t be leaving the coven. Not if Maverick and I wanted to keep breathing, anyway. And Maverick was already on shaky ground, since most witches thought warlocks were inherently out of control and dangerous. Never mind a Blood Warlock.

  So, while I absolutely believed that my spell work had nothing to do with Bryony’s death, I wouldn’t be able to rest until I had proven as much to myself.

  I’d managed to browbeat Taliyah into giving the coven access to the nightgown. It might have been evidence, yes, but as I’d pointed out, who else was she going to get to examine it? The coven was the only source she had for magical experts, and if she thought I was a compromised source because of my involvement, then that would be the same for Maverick, too, since he’d helped me.

  Finally, she’d agreed, and left the lot of us alone in a storage closet in the station, but the frosty hand print she’d left on the door when she slammed it told me she still wasn’t very happy about it.

  It was a tight squeeze with all of us, but we hunched around the table where the nightgown was laid out. The silk looked thin and delicate under the harsh fluorescent lighting. The drone of the bulbs was going to give me a headache, I just knew it.

  Apparently, Hellcat, my odious little familiar, wasn’t willing to wait for the lights to do the job, and leapt up onto the table with a disdainful sniff. “Only you, Wandellmelia, could manage to get a fertility spell so wrong that it killed the customer. What a stain on your family’s history, to have produced such a second-rate hex witch.”

  “I didn’t mess up the enchantment, you miserable little hairball,” I hissed. “Now, get off the table before you get fur all over the evidence.”

  He hissed at me, but did take a dainty step back from the nightgown, before plunking his furry little butt down on the table and washing his paw like he couldn’t be bothered with me. I resisted the urge to shove him off the table, but only because I had bigger problems to worry about.

  My fingers twitched, wanting to smooth the fabric out and get rid of the wrinkles. “So? Impressions?”

  “Hmmmm.” Olga, our German born witch, leaned closer, until it almost looked like she was going to sniff the cloth. “Vat enchantments did you zay you used?”

  Her familiar, Franz, a racoon in the most ridiculous miniature lederhosen, swarmed up the side of the table to peer over the edge.

  Hellcat took a swipe at him, and he darted back with an annoying, high-pitched laugh, as if the two of them were playing a game.

  “Get away from me, furbag,” Hellcat hissed at him. “Or I’ll turn you into a frankfurter.”

  “Franz like zee vurst!” the raccoon called back and then started a strange little jig, which everyone ignored.

  I shrugged, folding my arms over my stomach as I returned my attention to the nightgown in front of me. Anxiety was beating a loud thud inside me and I wanted to tap my foot in response, but in the small room, the sound would be far too loud.

  I looked at Olga and answered her question. “We used the usual charms: glamours to hide perceived flaws and highlight best features. Though really, I only minimally used those charms. I mostly used the drape of the fabric itself to get the effect Bryony wanted.”

  Betanya, who had herself been a Blood Witch before she managed to kill the insane vampire who had stalked her for decades, tucked graying red hair back behind her ear. “So, the biggest spell on the nightgown is the fertility enchantment then?”

  “Yes.” I gestured down the length of the skirt. “I wanted it to be strong, but subtle enough that it wouldn’t cause her health issues, or cause the poor girl to start having litters.”

  Werewolves might like large families, but not usually all at once.

  Betanya nodded, approvingly. “And how did you anchor it?”

  “The embroidery. Maverick helped with that part.” I didn’t fidget, but it was close. That was the part I was most worried about. Maverick and my magic could be explosive when they came together. Literally.

  We’d brought a mannequin to life and turned her into a shapeshifter. Dear goddess, what if we’d turned a living wolfshifter into a mannequin? Bile burned at the back of my throat, and I swallowed it down, refusing to throw up on evidence. If only because Taliyah would never forgive me.

  “I mean, it looks pretty good to me,” Imani, our newest member, said as she held her hand just over the cloth. Her dark skin gleamed against the white silk. “The stitches are perfect. Who knew Mav was capable of being so delicate?” she joked.

  Hellcat gave a quiet harrumph.

  Poppy was still hugging the edges of the room, looking nervous. Not that there was much edge to the room. The whole thing was packed with boxes and supplies, with just enough clear space to surround the table. “I’m not sure what help I’m going to be,” she said, apologetically. “Enchantments aren’t really my thing.”

  Since Poppy was more human than other, she operated in a gray zone, as a human who did magic. I’d insisted on including her in the coven when we’d formed circle Scapegrace, partially because it offered her protection. Supernatural folks were less likely to mess with her if they knew she had a bunch of vindictive witches in her corner. The other reason why I’d included her was because she’d earned it. Poppy was one of the best potion makers I’d ever seen, even compared to witches with centuries of experience.

  The fact that she gave coven discounts didn’t hurt either.

  I hadn’t brought her to the station because I thought she’d have some magical insight, but because she was almost unflaggingly, annoyingly chipper most of the time, and frankly, I could have used a dose of it. Not only that, but if Poppy was in front of me, that meant I could keep an eye on her and not worry something bad was happening to her. Was I a little overprotective of my BFF? Sure, but that’s what happened when you were a witch who’d grown up without friends. Now that I had a best one, I had to keep her close and safe.

  I waved off her comment. “Did you bring the Uncrossing Oil?”

  “Yep, sure did.” Then she paused and blinked. “Oh—you want to see if the night gown is cursed.”

  Just because I was pretty sure my spell hadn’t gone haywire, that didn’t mean someone else was using it as a vehicle for magical homicide. When my magic went wonky, it was hardly subtle, after all. And the nightgown had been out of my possession for a week and a half before the wedding. Anything could have been done to it.

  Poppy fished a bright blue glass bottle out of her monstrous purse (which coincidentally I believed she’d purchased at a Ross Dress 4 Less—and that just couldn’t happen on my watch).

  “I have a Cole Haan handbag in the store that is worthy of your talents,” I informed her.

  She frowned. “What’s wrong with my bag?”

  I looked from the floppy insult she’d termed a ‘bag’ to her and repeated, “I have a Cole Haan handbag in the store that is worthy of your talents.”

  “Just accept it,” Imani whispered to her.

  Poppy’s eyebrows lifted as she nodded. “Well, thanks, Wanda.”

  “Mmm,” I responded as she then gently dabbed some of the oil inside the hem of the nightgown. We all hovered around then, waiting for the concoction to stain black if the dress was set with some kind of malicious spell, but there was nothing. Well, the fabric smelled a little bit like jasmine, but no other changes happened.

  “Zo, ist not cursed,” Olga announced cheerfully.

  Franz laughed again, and the sound seemed to ricochet off the walls, so it was coming from every angle. Hellcat’s ears flattened, and I wished I could do the same, which was very uncomfortable, because I didn’t like agreeing with Hellcat on principle.

  “I don’t know, Wanda.” Imani made another slow pass with her hand over the fabric, a little crease forming between her brows. “I don’t feel anything nasty coming from it. The spells you guys used wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “And no one else tampered with it,” Poppy added.

  Betanya hummed and tapped her finger to her bottom lip. “Perhaps we should turn the dress inside out, and examine the embroidery from the opposite side. Just to be thorough.”

  I was suddenly extremely glad that Maverick wasn’t able to be here, due to helping Taliyah. I knew Betanya hadn’t meant anything by it, wanting to examine his work more closely. But Maverick had a lot of years of not being respected in a coven, and a lot more years of being rejected by it, and he would have taken the comment as a slight to his abilities that we all would have paid for, and we would have paid for weeks.

  I understood where he was coming from, at least a little. It was hard to shrug off those memories and experiences. That didn’t make it one ounce less annoying, though.

  But Betanya had a good point, so we carefully turned the nightgown inside out and examined the embroidery from the other side. Nothing leapt out at me. Frankly, the stitches were almost as neat as they were on the front side. There were no misplaced bits, or wrong stitches in the anchor for the fertility spell. Certainly nothing that could have banged the spell up bad enough for it to actually hurt someone, much less kill them.

  It was something of a relief, but at the same time, it was baffling. Why was Bryony dead?

  Hellcat sniffed. “Well, why don’t we find another werewolf to try it on? If they drop dead, then at least we’ll know it truly was your shoddy work.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to hold back the headache blooming behind my eyes. “We’re not experimenting with other werewolves.”

  Hellcat scoffed and stood. “This is so like you, you shriveled wench. No follow through.”

  He leapt down from the table and pranced out of the room. Vile little beast.

  “Does anyone else have any ideas?” Frustration put an edge on my voice.

  Olga and Poppy shook their heads, wide-eyed. Betanya frowned, staring down at the rumpled fabric.

  Imani shrugged, the long coils of her hair sliding over her shoulders. “Sorry, Wanda. I’m fresh out of ideas.”

  It was a relief that it hadn’t been Maverick’s and my spellwork that had killed Bryony, but it also meant that I was back to square one. Because even though I knew I hadn’t caused that poor girl’s death, there wasn’t any way I could really prove it. The Reids could just say that the coven was lying to protect me, and without bringing in another magical expert, which I didn’t want to, because I wouldn’t trust them, there wasn’t anything else for it.

  Which left me still standing as the most obvious suspect, but with a mild sense of relief that I hadn’t killed someone without meaning to.

  Willie-Ray, Betanya’s familiar, a skunk in a sleeveless plaid shirt, stomped his feet and grumbled. “Summa bitch.”

  And yes, that did sum it up rather nicely.

  Chapter Eight

  Maverick called me that evening when the sun was just about down.

  “Don’t bother coming in. There hasn’t been a customer all day. I’m closing up and heading out.”

  I froze, aghast. “Not a single customer?”

  Cloth rustled as he moved, like he was switching ears. “No. Not unless you count the countless people who keep stopping and staring at me through the window, whispering to each other and scurrying away when they realize I can see them.”

  Wonderful. Terrific. The small-town gossip mill was already churning away, it seemed.

  I closed my eyes. “Fine. Just lock up. Set the wards, I don’t need people getting cute.”

  Maverick grunted and hung up, which was pretty personable where he was concerned. I, meanwhile, was having my own personal meltdown. I was going to go bankrupt at the rate things were going. I should have never let those werewolves through my front door.

  Lorcan bustled through the kitchen, already in his scrubs and jacket, as he grabbed his keys off the table and paused only long enough to drop a kiss onto my head. “Running late. Got to go, Sweetling. See you later.”

  And then he was gone. It was astonishing that a man who could run faster than a car was always almost late for work.