I rubbed the spot where he’d kissed me and scowled. I’d been pretty distracted over the last couple days, understandably. But after the first night, when Lorcan had been so sweet and attentive, holding me all day as I finally drifted off to sleep, he’d then gone back to his frazzled, distracted, somehow exhausted self again, and if he ever held still long enough for it, I was going to give him a piece of my mind.

  I was having a crisis here! And my husband was more concerned with flossing and fluoride?

  To spell with it.

  Analyzing the nightgown hadn’t turned up anything, other than what I’d been saying all along; it was impossible that my work had killed Bryony. The trick was, getting a bunch of grieving werewolves to believe as much. They weren’t going to take my or my coven’s word on it, and werewolves didn’t have any magic at all, which meant they wouldn’t understand our explanation. Well, I supposed they knew one spell; how to turn into a wolf. It was hardly relevant, though.

  So, if I couldn’t prove my innocence with the evidence I had, then in order to save my business and my name as a witch, I was just going to have to dig up the guilty party.

  Someone clearly wanted that poor girl dead. And in a family as co-dependent and up in each other’s business as the Reid pack? Someone had to know something.

  Part of the horde that had descended on my store had been made up of girls younger than Bryony, sisters and cousins, from what I’d pieced together. Now, granted, I didn’t have a good relationship with my sisters, they’d tried to kill me a couple of times, but I had it on fairly good authority that a lot of people were close to their siblings, and even confided in them.

  Lurking around the school wasn’t doable. Partly because I couldn’t go out during the day, and partly because I was fairly sure I’d get reported. So, that left after school. Where did children go when they weren’t being put through the hell of the mortal education system?

  I could ask Sybil, but she tended to travel with her own small, tight knit group. Instead, I sent a text to Poppy.

  Where do children hang around after school?

  I got back an extremely unhelpful ‘?’ in response.

  My lips flattened together in frustration. What was she not understanding? Poppy’s son, Finn, was a young teenager. Surely, she knew where he went when he wasn’t with her?

  I mean, if I needed to find a child, where would I look for one?

  The little line of dots floated across my screen for far, far too long as Poppy wrote and backspaced and wrote again. Finally, a response popped up.

  ???!

  She had to be doing this on purpose. I tapped the keyboard, a little harder than necessary. Can you ask Finn where kids like to hang out after school?

  And finally, something actually useful popped up. Finn says that Sweeter Haunts is a popular spot. Do I get to know why you’re hunting for children?

  Ah, Sweeter Haunts. Haven Hollow’s Halloween themed candy shop. I should have known. I sent Poppy back a text that just said ‘no’, and then ignored my phone buzzing as I shoved it into my purse and grabbed my keys.

  It was time to get some answers.

  ***

  The Main Street of Haven Hollow was the beating heart of town. Wanda’s Witchery was there, of course, right across the street from Poppy’s Potions. There was also Stomper’s Creamery, where centaur Stanley Stomper sold the best ice cream I’d ever tasted. Just down the road was the Half-Moon Bar and Grill, owned by Roy, a fellow Council member and Sasquatch. It was the best burger in town, had live music on occasion, and was the go-to hangout for the magical crowd.

  And then, of course, there was Sweeter Haunts, where it was October thirty-first, all year round. Chocolate cauldrons and marshmallow ghosts hung in the window, and just beyond them I could see the orange and black checkered tile of the floor. Someone had added some cotton candy spider webs, with a huge gummy spider in the center. I made a mental note to grab some chocolate before I headed out. After the week I was having, I deserved a sugar bomb if I wanted it.

  True to Finn’s intel, the place was swarming with teens and pre-teens. If they weren’t perusing the aisles, they were sitting at the soda fountain at the back. It was almost nostalgic, though I didn’t ever remember being able to get a black charcoal milkshake back in the fifties. I’d have to double check with Libby.

  The clientele was a mixed bag: some human and some not so human, but I finally managed to spot a few familiar faces clustered together by one of the stools.

  Bingo.

  Two sisters, and a cousin of Bryony’s. I racked my brain, trying to remember their names. The youngest sister was Casey, I was pretty sure, but I drew a blank for the other two. Still, they were my best shot at getting some information on Bryony’s life, what with her adult relatives up in arms. Even if the kids blamed me, I figured I could probably bully them into telling me what I needed to know.

  I marched up on them before they realized who I was. The cousin’s eyes widened, and she vanished down an aisle. The older sister looked like she wished she could do the same, but was stuck between the wall and the stool her younger sister was perched on. The littlest one just glared at me, her jaw set. And I believe she growled.

  “I need to talk to you,” I told them, subtly barring the way. I wasn’t about to trap literal children, but I also didn’t want to make it too easy to run.

  The youngest girl’s nose wrinkled up, her freckles all but vanishing. The older sister ducked her head, avoiding my eyes.

  “We’re not supposed to talk to you,” she mumbled into her chest.

  “Right.” I crossed my arms, my hip jutting to one side. “Listen, I’m very sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what you must be going through. But I didn’t hurt Bryony. You need to know that. I didn’t have any reason to.”

  A quick glance, but then her gaze planted itself on the ground again. Werewolves. I gritted my teeth.

  The youngest one was bolder, meeting my eyes squarely. If she’d been a few years older, I wouldn’t have bothered with her sister. But interrogating someone in elementary school was a bit much, even for me.

  “She was your sister,” I continued. “You probably knew her best in the world.” I glanced between both of them. “You have to know who might have wanted to hurt her.”

  “You—” the younger one started.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t do this. And the more your family focuses on me, the more likely it is that the person who did do it, is going to get away with it.”

  Casey—yeah, I was almost positive her name was Casey—scowled. Her little jaw thrust forward into the most mulish expression I’d ever seen, outside of a mirror. The older girl glanced at me again, and then swallowed hard enough that I saw her throat bob. Her eyes were reddened, like she’d been crying.

  “There… there’s this man. He and dad, they don’t get along.”

  Casey growled again. “Marianne, shut up.”

  Marianne, that was her name.

  Marianne swallowed again, but kept talking. “They’re kind of rivals. I don’t know, but he might have… have hurt Bryony to get at dad.”

  That sounded, as they said in the crime solving business, like a lead. “Does this guy have a name?”

  Marianne glanced at Casey, who was glaring but silent, and nodded tentatively. “Victor. Victor Lewis.”

  Finally, a hint. But still, that seemed kind of a stretch. They might not get along, but would he really kill the man’s daughter on her wedding day just to hurt him?

  Bryony hadn’t seemed super thrilled about her upcoming wedding. And from the small amount I remembered from the wedding itself, the groom hadn’t looked like it was the best day of his life, either.

  So, I pressed my advantage. “What about the groom?”

  Marianne frowned, confused enough to actually meet my eyes for a split second. “Jackson?”

  “I guess.”

  She nodded. “What about him?”

  I shrugged and adjusted my purse strap. “The marriage didn’t hit me as a love match. How were things between the bride and groom?”

  Marianne shuffled and darted a glance around her, like she was looking for an escape route. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, I might have felt guilty about hounding her for information. Maybe. Her family had accused me of murder, though. Or of being so bad at my job that I’d killed someone. I wasn’t sure which was worse, honestly.

  Casey gave her sister a fierce look. It was impressive, especially from a twelve-year-old. But it wasn’t up to witch standards.

  Marianne all but folded in on herself. “Jackson… he didn’t really want to get married, at first. But his family convinced him.”

  Casey snorted, rolling her eyes. “Bullied him, you mean.”

  “Why?” I glanced between the girls. “Why were they so set on him marrying Bryony?”

  Marianne shrugged. “They weren’t. Not specifically. It was just, Jackson had a girlfriend, before the engagement. But his family didn’t like her.”

  Well, that would have been good to know about. “Why not?”

  “She’s not a werewolf.” Marianne stared at the floor like she was trying to memorize the orange and black pattern. “They wanted him to settle down, raise some cubs. He couldn’t do that with his girlfriend, so they convinced him to get married to Bryony.”

  She blinked rapidly, her eyes shiny with tears as she spoke her sister’s name.

  I knew I should go. I’d already moved to take a step back. Yes, I wanted to know what was going on, but bullying children wasn’t how I enjoyed spending my time. Especially like this. Young witches at least grew up knowing how to fight back. They’d give as good as they got, for the most part.

  I hesitated, though. “Do you know Jackson’s ex-girlfriend’s name?”

  “No.” Marianne shook her head. “I’ve never met her. I just heard Jackson’s parents complaining about her.”

  Casey was glaring at me, her little teeth bared, leaning forward on her stool like she was going to launch herself at me if I didn’t back off. It was pretty heartening, actually. I hoped she kept that fighting spirit. Werewolves could use a shaking up.

  But right then, it was time for a retreat.

  “Thank you. Again, I’m sorry about Bryony.”

  Marianne nodded, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the ground. She’d tilted her head so that the long fall of her brown hair hid her face from me, but I was pretty sure she was crying silently.

  I turned to leave, and I could feel Casey Reid’s eyes boring into my back my entire way out of the store.

  Uneasiness rolled around in my belly. It felt a bit like guilt. Lucky for me, I had years of practice ignoring that kind of thing, because I had a murder to solve. And I decided I’d solve it not only for myself, but for those two girls, as well.

  Chapter Nine

  Victor Lewis, Werewolf, wasn’t a hard man to track down.

  He owned and operated a car wash over on Gerrard, in the east end of town. The only trouble was, the place wasn’t open after dark, so I had to be ready to spring out the door the second the sun was low enough to be considered nighttime, but still give me time to get over there before closing time. Hopefully, Victor had a ton of paperwork or something to keep him late.

  It wasn’t hard to slip out the door, since Lorcan hadn’t come home that morning.

  Oh, he’d called me, so very apologetic and had said something about an emergency that had come up, and it was too late to make the drive safely, so he was going to spend the day in the hearse with Marty driving him around town. It just couldn’t be helped.

  I’d hung up the phone with more force than should probably have been used against a touch screen. I didn’t know what was up with the undead idiot, but I had enough problems on my plate without him shoveling on more like a side dish. I’d deal with whatever the spell was going on with him when I wasn’t being accused of murder.

  At least the annoyance kept me from focusing too much on the sick feeling settling into my stomach. I really didn’t like feeling uneasy or insecure. Something was up with Lorcan. That was very, very obvious. And I was fairly sure he thought I was buying his lame excuses—something which made me all the angrier. I mean—how dumb did he think I was?! The absolute penis-head.

  I had too much to do, so I bundled up my bad mood, and decided to make it Victor Lewis’s problem.

  The lot was dark when I arrived, but luckily for me, the lights were still on in the little office off to the side of the wash bays. I pulled my car up right near the door and parked.

  Night wasn’t really any kind of barrier for witches. But ever since my blooding, especially the second one, while I didn’t go up like a Roman candle at the first hint of sunlight, I was a lot more comfortable at night. The shadows just kind of seemed to drape around me like the most luscious silk, soft and smooth. Even if someone had still been there, I doubted they would have seen me as I made my way to the office door.

  It was unlocked, because of course it was. What did big, burly werewolf men have to fear from someone coming into the office? Victor was the top dog, the predator. Nothing could touch him in his territory.

  Even without seeing it, I knew the smile that twisted my lips wasn’t a very nice one.

  The man hunched over the desk was middle aged, graying, and completely oblivious to everything going on around him that wasn’t the spreadsheet on the computer before him. He poked at the keyboard with two fingers, which explained why he was still there after closing time. At the rate he was going, it must have taken him hours to balance the books.

  It was a little embarrassing that he hadn’t noticed me. The room wasn’t big. With the desk, the werewolf, and the stacked-up boxes of cleaning solutions, rags, and what looked like more paperwork, I practically had to stand on his shoulders.

  In my head, I’d planned it all out. I’d wait until he noticed me lurking, and then I could interrogate him and see if he’d really done something to Bryony just to get back at his rival. But as it turned out, standing there behind an oblivious werewolf got really boring, really fast. I did have other things to accomplish. Would it kill the man to turn his head?

  Not in the mood for waiting games, I whispered a few words that had the shadows pooling thicker, darker, crowding in the corners of the room. Victor still didn’t notice, even when he had to hunch forward so far that his nose was practically pressed against the monitor screen.

  A bit of power and a gesture had an icy wind blowing in through the cracked open window. It caused the loose papers of his desk to flutter around the room, and Victor’s breath began steaming in the air. That, finally, got his attention, but in the dumbest way possible.

  He sat back with a scowl, watching his breath exhale in fog and float towards the ceiling. “Did someone turn on the air-conditioning?” he yelled out as he shook his head and continued grumbling to himself, “do those idiots think I’m made of money?”

  He spun around to stand up, caught sight of me lounging behind him, and immediately fell back into his chair.

  “Who the hell are you?” he sputtered, surprise quickly turning into anger.

  “That’s not important right now, Victor. Can I call you Victor?” I gave him a sweet smile he didn’t return. “Anyway, Victor, I’m here to ask you about something.”

  “What the—”

  “Uh uh uh,” I said and waved my index finger in front if his face. “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt someone when they haven’t finished speaking?” He grumbled something unintelligible. “Anyway, I’m sure you know what I want to discuss with you. I’d just like to first know why you did it. And, secondly, the obligatory question: did you really think you’d get away with it?” I buffed my nails against my shirt and made a tsking sound. “Not smart.”

  I might have gone soft with Marianne and Casey, on account of them being literal children. But Victor was an adult, and kind of a dumb one if his situational awareness was anything to go by. I figured I’d push hard and see what fell out.

  He scowled, his teeth barred. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, get out of my office, whoever the hell you are.”

  I shook my head sadly. “Oh, Victor, don’t try to lie to me. You’re not very good at it. So, let’s try this again, and this time: how about you stop wasting both our time?”

  A dull red color snaked up his neck and into his face as Victor Lewis shot to his feet and tried to use his height to intimidate me. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you’re going to get out of my office, or I’ll toss you out.”

  Posture, posture, threat display. Werewolf 101. Yawn.

  Now, I hadn’t planned on using any stronger magic against Mr. Lewis. Partly because I wasn’t sure he’d actually done anything to deserve it, but also because my magic was still a bit, well, volatile, to put it politely. I didn’t want to hurt him, much, or turn him into a teacup poodle or something, though that would have been hilarious, all the same.

  But that didn’t mean I wasn’t willing to use the smaller bits of power. Three hissing words, and the shadows surged up to yank him back into his chair.

  Ha, in your face, Hellcat, I thought to myself. I’m not all raising the dead and blood bolts.

  The flush in Victor’s face drained away, along with every other speck of color that had been there. He stared up at me, sweat beading on his brow. “You’re a witch?”

  “Really? Took you that long?”

  “What do you want?”

  I examined my nails. The mulberry polish I’d painted them with was starting to chip. I’d have to get a manicure soon. “I already told you, Victor. Are you really going to make me repeat myself?”

  “No, but–” He swallowed, looking like he might actually be sick. “Why do you care? It was just business!”

  I froze, suddenly so angry that I couldn’t breathe around the surge of rage in my chest. I had to take a careful breath, because for a second, I thought I might actually spit fire if I opened my mouth.

  A girl was dead. Far too young, and on what was supposed to be her happiest day, a celebratory day. She’d been robbed of everything—her future, her happiness, her life. And it was just business?