Dead But Not Forgotten by Charlaine Harris Page A

So I ran up and down all the streets in town, one by one. It was nearly ten by the time I caught the scent in a cheesy split-level house with yellow vinyl siding at the end of a cul-de-sac.
    The name was on the mailbox, so I used my smartphone to access Uncle Desmond’s private database of info about supes. It gave me everything I needed to know about Ms. Marietta Singleton.
    There were no lights on in the house, but I rang the doorbell until I heard somebody stomping down the stairs. I’d have picked the lock, but I figured a witch might have house protection spells so nobody could screw her the way she’d screwed Sam. Marietta opened the door only as wide as the door chain allowed. “Who’s there?”
    â€œI need a witch.”
    She cursed under her breath, but it was the four-letter-word kind, not the turn-me-into-a-toad kind. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
    â€œI know—I want to buy somebody a spell for Christmas.”
    â€œRight now?”
    â€œWell, duh. Santa Claus comes tonight.”
    â€œIt’s going to cost double.”
    â€œSo?” I said, as if I didn’t care. Which I didn’t, since it was Uncle Desmond’s money.
    She started to unhook the chain. “Just so you know, I’ve got protection spells that’ll blast you to dust if you so much as pull my hair.”
    â€œUnderstood.”
    Marietta was dinky, but that didn’t mean she didn’t pack a nasty punch, spellwise. According to the database she was in her thirties, but she looked younger in the cutesy-poo flannel sleep pants with kitty cats on them and an oversized T-shirt with still more kitty cats.
    â€œCome into my consulting room,” she said.
    She’d converted a spare bedroom into what looked like a low-rent doctor’s office, complete with flimsy wood paneling and beige shag carpeting. Beige! It was a good thing she had those spells to protect it all—I wanted to rip it up to keep from having to walk on it.
    She handed me a pen and a clipboard with a piece of paper already on it. “If you’ll just fill out this form.”
    â€œAre you shitting me?”
    â€œThis is how I work. Take it or leave it.”
    â€œFine.” I grabbed the thing, read the form, and in the section that said
Service required—be specific and use back of form if needed
, I wrote,
TAKE ALL THE CURSES OFF OF MERLOTTE’S NOW
. Then I handed it back to her.
    As soon as she saw that, I could feel her starting to pull magic to herself. So I said, “I work for Desmond Cataliades.”
    She knew the name, and she paused, but started up again.
    â€œI’m his niece.” And I smiled. My teeth aren’t as sharp as an elf’s, but they’re sharp enough to show which side of the family I’m on.
    That stopped her. For one, everybody who knows anything about Uncle Desmond knows that he takes vengeance very seriously, and for another, spells don’t always work right on demons.
    â€œI didn’t know Merlotte’s was under Cataliades’s protection,” she whined.
    â€œNow you know. I want every single spell, hex, curse, or hidden talisman taken off. Tonight.”
    â€œIt’s not that simple. I signed a contract to keep those spells maintained for six months. A blood contract.”
    â€œThen I’ll get the contract canceled. Who’s the client?”
    She looked prissy. “I guarantee confidentiality.”
    I reached into my bag and pulled out a knife with a serrated edge that Uncle Desmond had given me and smiled again.
    â€œI can’t tell you,” she stammered. “Confidentiality is part of the contract.”
    Crapcrapandmorecrap. Even if I tortured her, she wouldn’t be able to tell me. I could have called Uncle Desmond and asked him what to do, but when he gives me an assignment, he expects me to carry it out. He doesn’t get mad often, but when he does . . . Hoo boy.
    Who had it in