caterpillar lashes shadowing her cheekbones. “I say so,” she said with a hiss. “Beau,” she called. “Ghosts. All around.”
“Yeah, Momma,” a voice to the left said.
I flicked on the porch light. I could just make him out. He wasn’t very tall, but the glint in his eyes gave me pause, like a raccoon coming down with rabies, not quite crazed, but working on it.
“We’ll come in,” Oatha said, pulling the screen open.
I reached back for my gun but then dropped my arm. Keep your friends close and their enemies closer.
“Of course,” I said. “Y’all come on in out of the cold. What can I make you to drink? Tea? Chicory coffee? I don’t have beignets, but I’ve got three kinds of homemade scones and a torte that’ll curl your toes or my name isn’t Tammy Jo Trask,” I said, my tone sweeter than vanilla icing.
“Coffee, yes,” she said, walking inside.
Mercutio yowled and lowered his body as if preparing to pounce. “Mercutio,” I said with a sharp shake of my head. He wrinkled his nose, and I understood his main objection might not be their magic but their terrible odor. Oatha really was refuse on two legs.
Beau followed her in, and his hair put porcupines to shame. At least he didn’t smell like death. He smelled reptilian, making the alligator tattoo on his forearm really appropriate.
“Y’all come in the kitchen and have a seat,” I said, afraid if they sat on the couches, I’d have to throw out the furniture after they left.
I quickly lit some scented candles with a glance at the closet where Vangie would be trapped until I got rid of her family. Of course, what I had planned was for her benefit, so I figured she wouldn’t mind hanging out to hear it.
I put the kettle on and busied myself at the pantry. On the middle shelf, smack-dab in the center, was a small wooden cask that my friend Kenny who does woodworking had made me custom. I opened the tap and let four drops of amber liquid drip into the bottom of the French press.
I’d been drugged with truth serum by the president of the World Association of Magic. Ever since then, I’d been working on my own truth serum, knowing it would come in handy sooner or later. I’m good with recipes, so I was pretty sure I’d be a good hand at potions one day. I’d perfected a truth serum from my aunt Mel’s spellbook and tested it out—with his permission, of course—on Bryn’s friend Andre. I thought he’d tell me cute stories from when he and Bryn were kids or some good gossip from when they were in their early twenties, but mostly Andre chuckled nonstop and told me about spells he’d twisted around to use in physics experiments. On account of the fact that I couldn’t even keep up with my high school science class, let alone a physics genius, I had to record the stuff he said and have him check it afterward to be sure he’d been telling the truth. It was kind of anticlimactic that way, but at least the potion had worked.
Now I could get to the bottom of whether Oatha had killed Vangie’s daddy.
I scooped dark roast coffee and chicory into the French press and waited for the water to heat. I took down two mugs and one teacup. I put some loose mint tea into a teapot. When the kettle was hot enough, I poured the steaming water into both. I waited as the drinks steeped and nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt breath against the back of my hair. I turned and found Beau standing a couple of inches from me.
“Smells good, chère .”
I wished I could say the same for the company. “Have a seat,” I said, giving him a little push toward a chair and away from me. I noticed a clump of reddish brown clinging to Oatha’s skirt. Was that what it looked like? Rotten flesh? Yuck! What kind of spells called for rotten meat? And couldn’t Oatha have showered before she visited a person?
“I’ll help you make the coffee. Add a little of this,” he said, handing me a silver flask.
“If you say so,” I said, taking it from
“Yeah, Momma,” a voice to the left said.
I flicked on the porch light. I could just make him out. He wasn’t very tall, but the glint in his eyes gave me pause, like a raccoon coming down with rabies, not quite crazed, but working on it.
“We’ll come in,” Oatha said, pulling the screen open.
I reached back for my gun but then dropped my arm. Keep your friends close and their enemies closer.
“Of course,” I said. “Y’all come on in out of the cold. What can I make you to drink? Tea? Chicory coffee? I don’t have beignets, but I’ve got three kinds of homemade scones and a torte that’ll curl your toes or my name isn’t Tammy Jo Trask,” I said, my tone sweeter than vanilla icing.
“Coffee, yes,” she said, walking inside.
Mercutio yowled and lowered his body as if preparing to pounce. “Mercutio,” I said with a sharp shake of my head. He wrinkled his nose, and I understood his main objection might not be their magic but their terrible odor. Oatha really was refuse on two legs.
Beau followed her in, and his hair put porcupines to shame. At least he didn’t smell like death. He smelled reptilian, making the alligator tattoo on his forearm really appropriate.
“Y’all come in the kitchen and have a seat,” I said, afraid if they sat on the couches, I’d have to throw out the furniture after they left.
I quickly lit some scented candles with a glance at the closet where Vangie would be trapped until I got rid of her family. Of course, what I had planned was for her benefit, so I figured she wouldn’t mind hanging out to hear it.
I put the kettle on and busied myself at the pantry. On the middle shelf, smack-dab in the center, was a small wooden cask that my friend Kenny who does woodworking had made me custom. I opened the tap and let four drops of amber liquid drip into the bottom of the French press.
I’d been drugged with truth serum by the president of the World Association of Magic. Ever since then, I’d been working on my own truth serum, knowing it would come in handy sooner or later. I’m good with recipes, so I was pretty sure I’d be a good hand at potions one day. I’d perfected a truth serum from my aunt Mel’s spellbook and tested it out—with his permission, of course—on Bryn’s friend Andre. I thought he’d tell me cute stories from when he and Bryn were kids or some good gossip from when they were in their early twenties, but mostly Andre chuckled nonstop and told me about spells he’d twisted around to use in physics experiments. On account of the fact that I couldn’t even keep up with my high school science class, let alone a physics genius, I had to record the stuff he said and have him check it afterward to be sure he’d been telling the truth. It was kind of anticlimactic that way, but at least the potion had worked.
Now I could get to the bottom of whether Oatha had killed Vangie’s daddy.
I scooped dark roast coffee and chicory into the French press and waited for the water to heat. I took down two mugs and one teacup. I put some loose mint tea into a teapot. When the kettle was hot enough, I poured the steaming water into both. I waited as the drinks steeped and nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt breath against the back of my hair. I turned and found Beau standing a couple of inches from me.
“Smells good, chère .”
I wished I could say the same for the company. “Have a seat,” I said, giving him a little push toward a chair and away from me. I noticed a clump of reddish brown clinging to Oatha’s skirt. Was that what it looked like? Rotten flesh? Yuck! What kind of spells called for rotten meat? And couldn’t Oatha have showered before she visited a person?
“I’ll help you make the coffee. Add a little of this,” he said, handing me a silver flask.
“If you say so,” I said, taking it from
Similar Books
