Wicked Ever After (A Blud Novel Book 7) by Delilah S. Dawson Page B

her clockworks.”
    “I did ask you for a rhinoceros,” I said primly. “Instead of all those dainty things.”
    Frannie chuckled and rustled around in a box, then pulled out a wiggling burrito of a puppy and dropped it into my arms. Unlike the corgis in the bin, this creature was mostly black fur and excitement, of no discernible breed. And it was approximately half tongue. And I never wanted to put it down.
    “He’s the last of a litter of mutts. No idea what’s in ’im. But you seem like the softhearted type who cares more about fun than family trees.”
    “Are you a glancer?” I asked, noting her chapped, bare hands.
    She shook her head. “Spend enough time around animals, and you can read what any creature needs on its face. And your man there wants something more than a crow to match his fine hair, don’t he?”
    Thom smothered a laugh, and Criminy nodded in confirmation and gave the girl a small bow. “Right again, lass. We’re looking for a dark conjurer, a witch named Hepzibah, very old but with a Bludman’s smooth skin. She a customer of yours?”
    “Not mine, no. But I won’t sell a creature to anyone who seems to wish it ill. The birds can tell, you know. Even the lizards scramble away from hungry hands. Those as want animals for the crueler uses, they go to Mr. Sweeting.”
    “That’s the second time his name has come up,” I said.
    “And it won’t be the last if you’re up to your elbows in evil. But I might have a wee something to help you wring what you need out of the bastard.”
    “Fran!” Thom said, shocked in a most polite and Scottish manner.
    She just nudged him in his huge rib cage and went to poke around among a beautiful arrangement of cylindrical glass terrariums and bell jars that reminded me of a candy shop, if a candy shop held lizards and frogs and bits of moss instead of actual candy. Which I already missed, considering I couldn’t eat it anymore unless it was sugared liver or candied kidneys. After plucking a smaller jar from the back, she carried it to us at arm’s length, and I placed the wriggling puppy back in his box so that I could concentrate on the bone-white creature staring at us intelligently through the glass, claws upraised.
    “A scorpion?” Crim asked, taking the jar from her.
    Frannie nodded and stepped back. “Yes, but a particular kind. Their venom is rather similar to a daimon’s, and a sting from this little fellow will make anyone, even a fully grown daimon, terribly ill.” She dimpled evilly. “Daimons can’t vomit, since they don’t eat, but they can turn some very amusing colors.” When Crim raised an eyebrow at her, she just shrugged. “I like to be paid, which means there must be consequences to not paying. More than one dark daimon has found that wee fellow or one of his friends waiting on the ledger.”
    “And what will he do to a Bludman?” I asked carefully, as I was making a mental catalog of all the new things that could or could not harm my lovely new body.
    Frannie opened a drawer and brought out a sturdy wooden box about the size of a hamburger, a lovely thing carved and polished in dark mahogany. Taking the jar back from Criminy, she tidily dumped the angry scorpion into the box and slammed down the lid.
    Easy as pie, she said, “He’ll kill you dead. Me, too.”
    Crim picked up the box, turning it this way and that and flicking the clasp with one finger while holding the top tightly shut. “So you’ve a death wish, lass?” he asked.
    “Maybe a little,” Thom said fondly, leaning in the doorway.
    Frannie replaced the glass jar among the other terrariums and laughed. “Not a death wish. Merely the drive to keep what’s my own. This is London, my lad, and there are plenty of creatures as would take what I have. I fight for what’s mine. I might not look like much, but you’d be surprised what I have up my sleeve.”
    Criminy smiled and shook his head. “How is it that every woman I know is a deadly, cunning,