Page 62 of Bright Dark Curses

“You know there are a lot of unpleasant people in the PBOA, right?”

Images of Mr. Lewis and Crane at the meetings flashed through my mind. Dru might be right, but since they were dropping like flies, they were definitely in the minority. “Nobody has a beef with you. You don’t have to campaign this hard for the shop.”

“What if it were your shop on the line?”

She got me there. “Say no more. We’ll campaign every day until Thursday.”

Dru appeared mollified.

“Preston came by two days ago.”

Her eye twitched. “What did the bastard want?”

“He was asking about where you got the money for the shop.”

A slow smiled curved her lips. “What did you tell him?”

“That it was none of his business.”

“Good.” She let out a short, wicked chuckle. “Bet it’s going to drive him up the wall trying to figure out how I can afford it.”

Recalling the way he’d been not-so-subtly asking about it, I nodded. “Yep.”

“Perfect. I wonder if he’s called Mom about it yet.”

Dru’s parents owned Tabbies, a nation-wide stationary chain that was about to open their first Olmeda store under Preston’s supervision.

It was within family tradition that Dru was calling her store Sharp Claws, but I’d never tell her that. “What did you tell your mom about opening the shop?”

“Only that an opportunity had come up, and I was in the position to act on it.” Her laughter this time was downright diabolical. “They’ve probably been calling all their contacts in the region to figure out how I pulled off this miracle.”

“Bet this witchgiving dinner is going to be fun.”

“You know what? I’m going to let you get away with that this time because I’m in an excellent mood.”

“Nothing like using Bagley’s evil earnings in another shop to raise the spirits, huh?”

We fist bumped and returned our attention to the slightly more important matter of dark witches sabotaging movie sets and putting shifters in hospitals.

Once at the bed and breakfast, I left Fluffy and Rufus leashed to the mailbox right inside the small front yard, and we went up the steps into the three-story white and pastel-blue house. It was a lovely, quaint place, and you’d expect a young couple or a doting granny to be in charge rather than a shoplifting crone who conned seance participants with air magic on the side.

The inside was as cozy as the outside, with a foyer and a sitting room opening off the front door, and a rack of leaflets for the town’s tourist attractions on the wall. I’d wanted to ask her to put an advertisement for the Tea Cauldron there, but between catching her buying dark magic potions and her unwarranted dislike of my person, there hadn’t been much time.

Dorsey herself sat behind the wooden counter in the small reception area. Her spine was extra curved today as she pored over something hidden from view. Dru checked the parlor and peeked into the stairs and hallway, then gave me a nod and an exaggerated roll of her head toward Dorsey, not only indicating that the coast was clear of people, but that it fell on me to initiate the conversation.

I put on my fakest smile. “Hello, Ms. Dorsey.”

Dorsey narrowed her vicious little eyes that reminded me of Janet’s devil dog but didn’t lift her attention from whatever she was doing.

A ding sounded. Then, “Le chien n'aime pas la nourriture.”

French?

Dorsey snorted, muttered something, then concentrated again. After a few seconds, the phone dinged again. A few seconds after that, she said something in an atrocious French accent.

Unable to stand it anymore, I approached the counter and leaned over. Dorsey’s clawlike hands were gripping her phone while a cartoon character pointed at another row of French.

“Uhh…” I said.

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