Page 58 of Sugar, Spice, and Magical Midlife

I clenched my wand in a bruising grip, wishing I could thrust it through the sorceress’s eye. “It’s what Iknow.”

She dropped her wand on the dais, folding her hands in front of her. “How old are you?”

“Forty-two.”

She picked up a pen and scribbled on a note pad. “Have you ever had a mental evaluation?”

Ohh, the bitch!“Why, when I don’t need one?”

“Get out of here, Luci!” Ric called out while fighting his restraints once more. “Or you’ll end up like your parents!”

His warning solidified the blood in my veins. “Not without you,” I answered, knowing I’d most likely end up like my parentsanyway. I couldn’t explain why, but my gut told me my best shot at keeping Des and me safe was freeing Ric from prison.

The sorceress’s eyes flashed with rage as she banged her wand against the dais. “One more word, Conde Romero, and I’ll have you gagged.”

Again, I was hit with a sense of déjà vu as I stared at her. Where had I seen her?

She turned her scowl on me again. “What makes you think a succubus framed Conde Romero?”

“Other than the fact that I was with him all night?” I answered. “I visited the crime scene after he was arrested.”

More gasps and murmurs rose up from the crowd.

I fought the urge to run when the sorceress hopped on a compact broom and flew toward me. The hooded figure behind her reached for her with spindly fingers before slinking into the shadows. The sorceress landed on the bench opposite me, eyeing me over the rim of her glasses. In that moment, I knew why she appeared so familiar. She could’ve been an older version of my mother, with the same olive skin and big, brown eyes. She had long fingers and wickedly sharp silver-tipped fingernails along with the biggest, gaudiest gemstone rings I’d ever seen of all colors and shapes, stacked in threes and fours on every finger. Even more shocking, she was shorter than she appeared. Though she wore tall boots to give her more height, she was five feet tall at the most, indicating she probably had pixie in her bloodline.

“How did you get past the wards?” she asked me.

I did my best to ignore Ethyl’s fluttering wings as she trembled in my pocket. “A simple concealment spell,” I answered, refusing to break eye contact, even as the sorceress stared at me as if she was looking through me.

“Concealment spells aren’t simple,” she said with a huff, “but go on.”

“Lenny wasn’t eaten,” I continued. “He was turned into a pile of goo. The salty spices had all been emptied. The sugar was untouched. Every cuckoo clock had been destroyed. This isn’t the work of a sphinx.” I paused, giving my words time to sink in. “This is the work of a succubus.”

The old crotch-breath wizard landed behind the sorceress while clutching the registry with whitened knuckles.

The sorceress tossed a look over her shoulder at the old mage. “We saw nothing of this in the report.”

The mage nodded his agreement.

“Because Gus is working with the succubus,” I answered. “He might evenbethe succubus.”

I scowled at the crowd of striga that pressed closer to us, the excited gleams in their eyes as they absorbed the juicy details. They elbowed each other to get ahead, and as big as she was, poor Frederica had been pushed further behind until she was several rows above us. Had these striga no decency? I wondered if they’d be so excited for gossip if someone they cared about was on trial.

The sorceress gave me a curious look. “What makes you think that?”

“He has been after my secret family recipe for years,” I said, unable to keep the anger from my voice, “using his position as a health inspector to demand it.”

The sorceress’s jaw dropped before she turned on the wizard with a snarl. “Where is this Gus?”

“Here, Your Honor.”

Clutching my wand like a lifeline, I spun around, snarling at the troll as the crowd parted for him.

Ric let out a groan, hanging his head while straining against his chains.

“Come forward.” The sorceress waved Gus toward us. “You will call meMagaSagredo, not Your Honor. Do I make myself clear?”

He frowned as he hopped toward us, his little legs barely clearing each step, before standing on a bench above us, the top of his head reaching my shoulder. “Yes, Your H—Meega Regina.”

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