Page 79 of Sigils & Spells

“Huh, she’s home early.”

“Mrs. Dalton?”

If he heard the alarm in my voice, he didn’t comment on it. “Livie might have a few questions for you.”

A knot of dread formed in my stomach. Transportation spells were the stuff of legends and storybooks, right now I wished with every fiber of my being such a feat of magic could be true.

Will nodded at the muck bucket. “You finished with that?”

“Yes.”

Will grabbed the braided nylon handle. He hurried over to the water spigot, turned it on, and rinsed out the bucket.

I gathered up my supplies, mentally preparing myself for the inquisition.

The SUV stopped next to the dry lot. A petite blond wearing oversized oval sunglasses hopped out. She opened the back door, and a black dog the size of a small bear lumbered out of the car.

“Hey, Livie.” Will turned off the water.

“Hey.” She slammed both doors shut, then stalked forward. The shaggy dog trotted alongside her. Squawking chickens scattered out of their path.

“Glad I caught you.” Livie Dalton whipped off her sunglasses. Her blue eyes blazed with indignation. I prayed her fury wasn’t aimed at me.

“I know we didn’t talk about it before. Any chance you can put a spell on that” —she pointed across the dry lot to a pole-mounted camera aimed at the barn door— “and the one out back so they can’t be knocked out?”

Tension drained out of me. Thank the goddess I’d included the cameras.

“Believe you me,” she continued, “if those lousy shitheads who stole from us show up again, I want their faces on camera.” As if distressed by the sharpness in Livie’s tone, the bear dog pressed against her legs.

“Already taken care of. The cameras are within the ward’s protection.”

“Good.” She gave me a cheerless smile. “Now, how high does this barrier magic go?”

CHAPTER2

I enteredBesoinsthrough the back door. The stock room, consulting room, and public bathroom were on the right side of the hall. Our combination kitchen/classroom (hosting classes was a recent addition) was on the left, along with the stairway leading to the second floor. Navy drapes, decorated with an ivory moon and silvery stars, covered the doorway leading into the main shop. Someone had shoved aside one of the velvet curtains, allowing the hum of activity in the shop to drift down the corridor.

A decade ago the brick building had housed a small mom-and-pop restaurant and barber shop on the main floor, with a consignment shop and dentist’s office on the upper level. Following the property owner’s death, a court battle over a contested will dragged on for three years. The next owner undertook a massive remodeling venture and ended up filing for bankruptcy. A messy divorce put the building back on the market two years later and I snapped it up. The first thing I did was a massive negative energy cleansing ritual.

“Marin?” Priya Carmichael popped out of the kitchen. She wore a flowy, cap-sleeved emerald tunic over black leggings. Dark lilac-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Wow. That must have been a complicated job. I thought you’d be back an hour ago.”

I grimaced. “Livie showed up.”

Priya wrinkled her nose in sympathy. “That sucks. You’ve got dirt on your face and there’s something in your hair.” She plucked a green flake from my braid and showed it to me.

“Alfalfa. I’ll run upstairs and clean up a bit before I go into the shop.”

“Okay.” Her eyes traveled over my dusty jeans and loose-fitting black t-shirt.

“I was at a farm!” I growled. “What did you expect me to wear?”

She raised her hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t say a thing.”

Lately, my neutral-toned wardrobe was a much-discussed topic among my employees. Stella had called it “safe.” Scarlett declared it ”unimaginative and dowdy.” Abby deemed it “downright dull.” After grumbling about their lack of respect for professionalism, I pointed out simple basics were easy to mix and match. I couldn’t help but tease them that their comments would be noted in their yearly review.

I knew my aversion to bold colors was a childish strike at my mother, who adored vivid reds and oranges. Danielle Girard was an ambitious woman. She’d honed her illusion magic into a fine-edged weapon. She’d ridiculed my decision to open Besoins, calling it a prosaic venture. Our versions of success were polar opposites.

Priya remained silent during these discussions about my fashion choices. The stealth operator tricked me into going shopping. She cajoled me into trying on wild colors and patterned fabrics I’d never have considered wearing. Her persistence paid off. I had bought several items, including a flirty violet dress, though I hadn’t worn them yet.

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