Page 55 of An Amateur Witch's Guide to Murder
Christopher Nystromsits on the right page. Mateo doesn’t have to look anything up to translate the one-word note.Inútil. His mother considered the man useless too.
Ophelia flips to the end, but then doubles back to the front, pausing on a page a dozen in and reads aloud: “Ulla Kindell. Mejorar o disminuir las probabilidades.”
Same exact note as for Linnéa. “What the hell does that mean?” Mateo says more aggressively than he means, but seriously. “Like, what? A rival?”
“Or relative,” Ophelia adds. “Nystrom’s Christopher’s family name. She’s San Francisco local, too.”
“Fuck it. Let’s call,” he says.
Ophelia dials.
Ulla picks up in the middle of the first ring. “Who is this?” The voice is unmistakable. One thousand percent Dagger Lady,and she sounds even less pleased than when she was stabbing him.
Locking eyes with Ophelia, they have a silent back and forth where it’s clear neither has an actual approach in mind now that they have her on the line.
Honesty it is.
“I’m the guy you’ve been stalking and tried to stab in Seattle. That Linnéa Nystrom’s son Topher hired to uncurse him. Except Topher’s not cursed—I’ve just learned from his crap-dad. He’s magic. And maybe you are too? And he’s in jail for his mom’s murder, except no one knows if she’s actually dead. But he definitely didn’t kill her if she is. And someoneisafter her, but that someone isn’t me because we both saw who was probably that person push me out a window. Linnéa seems like she was nice, and the Nystroms and you were in my scary witch mother’s address book of magic-people contacts so I called you because I can’t figure out what the hell you have to do with anything except you have the same magic description as Linnéa.”
Silence greets this which is super fair.
“Who’s your mother?” Ulla Kindell asks acidly.
Interesting first question, and it’s his turn to pause. Shit. He hadn’t thought about what it might mean to tell her how they’re related. Probably nothing good. But Ulla hasn’t hung up, so he goes for it. “Ignacia Luisa Reyes Borrero.”
Sharp breath. Not good. Or very good.
“The boy who fell out the window is Ignacia’s son,” Dagger Lady says slowly, like she’s testing out the concept. He’d have preferredyoung manwho fell out the window, but that’s fine. She’s thinking, and thinking might lead to explaining anything. “Topher’s … like us?”
“I’m pretty sure.” Promising.Usimplies she has a connection to Linnéa. And she’s talking about Topher like she knows who he is. “Actually, it might be less good luck and more the bad kind. Since his mom ran off, a lot of people have died in his proximity. Topher didn’t know who you were, and I don’t wanna get all up in your business, but I need to help him, and I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s happening.” Bold statement because he might not be able to help even if he knows exactly what’s happening.
The pause is longer this time. Mateo can feel his claws growing, which is a disconcerting reaction to stress. A splatter of the black stuff his eyes are leaking falls on the phone’s screen. How is that helpful, body? He’s afraid to wipe it away because he might accidentally hang up.
“Where are you?” she asks.
He sits up straighter. “Christopher Nystrom’s house.”
A softhuhthat might be consideration or might be confusion and then, “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“The thing about Linnéa,” Ulla Kindell says as a hello, pausing to take the longest drag on a cigarette Mateo has ever seen as she stands in the center of Christopher Nystrom’s living room. “—is that she’s cryptic. Magic eight ball nonsense. Never answers a question outright when she can say something that sounds like she’s staring into the river of time, the silly bitch.” She makes every consonant sound like a swear.
No clue what theriver of timeis. Doesn’t matter.
Ulla doesn’t care if they understand. She’s come to unload months of Linnéa-related stress directly from her neat, white BMW to this midstream conversation. They’d had a plan—Ophelia fetches her from the front and warns her about Mateo’s condition—but Ulla hadn’t knocked, had stalked right in, and taken no notice of his alarming state before going off.
In the ultra-bright living room, she looks unreal. Not because she’s magic, but because she’s fashion perfection while a constant stream of displeasure—intermittently broken up with sucking on a cigarette—spews from her. Her form-fitting, knee-length dress is tailored to fit her willowy frame perfectly. Thestilettos are Christian Louboutin with scalloped edges along the ankle, solid white, except the underside is blood red.
He can appreciate how magnificent she is because she’s not directing her ire at him.
“I’ve never even met Topher. She didn’t want to involve the boy in magic if he didn’t have any, and look how well that’s turned out. It’s conceit, really,” she continues, nearly chewing on the cigarette in her aggravation. “But if you ask her, she’s a martyr. The martyr no one asked her to be.”Martyrsounds harsher thansilly bitchwith the way she draws it out.
“Hello. My name’s Ophelia,” Ophelia finally says when it’s clear Ulla’s just going to keep chain smoking and talking at them.
Ulla exhales the first plume of smoke since arriving, and levels a long, disinterested—but obviously interested—look at Ophelia, and Mateo’s uncomfortably aware that there is a dynamic brewing between the two women that will either be amazing or a nightmare. “Ulla Kindell. But you know that. What is all this? Why’s he dressed like that?”
“He’s shy,” Ophelia says.
