Page 23 of Kissed the Mark
“I’m surprised that it didn’t work,”Beatrice said, after tearing tracks into the fresh grass with hertires in a muddy mess. “As you probably know, Griselda iswell-known for her potion skills.”
I had the goose tucked under my arm. “Whydoes she smell like Francesca if Francesca didn’t do any magic onher?”
Beatrice rubbed her chin. “The smell issomehow infused into her being. It’s overpowering. Do you thinkmaybe they dated each other?”
The thought made me sick. “Haven’t theGallos been married for years?”
“Well, they’re nearly in their forties. AndLeandra is—”
“Okay, well. If it’s magic you smelled, itcan’t be that they dated.” I swallowed down bile in my throat.There really was a lot about Leandra I didn’t know.
“That’s true. Unless—”
“What do we have to do for the spell?” Iasked abruptly. Beatrice Newell was one of those people who didn’tnotice when others were rude to her or wanted her quiet orgone.
She held up a finger and began to sprinkle amixture on the ground in a straight line. “Candle me,” shesaid.
I passed her a candle from the hood of hercar. She set it firmly in the ground, rocking it from either sideuntil it couldn’t be easily dislodged.
“Grab the other candles,” she said. “We’regoing to make a square around the hill.”
It was dark and a cool breeze ruffled myhair. I yearned to open my denim jacket to feel the refreshingair—but I’d taken to wearing a sweatshirt around town instead,since my jacket had been ruined. Half an hour later, with brittlefingers, I passed Beatrice the last candle to complete the squarearound the hill.
“Knotted Hill” was a name given to it for areason—the hump of the hill was oddly shaped like a tied knot, andit was said that old settlers thought it was haunted. It actuallywas haunted now sometimes, and a frequent site for rituals likethis. Thankfully, we hadn’t run into any other witches tonight.
“Don’t cross the threshold,” Beatrice warnedme. “Just the vampire.”
I set Leandra, who had behaved very well andwas probably still at least partially sedated, on the ground. Herlittle webbed feet found the grass with some familiarity as shewobbled herself upright.
She looked back at me, and I swore she knewwhat was happening now. “Go on,” I said. I had to admit she wasvery cute like this. “Shoo.”
She did not shoo.
I nudged her behind toward the line thatmade up the square. Beatrice had littered some kind of blackcrushed material that glittered in the dim moonlight along thecandles. Reluctantly, she took one step toward the material.
Then another.
She crossed the line like she was marchingto her execution.
And then there was a giant puff of feathers.Feathers everywhere, in a giant explosion that threw me back.Raining down from the sky, littering the grass, floating away inthe wind.
The goose was gone.
Part Two
Lairs & Murder
Chapter Thirteen
Some Light UnseelieViolence
THERE’S PART OF ME THAT leans on my Unseelie side asan excuse for bad behavior.
This was the justification I used as I foundmyself halfway to Sugar & Spice in Beatrice Newell’s car withno recollection of how I’d stolen it and gotten there but purerage.
I left the driver door open. The keys in theignition. I slammed my hand into the Sugar & Spice door so hardmy injury cracked open. And again. And again. The door bowedinward.
I forced my fingers through the soil ofGriselda’s windowsill box planter. Power surged through my hands.The pansies grew tall and large, smashing through the glass. Iurged them to get larger and larger, until a light switched on andGriselda shouted, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?Stop!”
