Page 46 of The Wolfing Hour
“Lavender is my herb of choice, thanks all the same,” I said.
“If I’m being honest, chamomile is mine. In tea form.” He grinned. “But people have expectations of ‘Stoner Beau.’”
“I know. And I get the reason for the subterfuge. Just, don’t let the weight of other people’s expectations crush who you really are, Beau, because you’re pretty damn wonderful in my eyes.”
“Aw, thanks, kid. And backatcha.”
I walked out to where my Mini was parked on the street in plain view of Beau’s business. I’d chosen the spot specifically to keep an eye on it from inside, so I was more than a little shocked when I discovered a note tucked beneath the driver’s side wiper.
My name was scrawled on the folded piece of paper. The handwriting wasn’t familiar, which meant it wasn’t from Floyd. I’d seen enough potentially incriminating documents to recognize his terrible writing.
Before I touched it, I reached into my pocket for a pinch of Siete Saguaro soil. I dusted both hands and waited for theheat-vapor-absorbcycle to kick in. This wasn’t something Mom or Abuela Lulu had ever done. In fact, I’d never heard of another earth witch with this ability, and it made me wonder if it had come from my father’s side.
Proof that my magics can coexist?
I didn’t know for sure, but it was a question that had kept me up at night since I found out I was Bertrand Sexton’s granddaughter.
Reveal.
The note pulsed with silver light—once, twice—slid out from beneath the wiper, unfolded itself, and flattened against the hood. Psychokinesis wasn’t a specialty of mine, but I could sometimes swing it with a little extra magic.
Call before it’s too late.
Below the words was a phone number. Not local.
I sent a little more magic into the paper to see if it, or the ink, was spelled or poisoned. It wasn’t, so I snatched up the note and got into my car. The whole time I’d been casting, my head had been on a swivel, watching for humans and enemies alike. Paranoia hung on me like a wool coat that was growing wetter by the second.
Instead of calling the number, I drove to Bronwyn’s shop. There were spells that could be cast over a phone line, and Iwasn’t risking it. Best to make the call with another witch by my side who could break the spell’s hold if necessary.
I drove to Wicked in record time, even considering that Beau’s Oddities was a couple streets over. I left the Mini in the back lot, since apparently parking where I could see my car had done me little good at Beau’s. Besides, Bronwyn’s front window was blocked by a display of crystals and herbal teas, so I wouldn’t have been able to see it on the street anyway.
Maya, Margaux, and Bronwyn were working. There was a line at the counter made up of six humans, three paranormals I knew, and a very tall man who could’ve been either.
With the note burning a hole in my pocket, I waited until the customers cleared out before approaching the witches with it.
“I need a favor,” I said.
Five minutes later, the front door was locked and theBack in Ten Minutessign was hanging on the window.
“I’m thinking salt circle,” I said. “Margaux?”
She was back to her normal harsh coiffure, ebony hair slicked and pulled into a smooth chignon, the streak of silver swirling from her temple to her crown. When she looked like this, severe and confident, she reminded me of a Spanish queen.
“Yes?” she asked.
“What do you think? Will a salt circle be enough?”
Her eyes widened. “You’re asking me?”
“Yeah.” I looked from Bronwyn to Margaux. “What? Am I speaking Spanish without realizing it?” I asked, sarcasm heavy in my tone. “No, that can’t be it, because you’re fluent in Spanish and Portuguese as well as English so you’d be able to understand me.”
Margaux cleared her throat. “How do you know all that?”
“Mom told me.”
“She did?” That appeared to surprise her. Her red lips twitched, revealing a shy smile. “I didn’t think Lila spoke about me to you—in detail, I mean.”
“Margaux, I’m happy to delve into my mother’s inappropriate sharing problem at a future time, but I’m in a bit of a rush right now.”
