Page 38 of Strike It Witch

“That’s not disturbing at all, him messaging you right after you finish reading his letter,” Ida muttered.

I’d noticed that, too.

“He wants me to do another job for him,” I said. “Tis the season, apparently.”

“Huh?” Ida stood. She used the edge of one hand to dust the dirt into her other hand then dumped it into the tiny planter suction-cupped to the window over my sink that had once grown thyme.

“Alpha Floyd wants me to find a book for him.” I told her about his proposition and got her word that she wouldn’t share the information with anyone else—especially the coven.

Unless I disappeared. Then blab it everywhere.

“It’s named for an ancient Egyptian goddess. The book has to be cursed,” she said.

“Pretty sure it is.”

“Dealing in cursed books is dangerous, Betty.”

“All well-paying jobs are dangerous,” I said.

She frowned over the lip of her mug. “What does Sexton want?”

“An oil lamp. He says there are several in circulation, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Ida leaned back in her seat and laughed. “Let me guess. He asked you to find a Persephone’s Ear."

“Yeah. Do you know about it?”

“Of course. Every necromancer does. It’s basically a barrier-crossing device.” At my blank look, she said, “When a human or paranormal uses it, they’re able to enter establishments sealed off from them by a curse or magic. You just light the lamp and saunter right in.”

“And if a demon uses it?”

“It’s even more powerful in the hand of someone like Sexton. A demon can use the lamp to cross any barrier. Inanyworld.”

Chapter

Eleven

My weekend was a blur of rest and gardening. Monday morning found me back in La Paloma delivering bundles of lavender and some charms to Wicked and a head shop-slash-bookstore, where I inquired about Sexton’s oil lamp.

The guy behind the counter looked like Nicolas Cage inMandyand sounded like Matthew McConaughey inDazed and Confused. His name was Beau Glazier, and he owned the shop and was the only employee. He was also the nephew of one of my tenants, Trini Orosco.

“Nah, man. I ran across a Persephone’s Ear a couple decades back, but I haven’t seen anything in years. Want me to put out some feelers?”

“If you would.” I shot a glance over my shoulder then leaned in closer. “I’ve also got a book request, and this one pays well. Keep it on the DL.”

Beau’s eyes glittered. “Down low, got it. What’s the name of the book that I never heard about from you?”

“Weret-hekau Maleficium.”

“No freaking way.” He shook his head. “It’s cursed. Every grimoire that comes out of Egypt is cursed.”

“That’s a harmful stereotype,” I said, as if I hadn’t thought the exact same thing.

“It’s the truth. The ancient ones didn’t mess around when it came to protecting their stuff. I once sold an Egyptian tome that grew teeth and tried to bite me when I put it on the shelf." He shivered. "Not touching that one, sorry. But I will look into the artifact for you. The usual finder’s fee applies, amiga.”

“Thanks.”

Guess that took care of Plan A regarding Alpha Floyd’s book. Looked like I’d be moving to Plan B and dealing with the contact he’d provided. It wasn’t the end of the world—I hoped—but it would’ve been nice to have a backup.

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