Page 39 of Strike It Witch

Having reached a dead end there, I moved on to my next line of questioning. “Have you heard any talk about Mictlantecuhtli lately?”

Beau wasn’t only a dealer in drug paraphernalia, rare books, and paranormal artifacts, he was a purveyor of information. Short story was, if something weird was happening around town, Beau would know about it.

“The Aztec death god? Tell me you aren’t messing with death gods, Betty. Bad enough you’re poking around ancient Egypt.”

“Not me. I came across something recently that gave me pause, is all. Heard anything?”

“Nah. There’s a cult on the other side of Smokethorn worshipping Ra, but that’s just normal culty stuff—witching hour text readings, wearing falcon headgear, weekend orgies, stuff like that. Nobody’s sacrificing animals or anything dark.”

“Can you ask around? Usual fee.” I could swing Beau’s fee. Especially if he helped me find Sexton’s lamp.

“Sure.”

“Best to be discreet.”

“Discreet is my middle name. Sometimes it’s my first and last, too.” He gave me a veneer-perfect smile.

“Thanks.”

Beau nodded to the bulletin board in the hallway leading to the back room, where I’d hung a FOR SALE flyer with details on the Siete Saguaros Park. The board was spelled to be visible to paranormals only. Mom had done the spell five years ago, and it was still holding strong.

Of course it was.

“No takers on your property yet?”

I glanced at the paper. All the hanging tabs were still attached. “No.”

He gave me an intense look. All Beau’s looks were intense, but this was a little more so. “Your mom wanted you to stay here, you know.”

“I know.” I stifled a sigh.

“Lila was a real good witch.”

“I know.”

“She would’ve never abandoned those folks at the park.” He dialed up the intensity, flashing eyes like blue pools at me.

“I’m not abandoning them, Beau.”

“Walking away from the park is abandoning them, Betty.”

“No, it’s not. I won’t leave unless I find a proper buyer. I’ve had offers,” two total in three years, but he didn’t need to know that, “and turned them down because they weren’t right. I won’t abandon your aunt, Beau.”

“Tía Trini loves it there.” The intensity in his eyes morphed into tenderness. “After having survived marriage to my pendejo tío for forty years, she deserves peace.”

“And I want that for her. I won’t leave unless the right person’s able to take over. They have to resonate with the soil, otherwise?—”

“Your mom would never have left them,” Beau said, his words the equivalent of someone grinding their heel into my heart.

Someone I didn’t know walked in and waved to Beau. He lifted a hand, two fingers raised. Not a peace sign, a “give me two seconds” sign. Or both. With Beau, it was hard to tell.

“I’ll look for your lamp, Betty. Tell my tía I’ll stop by this week.”

I walked out, feeling like dogshit on the sole of a shoe. No matter how much I tried, nothing I did to make things right was good enough.

The head shop was only two blocks down from Ronan’s, and I’d parked Mom’s Mini there because I knew I’d be stopping by. I needed to find out if Alpha Floyd had agreed to my deal.

But first, tacos.

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