Page 18 of Forget Me Not

“I haven’t seen you eat today.” He heard himself ask a question without asking, heard Penn sigh and Benny whisper, “Lord.”

“Worry about that later, Ray,” Callalily replied without looking, giving Ray an answer whether he meant to or not.

Ray frowned, then reached into his pocket to pull out one of the wax paper bags. The scent of sugar and pears rose up when he crinkled it to make sure the top was open. Then he held it out, glancing away from Callalily’s raised eyebrows and startled mouth.

But when Callalily finally reached into the bag, Ray leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes.

Chapter Three

THE WITCH’S HOUSE was a three-story, somewhat ramshackle wooden structure with a staircase that wound its way up to outside entrances for the top two floors, and which was likely not built to any sort of code. The building looked Victorian, but with multiple additions that were definitely not done with any permits from this century. Yet Ray didn’t think any city inspectors had ever bothered Cassandra about them, or that the additions and the house itself were not perfectly safe.

The magic surrounding the house had Ray’s nose itching before he had fully gotten out of the car, although some of that magic might have come from Cassandra’s shop. The famed Bubble Bubble was right next door to the house, the two buildings and the shop’s garden combined into a patch of land that these days was probably worth well over a million—not that anyone would likely confront Cassandra about that, either. Not unless property developers were employing witches alongside their lawyers now.

Ray was just grateful to be avoiding the store itself, which generally made him feel like the proverbial bull in a china shop with its crammed shelves and elaborate displays, in addition to its strangeunscentthat meant human magic. Nonetheless, he had hunched his shoulders the moment he stepped onto the covered porch of the house and had sneezed four times before Cassandra had opened the door, and now his nose felt… stuffy.

Penn told him it was all in his head. Ray snarled back that this seemed to be the answer of the day. Then everyone briefly went quiet and awkward in the house’s old-fashioned foyer before Cassandra rolled her eyes and addressed Ray.

“Detective, you ought to be used to it by now.”

Ray, head aching, his nose only partly working, glowered at all five feet of her, from her long gray hair to the hem of her flowing caftan. She was wearing bunny slippers. He glowered at those, too.

Her eyes were sharp as she considered him in return. “Cal,” she said, without looking away from Ray, “Would you like a soda or something? Mr. Benedict?”

“Coffee, if you have it,” Benny answered. Callalily said nothing, although he should probably accept the offer of a soda.

“You know I don’t, Oscar Benedict,” Cassandra chided. “But there’s tea.”

“Does any of this really matter right now?” Callalily asked tightly, sounding as tired as Ray felt.

Ray got the impression this rudeness was unusual from him, because Cassandra turned away from Ray and then clucked her tongue before saying, “I’ll forgive that because you’re stressed.”

“I’ve never been in your home before,” Penn cut in politely, diplomatic as ever. “It’s… almost exactly what I would have imagined.” The foyer was the same packed jumble as the shop, although it did not give the impression of mess. Just of too much in too small of a space. Shelves lined with books and jars ran along the walls. In the next room, a parlor or sitting room of some kind, a fireplace had an actual cauldron over the logs, although no fire was burning. The shelf under the window overlooking the porch was filled with glass terrariums of various plants.

One wall had a space cleared with just enough room for the painting hung there. The painting was a surprise, a handsome, almost too-slender figure reclining on a bed. The figure was naked and glowing gold, but what briefly caught Ray’s attention was the challenging expression on the pretty face.

It caught Benny’s attention too. He went into the sitting room to squint at the signature in the corner of the picture, then swallowed. “Is this real?”

Cassandra clapped her hands together, startling everyone. “Well! I’ve been on my feet all day. I’ll get some water for tea going and then take a better look at Detective Branigan.”

Callalily joined Benny by the picture, both of them gesturing and whispering. Ray knew nothing about art but was willing to bet those two did, the way they seemed to know a little about everything. Penn had yet to tell him what it was those two actually did for a living.

“You’re staring,” Callalily remarked once Cassandra had gone. Without touching the canvas, he swept his fingertips over the golden feathers on the bed beneath the painted reclining figure. “Normally, I’d… well, now I’m not quite sure what it means.”

My colors don’t say?Ray wanted to ask, but it felt meaner than he wanted to be. The others might excuse it because of the pain he was in, but he wouldn’t. He tried to find something else to ask, realized he had too many questions, and let the first one tumble out.

“Do you prefer Cal to Callalily?”

“Another new question.” Callalily pulled his hands away from the painting. “Now I’mreallystarting to wonder how much I pissed you off when I met you the first time.“ Callalily turned back toward Ray at last. “Enough to thoroughly distract you for three days and to render you grumpy and argumentative whenever you saw me instead of… instead of you telling me that you think I’m beautiful the way you must have wanted to.” Callalily heaved a breath, then met Ray’s stare. “People tend to call me Cal.Youused to call me Cal most of the time. I don’t actually care much either way, except when you say Callalily.”

Ray’s mouth was dry. “Does it mean something when I say Callalily?”

“Apparently more than I thought it did.” Callalily—Cal, if that’s what he wanted—blinked. “You called me Goldenrod in the car. Did you choose that at random?”

Ray glanced away. “I’m not sure.”

“Hmm,” Cal hummed thoughtfully. “You’re lying. You know what it means. You knew what it meant when you said it.”

A murmur carried through the air, the faintest hint of a sound, and then something white and brown flew into the room, crossing the space between them. Penn jumped. Ray snarled and reached out, nearly swiping the thing from the air before he recognized the white face and dark eyes of an owl. The owl made a big deal out of getting settled on its chosen perch, what might have once been a hat stand.

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