Page 12 of Shift of Morals
The smell was hard to describe. Like hot, rotting garbage, with a sinister beat of magic pulsing at its heart. I had to get this thing out of my shop before it started running customers off. I took a step closer and peered through the ward.
“The preservation spell failed. Again.” I swore as I straightened. “This bouquet might not be salvageable.”
“Who’d want to keep that thing, anyway?” Moira shook her head and started toward the main shop doors.
“The bride might be human. Maybe she can’t sense the same thing we can.” I dropped the ward and reached for the magic dampening sack. “I’m going to stick this back in the fridge.” Hazel would be here soon, but if the preservation spells kept fading, there was no reason to keep the thing warded. The pouch would suppress its power long enough for Hazel to get here.
Ash pushed through the doors, yawning and immediately regretting it when the scent hit him. “Oh, gods. That is rank!”
Moira pointed to the pouch. “Blame the cursed bouquet.”
Tess came in right after Ash and gagged. “We should chuck that in the bin.”
I zipped the pouch shut and held it at arm’s length. Even through the material, I could feel the sinister beat of its power.
“We can’t. It’s sentimental.” They followed me to the walk-in and watched as I deposited the bundle in the very back.
Careful not to touch anything, I held both hands up and waited for Ash to open the door for me. “I need to wash my hands.”
“We all need decon baths,” Moira said.
“Maybe we should light a candle,” Tess added. “Everywhere.”
“Good idea.” I hurried to the office and carried a couple of well-loved candles out, setting them at opposite sides of the room. “Everything should be back to normal by the time we open.”
“What about opening the doors to let some air in?” Moira mused.
Everyone let out a vocal protest that made the vampire laugh. We might be getting close to autumn, but it was still hot as hell outside. The mornings were somewhat cool, but air conditioning was cooler.
“Candles it is,” Moira said, stepping away from the door.
Through the banter, a thought occurred to me. “Moira, can you bring all the info about the bouquet over, including the intake form the mom signed?”
Moira gave me a curious look but went to the box where we kept most of our important ledgers. I motioned her over to the worktable and pushed a stool over to her. We both sat and Moira unlocked the box, pulling everything out. Ash and Tess lingered by the register, murmuring in quiet conversation.
A few minutes later, the scent of a strong dark roast filled the shop air and a steaming mug appeared before both of us, courtesy of Ash. I gave him a grateful smile and took a sip of the brew, glad caffeine didn’t give me the jitters like it did humans sometimes.
“Are we sure the woman who brought the bouquet in was actually her mother?” I asked as I examined the ledger one more time.
Moira’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. “I guess not. I had no reason to doubt her.”
“And we’re sure there was a wedding?”
Moira’s jaw tightened. “Do you think the bouquet is meant for you?”
The thought had niggled at me for a while, but it made no sense. There were dozens of easier ways to get to me, and if anyone knew even a little about my power, they’d know I’d sense the magic clinging to the petals.
“If someone wanted to take me out, there are tons of easier ways to get the job done,” I said.
Moira blew out a breath. “I hate when you talk like that.”
“It’s true, though.” Tapping my fingers on the shiny wood, I flipped through the rest of the papers, trying to see if I’d missed anything. But it wasn’t until the intake form that I spotted it. “There.”
Moira leaned closer. At the bottom of the form was a space that asked for the wedding planner’s information. We rarely used that box because most people these days don’t use the services of a planner. More brides than ever preferred DIYing certain parts of the wedding to save money, and planners were becoming a dying breed.
“I suspected it was her.”
Moira snorted. “Caroline Merritt. Queen of the soulless mood board wedding.”
