Page 25 of A Witchy Spell Ride
“And you’re in danger.” She moved in careful steps, like she was approaching a wild animal. “Okay. Don’t touch anything else. Walk me through exactly what you did after you came out from the storeroom.”
“I came out with the sage bundles. Put them on the middle table. Went to grab twine from the drawer. Turned back, saw… that.” I gestured at the counter with two fingers and every muscle in my arm shaking.
Briar circled the rose. “No water. No vase. Thorns trimmed. Long stem cut at an angle.” She crouched, peered at the base. “Clean cut. Florist’s knife, not kitchen scissors.”
“The florist from uptown,” I said before I could stop myself. The one who’d sent the lilies and the bottle tied with red thread. The memory skittered through me like a roach.
Briar’s gaze flicked to mine. “You think?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll add it to the list.” She lifted the note by two corners and read it, her mouth flattening. “Well, that’s a cocktail of delusion.” She set it back exactly where it had been. “Check the cameras?”
“My phone feeds say all clear,” I said, swallowing. “But the motion notices—”
“Let me guess. Nothing in the last fifteen minutes.”
“Nothing.”
“Which means he knew where they are.” She turned slowly, scanning. “Or he jammed them. But this isn’t Mission Impossible; it’s the Quarter. More likely he’s been here before and clocked the angles. Or…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing at the ceiling.
“Or what?”
“Or he was already inside.”
I felt my stomach pitch. “Don’t.”
She pointed at the dark corner above the incense shelf. “If he slipped in while you were restocking and tucked into that blind spot, all he had to do was wait. Two minutes. You step into the back. He leaves his little love letter. Slips out with the bell muffled.”
“How would he muffle the bell?” I asked automatically, grateful for a problem to solve instead of a feeling to drown in.
Briar walked to the door, reached up, and slid a finger under the bell. A small triangle of felt clung to the clapper. She peeled it off and held it between two gloved fingertips. “Like that.”
A shiver traced my spine. “I didn’t put that there.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She lifted her chin toward the counter. “Bag the note and the felt. We’ll see if Cross can talk one of his ‘I don’t do this anymore’ guys into a favor.”
“He’ll tell Reaper.”
“Not if I ask the right way.” She glanced at me. “I can be very persuasive.”
“I know.” My voice sounded small. “Briar—”
“I’m not telling him,” She said, reading me too easily. “Not yet. But we’re not playing dumb, either.”
She moved like a storm through the shop, fast, focused, a little destructive. She checked the back door. The hair I lay across it a few days ago when I was on a cleaning bender was gone, but that didn’t mean anything; I was prone to sweeping up anything that offended my sense of order. She checked the windows, the latch on the bathroom window I never used, the narrow grate in the alley that wouldn’t fit a cat. She pressed her ear to the wall, because why not.
“Sometimes you just have to listen to a building,” she said, eyes closed. “They tell you who’s been touching them.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m correct.” She opened her eyes. “You need to pack a bag.”
“I’m not leaving my shop.”
“You are if I have to drug you and carry you out.”
I stared at her. “You’re five foot two.”
