toward the door, leaving Honora kneeling on the floor. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please, go ahead and look around all you want. I’ve nothing to hide.”
Everyone has something to hide, Honora thought.
Once Jane opened the door, the dog made a beeline for the tree in the middle of the yard. “Rex! Get back here!” Jane tripped down the front steps as she was pulled along behind him. She crossed her arms in annoyance while the dog raced around in circles, yapping and scratching at her feet. “Stop it, Rex!”
After sniffing the tree, flower bush, and Jane’s feet, Rex yanked her from the yard and headed down the driveway, tangling the woman in the leash.
Honora noticed a disturbance in the air a few feet away from Jane. It was nothing major, just a shift in the air molecules near her client. Rex barked and leapt around wildly. Honora sensed for magic, but the disturbance was gone. Perhaps it was just glare from the sun.
“Okay, okay. We can go,” Jane said to Rex as he headed toward the park at the end of the street.
“See you in a few.” Honora waved.
The house was a lot like Jane—simple with a touch of cozy. The dining room had a standard table and chairs. Every surface was immaculate, without a molecule of dust. When she went into the kitchen, Honora saw the basic copper pot hanging from a rack, a tiny window herb garden, and a dog bowl. The light scent of pine cleaning potion lingered in the air. Maybe Jane was a nervous cleaner?
Most witches were not minimalist; witches liked their stuff. Even Honora had her own vibe going in her apartment, and she was known to maintain a knickknack-free zone, but this place went to an extreme. That was the tip-off. There were hardly any personal items: no photos stuck to the refrigerator, no memorabilia, no signs of a hobby. Where was Jonathan Rainer’s personality in this place? Where was his stuff?
Honora headed to the office; maybe that was his personal domain. Unfortunately, she found nothing but a row of ink bottles and pens, a potted plant, shelves filled with antique books, and a few empty parchment scrolls. The desk drawers were practically empty. If Jonathan Rainer was a genius wizard who created the modern witching wall, nothing in his house betrayed his true nature.
Upstairs, Honora located a guest bedroom that looked like a shrine to frills and lace and the master bedroom. The couple’s bedroom was massive, with a fireplace, four-poster bed, and a closet large enough to sleep a small family. A basket filled with needlepoint supplies sat next to an overstuffed chair in the corner. Jane’s collection of embroidered cardigans hung in the closet. Half the closet was filled with men’s clothes, all lined up perfectly. The neatness was enough to give Honora hives. There wasn’t a shoe out of place.
Her nose twitched. She sniffed, and her eyes widened. A terrible smell was coming from the master bathroom. Honora peeked inside and witnessed another spotless room, but the stench was wicked nasty, and it was not your typical bathroom odor. In fact, there was a distinct scent of cleaning potions, which unfortunately couldn’t mask the odor rising out of the shower area. She took a hesitant step into the bathroom and eased her way toward the separate shower stall.
A drain that was at least five inches across was embedded in the tile floor. Honora peered down, and a waft of rottenness hit her in the face, making her eyes water. There was definitely something funky down there. What the Hazel had Jane washed down the drain? Raw meat? Her stomach rolled over. Honora pulled her wand out of an inside jacket pocket and waved it over the screws holding the metal plate in place. In seconds, Honora had the drain cover off, and she peered into the dank depths of the pipe.
“Illuminus,” she whispered, and a tiny ball of light appeared at the tip of her wand. She dipped it as far as she could down the drain and tried not to gag. She couldn’t see anything to
Everyone has something to hide, Honora thought.
Once Jane opened the door, the dog made a beeline for the tree in the middle of the yard. “Rex! Get back here!” Jane tripped down the front steps as she was pulled along behind him. She crossed her arms in annoyance while the dog raced around in circles, yapping and scratching at her feet. “Stop it, Rex!”
After sniffing the tree, flower bush, and Jane’s feet, Rex yanked her from the yard and headed down the driveway, tangling the woman in the leash.
Honora noticed a disturbance in the air a few feet away from Jane. It was nothing major, just a shift in the air molecules near her client. Rex barked and leapt around wildly. Honora sensed for magic, but the disturbance was gone. Perhaps it was just glare from the sun.
“Okay, okay. We can go,” Jane said to Rex as he headed toward the park at the end of the street.
“See you in a few.” Honora waved.
The house was a lot like Jane—simple with a touch of cozy. The dining room had a standard table and chairs. Every surface was immaculate, without a molecule of dust. When she went into the kitchen, Honora saw the basic copper pot hanging from a rack, a tiny window herb garden, and a dog bowl. The light scent of pine cleaning potion lingered in the air. Maybe Jane was a nervous cleaner?
Most witches were not minimalist; witches liked their stuff. Even Honora had her own vibe going in her apartment, and she was known to maintain a knickknack-free zone, but this place went to an extreme. That was the tip-off. There were hardly any personal items: no photos stuck to the refrigerator, no memorabilia, no signs of a hobby. Where was Jonathan Rainer’s personality in this place? Where was his stuff?
Honora headed to the office; maybe that was his personal domain. Unfortunately, she found nothing but a row of ink bottles and pens, a potted plant, shelves filled with antique books, and a few empty parchment scrolls. The desk drawers were practically empty. If Jonathan Rainer was a genius wizard who created the modern witching wall, nothing in his house betrayed his true nature.
Upstairs, Honora located a guest bedroom that looked like a shrine to frills and lace and the master bedroom. The couple’s bedroom was massive, with a fireplace, four-poster bed, and a closet large enough to sleep a small family. A basket filled with needlepoint supplies sat next to an overstuffed chair in the corner. Jane’s collection of embroidered cardigans hung in the closet. Half the closet was filled with men’s clothes, all lined up perfectly. The neatness was enough to give Honora hives. There wasn’t a shoe out of place.
Her nose twitched. She sniffed, and her eyes widened. A terrible smell was coming from the master bathroom. Honora peeked inside and witnessed another spotless room, but the stench was wicked nasty, and it was not your typical bathroom odor. In fact, there was a distinct scent of cleaning potions, which unfortunately couldn’t mask the odor rising out of the shower area. She took a hesitant step into the bathroom and eased her way toward the separate shower stall.
A drain that was at least five inches across was embedded in the tile floor. Honora peered down, and a waft of rottenness hit her in the face, making her eyes water. There was definitely something funky down there. What the Hazel had Jane washed down the drain? Raw meat? Her stomach rolled over. Honora pulled her wand out of an inside jacket pocket and waved it over the screws holding the metal plate in place. In seconds, Honora had the drain cover off, and she peered into the dank depths of the pipe.
“Illuminus,” she whispered, and a tiny ball of light appeared at the tip of her wand. She dipped it as far as she could down the drain and tried not to gag. She couldn’t see anything to
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