Wicked as She Wants by Delilah S. Dawson Page B

want to appear a threat to this Mr. Sweeting. Not at first.
    The room wasn’t as dusty as it looked from outside. But it was crowded. An army of jars squatted on a bookshelf, each of their freakish inhabitants more grotesque than the last. An entire wall held nothing but heads on plaques, from the usual hunting trophies to more humans and Bludmen, their glass eyes too focused for comfort. A large black bear loomed in the corner, mouth open to show ivory teeth tipped in red. And the glass counterfacing the door held anything that could be stuffed and even some things that didn’t seem possible, such as a tiny Kraken that should have collapsed out of water, frozen in time and shiny with varnish. A clockwork fox trotted out from behind the counter and barked, copper wings folded at its sides.
    Something stroked my shoulder with a serpent’s impersonal coldness, and I bit back a hiss. It was a bookish-looking man in a stylish suit, with red skin, a black spade beard, and horns. He was the Pinky devil incarnate, despite his natty cravat, and I disliked him immediately.
    “Can I help you, miss?” he said with a crocodile’s smile.
    “I was interested in the earbobs on that . . . er . . . lady’s head in the window. Are they for sale?”
    “You don’t look like my usual customers.” He hadn’t blinked yet. Neither had I.
    “You don’t look like my usual tasseinist, and you didn’t answer my question. The earbobs. Are they for sale or not?”
    “I’m afraid not, miss. That piece is on reserve for a very important foreign client, half of a matched set, and I can’t dismantle the merchandise. But I’ve got an entire case of trinkets over here, if you’d care to look.”
    I didn’t care to do any such thing, but I couldn’t think of a reasonable response to the contrary. He led me to a different case, shining under a single light. I was treated to the strange theatrics of his tail, which was red and long, with a forked end. It waved around behind him in a distracting sort of way, as if it had a mind of its own.
    “If it’s earbobs you’re looking for, there are several sets in this case. But I must warn you, miss.” He leaned over the glass, his eyes boring into mine. “These aren’t ordinary goods. I’m not a milliner or a jeweler or even anantiques dealer. Everything in my shop has a price. Some pieces are cursed, some are lucky, most were taken off of dead bodies or stolen from the claws of skeletons. Touch not, lest ye be touched.”
    “I understand.” My nod of dismissal didn’t budge him. “Thank you for the warning.”
    As I considered the case of sparkling jewelry, he loomed over me. Did I imagine that leather wings curled around me, luring me closer to the magical objects within? Surely he had some sort of magic about him, for every object seemed brighter and more beautiful than the last. Gems, necklaces, bracelets, earbobs with silver clips, rings, a diadem, and a set of talons made of rubies all beckoned, whispering on the edge of hearing.
    And then I saw it.
    “That piddly little ring there, with the blue paste jewel. How much?”
    His gloved hand snaked in and pulled it out.
    “You have quite the eye, miss.” He rolled the ring back and forth between satin gloves.
    Somewhere in the back of my mind, I noticed that he had six fingers on each hand. But that wasn’t important. What really mattered was that he was holding the Ring of Freesian Succession, the jewel that announced Olgha’s claim to our matriarchal throne. Its very existence was a deeply kept family secret, or else it would have already been in Ravenna’s lacquered claws, and he surely wouldn’t have had it on display with the other baubles.
    “But I assure you that this stone is not paste. This, my lady, is a midnight diamond, perfectly formed and flawless. The fifteen blue topazes circling it are cold as ice andsaid to have mesmerizing powers when wielded by a true witch. It is the finest piece in my