a warlock. And that might make some sense if it was the same person who broke in my house to go for the spells, the same person who got my locket. I just know that someone besides those old-timey bandits is behind the robberies. And I can’t see them raising a zombie. A dust storm maybe, but not zombies.”
Mercutio purred.
“You know who I bet knows more than he’s telling? Bryn Lyons. He knew trouble was coming my way and gave me you. How? You think he knows who raised whatever destroyed Dr. Barnaby’s house? You think we should ask him?”
Mercutio cocked his head.
“Yeah, I’m not sure either. But what do we have to lose?”
I drove to Bryn’s house. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, given the list and all, to go inside, but I thought I could ask him to come out and talk to me. And maybe I’d get him to let me borrow a book or two.
I buzzed security, and the guy let me in. I drove to the mansion, got out, and rang the bell. A butler who looked like he’d been chipped from a giant fossil answered. He didn’t seem magical to me, but I couldn’t really rule out that he’d been raised from the dead either.
“Yes?” he asked.
I feigned tripping so I could grab his hand. It was warm enough, barely. I don’t relish the circulation problems that come with old age, but at least he wouldn’t be raiding any chicken farms.
“I’d like to see Mr. Lyons.”
“He is not at home. Business has taken him to the city of Dallas today.”
I sure liked his English accent. “When will he be home?”
“He won’t be available this evening.”
“Why won’t he be available? What will he be doing?” Conjuring demons and sending them out to smash doll collections?
“He’s a patron of the arts. Tonight, he’s going to a fund-raiser dinner for the SWWA—Southwest Writers and Actors. Would you care to leave a message? He’ll be back to change clothes between engagements.”
“No, thank you,” I said. I went back to the car. When I got in, Mercutio lifted his head and yawned.
“Yeah, I’m sleepy, too. Bryn Lyons is going to a charity dinner for actors. Did you know he’s a patron of the arts?” I shook my head, trying to wake up. It was hot in the car. According to the weather report, Duvall and the rest of Texas were experiencing record high temperatures. I wished global warming would just quit. Summer in Texas already lasts half the year.
“He doesn’t support the community theater here. Never seen him go to a play in town. Don’t you think that’s strange, Merc?”
Mercutio blinked.
“Yeah, me, too. There’s only one type of arts that I believe him to be a patron of. You got it, black arts. What should we do? Tail him?”
Merc didn’t disagree.
“All right, we’ll come back. First I’ve got to figure out a way to put Mrs. Barnaby in her grave. Then I hope we’ve got time for a nap because I have to get back to trying to find my missing family locket, too.” I looked over and found that, conserving his energy in a very catlike manner, Mercutio was already asleep, curled in the passenger seat with the air-conditioning blowing his whiskers back.
I decided I wouldn’t mind being a cat some days.
Sometimes when Momma didn’t have a spell for something, she’d make one up. That’s probably the sort of thing that a very experienced witch should do, not so much a novice one, but I was in a serious pinch here.
I needed to be quick and discreet. There were only six or seven people in town that knew magic was real, which was the way I aimed to keep it.
On the whole, folks in Duvall can be pretty sweet, but you just never know when some little town’s going to get it into its head that Salem had the right idea about what to do with witches. And Aunt Mel always supposed that might happen right about the time folks found out we didn’t keep three hundred and eighty-two Earth candles because we like the smell of dirt.
So far, we’d had good luck keeping it a secret, which
Mercutio purred.
“You know who I bet knows more than he’s telling? Bryn Lyons. He knew trouble was coming my way and gave me you. How? You think he knows who raised whatever destroyed Dr. Barnaby’s house? You think we should ask him?”
Mercutio cocked his head.
“Yeah, I’m not sure either. But what do we have to lose?”
I drove to Bryn’s house. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, given the list and all, to go inside, but I thought I could ask him to come out and talk to me. And maybe I’d get him to let me borrow a book or two.
I buzzed security, and the guy let me in. I drove to the mansion, got out, and rang the bell. A butler who looked like he’d been chipped from a giant fossil answered. He didn’t seem magical to me, but I couldn’t really rule out that he’d been raised from the dead either.
“Yes?” he asked.
I feigned tripping so I could grab his hand. It was warm enough, barely. I don’t relish the circulation problems that come with old age, but at least he wouldn’t be raiding any chicken farms.
“I’d like to see Mr. Lyons.”
“He is not at home. Business has taken him to the city of Dallas today.”
I sure liked his English accent. “When will he be home?”
“He won’t be available this evening.”
“Why won’t he be available? What will he be doing?” Conjuring demons and sending them out to smash doll collections?
“He’s a patron of the arts. Tonight, he’s going to a fund-raiser dinner for the SWWA—Southwest Writers and Actors. Would you care to leave a message? He’ll be back to change clothes between engagements.”
“No, thank you,” I said. I went back to the car. When I got in, Mercutio lifted his head and yawned.
“Yeah, I’m sleepy, too. Bryn Lyons is going to a charity dinner for actors. Did you know he’s a patron of the arts?” I shook my head, trying to wake up. It was hot in the car. According to the weather report, Duvall and the rest of Texas were experiencing record high temperatures. I wished global warming would just quit. Summer in Texas already lasts half the year.
“He doesn’t support the community theater here. Never seen him go to a play in town. Don’t you think that’s strange, Merc?”
Mercutio blinked.
“Yeah, me, too. There’s only one type of arts that I believe him to be a patron of. You got it, black arts. What should we do? Tail him?”
Merc didn’t disagree.
“All right, we’ll come back. First I’ve got to figure out a way to put Mrs. Barnaby in her grave. Then I hope we’ve got time for a nap because I have to get back to trying to find my missing family locket, too.” I looked over and found that, conserving his energy in a very catlike manner, Mercutio was already asleep, curled in the passenger seat with the air-conditioning blowing his whiskers back.
I decided I wouldn’t mind being a cat some days.
Sometimes when Momma didn’t have a spell for something, she’d make one up. That’s probably the sort of thing that a very experienced witch should do, not so much a novice one, but I was in a serious pinch here.
I needed to be quick and discreet. There were only six or seven people in town that knew magic was real, which was the way I aimed to keep it.
On the whole, folks in Duvall can be pretty sweet, but you just never know when some little town’s going to get it into its head that Salem had the right idea about what to do with witches. And Aunt Mel always supposed that might happen right about the time folks found out we didn’t keep three hundred and eighty-two Earth candles because we like the smell of dirt.
So far, we’d had good luck keeping it a secret, which
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