Poisons, Potions, and Peril, page 12
Slowly, the blue ball changed to dark purple. Then violet. And finally, magenta.
“What is it?” she asked, astonished.
“The ball is made from the tea of a very special flower. When liquor is added, it changes color. Smell it.”
Emory gave a cautious sniff. “Yum. It smells like Fruit Loops.”
He chuckled. “Taste.”
She took a sip and flavor exploded across her tongue. “It’s like a grown-up Sweet Tart. I could drink these all day!”
“Just don’t drink them too fast. They’re potent.”
Once again, the woman arrived at their table carrying a large, gold platter. She set it down gently and retreated.
The platter was piled high with what looked like gelatin cubes in various colors. Each one was about an inch square.
The smile on Noah’s face as he gazed at it was so wide, it was blinding. Like a kid at Christmas who’d just gotten everything on his letter to Santa.
“You’ve eaten this stuff before?” she asked.
“Once or twice. Dig in,” he said, grabbing a cube of whatever it was.
She assumed it was food since Noah was munching away, beaming at her. There were no utensils of any kind, so she selected a red cube—she usually liked red candy—and ate it, chewing cautiously. She’d expected something fruity, but that was definitely not what she got. The taste could only be described as umami, like beef with vegetables in a rich, herbal sauce. The texture was closer to that of a jellybean than Jell-O. It was the most bizarre combination of flavor and texture she’d ever experienced.
“That was... unexpected.”
Noah beamed. “Try another.”
This time she selected a yellow cube. “Tastes like chicken.”
“Close enough. The actual animal is extinct on Earth now, but it was very much like chicken, or so I’ve heard.”
“This is what fairies eat?” The ones who lived on Earth ate human food.
“Of course. Very efficient. Delicious, and all the nutrients required without the extras you don’t need. They eat other things, too.” He motioned to a table nearby, where the inhabitants were eating noodles similar to what Aulii had served them. “But this is some of the best.”
“I see.” Not Emory’s idea of a gourmet meal, but when in Rome. Or Fairy, rather. She tried a blue cube and made a face. It tasted like beets. She loathed beets. It was like eating dirt.
“You don’t like it, do you?”
“It’s different. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this as food. I feel like it should be sweet. You know, candy.”
He grinned. “Then you’re going to enjoy this.” He waved at someone across the room, and the server reappeared, whipping the tray of cubes away and replacing it with a different tray of cubes. Instead of jewel tones, the cubes were pastel colors: pink, peach, lemon yellow, white, pale blue.
Noah pushed the tray toward her with a smile. She hesitantly selected a peach-colored cube and bit into it. An explosion of flavor exploded across her tongue.
“Holy Hades, this tastes like chocolate. And raspberries? With cream! Oh, my goddess.” She grabbed another peach cube and chewed, moaning.
“Try a white one,” he said, handing her one of the semi-translucent squares.
A burst of something citrusy and sweet filled her mouth, and she moaned again. Noah’s eyes darkened as he licked his full lips. “Lemon merengue,” she whispered.
“Close enough.” His voice was hoarse. The look he gave her could have melted an iceberg, and she wasn’t even close to cold.
She cleared her throat. “I think I’m still hungry.” She didn’t mean food.
He frowned for a moment and then his face cleared. “I think I’ve got something that will fix that.”
“Oh, good,” she whispered, shivering with anticipation as he pulled her from the table.
Once outside, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was deep and sweet and hot all at the same time.
He pulled away only to stare down at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Chapter 18
As Emory stepped through the door to the tea shop, Té, warm, humid air hit her in the face. The shop was in an old, red caboose. A few years back, it had been part of an antique shop which encompassed the building next door, but it had gone out of business, and the buildings had been divvied up. The half on the left was now a bakery; the half on the right, including the caboose, was a tea shop.
The entrance was through the caboose. A flight of wooden stairs led down into the main part of the tearoom, where small, cozy tables and booths took up a narrow space. Hipsters with expensive computer gadgets and chunky framed glasses hunched over tables, oblivious to the world around them, steaming cups of tea lattes clutched in their beringed hands.
Emory remembered the many happy hours spent poking through antiques and imported goods in the large, windowed room when she was visiting her aunt. Now it was crammed with more tables and more hipsters. The bar was in the right-hand corner as one came down the stairs and had been designed to look like an old time apothecary shop, only this place dispensed tisanes, tea lattes, and scones instead of laudanum and Mrs. Murphy’s Miracle Syrup.
“This is interesting,” Noah said behind her. The way he said “interesting” did not indicate anything positive.
After a memorable and sleepless night, one that she’d never forget, they’d agreed to visit the tea shop together. Perhaps there they could find a lead to the killer.
One of the baristas—did they call them baristas in a tea shop? —a young man with enormous muttonchops and thick-lensed glasses, eyeballed them suspiciously. “What’ll it be?” he asked in a snooty tone that made her want to reach over and shake him by his nose hairs. “You can get coffee next door at the bakery.”
Curious that he automatically pegged her as a coffee drinker. She much preferred tea and blended her own, imbued with spellwork.
She set the tin they’d found at Zach’s house on the counter. “I believe this came from your shop.”
“So?”
“So, the tea is unique. I wondered what kind it was, as I’d like to purchase some.”
He picked up the tin, turned it over, and set it back down with a shrug. “It’s vintage Pu-Erh. Special order only and very expensive.”
“So you don’t carry it here in the shop?”
“No. Too pricey for the usual customer, but I can order some in if you like.”
“Actually,” she said, leaning on the counter, “what I really want is a list of customers who have bought this tea recently. Say, in the last month or two.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s privileged information. I can’t give that out.” His tone said he wouldn’t give it out regardless.
Some witches had the power to influence people with the tone of their voice or the power of their mind. Emory had no such abilities. Her only influence was a winning personality and ample cleavage, and so far, he’d been affected by neither. Time to send in the big guns. She stepped back and let Noah take over.
“Listen, buddy,” Noah said, “this is really important. It may help us solve a murder.”
The hipster dude snorted. When neither Noah nor Emory balked, the barista’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
They nodded.
“Are you cops?”
“Private investigators,” she offered. It was sort of true. They were, investigating the deaths, even if nobody was footing the bill.
The barista snorted again. “Sorry. Still can’t tell you.” He started to turn away, but Noah grabbed his arm so fast, Emory gasped. The barista tried to shake him off. “Listen, mister, unless you’re the police with a warrant, I’m not giving you a thing.”
“Oh yes, you are, or I will ensure that you never enjoy the pleasures of the flesh again.” His voice was a low, menacing growl that made the hairs on her arms stand up.
The barista blinked. “Are you threatening me, man?”
“I never threaten.” His voice was cold. “I promise.”
The scrawny guy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny throat. “Whatever, man. I don’t care. Let go of me, and I’ll get you the info.”
“Don’t think I won’t chase you down if you try to escape,” Noah said.
He got a little paler, if that was possible. Noah released him and muttonchop boy quickly typed something into the computer. “In the last six months only three customers have ordered this particular tea.” He hit a button, and Emory heard a printer below the counter spitting out ink. He reached down, grabbed the paper, and practically threw it at them. “There you go. Now get out of here before you get me into trouble.”
“Thanks for your cooperation,” she said sweetly. The barista snarled and gave her the finger. Noah grabbed her hand, and they hurried up the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. “I can’t believe he actually gave the list to us,” she said. “Way to shake him down.”
“It’s what I do.”
She laughed. “Yes, you play the intimidation card rather well.” She scanned the sheet of paper. “None of the victim’s names are on here,” she said. “So someone must have given it to them.”
“Anyone stand out? Maybe someone with the title ‘Evil Overlord’ after their name?”
“No.” She laughed. “That would be too easy. Let’s go to my shop so I can research these people, maybe find a connection between them and the victims.”
“You go ahead. I have a few things to take care of.”
“Sure. I’ll see you later?”
He gave her an abrupt nod before disappearing down the street. She stared after him, baffled. Apparently she was on her own.
“WHAT DID THAT TANKARD ever do to you?”
Noah glanced up from the pint of beer he’d been glaring at. Edwina loomed over him, her impressive bosom barely restrained by a lace-up bodice in a purple color. Her hair was done up in Princess Leia buns. She looked like she belonged at a Renaissance Faire or ComicCon.
“Just thinking,” he said, raising his beer. It was good stuff, as beer went. He was more of a wine guy, but the bar was fresh out of moonberry wine. Imagine that.
Edwina sat on the barstool next to him. The bartender didn’t even ask, just brought her a pint identical to Noah’s.
She took a deep swig. “It’s not honey mead, but it’ll do.”
The two of them stared at the television for a long moment. A sports game was playing, the volume off. In the background the old-fashioned jukebox cranked out an old Bon Jovi song. He could never remember the name of it, but he liked the heavy beat.
“I’m guessing you didn’t call me here to brood over our beer,” she said, breaking the silence. She tapped a short, lime green nail on the bar.
“I’m old.”
“Aren’t we all? I turn sixty-five next month. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I mean really old. Possibly the oldest.”
She gave him a measured look. “And?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About?”
“Emory. She’s the problem.”
“Ah.” Her eyes took on a knowing look. “You haven’t told her what you are, have you?”
“She wasn’t part of the plan.”
Edwina barked a laugh. “You gotta know that any time you make plans, the universe is gonna delight in messing with them.”
“True.” He took another swallow of beer. “Trouble is, I have no idea what to do about it. About her. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
“Ever?”
“Nope.”
“That sucks. That’s a long time to not feel that. I personally have been madly in love with at least three people in my life. Two were at the same time. Have you told her how you feel?”
He shook his head.
“Idiot.”
“I know. But how am I supposed to explain that I’m older than dirt? Literally.”
She smirked. “I don’t know, but you better figure it out, or she is gonna have your plums on a stick. Roast ’em over her little witchy fire.”
He winced. “Thanks for the visual.”
“Listen.” She shoved her empty glass away. “This is how I see it. You got two choices. Either forget the witch and go on about your business, or man up and face the consequences. Easy.”
“Sure, easy.” Except it wasn’t. If he stayed it meant risking his heart, the one thing that had never been in danger before. That was scarier than facing a hundred insurgents.
She stood. “Good luck to you. You’re going to need it.”
“Thanks for nothing,” he said drily.
“Hey, if it was me, the choice would be easy. But then I’m the kind of woman who takes what I want and hang the consequences.” She winked and strode out of the bar.
He went back to glaring at his beer. Hang the consequences. Yeah, he could do that.
Chapter 19
“Oh, he’s cute,” Lene said, peering over Emory’s shoulder at the image of a dark-haired man with sleepy, bedroom eyes. “Who is he?”
“Lucien Antonelli. One of the people who purchased a special tea from the tea shop.”
She frowned. “What’s important about that?”
“It’s the same tea I found in our third victim’s house. It’s how the killer bespelled the victims. It’s special order tea, and only three people have purchased it in the past six months. Lucien Antonelli is one of them. I’m trying to determine if he is any relation to our victims.”
“You mean that hottie might be the killer?” She sounded disappointed.
“Maybe. So far I can’t find a connection between him and any of the dead people.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to think someone that good-looking was a serial killer.”
Emory rolled her eyes. “You’ve heard of Dahmer, right? Ted Bundy? Serial killers, both considered quite handsome, at least by some.” They were definitely not to her taste. She preferred her men less...murdery.
“Such a waste.” Lene drifted off to poke around in the sale bin.
“Don’t you have a store to run?” Emory asked. She felt like she’d been asking that a lot lately.
“The shop’s always dead this early, so I decided to push my opening time back an hour. You got me for thirty more minutes.”
“Wonderful,” Emory said dryly.
The bell jangled, and Veri breezed in with a tray of coffees and a box of donuts. “Hey, gorgeous ladies. What’s happening? Brought sustenance.”
“Don’t you have a shop to maintain?” Emory asked, grabbing a donut.
“It’s totally dead today, so I left Noah in charge. Virgil is trying something new. Lavender and thyme donuts. Not sure how I feel about them.”
Emory nearly choked on a bite of donut. “You left Noah alone in a lingerie shop?”
“Sure. Why not? Man needs to earn his keep. Besides, I figured he’d bring in the ladies.”
Emory had no doubt that was true.
“What are you up to?” Veri peered over Emory’s shoulder, just as Lene had done a moment before.
“She’s looking for serial killers,” Lene said, taking a cappuccino and a donut.
“And you think Lucien is a serial killer?” Veri asked.
Emory glanced up. “You know him?”
“He’s witchblood. Recently moved from Phoenix. His mom and mine were in the same coven back in the ’60s.” Like Emory, Veri looked no older than late twenties. She was, in fact, much closer to fifty.
“Is he a natural?” Emory asked. A true male witch was rare. While plenty of witchblood males carried the genetics to have daughters who were natural witches, few of them inherited abilities themselves.
“Yep. That’s why I talked him into moving here. I figured he would find Portland more comfortable.”
“Why haven’t you suggested him for the coven?”
Veri smiled. “He’s not a portal witch. Besides, he’s already found a coven he likes. They do a lot of naked moonlight dancing and stuff. He’s kind of hippie that way.”
Which would explain the exotic tea. “When did he move here?”
“Couple months ago. Why?”
“Still in our time frame, unfortunately. I can’t rule him out. What does he do for a living?”
“He’s a veterinarian.”
“So he loves animals. Perfect,” Lene cooed, fluttering her lashes as she munched on a pink donut.
That was another mark in his favor. She had found nothing to suggest he had a habit of poisoning people with tea. She moved on to the next name on the list.
“Hey, send me his deets, will you?” Lene asked.
“Why?”
“So I can Facebook-stalk him.” Emory and Veri stared at her. “What?” Lene said. “I’m not going to do anything weird.”
Veri laughed. “Girl, if you want an introduction so bad, all you gotta do is ask. I’m outta here. Better check and see if Noah’s burned the place down yet.”
“Thanks for the coffee and donuts,” Emory said. Veri waved and sashayed out the door, bell jingling as she went. Emory turned back to her research.
“Another hottie?” Lene asked. She caught sight of the next person of interest. “Oh. Never mind.”
The second name on the list was Daisy Hu. She looked to be about seventy. Emory doubted she was going around bespelling people, but due diligence was required. A surface search revealed nothing of interest.
Number three wasn’t a person. It was a business called the Green Leaf Clinic—which sounded like a marijuana dispensary—with an address about half a mile from Healing Herbs. She’d never heard of it, so she did a quick search online. It was a natural health and alternative medicine clinic, which didn’t rule out cannabis. She couldn’t immediately see the connection between such a place and her victims and decided to do a tracking spell.
The shop was empty except for Lene, so she opened up a web browser and pulled up a map of the local area. Then she entered each address of the three people who’d ordered the tea. After markers showed up, she focused on each one, muttering an incantation under her breath.
