Sloane appeared beside the noxious dumpster behind Reed’s Fish Market, patted herself, and thanked God she hadn’t teleported inside it. The damp air seeped through her cardigan, chilling her flesh as she crept behind the buildings between the market and A Different Petal.
It was still early, and Old Main was quiet, but the flower shop door was open. Lore appeared, pulling a display out onto the sidewalk. Sloane jerked back. Good. Lore was at work, she thought and hastened down a tiny alleyway to the back of the building. She climbed the stairs by twos to Lore’s apartment and pulled a pack of tools from her tote.
The front door unlocked with one try, and she slipped inside.
The living room was cozy. Sloane looked around and dropped to her knees, crawling over a plush rug and looking under side tables and a leather claw-foot sofa. She lifted sofa and chair cushions, searched behind tables and art on the walls, and rummaged through the kitchen drawers and cabinets.
A door slammed below, and Sloane froze, listening for footsteps. There was only one way out of the apartment and nowhere to hide. Had she thought this plan through? Should she call for backup? No. She didn’t want to risk Lore refusing to talk and had questions that needed answering.
Sloane waited several minutes and snuck down a hallway to the rear of Lore’s apartment. Incense impregnated the walls and floor. The scent grew thicker at the end of the hall. Sloane opened the door into Lore’s bedroom, an intimate space, barely fitting the three pieces of furniture that filled every inch. She searched Lore’s chest of drawers, under her bed, and the substantial wardrobe. Nothing. She ran her hands along the back of the massive piece of furniture, then pressed her body against it, pushing it aside and exposing a doorway covered in heavy drapes.
Sloane whispered, “What do we have here?”
Lore had turned her walk-in closet into a covenstead. There was a pot-belly stove and a stack of files on a small side table on one side. A center table full of bottles and a Bunsen burner, and a lectern with an open book on the other side. The Book of Hagorúnum . She turned the front endpapers. Jane West, 1982 . Her mother’s book. Lore must have stolen it and taught herself wiċċedōn.
Sloane yanked open the velvet shrouds lining the walls and found a collage of photos with the picture of the Four Musketeers displayed dead center. Nathaniel’s and Harold’s faces had been scratched out.
Throwing the drapes outward as if she were a stiff wind, Sloane found the Degas. Undamaged.
There was one more thing to locate, and she could hand Lore Reed over to Sharma or the Weardas, or whoever the hell needed to take her. Sloane leafed through the stack of files—Alice Reed’s medical history and years-old financial records for the fish market. Halfway through the pile, she stopped. “Gotcha.” She pulled out two manila covers, Harold’s and Charles’s wills, and dropped them in her tote.
* * *
The flower shop’s back door was unlocked, and Sloane crept inside. She needed some answers before the RCMP got involved and slowed her investigation down. Lore Reed stood at the service counter in a simple cap-sleeve dress with splashes of spring-flower colors. A matching scarf held her hair off her face. Her back was to Sloane, but she asked, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Sloane moved behind a group of parlor palms. “I did.”
Lore continued to work on a floral arrangement. “I’m disappointed in Dora’s training. I’ve heard your footsteps since you arrived. Hasn’t she taught you to bestealce?”
Sloane kept her focus on Lore’s back. “How long have you known about Dorathea training me?”
“Since she came to see you at Mallow Cottage. Of course, I can’t cross her house spirit, but I know that’s where she teaches you.” Lore stuck a rose into the vase and turned the arrangement around. “What brought you to my humble covenstead?”
“I needed evidence.” Sloane stepped away from the plants. “I’ve figured out who killed Harold and Charles.”
“So soon? I mean, I assumed you would, but in only one week. I’m impressed.” Lore replaced a eucalyptus stalk. “You really enjoy your work, don’t you? That is admirable.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Sloane hid behind a column, scanning the shop for defensive positions when Lore tired of talking. “I suspect the same person also murdered Jane and her parents.”
“You’re a much better detective than I thought.” Lore snipped a length of red ribbon and tied a bow around the vase’s neck. “Jane tried her hand at investigation, too. But unfortunately, she wasn’t clever enough to figure out my secret. Clearly, you didn’t get your abilities from her. Your father must have passed them to you. But, of course, heaven knows who he is. Or maybe it’s hell that does.”
Sloane’s body tensed with anger.
“Why so quiet? Cat got your tongue?” Lore added leatherleaf fern to the arrangement. “You must be pleased with yourself. Even though last night set you back a bit.”
Sloane eased around the column, closer to the service counter. “Why not kill me when you had the chance? Is Elvina too powerful for you?”
Lore laughed. “Oh, I wasn’t trying to kill you. I only wanted to summon sweet Jane’s familiar. She has only so many lives. I’m surprised she didn’t hide her face from me when we met last week on your arrival. But then again, you did drug her. Anyway, she hasn’t changed a bit.”
“No, she hasn’t. She’s still powerful, and you failed.”
Lore grinned. “If my count is correct, she won’t be fine next time.”
“You’re not going to find that out,” Sloane said, her heart pounding. She tried to soothe her tensed muscles, to focus on protecting, but her anger was turning to rage. She spoke to Elvina.
Have Dorathea and Lieutenant Sharma come to A Different Petal. And if you get a signal to protect me, ignore it. It’s a trap.
Lore turned the vase from side to side, judging her work. “I knew Jane could be cruel, but to hide you from your family and who you are. That’s unspeakable.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Don’t pretend to know anything about my life.”
Sloane stood just steps away. “Oh, but I know everything about you.”
Lore turned around and faced her. “It’s a pity your familiar needs to recuperate today.”
“I can take care of myself. I’ve called the police. They’ll be here any minute. I have all the evidence the RCMP needs to arrest you.”
Lore scoffed. “So confident. Just like your mother.” She turned back to her workstation and unwrapped another bunch of roses.
“Let’s make this easy,” Sloane said.
“I’m not resisting, am I? We’re just having a conversation. You need answers from me, and I need answers from you. Besides, Elvina would have appeared by now if you were in danger, right?”
Sloane considered her next move. She knew Lore was capable of casting a death curse, Amyrdrian, which she couldn’t deflect. And why the hell didn’t she know how to?
“Should I take your silence as a sign of cooperation?” Lore snapped her scissors on another length of ribbon.
“All right,” Sloane answered. “What answers do you need?”
“Has Dora taken you through the tree wall?”
Sloane recalled the mineral deposits in the gray stone at the back of the crypt, how they came alive, shimmering into a tree. Lore must know about the West Coven’s passage to Tagridore. Did she follow them into the crypt and watch them pass through it? But how did she see them without being caught?
“Why?” Sloane asked.
“It’s not your turn for questions. First, you answer mine.”
“Yeah. She’s taken me a few times.”
Lore tightened the red satin strip around the vase’s neck. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Wait. You had your question. It’s my turn.” Sloane backed away, moving toward a stack of potting soil bags. “I’m sure you and your family went all the time. Well, except for Alice. That must’ve hurt.” She studied Lore’s reaction. “But no, you and Quinn couldn’t go either, could you? Is that why James and Alice lied to you and never told you about it?”
“My parents kept nothing from us.”
“Oh, c’mon Lore. They’ve lied to you your entire life. Just like Jane lied to me. Let’s at least be honest with each other.”
Lore dropped the scissors and leaned forward with hands flat against the counter.
“Your father is still lying to you. He pretends it’s normal that he and Quinn are different from you. They’re Predators, right? An eagle and owl. Like the beautiful sculptures you bought them—the owl in Quinn’s office and the sculpture of the eagle catching a fish in your father’s market. But you’re Prey. A rat. Just like Alice and the rest of your banished family.”
Lore held herself steady, her arms trembling.
Sloane knew Lore was one push away from rage overwhelming her, and she knew just where to shove. “That wasn’t their greatest lie, though, was it? When did you find out you weren’t a Reed because you were Rattus ?”
“Enough,” Lore shouted. The sound of her fury spread through the store. She grasped a wooden stick and spun around.
“Amyrdrian,” she screamed. A green light flew from the wand’s tip.
Sloane dove out of the way as a dark blur streaked past her. It intercepted the flash and dropped with a thud. Sloane landed on her side behind the potting soil, immediately scrambling to her feet.
“Elvina!” she cried out and crawled to the familiar’s lifeless body. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” Lifting Elvina onto her lap, she stroked her dark-gray fur. “I’ll take you to Freya. She’ll heal you. Hold on.”
“Don’t move. Or the next curse will kill you and not your familiar.”
“Hang on, please,” Sloane whispered. Her eyes welled as she nestled her face into Elvina’s back. She closed them and summoned her third eye. But before Sloane could see through the veil, Lore flicked her wand, and the chiller doors opened. Elvina’s body flew across the room, slamming against the back wall.
“She’s of no use to you now.”
“No!” Sloane jumped to her feet, focused on Lore’s hand, and yelled, “Āniman!”
“Ábýge!” Lore deflected her spell. “You’re strong but too slow. And your eyes give you away.”
Sloane gave a guttural cry and drove the stacked bags of potting soil into the service counter. Lore was trapped.
Sloane crouched behind a stack of planters. She wanted to hold Lore there until Dorathea and Veena arrived, but now all she could think about was getting Elvina to Freya.
Lore suddenly appeared on the other side of the counter, brushing the dirt from her dress. “My, you have extraordinary strength, an unusual ability.”
Sloane stood. “I thought we were going to have a conversation. One tough question and you lose your shit? You kill again?”
“I have a schedule to keep. Killing that scrawny old cat was my first task.”
“When did you find out who your real father was?” Sloane taunted.
Lore stepped closer without answering.
“I don’t blame you for denying it. Your mother fell in love with Harold but still married James, already pregnant with you. Even when you developed feelings for Charles, in reality your first cousin, she still didn’t tell you. That’s why you had to break up with him, right? Not because you slept with Ken Keane.”
“You’re wrong!” Lore shrieked. She wielded her wand and cast a litany of incantations. Pots exploded, and broken pottery showered the area.
Sloane ran toward a long wooden fixture and dove as a jagged piece of ceramic caught the back of her leg. She crawled behind the display shelf, pain searing from her calf. She yanked the shard out, her anger flaring. Sloane limped to the other end of the card display. “How did you find out that your father was Harold? Did you shape-shift and scurry into his office? A rat in the corner eavesdropping, overhearing Harold telling Charles to stay away from you. Was that how Harold ruined your future? Your life with Charles?”
Lore screamed, casting a spell toward a chandelier above Sloane. The crystal and glass crashed onto the display as she ran to the far side of the work counter.
“Harold could’ve been mistaken, though, right? But then again, you got Alice’s family name. Emilie, a variation of Emley, the original Denwick family, banished all those years ago.” Finally, Sloane heard sirens in the distance. “You’re out of time, Lore.”
Lore cackled. “I don’t fear Nogicals.” The floral arrangement Lore had been working on exploded above Sloane’s head and glass showered down. “Why don’t you stand up and fight me? Hasn’t Dorathea taught you more than a disarming spell?”
“You got the last laugh, though, didn’t you? I’ve found Harold’s and Charles’s wills in your little covenstead. James gets a portion of their land when it reverts to what are now just three families. And you, well, you get revenge. Revenge for the banished families as well as for anyone who has ever wronged you. And all you had to do was sell your soul to a Demon.”
Lore sneered. “You know nothing about revenge.”
“I know it makes people do monstrous things.”
“We’re not ordinary people, Sloane. But then sweet Jane lied to you. Never told you who you really are, a wiċċe. You thought you were a Nogical.” She slipped along the counter.
“That doesn’t mean I have to be a monster.”
“Of course, it doesn’t.” Lore’s voice calmed as she stepped in front of Sloane. “I’m a bit disappointed in you. Where’s the fight you gave Liam Morris? I didn’t expect you to crawl about the floor like a coward.”
Sloane jumped to her feet. Her leg throbbed. “Like you? Scurrying around. That’s how you discovered the Wests were wiċċan, right? A little rat, burrowing into their home.”
A police SUV and an unmarked car screeched to a stop outside the building. At the same time, a voice called from the door. “Lore, put down your wand.” It was Dorathea.
Lore cackled and grabbed Sloane’s arm, pulling her close. “You poor old woman, Dorothea. You can’t stop me.” She nodded toward the police cars outside. “You are bound to keep our secret from them. But I’m not. We’re finished hiding in the shadows. Lying about who we are. There will be no more separation between our worlds. Lecgan lāstas!”