He showed me his teeth. “People aren’t going to come to my store if they know I’m giving information to bounty hunters.”
That was a yes.
“Look, she’s not even in that much trouble. But the more time goes by without her turning herself in, the worse it’s going to be for her.”
He shook his head, turning away dismissively and I tried again. “It’s a misdemeanor. She’s probably terrified and acting against her best interests. Let me help her, Gary.”
“God you’re a pain in my ass.”
I nodded. I was.
He heaved a sigh. “She came in a few weeks ago.”
“What was she looking for?”
Gary angled his head and I fought the urge to curse at him. The kids were here. Plus, if I pissed him off, he’d clam up. I leaned against the counter and waited him out.
“Witchweed.”
My mouth dropped open, and for a moment I couldn’t get a single word out.
A few decades ago, witches began experimenting with potions made from ingredients found in the other realms. Witchweed was one of those ingredients, and it was only used for one kind of spell: A forget-me spell.
As soon as the witches figured out what witchweed could do, they advertised to humans. Forget-me spells became disgustingly popular and were used during all kinds of crimes. Rapes, murders, wiping witnesses’ memories before they were due to testify… it got to the point where restaurants were closing as trust disappeared. Customers never knew if a waitress or chef had been bribed to slip a potion into their food. Then, someone figured out how to fix the spell so it didn’t need to be ingested. That’s when the Mage Council got involved.
These days, the spell was highly regulated. It was occasionally used by therapists for the treatment of severe trauma and PTSD, but I’d heard that a patient who agreed to such a treatment had to go on a waiting list for at least a year to ensure they didn’t change their mind. Witches who wanted to use the spell had to apply for a license, justifying their use.
I had no doubt that the occasional black witch still used the forget-me spell when it couldn’t be traced back to them, but Mary Johnson was a gray witch. What would she be doing with a forget-me spell?
A flash of what might’ve been guilt crossed Gary’s face, although it was gone before I could be sure. He straightened his shoulders, planted his feet, and stared me straight in the eye.
“I don’t sell it to any witches who stink of black magic,” he said defensively. The kids had gone quiet, and I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Okay. How much did you sell her?”
“I couldn’t sell to her. I’d sold the last of my stash to another witch a few days earlier.”
“What did Mary say when you told her that?”
“She was disappointed. And a little pissed. She asked me the name of the witch and I told her I didn’t know.”
I opened my mouth and he narrowed his eyes at me. “Now, I know you’re not going to ask me about my customers’ private information,” he said.
I gave him a hard stare. Gary sure was acting indignant for someone who was selling witchweed on the downlow.
He crossed his arms defensively at my silence. “I got–”
“Kids to feed. Yeah, yeah. Give me the name Gary. I won’t let it come back to you.”
“She didn’t tell me her name.”
I waited him out. Gary was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an idiot. He may be avaricious, but he would’ve taken the witch’s name just in case she did something with the spell that ended up on the Mage Council’s radar.
He thinned his lips and I sighed. “How much is it gonna cost me?”
“I can’t be bought.”
I glanced down at the cash I’d just paid for Selina’s information. Gary snatched it off the counter and glowered at me, his gray cheeks heating. His chin jutted out and I sighed.
