‘What is that location charm you’re always using to find things?’
Huffing out a breath, Ellie unbuttoned her coat as Ophelia scampered out of the pocket and onto the counter, her sleek, white hair begging for Clio to reach out and stroke. It was an invitation she couldn’t refuse. Ophelia hummed happily. She only allowed those trusted few family members close to Ellie to touch her, and Clio found comfort in the soft warmth of her fur.
‘I don’talwaysuse it. It isn’t as though I’mconstantlylosing things.’ Ellie patted the pocket of her coat, then her skirts, then looked around the counter. ‘Where the blast did I put those lemon drops?’
Clio would have found the whole thing amusing if she weren’t plagued with a sense of unease about Lieutenant General Grey. ‘You left them by the True Love’s Scent.’ A new product Clio developed using rose oil, steamed Anthurium leaf, distilled Hoya Kerri petals, amethyst crushed into a fine powder for clarity, and a bit of heat pulled from the heart of her witchflame to bubble the components into a perfume. The scent changed based on the unique chemistry of the woman wearing it and was designed to help the wearer find deeper appreciation for oneself. Coincidentally, it also seemed to draw men like moths to the flame, making it one of the more popular sellers in the store.
Ellie floated down the far left aisle, finding her abandoned bag of treats and popping one in her mouth. She was addicted to anything saccharine, and though she cursed her plump figure, she wouldn’t sacrifice her craving just to fit into a smaller dress size. Clio thought her sister’s figure was magnificent, even if she would never achieve the tiny waist so popular in fashion plates. Who wanted to force their body to be any shape other than exactly what it was, at any rate?
Every corset manufacturer in England and France. And we are the bloody fools who wear them.
Her distracted thoughts bounced like marbles on a stone bench. Ellie was the scattered one of the two sisters, but Clio couldn’t seem to pull herself to rights after the unexpected vision.
She needed to find Lieutenant General Grey and confirm he wasn’t dead.
Unless he is. Damnation.
‘The location charm… what is it?’
Ellie spoke around the lemon drop, causing her to lisp. ‘“Goddess, Mother, Great Divine, send to me what I cannot find.” And then you just visualise the thing you’ve lost. Did you lose something?’
Clio bit her lip. She hated lying, so she opted for omitting some truths. ‘Err, not really. Just, well, do you think the spell works on people as well as it does on bags of gumdrops?’
‘Lemon drops. And I’ve no idea if it works on people. I’ve never lost a person.’ Ellie narrowed her eyes, no doubt seeing the odd fluctuation in Clio’s aura. It was one of Ellie’s gifts and made it dashed difficult to get away with any falsehoods around her. Ellie once told Clio that when people lied, the colour of their aura shifted, almost like gauze being draped over a lamp. Clio hated to guess what her aura was doing right now.
She called Sir Robin to her shoulder and gave her sister the brightest smile she could muster.
‘Have you lost someone?’
‘Bastard!’ Sir Robin rubbed his head against her cheek.
Clio laughed, the shrill sound making her wince. ‘Don’t be silly. Lost someone. Really. Who could I possibly lose? Right, well. Now that you are back, I shall go and see if your charm works on helping me find… err… my missing ear bobs.’
‘Your favourite amethyst ones? The pair Aunt Rowan got you for your birthday?’ Ellie’s eyes widened with worry.
Relieved her ploy had worked, Clio nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, those.’
‘The ear bobs you’re wearing… right now?’ She pointed helpfully to Clio’s earlobe, where the blasted teardrop dangled.
‘Umm, no. Not these ones. A different pair,’ Clio hedged.
‘A different pair of amethyst ear bobs that Aunt Rowan got you for your birthday?’ Ellie’s sweet smile belied the wicked glint in her eyes.
‘Yes. Exactly.’
‘Of course. Well, good luck finding whatever it is you’ve lost. Orwhomever.’
‘Thanks.’ Clio didn’t try to correct her sister. There was no point as they both knew Ellie was right. And Clio appreciated any luck her sister might wish. She was going to need all of it if she found Lieutenant General Grey dead.
4
It had taken Thomas three days to secure a meeting with his sister, and even then, it was only because he agreed to meet with her in the middle of a fitting with her modiste, the infamous and highly sought-after Madame Laurent.
Thomas sat in a delicate wicker chair, surrounded by swatches of lace, silk, cotton, and God only knew what else. His sister stood in the centre of the frilly fitting room on a small, raised dais while a young woman crouched on the floor, measuring the hem of a new ballgown under the watchful – and terrifying – gaze of Madame Laurent. Frankly, he was astounded the shop had any fabric left. Surely most of it must be draping his sister.
‘I can’t imagine the soldiers in my battalion carried more weight in their armour than you are currently holding up in that skirt.’ Thomas looked at his sister in the reflection of a three-panelled looking glass.
‘Men ’ave their uniforms, and we ladies ’ave our own.’ Madame Laurent purred, her thick accent most assuredly fake. She gave Thomas a heavy-lidded look that dripped with sexual invitation. A hot flush darkened his cheeks.
