I didn’t argue.
We retreated to the car in silence, the wrongness of the clinic following us like a shadow. It wasn’t until we were three blocks away that the feeling began to subside. Even then, I could still sense it lurking at the edges of my awareness. A dark spot on the map of Amberford that my wolf wanted to claw at.
Didi stared out the windshield, her expression distant and troubled.
“That wasn’t just a Forgetting spell,” she said finally, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror where I sat in the back, Bo curled up tightly by my side. “Whatever that was, it was a remnant ofancient magic. A Forgetting spell hides things. It makes people not notice, not remember, not ask questions. But it doesn’t explain why the clinic felt like that. Like something wounded, or worse, hexed.”
My stomach churned at the word. I finally voiced the question that had been on my mind most of the morning.
“Could Melody Flowers have done this?”
“Melody?” Didi frowned and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “She’s powerful, but not that powerful. This would require someone with real juice. Someone who can tap into old magic.” Her frown deepened. “The kind that doesn’t get taught in standard witch training anymore.”
My wolf growled. She evidently hated the sound of that just as much as I did.
We checked out the other clinics owned by the Lincoln sisters and found them all similarly abandoned, the neighborhood business owners affected by the same Forgetting spell. To our relief, none of the buildings projected the ominous magic we’d detected on Maple Street.
We were almost back at Hawthorne & Associates when Didi appeared to come to a decision.
“I’m leaving early for the day,” she said curtly. “I need to do some research into old books.” The witch pinned us with a hard stare. “Meet me tomorrow morning at the office. Early. And bring coffee.”
8
A DARK ROAST
Dark clouds were racingacross the sky when Bo and I walked into Hawthorne & Associates the next day. Charlene and Fred were having a low-key conversation behind the front desk and greeted us distractedly as we crossed the lobby.
“Did you hear about the Phelpses?” Charlene was saying worriedly.
“You mean, the brownie family who owns that popular bakery on Third Street?”
“Yeah. They all got a bad case of the Scorches. Apparently, it’s spreading like wildfire among the brownie population.”
Fred winced. “Ouch. That’s gonna keep the fire department busy.”
“What’s the Scorches?” Bo asked as we headed for the express elevator.
“Probably something worse than Ember Pox,” I muttered.
The mood in the building seemed to mirror theweather when we hit the fifth floor. People were talking in hushed voices and everyone appeared to be walking on eggshells.
I realized why when the door to the large conference room banged open and Gavin shot out like his tail was on fire.
“Please tell me you brought coffee,” the dragon newt warbled nervously.
“I did.” I fished out a large, insulated flask from my bag.
“Thank God!” Gavin’s nostrils smoked with relief. “Didi’s on a rampage.”
That explained the general tension.
“I’ll get some cups.” Gavin disappeared in the direction of the break room. “Be careful what you say when you walk in there.”
Bo eyeballed me warily. “You ready to face the rampaging witch?”
“Do we have a choice?”
We headed over and peered cautiously around the door, Bo looking ready to turn tail and vamoose at a moment’s notice.
