Before Bo could mount a defense, a voice behind us made everyone jump.
“Can I help you?”
18
DEAD END
We spun around.The woman in the flour-dusted apron stood behind us, a spatula in one hand and a look of understandable suspicion on her face. I caught her scent. She was human.
“Hi,” I said with a bright smile. “We were just?—”
“Looking for our dog,” Didi cut in smoothly. She pointed at Bo. “He got loose.”
Bo dropped down from the fence, sat on his haunches, and looked up at the woman with an expression of innocent bewilderment, tongue lolling and tail sweeping the grass.
Pearl would have been impressed by his acting.
The woman’s suspicion faded. “Oh. He’s cute.” She bent and scratched the Husky under the chin. “The food smell must have attracted him. It’s my son’s sixth birthday, you see.”
I glanced over the fence. “It looks like a lovely party.”
The woman grimaced. “The entertainers are tryingtheir best. I found them online. They’re new to the business.”
Didi and I exchanged a glance.
“We’ll be on our way, then,” the witch said with a polite smile.
The woman nodded and watched as we turned and headed back up the road.
“Are we going back to the office?” Gavin asked as we approached the car.
“I think we should talk to the Marchefords,” I said.
Didi lowered her brows. “I agree.”
It didn’t take long for the party to wind down. We watched the Marchefords pack up and tailed them back to their workshop.
Didi pulled up a short distance behind the van and killed the engine. We stepped out of the car and make no attempt to hide our presence.
Stocky Marcheford spotted us first.
He climbed down from the van and froze, his hand on the door handle. He was still wearing his clown nose. Something flickered across his face as his gaze locked with mine. Recognition.
My pulse quickened. He knew who I was.
The other Marchefords paled when they exited the van. They huddled behind their stocky counterpart, the scent of their fear tickling my nostrils.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then, Stocky Marcheford did something I didn’t expect. He pulled the red nose off, tucked it in his pocket, and walked over to us. His face was guarded but not hostile.
Up close, he smelled of sawdust, latex, and the faint residual trace of magic that all witches carried.
“Miss West.” His voice was cautious. “This is unexpected.”
“For both of us,” I said, masking my surprise. “I didn’t know my reputation preceded me.”
“You’re the new white luna of the Hawthorne pack. The entire Amberford supernatural community has heard of you.” He paused, his expression growing uncomfortable. “Besides, I can sense your powers. Anyone with an ounce of magic would be able to.”
