“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Miss Wickwood, lying to your protection detail is counterproductive.”
“I’m not lying. I’m strategically omitting details.”
“That’s the definition of lying.”
“How did you know?”
“Your gathering basket still smelled like moonbell sap. The murder occurred on the full moon, when moonbells bloom. And you were carrying shears designed for magical plants.”
“I had a permit.”
“You had an expired permit for common herbs. Moonbells require Class Seven certification.”
“The renewal takes six months. I’ve been waiting since April.”
“And you needed the flowers urgently enough to risk criminal charges?”
She stared out the window. How could she explain that Mrs. Henderson’s granddaughter was struggling with her curse, and moonbell flowers were the only ingredient that could ease her suffering? That sometimes the law moved too slowly for people who were in pain?
“It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it.”
Before she could respond, Marcus pulled into a drive-through coffee shop. The barista leaned out with an artificial smile.
“What can I get you folks?”
“Two coffees, black,” Marcus said.
“Make mine with cream and sugar,” Hazel corrected.
The barista’s smile widened. “Coming right up!”
Marcus handed over a twenty and accepted two steaming cups, passing one to Hazel. She wrapped her hands around the warm cardboard, grateful for something to occupy her nervous energy.
They drove in silence for several minutes before Marcus raised his coffee to his lips. He paused, frowning at the cup.
“Don’t drink that,” he said sharply, pulling over.
Hazel looked at her cup. “What’s wrong?”
“The scent’s off. Copper and sulfur instead of coffee.” Marcus set his cup down without drinking. “Death curse. Professional work.”
“That barista tried to kill us?”
“Very much so.” Marcus made a U-turn. “Assassination attempt.”
When they reached the spot where the drive-through had been, there was nothing but an empty field.
“Well,” Hazel said faintly, staring at the grass where a building had stood moments before. “That’s not ominous at all.”
“Thank you.”
Marcus glanced at her. “You don’t need to thank me for doing my job.”
“Yes, I do. I’m not used to having someone watch out for me. Azrael does his best, but he’s only one cat.”
