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“Who is this and why is she in my private library?” the Wizard asks, gesturing to Cleo, his tone changing in an instant.

“This is Cleo. She was Delphine’s ward. Poor dear. But isn’t she lovely?” Glinda comes around behind Cleo and tousles her hair with a run of her fingers.

The Wizard scowls. “I’m sorry, is she a witch’s ward or a prized pig?”

“Darling! Don’t be rude!”

Cleo’s face burns. He was jovial just a moment ago. Did she offend him? “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I shouldn’t be in here.”

“Nonsense.” Glinda drapes her arm over Cleo’s shoulders. “I told her to wait here. She’s welcome, is she not?” The question is pointed at the Wizard.

“Fine. Sure. What do you want?”

“Cleo, darling, will you excuse us?”

“Of course.” She bows her head and turns for the door.

“Stay,” Glinda says. “Explore! I’ll be right back. Darling?” She turns to the Wizard and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Will you take us away?”

A pinch of annoyance appears between the Wizard’s brows before a swirl of mist carries them away.

Alone again, Cleo licks her lips, the sweet, earthy taste of anise coating her mouth.

The Wizard’s magic.

Not all magic has a scent or taste or feel. Delphine’s was always weak, barely registering. At its most potent, it tasted like grass and smelled like dew.

Cleo pulls the cat crystal from her jacket pocket.

Did Delphine know what the figurine might hold? And if she did, did she know what memory was stored inside?

The cat is just a few inches tall, sitting on its hind legs, its long, bushy tail wrapped around its body. Its eyes are blank orbs, its mouth a severe cut line. All of it is smooth and cool to the touch.

Without thinking, she brings the crystal to her mouth and runs her tongue up its side.

A remnant of something savory, salty.

Like rendered fat.

She holds out the cat, examining it again.

She wants to pry it open and spill out its secrets.

It should not taste like anything. And yet it does. But what that tells her, she can’t unravel. Not yet anyway.

She needs magic to crack open the magic.

And Cleo has none.

FIVERook

As soon as we’re alone, Glinda drops the pretense of kind, compassionate, effervescent witch.

“Remove the curse from Gabriel.”

She’s brought us to her private chambers on the third floor of the Emerald Palace. She has her own house but demanded I give her quarters here. “For when I’m visiting” was her reason. More like spying on me. And meddling.

I go to her bar cart that sits between the pink settee and the Eisvale winter chair upholstered in pink plaid.