Wytchcraft: A Matilda Kavanagh Novel (20 page)

“So,” Tate said, lifting his head to look at us, “what do you want?”

“My friend here,” Fletcher took the lead, waving a hand at me, “is an emissary for the Lord and Lady of Dunhallow. The prince, Roane, has gone missing.”

“Sounds like the little fairies need to be more careful where they leave their children,” Tate said. He reached out and took a lock of the girl’s hair between his fingers and started to twirl it idly. I wondered at Fletcher’s choice of words, but he knew how to deal with vampires better than I, so I didn’t correct him.

“Anyway,” Fletcher said, “she has reason to believe that our Mistress might have the prince hidden somewhere.”

“And you expect me to tell you,” Tate said, his glass blue eyes flicking to me. I kept my mouth shut, sure it wasn’t my turn to speak just yet.

“I assumed if anyone would know, it would be you,” Fletcher said, smiling softly.

“Flattery is a pathetic tactic, Fletch,” Tate said. He let the lock of hair fall and traced his fingers along her neck, pressing into the fresh, bloody wounds on her neck. “But, lucky for you, I am a sucker for pathetic flattery.” Tate licked the smear of blood from his fingers, his eyes on me again as his slimy pink tongue slipped around his fingers. It took more self-control than I knew I had not to cringe.

“Of course,” Tate said, pushing himself up, “this kind of information won’t come cheap.”

“Of course,” Fletcher agreed.

“What can you offer me for such information?”

“Do you actually know if Theo has Roane?” I asked, finally finding my voice. I didn’t want Fletcher to barter for me only to find out I’d be giving something very valuable for no reason.

“You expect me to reveal one of my Mistress’s secrets just like that?” Tate asked, snapping his fingers.

“I am not going to pay you for something that does not exist.”

“No,” Tate said, pushing to his feet again, shoving the girl out of his way. Only her hands kept her from smacking her face on the floor. “You’re paying for answers to your questions. That is a question.”

“Fine,” I said, but before I could ask him what he wanted, Fletcher cut in.

“We understand,” Fletcher said. He glared at me, warning me to shut up. When Tate turned to face him, I stuck my tongue at Fletcher. “I understand you have a taste for Euphoric Chocolate.” Fletcher let his words trail off, arching his brows as he watched Tate’s face. I have no idea what look passed over the pale vampire’s face, but I caught Fletcher fighting a smile. He’d found the vamp’s Achilles’ heel.

I scowled at Fletcher, grinding my teeth together to keep from cursing him. I did not brew Euphoric Chocolates, ever; not even when I was in school and everyone else was doing it. Humans had heroine, ecstasy, marijuana, and acid; we had Euphoric Chocolates, Enchanted Caramels, Blissful Brandy, and Tantalizing Toffee. None of those things ever hit my cauldron. I couldn’t believe I was stupid enough to come in here with Fletcher and hadn’t asked him what was expected of me.

“Uh, Fletcher,” I said, but he shook his head at me, just a small motion, but it was definitive. It wasn’t that I was against drug use, per say, I mean, do what you want to your body, you know? But brewing the stuff? It was so illegal that if you were caught making it, you were collared, immediately, five years minimum.

Usually the collars were just used like handcuffs and would be taken off once you were in a jail cell, but certain crimes, like brewing these candies, meant you were collared for an indeterminate amount of time. I would be ruined. I knew some kids from school who got caught brewing a batch of Blissful Brandy for a concert who were still wearing their collars nearly ten years later. Whoa, that made me feel old.

“You mean to say your little pet here is actually…” Tate turned, pausing to take in a deep breath, leaning toward me as if he could smell my witch blood on the air. “A witch?” he purred. I never wanted to see him smile like that again.

“Yes,” Fletcher said, “and if you answer our questions about the missing prince and Theo’s involvement, she will make you a batch.”

“Two batches,” Tate said.

“Half a batch,” I countered. I couldn’t believe I was agreeing to this.

“Two,” Tate insisted. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him.

“None then,” I said, “never mind.”

“All right, all right!” Tate said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “One batch, but I want a whole batch, no skimping!”

Fletcher was nodding behind Tate’s back, desperately trying to get me to agree. If I got the answers I needed out of Tate, I wouldn’t have to come back to this godforsaken warren of debauchery again. Maybe that was worth it all on its own. I felt the fight go out of me and I sighed, waving a hand in the air.

“Fine,” I said, “a full batch. But,” I held up a finger, forestalling Tate’s happy dance, “you will find out if Theo has Roane. If she does, you will find out where she is keeping him and under what kind of security. If Theo does not have him, you will find out if she knows who does and why. And you will never tell anyone where you got this batch of candy from. Agreed?”

I held out my hand to Tate, not relishing the idea of touching this lizard man, but it had to be done. Tate pursed his lips, that puffy lower lip jutting out as he thought over my terms. After a moment, his lips unfurled into a smile that stretched over his face before he shot his hand out and gripped mine.

I covered his hand with my other, squeezing tightly, and said, “
Foedus sub poena doleo mortis
.” Our hands grew warm as the spell settled between us, a bright red light emanating between our palms, slowing fading away. Fletcher’s eyes were wide and his jaw hung open, looking like someone had slapped him. Tate, on the other hand, looked as though he might rip my head off.

“How dare you,” he hissed, ripping his hand away from mine. He clutched it to his chest as if wounded, but it was fine and it would remain fine so long as he didn’t double-cross me.

“You have nothing to worry about if you keep your word,” I said casually, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder, settling it in a more comfortable position.

“Get out,” he said, biting off each word. But the look in his eye at the prospect of the illicit candy told me he would still keep his word. I nodded to him, spared a glance at his cowering pet who was still on the floor, and walked to the front door, Fletcher hot on  my heels.

When the door closed behind us, Fletcher caught me by the arm and turned me around to face him. His brown eyes were still wide with fear and wonder.

“Did you just do what I think you did?” he asked.

“If you think I set a binding spell on him, then yes, I did.”

“It sounded like you bound him with his life.”

“What little of it is left, yes.” I stared up at him and dared him to challenge me. My life was dependent on that slime ball keeping his word; of course I would bind him to keep it, even on pain of death.

Chapter 11

“Mattie, I said no!” Ronnie snapped at me, shoving my hand and the money I was trying to give her into my chest. “I will not sell this to you.”

“Ronnie, just take the damn money, all right?” I stomped my foot and thrust out my hand again, but she crossed her arms over her chest and turned her face away from me. “Fine,” I said and slammed the money down on the counter. “Keep the change.”

I picked up the basket full of supplies for the Euphoric Chocolates; Ronnie had everything I needed except for the key ingredient, which I would have to get at the apothecary down the block. I stormed through the shop, taking the basket with me. If Ronnie refused to bag up the stuff for me, then she was going to be short one basket.

“Mattie!” Ronnie called out after me. I could hear her running around the counter, trying to catch up to me. I picked up the pace, zigzagging through the precarious shelves, rushing for the front door. I made it out to the street before Ronnie caught me. I held on to the door handle once outside, keeping Ronnie from following me out.

“Stop it, Ronnie!” I said, glaring at her through the glass window.

“Matilda, for the love of toads, get back in here!” Ronnie yelled, her voice only slightly muffled through the door. She had the handle with both hands, pulling hard enough to make the door rattle against the frame as we both struggled against the other. Her coppery curls were loose today, and as we fought over the door, they bounced around her head, falling in front of her face like a candle flame dancing in a breeze. I had always envied her that hair, but I could see how frustrating it was just then when she sputtered and tried to blow it out of her face as she fought with me.

“Just let it go!” I said. Ronnie gave one forceful yank, pulling the door open a couple of inches before it slammed shut again as I pulled. I nearly dropped my basket and all the items inside. Ronnie yelled, wordlessly and animalistically, before she finally gave up and let go of the doorknob. I held on for a few moments, not trusting her to come dashing out the second I let go.

“Fine!” she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air and shaking her wild mane out of her face. “Go then! Get yourself killed or collared! See if I care!” She spun on her heel and stormed back through the shelves, disappearing in a second.

I blew out a breath and let go of the knob, feeling the ache in my shoulder already starting to form. Ronnie would calm down soon enough and she’d be at my door in a few hours to hear my explanation. Hopefully she would understand. Or she’d just get madder and madder as she waited to close the shop for the day and then she’d be at my door, a hex at the ready to throw in my face as she ran inside to destroy the chocolates. I guess I would just have to wait and see which Ronnie showed up later.

It was misting again, threatening to rain, and I worried about my supplies getting wet. You had to be extremely careful with any kind of potion that you had to consume. If you added anything extra, even a drop of water, that the spell didn’t call for, you compromised the entire thing. Joey learned that the hard way. I unwound my scarf from around my neck and draped it over the contents in the basket, shielding them from the mist. A shiver ran down my spine from my exposed neck, my hair not long enough to protect it.

I hurried into the apothecary shop, welcoming the musty, warm air after the cold chill. The shop was dimly lit to protect the more light sensitive plants inside, and it had an odor that you just couldn’t put a name to. It was an assault on the senses of cloves, sandalwood, patchouli, and the musty smell of decay. I really hated coming in here, but Ronnie was missing the one crucial ingredient to activate the euphoric quality of the chocolates: Copelandia mushrooms.

This shop was nothing like Ronnie’s; the shelves were low, only coming to waist height so that the owner could watch everything his customers were doing. Ronnie never had to worry about people stealing from her because of the charm she had on the front door. If you tried to take anything from the shop without paying or without permission, you just couldn’t step over the threshold. But the Apothecary wasn’t a witch like us; he was a vampire, and in a former life, he was the royal apothecary to a Danish prince. You’d think, with eternity spread out before him, he’d find something more exciting to do, but old habits die hard, I guess.

“Ms. Kavanagh,” the resonate voice cut through the shop, bringing my attention straight to him. He was tall, taller than even Fletcher and his ridiculous boots, and thin enough that I was always a little worried that a good breeze would whisk him away. His pallor was as grey as a tombstone and his hair was as delicate as feathers, so you could see his scalp through it. He had dark eyes that would bore into you, as if he never truly believed the money you were giving him was real.

“Heya, Morty!” I called out cheerfully, hearing him grumble even at this distance. His real name was Mordecai, but it really got under his dead skin that I called him Morty, so I just couldn’t resist.

I started wandering through the low shelves, looking for the mushrooms, feeling Morty’s eyes on my back the whole time. After five minutes, I gave up and walked up to the front counter, setting my basket on the floor by my feet. I pulled my bag around and started digging inside for the money.

“You got any Copelandia mushrooms?” I asked, still digging in my bag, refusing to meet his eyes just yet. I didn’t want him to think my request was any big deal because he’d try to charge me more if he knew it was important.

“Copelandia?” he asked, drawing out the word in mild surprise. I dropped the folded bills I’d finally found, leaving them in my bag. It would have been a bad idea to show him how much money I had before I saw the product and heard the real price.

“Yeah,” I said, leaning against the counter that the cash register sat on.

“And what would you be needing such a rare ingredient like that for?”

“Noneya,” I said.

“Noneya?” he repeated, cocking his head to the side.

“None ya business, Morty,” I said, making him clench his jaw. “Do you have any? I don’t need much, maybe five or six.”

Morty glared at me, his back so straight that he actually stared down his nose at me, but I didn’t care so long as I got what I was looking for. I met his glare, blinking slowly at him, making my eyes as wide and innocent as possible. He never came right out and told me not to call him Morty because he really thought if he acted like it didn’t bother him, I would eventually stop. It was really kinda cute.

“Hmph.” He finally turned away from me and pulled a key out of the lapel of his grey suit jacket. He unlocked a black case behind the counter and pulled out a glass jar, setting it on the counter. It was full of the tiny little mushrooms, roots curling along the bottom, looking for dirt. I was happy I had given up looking for them after only five minutes.

“Great, five will be plenty,” I repeated. I could have used more, the more you use, the more potent the chocolate, but for one batch, five would do. I would just have to be careful to get the potion right the first time because there wouldn’t be any to spare for a second try.

“One hundred dollars, human currency,” Morty said as he unscrewed the jar, releasing the damp earth smell.