“Stay calm,” Mr. Bixby said. “Nerves are the bane of any magical, but especially the novice. And whatever you do, don’t—”
I hiccupped.
The minute my dog told me not to hiccup, I always did. That was because it meant Bixby confirmed I had good reason for anxiety.
“Don’t worry, Witchy,” Bijou said. “What’s a few sunflowers at a time like this?”
I didn’t look around to see where they were erupting but I could smell them. They weren’t the most fragrant of flowers but their cheery vibe made them my favorite. Well, that and the fact Drew had given me a sunflower bouquet when Whimsy launched.
“Not the time for romantic reflection, Janelle,” Mr. Bixby said, using our inside line. “I hardly need mention this is serious business. We’re all trapped and he’s a very powerful you-know-what.”
The word warlock was in our forbidden lexicon, along with witch, but somehow the term felt necessary for Angus MacDuff.
“What do I do?” I asked the dog silently. “Look at his face. He’s here for revenge and I can’t let him hurt Ren and Sinda.”
“You start by taking a deep breath.” The dog loved nothing more than taunting me but when the stakes were high, he was my biggest support and advisor. “And then you remember you’re the one who took him down a couple of weeks ago. You can do it again, if need be. You’re more than his match.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. When I disabled Angus, Ruthann and Cousin Liberty were with me. They were powerful and experienced women who could probably have sent Angus to Pluto if they’d joined forces. They didn’t, and now his face was pressed to my glass storefront.
“He has some nerve leaving a nose print on my window,” I said. “But I hope that’s all he does.”
My eyes were glued to the angry man outside, but the view was soon blocked by a screen of fast-growing sunflowers bursting out of the cushion on the window seat.
“Never mind,” Sinda said. “They’re just flowers.”
“They’re a show of weakness,” Mr. Bixby countered, out loud again. “He’ll know you’re spitting blossoms from terror.”
I wasn’t so sure. Angus tried to find a spot to peer through and his brows rose in befuddlement. Perhaps he thought it was deliberate. It seemed to throw him off his menace game.
Finally, he came to the door and opened it. The charmed bell overhead belted out a chime that sounded vaguely like a police siren, and that startled Angus even more. He glanced behind him, keeping the door propped open with his elbow.
“Roadkill, roadkill, roadkill,” Bijou announced.
To the dogs, dark magic apparently smelled like a mix of sulfur, rotten yard waste and roasting roadkill. Bixby called it magical flatulence.
“The stench is worse than it was at City Hall,” my dog said, sniffing. “Something’s changed.”
“At least he kept the door open,” Bijou said. “Stinky stinky stink bomb.”
Bixby stared intently at the man and switched to our inside line. “The door’s open for a quick getaway. Janelle, I do believe Angus is scared of you.”
“Impossible.” I replied silently, too. “He must be scared of Liberty. I’m scared of her, too.”
“Liberty isn’t the one who had him wheeled off on a gurney. You are. So, find out why he’s here and send him on his way with a stern warning.”
I took that deep breath Bixby recommended and walked toward the threat. “Hello, Mr. MacDuff. What a surprise to see you. I assumed you’d been, uh, detained after what happened at City Hall.”
“I’ve done my time,” he said. “Moving on.”
My shock probably showed. “Two weeks is the penalty for attempted murder?”
The confusion was gone and his expression fell into its usual lines. “You’re new here, Miss Brighton. You completely misread the situation. The hysterical overreaction of a novice.” He shrugged. “All women, in fact. Especially the Brightons. Hair-trigger hormones. It’ll be your undoing.”
“It’ll be your undoing,” Mr. Bixby said. His words were silent but his growl was not. “Arrogant oaf.”
I offered Angus a sincere smile. After years of working in customer relations at upscale resorts, that smile was always at the ready and deescalated many a difficult situation. “Perhaps you’re right. About overreacting. Not about the hormones. That’s a very chauvinistic thing to say, Mr. MacDuff.”
He waved his free hand. “I don’t subscribe to political correctness. Women have their place and it isn’t in positions of authority. Too emotional.”
I presumed he was referring to the mayor and might be gunning for her after what happened. Probably had been even before his daughter’s wedding. Liberty said power-hungry warlocks were always plotting against Ruthann.
“Just a humble shopkeeper here.” I amped up the smile. “Emotions are an asset in retail, I’ve found. Can’t I interest you in a pretty bauble for your daughter? Cassie must be glad to have you home so soon.”
A shadow crossed his face. “Won’t see me. Won’t take my calls. Another hysterical woman. Can’t accept I was trying to take care of her.”
“I’m sure you were trying to protect her, as any father would. But since you were also making a deal with Blaine’s uncle, perhaps Cassie felt—”
“Like chattel,” Mr. Bixby interrupted. “Or livestock to be traded.”
“Undermined,” I finished. “She wanted to make her own choices.”
Angus rolled his eyes. “If she liked Blaine, what does it matter if it furthered an alliance for me? She married him anyway, in the end.”
There was no point arguing with a man with such archaic notions. “They’re very happy. And she’ll welcome you back eventually, I’m sure. Cassie’s very kind. We’ve had coffee a couple of times.”
“That ends now. I don’t want Brightons anywhere near my daughter. She can’t protect herself against the likes of you.” He waved at the sunflowers, now so tall they tipped in his direction. “Hysterical and haphazard. A very risky combination.”
My smile fought a losing battle because he wasn’t wrong, at least as far as I was concerned. “She can make her own choices, Mr. MacDuff. Good friends are hard to find in Wyldwood, but that is my special gift.”
