Grave Mistake (Hedgewitch for Hire #1) - Christine Pope Page 0,1
skilled practitioner in the L.A. area, one who quite possibly had poached a client who should have gone to him.
“Last I checked, this was a free country,” I said, and watched as Mazey, expression still troubled, slipped my debit card into the chip reader before handing it back. “I mean, even Lucien can’t think he’s entitled to every new client in L.A.”
“No, only the ones who can bring him a lot of money,” she responded pithily. Her expression had turned resigned, as if she’d guessed that I wasn’t going to heed her warnings and was now trying to tell herself that she’d done her best and could wash her hands of the whole affair.
I shrugged. Performing readings for people over the past ten years had allowed me to develop something of a poker face, so I hoped she couldn’t pick up anything of the worry that had begun to churn in my gut. It was easy to be dismissive in order to let her think the whole situation was no big deal, but I knew better…even if I didn’t know what I should do next.
Tone dry, I said, “I doubt Lucien Dumond is hurting for cash,” and Mazey let out an unwilling chuckle.
“No, probably not.”
I picked up my bag of herbs, stuffed it in my purse — I had several candles I wanted to pour for my new moon observance — and thanked her, then hurried out of the shop. A little ways down the street, my Denim Edition Volkswagen Beetle awaited. I got behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb.
The thought crossed my mind that maybe I should have picked a slightly less conspicuous car a few years back when I’d finally decided to replace my ancient Nissan Sentra, but then I wanted to shake my head at myself. Yes, GLANG was nothing to trifle with, but even that group of sorcerers and witches didn’t number more than thirty or forty people at the most. It wasn’t as if Lucien could have spies planted on every street corner in L.A., or operatives capable of hacking into L.A.’s traffic-cam system.
At least, I didn’t think he did.
Frowning, I headed for home, which was a rent-controlled duplex I’d been lucky enough to find more than five years earlier. Or really, it probably wasn’t luck so much as a home-manifestation spell that had turned out exactly the way I wanted.
I parked in the carport, waved to my neighbor — Mr. Hanley, a retired aerospace engineer — then went inside. At once, the comforting scent of sage and incense surrounded me, and I let out a breath. In my house, with its shabby chic collection of mismatched furniture and my carefully curated collection of crystals and art, I felt safe.
Too bad that just because it felt that way, it didn’t mean it actually was.
After putting my bag of herbs and my purse down on the little round table in the dining area, I stood in my living room, irresolute. Mazey’s words worried me more than I’d let on. Yes, I’d been doing this dance around Lucien, trying my hardest to pretend I had no idea what he wanted from me, but clearly, he was tired of doing the avoidance two-step and was ready to play hardball.
If you’ll pardon the mixed metaphors.
I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, figuring a nice calming cup of tea might be just what I needed to settle my nerves. Yes, it was a glorious spring day, one of those perfect seventy-five-degree slices of heaven that you often got in Los Angeles in the springtime, but I still thought a hot drink would help.
Or maybe I just needed something to occupy myself.
My brain churned away, testing and then discarding various possibilities. That I would throw up my hands and meekly give in to Lucien Dumond was just not an option. Yes, the guy had a certain reptilian charisma, but it definitely wasn’t anything I personally found attractive. And that didn’t even take into account his “business model.”
His group was called the “Greater Los Angeles Necromancers’ Guild,” but it wasn’t as though he and his cohorts were going around Southern California and digging up bodies for reanimation spells. No, they used their powers for something much subtler. Instead, the enchantments they cast were put to use keeping people preternaturally youthful. You know those actors and actresses who barely seem to age, who keep working decade after decade with hardly any loss of vitality?