by Coralie Moss
“Would you like a slice of pizza?” I asked, pointing to the boxes with my elbow as I wiped dust out of the fragile porcelain cups.
“And some bubbly?” Beryl lifted a bottle from the box. “We’re toasting our mom.” At Kostya’s nod, she handed him the champagne. He used the same sharpened thumbnail to slice the foil wrapper before he untwisted the metal basket trapping the cork.
“Alderose, would you like to do the honors?” He tipped the neck of the bottle in her direction.
Alderose shook her head. “I left my sword at home,” she said. “Try not to dribble over everything when you pop the cork.” There was enough sly humor in her voice to signal she’d gotten over any weirdness that might have arisen when she saw Kostya was joining us.
The demon shrugged out of his worn leather jacket and used the bottom of his T-shirt to grasp the head of the cork and twist. At the muted pop, he brought his mouth to the neck of the bottle and captured the foam. Alderose, Beryl, and I might have groaned in unison as we lifted our empty teacups in his direction and waited. Kostya made an elegant show of filling them one by one.
“To Mom,” we said, clinking the gilded rims before taking our first sips. Kostya topped us off and we toasted Serena too.
Demon Boy lifted the bottle a third time. With champagne bubbles dancing across the surface of my cup, I looked into his eyes. The flames from the candles reflected alongside the solar flares at his irises. Thick, rose-gold hoops glinted at each of his earlobes. The same metal tipped the ends of his horns and adorned piercings in other parts of his glorious body.
“To the Sisters Brodeur,” he said, “and their new business venture.”
I choked. Alderose spit her champagne across the table.
Beryl pursed her perfectly outlined, burnt-orange lips. “Excuse me?” she said, making a show of sipping, swallowing, and placing her cup on the table. “I don’t recall the three of us signing a business agreement today. We’ve already talked this through and decided to close the doors to the shop for good, Kostya. We’re selling everything we don’t want and then we’re going our separate ways to resume our separate lives. The future of the building is up to our father to decide.”
Beryl dismissed the possibility of other options with a wave of her hand.
Kostya leaned sideways into the armchair, tucking the champagne bottle between his thighs. He kept one hand on the neck of the bottle and rubbed his thumb around the rim of the thick, green glass.
The man had a well-equipped lap. And the only thing I’d mounted lately were the footstools at the base of portal trees, placed there for shorter individuals like myself. At five feet four, I often needed a boost in order to access the Magical world’s time-saving system of transportation.
I flared my nostrils and inhaled sharply. I could see where my imagination was headed. My body would follow if I didn’t corral my thoughts and stay focused on the task at hand. “I’m going to see if Mom left any plates in the bathroom closet. Don’t say anything important until I get back.”
The short walk to the rear of the shop cooled my cheeks and settled the sparks of arousal set off by Kostya’s presence. I counted out four saucers and four forks, washed them in the sink, and then tucked a roll of paper towels under my arm. At the table, my sisters were quietly sipping the last of the first bottle of champagne, and Kostya was opening the second. I doled out the plates and utensils and lifted the lids on the pizza boxes.
My belly grumbled at the smell of wood-fired crust, melted cheese, and fresh herbs.
“Eat first, talk after?” I asked. My sisters nodded in unison. Kostya declined the pizza and refilled our cups. His massive hands dwarfed the dainty porcelain, and the creases in his forehead belied his flirtatious exterior. I nudged one of his booted feet. It was like kicking a marble statue. “Why don’t you fill us in on your investigative escapades? Caught any interesting cases lately?”
“How long has it been since any of you were in Northampton?” he asked, dodging my question.
“Seven years for me,” I said. “I bugged out after Mom’s memorial service.” After living in the same town for twenty-one years I was ripe for adventures. When I graduated college, I had a capital-P Plan. Being a witch and having a dual major in World Literature and Spanish, I was going to travel from country to country, library to library, in search of references to early systems of magic. I started my travels by visiting my maternal grandparents in México.
“I pass through regularly for work.” Alderose wiped the corners of her mouth and reached for another slice of pizza. “And occasionally for sword training at one of my teachers’ dojos.”
“I’ve come back every summer around the anniversary of Mom’s death,” said Beryl. “But you know that, Kostya.” She slipped off her stool enough that she could offer him her mouth.
“I have enjoyed our reunions every time.” Demon Boy’s pupils enlarged, and I might have drooled watching the way he lovingly cupped my sister’s jaw before kissing her. I should have been grilling Alderose about who she was training with and why she’d reneged on her long-ago promise to teach me the rudiments of handling swords and daggers. Where Beryl was gifted with spell work, Alderose was born to wield weapons. I was adept at neither.
Instead of delving into the whys behind my oldest sister’s lack of follow-through, I elbowed Beryl. “You’ve been banging Demon Boy?”
She nodded, pleased. “At least once a year, whether I needed it or not.”
Kostya’s pupils returned to normal. He adjusted the front of his strategically ripped jeans and leaned forward. “‘Demon Boy’?”
“Would you prefer Demon Man?” Alderose asked, reaching to caress the side of his throat and run her thumb over his lips.
“I prefer Kostya.” He wrapped his fingers around Alderose’s wrist and kissed her palm.
Okay, enough of this lovefest. “We’re getting sidetracked. Kostya, what are you doing here?”
The demon took hold of Alderose’s wrist again, turning his hand until their fingers intertwined. He reached to his right and did the same with Beryl. She grabbed my hand. Sensing the incoming drop of a truth bomb, I reached across the table for Alderose.
Kostya leaned in and lowered his voice. “How much do you know about this shop and your mother’s magical gifts?”
Beryl shrugged. “She was a witch who could do amazing things with fabrics and yarns and threads and stuff?” Our mother created accessories, like gloves and handbags. She could knit and crochet faster than any of the customers that gathered regularly in the cluster of chairs at the front of the store, their needles clacking and jaws flapping for hours on end.
We let go of each other’s hands at the same time. Kostya turned slightly, reached into an inner pocket of his leather jacket, and tossed a slim billfold onto the table.
“Hoping to get lucky?” I joked. He arched one eyebrow and showed us the badge and the official-looking identification card tucked inside the brown case.
“Your mother’s primary business was arranging romantic partnerships for Magicals. This place,” he said, motioning around the store, “was more of a cover. Clients would come to the shop to engage her services. Upon her death, her unfinished contracts went into limbo.”
I scrambled to absorb Kostya’s explanation. “Wait, what’s this about matchmaking?”
Beryl butted in with, “Did Serena know that about Mom? Did either of you know? Because this is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“Serena was absolutely aware,” Kostya said. “The Board of Magical Governance was given access to her personal laptop and cell phone after her death. She had used a voice-recording app to make notes about the work she did for Moira. The old files were still on her phone.
“She’d tried to finish your mother’s pending contracts, though it would appear her ability or interest in helping didn’t last long. Serena’s primary magic was Unbinding, a fitting skill for a divorce lawyer. Moira’s primary magic was Binding. From what I’ve been able to p
iece together, Serena’s role in the business while your mother was alive was to create amicable contracts of dissolution between clients who felt their romantic arrangements had run their course.”
Kostya leaned in. “After Moira died, Serena tried to replicate your mother’s matchmaking techniques, even though bringing beings together romantically wasn’t in her skill set.
“She fell behind. Clients waiting for their love match got upset. By the end of her first year in charge, Serena had stopped returning phone calls and shut down the shop’s email account.” He paused to take in the entire room. “The doors to Needles and Sins have been closed for almost six years.”
“Fuck.” I planted my elbows on the table. The champagne was going to my head. I eyed the pizza, slid another slice onto the dainty plate, and contemplated whether to bite into the soft tip or attack the corner of crust. “Beryl, didn’t you think to check on the shop whenever you were in town?”
“Why? Because I’m the responsible one?” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth without smudging her lipstick. “I had no emotional connection to this place when Mom was alive. It’s difficult to imagine I would develop an affinity for it in her absence.”
“But—” I was days away from turning twenty-eight and still able to conjure the itch to pick a fight with my next oldest sister. She stuck out her tongue and looked away.
Alderose took charge. Alderose always took charge. “Mom’s talent for matchmaking doesn’t explain how she died or what you’re doing here.” Like me, her elbows were on the table. Unlike me, she was holding the corners of her pizza slice with her fingertips and toying at the cheese-laden tip with her tongue. Kostya’s gaze was glued to her mouth.
“Stop torturing Demon Boy. He was just about to tell us why we have to stay here and help a whole bunch of sad witches and warlocks find their one true love.” I giggled. One channel of my brain was stuck on the part about contracts and limbo and I could feel myself coming unmoored by the day’s sudden change of direction.
Kostya straightened his spine and smoothed his hands down his thighs. “I’m here at the behest of the Board of Magical Governance. Your uncle, Malvyn Brodeur, has opened an official investigation into your mother’s and Serena’s deaths. We have reason to suspect both women were murdered.”
2
The bite of pizza went soggy in my mouth. Tears stung my eyes. I tore off a paper towel and spat out my food.
“Da-amn.” Beryl’s whisper echoed my sentiment. Her slice ended up half on her plate and half on the table.
“When did the Board come to this conclusion?” Alderose stood, shoved her stool back, and spun away from the table. “And why didn’t Uncle Malvyn say anything to us first?” She patted the sides of her thighs and sighed when her hands came up empty of weapons. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us earlier, Kostya.”
“Rosey, I’m telling you now. Serena died less than a month ago. The only reason I’m here today is because I was just promoted to head the investigative arm that encompasses the Northeast Corridor. Suspicious deaths involving Magicals are flagged for my department. I grabbed the assignment seconds after it arrived.”
“Can you tell us what was suspicious about Serena’s death?”
“Her employers insisted on an autopsy after her required annual physical showed her to be in perfect health.” Kostya looked at his palms. “Serena and your mother died of the same condition—bacterial endocarditis.”
“A heart infection?”
He nodded. “An infection of the heart’s inner membrane.”
“Do they know what caused it?”
“Serena’s autopsy showed traces of psittacosis, an infectious disease transmitted through bird droppings.”
Alderose parked herself at the front door and braced her hands against the jamb. “Mom didn’t have birds, Kostya. She and Dad never even let us have pets.”
“Speaking of Heriberto…” Guilt washed across Kostya’s features. “Your father met me at their apartment two days ago.”
“Dad’s here?”
“He was here. Briefly. Said he knew about Serena’s death. He seemed surprised when I told him about the investigation and promised to consult a friend who might know something.”
My chest constricted. My father made time to see Kostya. Why didn’t he stay in town and make time to see his daughters? “Did he say anything about us?”
Kostya shook his head. Alderose repositioned her stool. Her leather pants creaked as she sat. She fumbled for my hand and for Beryl’s, then continued to address Kostya. “We grieved the loss of our mother once. We gave her final rites of passage, we laid her body to rest, we moved on. And now you’re telling us we have to reopen the doors to the past, and—”
“I can handle the investigation on my own, Rosey,” he said, hitting the tabletop with the side of his hand, “but the three of you know things I don’t, same as Heriberto. He—”
“What else did our father say?”
“He filled me in on the role he played in Moira’s business. I knew he ran a, a hair salon—I didn’t know Moira sometimes asked him to obtain samples of hair from potential mates for her clients. Beyond that, he wasn’t part of the day-to-day operations of the shop.”
“Did he say when he’d be back?” Alderose kicked at the table leg.
I was uncomfortable with my father cutting and keeping Magicals’ hair without their permission, though Kostya’s information did shed some light on why my dad traveled so frequently to see to his out-of-town clients’ needs. “How did our mother do the actual matchmaking?”
Kostya planted his elbows on his knees. “She required the client initiating the request to show up here, physically. Not by proxy, not via an animal familiar. In person. They had to fill out paperwork—real paperwork, not electronic—and leave a cash deposit.
“Moira would create a profile on the client for her eyes only and collect a sample of their hair. I assume she used the hair for making charms or working spells. Heriberto didn’t go into specific detail on your mother’s techniques.”
I blew out a low whistle. “This wasn’t a bunch of hopeful moms and aunties sitting around gossiping—this was a…a business.”
“A very successful business,” Kostya said. “Your dad said Moira made good money because she made good matches.” He extended his arm toward one of the candles and let the wax drizzle down his finger. “Turns out my mother was one of her last clients.”
“Your mother’s married.”
The demon snorted softly. “My mother wants to see her bloodline continue. She wants to play with demon grandbabies. She wants—”
I could see the light bulb going on in Beryl’s head. “Your mother wanted our mother to find a mate for you?” she asked.
“Me and my brothers,” he said, rolling the softened wax between his fingertips. “I’m thirty-four, Laszlo’s thirty-eight, and Ivan’s, like, thirty-one. My mother’s upset that none of us is adhering to her mate-finding and heir-producing timeline.”
“Your mother’s scary.” I’d met the demoness twice. She was nearly as tall as Kostya and every bit as formidable. Kostya’s father was a cream puff who doted on his wife and adored their sons.
“If the three of you could work together, I bet you’d be able to figure out how your mother did what she did and complete her outstanding commitments. Then you could decide if you wanted to formally close the business, or—”
I glared at Kostya. His comment annoyed me. It’s not that Alderose, Beryl, and I couldn’t work together; it was more that we hadn’t tried to synchronize our magical talents in a long time. A very long time. And the last time we made a concerted, coordinated effort to help our mother with her various projects, we had Serena around. She would spend her weekends patiently unknotting or detangling every mess we made of the sewing and needlework Mom assigned us.
“We have lives, you know,” Alderose muttered. “Jobs. Homes. Responsibilities. A girlfriend.”
“And a dog,” I added. I
’d left my husky, Sitka, in Vancouver in the care of a group of pet-sitting shifters. Knowing she was well cared for meant I might be more willing to stay in Northampton longer. Especially if I could enlist the help of a professional witch with an inside track on our family’s magic. Putting in a plug for my current Life Plan, I added, “I think we should ask Aunt Maritza for help.”
“Why do we need Tía to deal with all of this”—Alderose waved her hand in the vague direction of the shelves to either side of us—“stuff?”
“Because Mom was her sister, because they’re both Binders, because she’s a professor at a university for Magicals in Toronto.” I paused to inhale and get a handle on my rising upset. Enrolling our aunt in our predicament would be the perfect way to reintroduce myself. Though resolving my mother’s unfinished business would likely take precedence over my ongoing problem with spontaneous visions of other peoples’ pasts. “And because I’m tired of feeling like I’ve missed out on entire chapters of my education in witchcraft because of the way we all just…just blew away from each other after Mom died.”
“Then we should have Dad’s help too. And Uncle Malvyn’s, him being the Enforcer and all. He’d get this figured out in a flash,” Beryl said, snapping her fingers for emphasis.
I got dramatic—I couldn’t help myself—and rolled my eyes. I might have added a huff. Kostya broke in. “When I spoke with your uncle, he assured me he can be here on short notice if we need him. And that he trusts me to handle the investigation.”
“Is it possible one of her clients killed Mom?” I asked. “And then killed Serena?”
Kostya wobbled his hand. When he reached for his badge, Beryl smacked her hand over his. “Or what about those customers who used to come in here to gossip and drink Mom’s tea? Could any of them have been involved?” she asked. “Either with helping Mom, or—” My sister’s shoulders sagged into a slump.
