Tooth and Claw (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 2)

by Lisa Emme

  “Morning, Mrs. P. Yeah, bad dreams. I feel like I hardly slept at all.” I set a plate of baking on the counter. “Isaac left these out. His note said he thought you would get a kick out of them. They’re called Fudge Brownies,” I replied with a smile.

  “Really? Brownies?” She eyed the plate suspiciously.

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her expression. “It’s not like they contain actual brownies or anything.”

  “Of course not, why would I think that?” Her expression was still skeptical. She took one of the dark chocolate squares and popped it in her mouth. “Oh! Oh my. That is delicious.” She scooped the plate up and disappeared into the back room.

  I can’t say as I blamed her. They were really good, maybe even better than the butter tarts. Isaac had frosted them with a dark, butter frosting and they had little bits of pecan in them.

  I busied myself around the shop, going through the list of orders for the day. We had two more funerals. I flipped open the laptop to look up the obituaries. I always liked to see who the flowers were for. One was an older gentleman who had died of liver disease. The other was a young man who was around the same age as me. He was a student at the local community college, the same one that Charles had attended.

  “Do we have enough carnations for the two funeral orders?” I called to Mrs. P. She came bustling back out licking her fingers, a smudge of chocolate on her face.

  “Yes dear, I believe we do.” She licked her lips and then brushed at the corners of her mouth with her finger.

  “Uh, you’ve still got a little…” I pointed to her face.

  “Oh, oh dear.” She pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her sweater and dabbed at her face. “Better?” she asked, turning her cheek towards me for inspection.

  “Yep. All good.” I turned back to the orders. “I think I’ll get Jimmy to take the funeral today, but I’ll do the one tomorrow.” Jimmy was our new delivery driver. He was a werewolf who also worked part time at Tess’s Uncle Rigo’s Gym.

  “Is that the Turner boy’s funeral you mean?” Mrs. P asked, taking a vase from the shelf and starting to arrange some cut flowers in it.

  “Yeah. I thought I’d go and…” Well, I really wasn’t sure why I thought I should go. I guess because a death in someone so young seemed tragic and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection to Charles’s mysterious death.

  “Snoop around?” Mrs. P filled in the blank, giving me a pointed stare. “That boy’s death is as mysterious as the last one’s, that Mathers boy.” She pulled some roses from the cooler and started stripping the leaves from the stems. “Perhaps that handsome Detective Nash will be there again.”

  “Hmmph,” I scowled. “That would be reason not to go. But, what have you heard? How did, uh…” I looked back down at the obituary, “Jonathan Turner die?”

  Mrs. P’s eyes glimmered with excitement at the chance to gossip. “Well, that’s the thing dear, they’re not sure. Mrs. Flannigan was in here earlier and helped herself to two pieces of Isaac’s maple-pecan fudge. She’s been coming in here every day this week for a snack and never buys a thing, don’t you know. My, that woman can talk like a pepper mill.”

  Ha! Wasn’t that just the pot calling the kettle black? I gave her a little come on wave, impatient to hear the rest. She tended to go off on tangents if you didn’t keep her reined in.

  “Anyways,” she continued, “Mrs. Flannigan said that she heard from Mr. Allan, whose son is a doctor, who has a friend who was working in the ER at Mercy General when the boy was brought in, and he said that they don’t know what killed the poor boy. It could be some new mysterious disease, like maybe a new Ebola.”

  “Ebola? What were the symptoms? Do they think it’s contagious?”

  “Well, there seem to be two cases of it now and both young men went to the same community college.” Hmm, I guess that answers that question.

  “That could just be coincidence, but not likely,” I replied with a little shrug. All the more reason to snoop, as Mrs. P put it. If Jonathan Turner’s spirit was still hanging around, maybe I could get some more information to give to the police. Of course that meant I’d have to talk to Nash, but if I could help prevent another death, I guess I could suck it up and do it.

  The rest of the morning flew by. Mrs. Potts and I worked to fill the day’s orders and get the deliveries ready for Jimmy’s afternoon pickup. We had a smattering of customers, most bought something, but some, like Mrs. Flannigan seemed to be mostly looking to see what tasty snack we might have out; just another reason to start selling the stuff. I told Mrs. P about my coffee shop idea and she was delighted.

  “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea dear. It will so nice for the whole building to be filled with life. That empty store makes it seem so sad.”

  I hadn’t really thought about it before, but since a brownie’s building was really an extension of the brownie herself, that empty part of the building must have felt uncomfortable, or maybe even painful to Mrs. P. I decided to push forward with my plan and get the coffee shop up and running as soon as possible.

  “Well, we’ll have to get the old space cleaned out and see what needs to be done,” I said, putting together a to-do list in my head. “I think the floor should be okay and I’m sure I can find some used tables and chairs for the café part. I was thinking we could put in a couple of extra windows on the far wall, maybe even French doors that we could open out to a small patio on that side of the building. There’s enough room and in the spring I can put a little flower garden out there.” I stopped, my head spinning with ideas. “Maybe I should start writing this down.”

  Mrs. Potts chuckled. “Maybe you should. Oh, and dear, would it be all right, do you think, if my niece came to stay? She would be a big help in the flower shop and she could train to work in the coffee shop as well.”

  “Your niece? Sure. Is she, uh…”

  “She’s brownie, like me. She’s a very sweet girl, but a little shy. She hasn’t had much experience.”

  “Oh, no work experience?”

  “No, no experience being out in the world.” Seeing my confusion, Mrs. P continued, “She’s just come of age and this will be her first time out from Underhill.”

  “Oh, oh!” That was a big deal. Underhill was the hidden Faerie world. “Of course she can come work here. Does she need a place…?”

  “I’ll take care of the details dear,” Mrs. P smiled.

  “Sure thing. You know best,” I replied and left it at that.

  ***

  By late afternoon, I had sent Mrs. P off to, well, wherever it is she goes when she isn’t in the store. I really don’t know where that is, since being a brownie means she doesn’t actually leave the building. The Fae aren’t really all that forthcoming, having very little to do with the human world. Mrs. P seems to be the exception, in that she must have a higher tolerance for dealing with humans and other non-fae supernaturals. I suspect there must be a small pocket of Underhill somewhere in the building, or maybe a portal. Whatever the case, I sent her along, offering to close the store because I wanted the excuse to work and not have to think about getting ready for my weekly obligatory dinner with Salvador.

  I had been tricked into having a weekly visit with Salvador in return for getting ownership of the old firehall that was my home and place of business. Originally, it was just supposed to be a one-time deal, but because of circumstances beyond my control and sort of orchestrated by Salvador, it ended up snowballing into nine months of weekly visits. Damn vampire loopholes.

  In the long run, although I would never admit this to Salvador, it was still a sweet deal. I had been saving to buy the building in a few years’ time, so having it handed to me in exchange for eating a gourmet meal and taking part in some intelligent conversation once a week, wasn’t all that bad. Salvador was actually a very good conversationalist and he seemed to be
legitimately interested in my opinion. Over the last three weeks we had covered topics from world events, to politics, to even pop culture. I have to admit, I did sort of enjoy myself, even if my dinner partner scared the crap out of me most days.

  No, the problem I had with these visits was that I had to run the gauntlet of vampires that hated my guts every single week. I had begun to suspect that my encounters so far were more than just mere coincidences, that I found myself alone in some part of Salvador’s club faced with yet another challenge from another vampire that wanted me dead, not by dumb luck but by design. I was being tested. For what, I don’t know, and that’s what scared me most.

  I was just about to lock up when a couple of last minute customers came in the door. Or at least I thought they were customers, until I saw who they were.

  “Good afternoon Elder Marshall, Elder Angelica,” I said to the two arrivals. “What brings you into town this late in the day?” The Elders were members of the Conclave, the ruling body that governed witches and mages in our community. Although many in the magical community lived here in Riverton amongst the norms, the main population lived in Aldergrove, a rural, almost commune-like community, about two hours away. It was the community that I had grown up in and was glad to say goodbye to as soon as I was able.

  “Good afternoon Angharad,” Elder Marshall replied. He always insisted on calling me by my full name, even though he was incapable of pronouncing it properly. He always said ‘ANG-har-ad’, almost like he was saying ‘angered’ rather than ‘An-HAR-ad’, and yes I know that’s not much better. Why do you think I preferred to be called Harry? I thought he did it just to get on my nerves. Which it did. Tess figured he was just a misogynistic creep. Which he was.

  “Hi Harry,” said Elder Angelica. She had no problems with my nickname.

  “Is there something I can help you with? I was just about to close up.” Not exactly rolling out the red carpet, but polite enough. Hopefully I could move the show along. “Did you need some cut flowers or perhaps a container arrangement? I just put together some new drought resistant ones that are great for those with brown thumbs.”

  “My, those do look nice,” replied Elder Angelica at the same time Elder Marshall said, “We didn’t come for plants, we came to speak to you about what happened last month.”

  Really? After a month they finally send someone to see if I was okay? Gee, thanks for your concern.

  “Has the Conclave been able to determine who else may have conspired to help DiCastro?” I asked. We knew that there had been at least a dozen members of the magical community helping the maniac cult leader try to raise the Egyptian god Osiris, but there were probably more. I didn’t hold out much hope that the Conclave would do anything to ferret them out, however. As far as I was concerned, the Conclave was too old-school and insular. They would rather dither around with their heads in the collective sand than admit that they almost had a mutiny on their hands.

  “The Conclave’s work is none of your concern,” Elder Marshall replied failing to hide his disdain.

  “It’s our belief that they were mainly unaffiliated,” Elder Angelica added, earning a frown from Elder Marshall.

  The unaffiliated were magic users that didn’t recognize the Conclave as their governing body. They were basically rogue witches and mages. Most were just your typical white magic users that felt that the Conclave was made up of a bunch of doddering old windbags. But a few were those that dabbled more in the grey area of magic and didn’t want the Conclave’s oversight. It didn’t really matter, if you were suspected of doing black magic, whether you were affiliated or not, it was the Conclave’s responsibility to deal with you. But maybe that wasn’t exactly the case, judging from Elder Angelica’s attitude.

  “I don’t really see what I can do for you then,” I said, addressing Elder Marshall’s comments.

  “We’ve come about the Dagger of Asar. It’s missing and we want it returned.” Elder Marshall’s voice took on an even harsher note.

  “Returned? It was never the Conclave’s in the first place.” The Elder’s attitude was getting on my nerves.

  “It is a magical artifact and therefore belongs with the magical community, not with the vampires or werewolves.”

  Ah ha! So now we were getting to the real reason for their visit. The Dagger of Asar was a very dangerous artifact that let its wielder assume the powers of another through a black magic ritual.

  “I don’t know what happened to it.” It was a bald lie, but I wasn’t going to tell him that the dagger was locked in my safe. As far as I was concerned, no one was getting their hands on it. “You’ll have to check with the Magister. His people were in charge of the clean-up. What does it matter if the vampires or werewolves have it? They wouldn’t be able to use it. You have to be a witch or a mage.”

  “But the vampires do have a witch working with them now,” Elder Marshall sneered down at me. “Or should I say as a pet?” That was a direct jab at me and my dubious status as Salvador’s new favourite person of interest. He wasn’t the first to refer to me as the Magister’s pet.

  “Look, not that it’s any business of yours what my relationship is or isn’t with the Magister, I am not, nor ever will be, anyone’s pet. I don’t know what happened to the damn dagger. The last time I saw it, it was on a straight trajectory towards my heart and I haven’t seen it since. Now, unless you plan on buying something, I would thank you to get out of my store. I don’t answer to you. Consider me now unaffiliated.” Huh, I really don’t know where that last bit came from. I hadn’t planned on saying that.

  “You’re a disgrace to your grandmother, consorting with the vampires, just like your tramp mother.” Elder Marshall wagged his finger at me, his face taking on an unhealthy colour of red.

  “Leave my mother out of it, Marshall.” I stepped around the counter closing the space between us. “Now get out, before I pick you up and throw you out.”

  “We want that dagger.” Marshall continued on, ignoring my threat. “We know you know where it is. You can’t…” The rest of what he was going to say came out more like a yelp as he found himself sliding across the floor and out the door as if an invisible hand had grabbed him by the front of his jacket. I could really get to like this telekinesis stuff. It was so much easier to do when I was angry.

  The door slammed shut behind him. For good measure, I slid the deadbolt in place from across the room with a flick of my finger. Elder Angelica, or I guess I could just refer to her as Angelica now, stood with her mouth open, looking from me to the door and then back again.

  “Now Angelica, will that be all, or can I wrap up one of my succulent containers for you? I have these cute little pots with Hen and Chicks.”

  Chapter Six

  I was in hell. Surely I must have died and I was in one of the nine circles of hell, the one where sinners go and have to sit through endless petitions from long-winded immortals who thought the small print on a legal contract was scintillating. I was actually sitting in Dante’s Inferno, the nightclub, so the comparison was appropriate.

  It was the night of my weekly visit to the Magister. As an added bonus tonight, for some reason Salvador decided that I should accompany him while he held an audience with his vampire subjects.

  I should have known that Salvador had something special in store, when Henry, the limo driver that picked me up each week, arrived with a familiar white box tied with a blood red bow, a sure sign that Salvador had been shopping for me again. Since it was now part of our new agreement, I had no choice but to accept it.

  I actually liked today’s selection, not that I hadn’t liked the previous McQueen dress. I just wasn’t used to wearing clothes that cost more than three times my former monthly rent. I didn’t have a clue how much this dress cost, probably not as much as the McQueen, but I’m sure it was up there, judging from the pearl and crystal embellishme
nt that covered it. The dress itself was an Alice & Olivia in white silk. It had a high neck with a flare silhouette, the skirt coming to about mid-thigh. The reverse cut out back left more bare skin than I was comfortable with when dealing with vampires, but I could live with it. Or, at least I hoped I could.

  So far, I had managed to keep from ruining it, like I had the last dress Salvador gave me. And that was despite the fact that I had to take down a bitchy vampire intent on tearing out my throat.

  As was usual with these weekly visits, Henry dropped me off at the door and it was up to me to make my way in to see Salvador. The only clue I ever got was from Nick, the door man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Ozzy Osborne. He’d either let me in the main door, which meant I was expected upstairs in Salvador’s private lounge, or the basement entrance, which meant I had to make my way to the audience chamber through the maze of hallways in the S & M club downstairs. After my second time in the maze, I would have sworn that the hallways worked like the staircases in Harry Potter, always changing.

  I almost turned around and got back in the car when Nick held open the basement door for me. I really didn’t think I felt up to running the gauntlet downstairs. I assumed that this was just another one of Salvador’s little tests for me, orchestrated to see how I would react and if I was powerful enough to hold my own.

  I was doing okay at first, navigating the twists and turns, on the right path to get to the audience chamber, or at least to where I last remembered seeing the audience chamber, when a door opened into the hall in front of me.

  I did a double take at first, wondering if I was seeing a ghost, but then I noticed the subtle differences. Where Simeen had been a platinum blonde, this blonde was more honey coloured. Where Simeen had been all angles, this one’s face was softer, curvier. Other than that though, the vamp in front of me was a dead ringer for the now dead dominatrix, Simeen.