Хармони Харт - Basic Witch

I froze in my seat. Aside from the fact that her knowledge of our comings and goings was beyond creepy, I felt a duty to protect Beau’s reputation.

“It’s not what you think,” I explained. “The Coven asked him to help me get settled in, and I was a little on edge last night. He offered to sleep on the couch so I would feel more comfortable. That’s all.” Not that I should have to explain that to you, Stalker Barbie.

“Hmm,” she said. “Will he be staying with you long, then?”

“Maybe? Until Detective Otto apprehends Morty’s murderer, I guess. He’s giving me witch lessons in the evening, so at least it’s convenient.”

Clara’s nostrils flared. She continued to stare at me as a gorgeous stylist with silver hair tucked the last few curls into place. Finally, she opened her mouth again.

“You should come by my store,” she said. “I can make some book recommendations.”

“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “I’ll probably drop by to see you later this week after I’ve had a chance to review Morty’s account ledgers and bring myself up to speed on all of his tenants. Sometime between reopening the store and soaking up whatever Beau has to offer me,” I said. Clara remained still, but I couldn’t help but notice her dainty knuckles turning white as she gripped the arm of her salon chair. So the thinly veiled comment about Beau was a cheap shot, but it felt good. Served her right for being so creepy.

“All done!” Her stylist sang.

Clara stood and shook out the skirt of her fitted A-line dress, flashing me a dirty look before plastering a fake smile on her face. “Afternoon, Jenna.”

“Gemma,” I corrected her.

“Hm.” She shrugged, tossing a half-hearted wave in my direction as she stomped off, her black high-heeled Mary Janes clicking across the salon floor with every step.

Malachi guided me back to the reception area where Destiny was waiting for me. She stood, transferring the familiar tote—and Titus—back to me.

“Sweet stars above, girl,” she said. “You look spectacular. But how on earth did you manage to sit next to Clara Cook for more than two minutes without strangling her?”

“I was about ten seconds away,” I replied. “Is she always that… intense?”

“Yes. Always,” Destiny confirmed.

Malachi edged in, cupping a hand near his mouth as if it would somehow lower his stage whisper to a volume where the whole salon wouldn’t hear it. “Clara’s got a real bee in her bonnet over the rumor that Beau Bacchus is going to be spending so much time with Gemma,” he said.

I cast an exasperated look at Destiny, who just shrugged. “It’s a small town. Gossip happens.”

“Why does Clara even care?” I asked. “Are they dating or something?”

“No,” Malachi said. “But not for her lack of trying. The woman is in here every single morning without fail, making sure her hair and makeup are situated just so for her staged run-ins with Beau.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Beau usually visits Montcrief’s a few times a week—during his lunch hour—to replenish his classroom supplies. Clara is so obsessed with him that she waits outside the bookstore every day on the off chance that she’ll ‘accidentally’ run into him when he stops by. And,” he leaned in, his whisper growing more dramatic and—dare I say—louder, “that whole 1950s librarian thing she’s got going on? Tsk, tsk. All started when Beau politely told her she looked nice one day. She immediately went to Fae Fashion and commissioned an entire wardrobe full of shoes and dresses in the exact same style. And now she has a standing daily appointment here at Legend’s to replicate the same makeup and hairstyle she was wearing on that fateful day when Beau Bacchus noticed her for five whole minutes.” Malachi shook his head, one finger making a circular motion near his ear.

“Wow,” I said. “So she really is crazy.”

“As a bedbug!” Malachi laughed. “Honestly, I have no idea how she’s able to afford her shopping and salon habit, what with the meager earnings a bookseller must make. But as long as the cash is rolling in to pay my salary, who am I to complain?”

“Thanks, Malachi.” I fished into the velvet bag for a gold coin, which he eagerly accepted, dropping it into a chrome lockbox.

“Should I—” He sauntered off, and I looked to Destiny, whispering, “Do I need change?”

“If you did, you shouldn’t have checked out with Malachi,” she answered. “He doesn’t give change.”

“How convenient for him.” I made a mental note to figure out exactly how much these gold coins were worth, and how much I should expect to pay for things here, so I didn’t get taken advantage of again.

“You look so good, Gemma. Clarence is going to die.”

“Maybe not the ideal reaction to hope for,” I said. “I’ve had enough dead men for one week.” Besides, I only have eyes for Beau. Speaking of…

“Beau!” I turned in the direction of the shop and picked up my pace. “I almost forgot I was supposed to meet him back at the shop!”

“What time?” She asked.

“Noon,” I said. “And I didn’t think to ask anyone for the time.”

“That’s easy!” She pointed to the clock tower at the end of the street. “You have seven minutes. Plenty of time! Listen, I have to go meet a client, but I’ll drop in this afternoon to take a look at your apartment and go over some ideas. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a stylish, cozy space.”

“I’ll send an owl after my meeting at the Chief’s Office,” I said. “I don’t want you to have to wait around on me, especially after you spent your entire morning making me feel better.”

I didn’t share what I was really thinking: If my interview with Detective Otto didn’t go well, Destiny wouldn’t need to worry about Morty’s apartment, because the only place I’d have for her to decorate would by my prison cell.

10

I hustled back to the retail district, reaching the shop just as the clock struck twelve—and miraculously, my feet didn’t hurt a bit. I had to remember to thank David for the magic stilettos. I had just opened the door and set my familiar tote—and sleeping familiar— inside when a deep, rich voice growled my name.

“Gemma Bradbury?”

I turned around to see a towering hulk of a man with broad shoulders, massive biceps, a dark goatee, and flowing dark hair twisted into a haphazard bun at the back of his head. He was clad in tight black jeans and a sheer long-sleeved navy tee that showed off a handful of tribal tattoos scattered over his arms and revealed every single curve of his brawny chest. He fixed his crystal blue eyes on me and smiled, the kind of captivating, intoxicating smile that promises fulfillment of your every fantasy.

“Hi,” I squeaked. Now I understood what all the fuss was about.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying you are a sight to behold,” he said. “I’m Clarence Hakim. “He offered me his hand, which dwarfed mine as I accepted. Clasping my hand in both of his, he bowed, planting a soft kiss on the back of my fingertips. “I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances. How are you enjoying Salem so far?”

“Circumstances could be better,” I agreed. Hold it together, Gemma. He might be a murderer. “But Salem is lovely. Aside from… you know.”

“Yes, I can imagine your crossing over came as quite a shock. And to find Morty like that....” Clarence shook his head, his eyes filling with a gentle sadness. Okay, so maybe the sexiest, nicest murderer ever, but still possibly a murderer.

“ Do you mind if I come inside?” He asked.

“Oh, um…” I cast an awkward glance at the shop door, which Clarence picked up on immediately. He raised his hands in apology.