Chapter 1
“Thanks, Evelina,” Mahogany said, grabbing the to-go cups and bag holding two slices of coffee cake.
“My pleasure. Are we still on for tonight?” The lovely blond tossed her golden hair over her shoulder as she spoke, her violet eyes glinting in the bright cafe.
“You bet. I’ll see you at seven.” Mahogany headed for the Hot Brews’ door, thinking her usually vibrant fuchsia-colored curls needed a revamping. They had faded to a color akin to puce, reminding Mahogany less of hot pink flowers and more of antacid. Perhaps she could fit in a quick salon visit. Demetri at Gothmother’s would work his magic restoring Mahogany’s kinky hair to its full glory.
As her fingers grazed the cafe door, a young police officer pulled it open. “Thank you,” Mahogany said, tipping her head in greeting.
“No problem, Spider-Girl,” the officer said, a forced smile pulling at his lips. He held the door like a shield between himself and the dark-skinned woman with a penchant for arachnids. On her shoulder, Bazgul, her demon familiar in the form of a giant tarantula, chittered and nodded his fuzzy head.
The officer’s rosy cheeks blanched, and he bound into the safety of the cafe.
Mahogany giggled. “Bazgul, play nice with the humans.”
Bazgul chittered again, nuzzling Mahogany’s cheek.
“I know, low-hanging fruit. That’s what he gets for calling me, ‘girl.’ I know black doesn’t crack, but I don’t look like a child.” Mahogany sighed, taking in the fresh autumn air. The scent of the ocean drifted on a light breeze. The leaves held their green, at least for now, but the sun raked in at a lovely angel, giving the small town of Pandemonium, Oregon, a golden glow.
She passed by Backing Masking, Pandemonium’s record store, and thought of Tony Cunningham. They’d met that summer, and it had been love at first sight for Mahogany. They’d managed a single date, which had gone well. They’d laughed and had a great time, but when he’d walked her to her door afterward, he had given her an awkward hug and practically ran back to his car. After that, things had become strained between them, and she didn’t know how to get the easy-going Tony back. Mahogany sighed at the memory. Dating sucked.
She shook her head and let her mind wander back to the events of that summer. Mahogany had been on a routine job to retrieve enchanted items from a dead wizard. But instead of finding a magical person dead from natural causes, she had found the wizard murdered and his apprentice dying from his wounds. Then she’d been nearly attacked by the assailant, who still happened to be in the house when she arrived. As she fled, the ghost of Guy Miller, the apprentice, had latched onto her. Mahogany became determined to solve Guy’s murder to allow him to cross over, but that hadn’t happened. Instead, Guy’s annoying presence lingered like a cold sore before prom. Yet, much to Mahogany’s pleasure, the invisible tether leashing Guy to her had grown longer and more lenient. Guy had been her constant companion for two months, unable to go more than 100 feet before being yanked back to her side. Then one morning, she’d awoken without his incessant jabber. She’d found out later that he’d gone touring around the magical town of Pandemonium on his own. Mahogany didn’t want to admit that she’d felt a little left out by his solo adventuring. However, Guy’s continuing presence wasn’t the only troubling issue. There had been the magic she’d performed that faithful night in the brownstone where Guy had been murdered. How had she, a human, been able to cast a spell? It didn’t make any sense unless, but no, the idea was too crazy to fathom.
“Hello,” said a tall, dark fairy with purple wings, tipping his bowler hat in greeting.
“Good morning,” Mahogany replied, releasing her thoughts of last summer’s magical mystery. After solving the murders earlier that summer, the Folk of Pandemonium had been much more accepting of her. Being human in a magical town had its hurdles, but now people greeted her with smiles and warmth instead of cold indifference.
“How’s Bazgul today?”
The demon spider chattered at the sound of his name and bobbed up and down.
“That’s a good demon,” the fairy said, holding out a dog treat. Bazgul took the small, bone-shaped gift and wolfed it down.
Mahogany smiled and started across the street when the heel of her beloved turquoise cowboy boot caught the curb, sending her reeling. A few drops of coffee saw their way out of one of the plastic lids and dribbled down the cup’s side.
In her attempt to avoid ending up in the coroner’s office, Mahogany had jumped from a second-story window of the brownstone when Guy’s murderer had cornered her. The fall had broken her tailbone. Then. to add insult to injury, her boot heel had come loose on impact.
The purple-winged fairy shot out a protective hand and made sure she was all right before continuing on his way.
“Are you a Pandemonium resident?”
The voice pulled Mahogany’s attention to the front of Haughty Hemlock, and she stopped short. The willow-thin R. Whitebait stood outside the apothecary, a clipboard in a wrinkled hand. Tufts of unruly thinning white hair stood hither and nigh about his head. A brightly-colored striped waistcoat encased his angular, pencil-shaped torso like a sausage casing. No doubt, a product of his tailoring skills. A delicate gold chain arched across the vest’s front, disappearing into a pocket where, Mahogany guessed, a watch ticked away the minutes.
“Sign our petition to have the clock tower chime changed so it’s quiet from seven in the evening to seven in the morning,” Whitebait called to innocent passersby.
Next to the man stood his wife, the much younger Lilac Delldini. Lilac wore a blue and white ruffled top and black headband, appearing more youthful than her forty-seven years. She held a large stack of fliers, which she held out to passing morning shoppers.
Mahogany rolled her eyes and headed in their direction.
“Ah, Mahogany,” Whitebait said. One of his shaggy white eyebrows shot up and reached for its wild brethren atop his head, “Are you ready to see reason?”
“You ask me that every morning, RW, and even time I shoot you down,” Mahogany said, a snarky smile on her lips. R. Whitebait, better known as RW, was the town’s busybody. He always had his paws in the inner workings of Pandemonium. When they weren’t meddling, he and his wife ran a designer men’s clothing shop in town, charging outrageous prices for their gaudy attire.
“You’re one of the few holdouts.” RW shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Get on board or get out.”
Mahogany sighed and glanced through the Haughty Hemlocks plate window to Neema inside. The older woman stood with hands on hips, scowling at RW with an expression one would give a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of one’s shoe. “I would if I could.” She raised one of the to-go cups she held and headed inside the apothecary.
RW wasn’t wrong. The clock’s incessant chiming could be an issue. She would have obliged if anyone else had asked her to sign, but RW was a jerk. Mahogany hated the idea of making him happy.
“That man,” Neema said, taking her coffee from Mahogany. “I keep telling him to take his crusade someplace else, but he refuses. It’s affecting business. I even signed the damned thing, and he still won’t leave.” Neema pursed her lips at RW and Lilac.
“Here,” Mahogany said and handed Neema one of the white pastry bags, “this will help.”
“Coffee cake? My favorite. Did Evelina bake it?” Neema took a grateful bite and closed her eyes in appreciation.
“Does it matter?” Mahogany joined Neema in reveling in their morning treat. “Fae baked goods always hit the spot.” Fairy food also could manipulate humans into doing things they wouldn’t usually do. But the baked goods at Hot Brews were irresistible, so what if you found yourself in the town square clucking like a chicken? At least the coffee cake was out of this world.
“True, but Evelina takes extra care. She has real talent.” Neema headed behind the glass display counter and sat on a high stool.
They finished breakfast and got to work readying the store for the day. Mahogany flipped the closed sign to open and caught a glimpse of a pale hand holding the curtain back in the shop across the street.
“I’ll be right back.” Mahogany grabbed a tin from behind the counter and headed toward the pale hand.
Humbaba, the statuary shop, wasn’t yet open, but Mahogany knocked on the smoky glass anyway. An unseen hand slid the bolt on the door, and Mahogany swung it open.
“Sorry to bother you. I have something for Euryale.” Mahogany took a tentative step into the dark shop. Amalgamous shadows loomed in the deep wooden shelves creating beasts from uncharted worlds. Mahogany shivered and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
Something scraped on the floor behind her, and she jumped. She turned to find the younger of the Gorgon sisters, Euryale. The tall, imposing mythical woman’s red, scaly skin looked even more painful than usual on the warming autumn day.
“You have something for me?” Euryale’s words dripped with suspicion, and she recoiled as Mahogany held out the tin.
“I made you some cream to ease your pain.” At seeing the Gorgon’s reaction, Mahogany pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. After all of your help with Guy’s murders this summer, I thought it was the least I could do.” She held out the tin again.
Euryale took the tin as if it might burn her. “For my skin?”
Mahogany nodded and smiled, trying to reassure the immortal being before her.
“No one’s ever given me a gift before.” Euryale opened the tin and sniffed the contents.
“Well, this can be your first.” Mahogany glanced around the dusty store, an awkward discomfort spoiling her resolve. “I should be getting back.” She pointed to the Haughty Hemlock across the street.
Euryale looked up from the billowy white cream poking out in peaks from the tin to Mahogany. “Se efcharistó fíle mou.”
“Se efcharistó fíle mou?” Mahogany raised an eyebrow, trying to parrot back what she’d heard.
“Thank you, my friend. Se efcharistó fíle mou.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. Our-yay elcome-way,” Mahogany replied, thrusting the door outward, eager to leave Humbaba and its creepy lawn ornaments. As her boot touched the sidewalk, she collided with a woman lugging a giant suitcase down the sidewalk.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mahogany said and helped steady the woman.
The woman’s long, jet-black hair fell to her waist in a dark river. Her almond-shaped eyes reminded Mahogany of Tony’s, but the woman’s eyes were deep brown instead of hazel.
“That’s all right, but I am a bit lost. Can you tell me where,” she checked a paper in her hand, “Tipsy O’Lush’s is? Such an odd name.”
Mahogany eyed the woman’s large suitcase. “Of course. Head to the end of the street, take a left at the park, and it’ll be on your left, two blocks down.”
“Thank you so much,” the woman smiled and headed off. Across the street, a commotion got Mahogany’s attention.
“The clock tower is part of our collective history! To change even one part of it is blasphemy to those who came before us!” a second, shorter man screamed into RW’s face. A low top hat sat at a jaunty angle on his wizened head. Mahogany recognized this new figure as the Clock Tower Committee president, Matt Hader.
RW leaned back as spittle flew from the man’s lips and into his face. “You always were quite the thespian, Matt.” RW chuckled, pulled a bright blue handkerchief bespeckled with red hearts from his pocket, and mopped his face. “The clock is a nuisance and should be torn down. You’re lucky I’m only petitioning to have the chime changed.” RW poked Matt in the chest, the blue and red hanky swinging like a declaration of war from his hand.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Matt bellowed. “The Guild of Myth and Magic will never stand for it. Why this behavior is next to treason.” Matt grabbed his top hat and adjusted it on his head.
Mahogany sighed as she observed the grownup temper tantrum. She gazed around and noted a small crowd gathering to watch the spectacle unfold. Behind where RW and Matt argued, she spied Neema standing in the doorway of the Haughty Hemlock. A glower of murderous proportions hung on her face.
“Fine. If I must,” Mahogany said under her breath and crossed the street, her boot heel giving a wobble as she went. “OK, boys, break it up,” she said as she approached.
Neither RW nor Matt paid Mahogany any heed. Only when the tall, angular RW advanced on the smaller, rounder Matt Hader did the pale-haired Lilac step in.
She placed an alabaster hand on her husband’s arm and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. RW flinched as if pinched and smiled down at Lilac, his face dreamy.
“You’re right, my love,” RW said, placing his clipboard under an arm, and he stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. He put his arm in Lilac’s, and together they strode away.
“There, there,” Neema said and approached Matt. “Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?”
“Tea?” Matt shook his head as if to clear away his righteous anger. “I always have room for tea.”
“That’s the spirit,” Neema said, leading him into the apothecary.
