a witchcraft mystery 08 - a toxic trousseau Read Online Free Page A

baby.”
    “Anything else you can tell me about her?” I asked.
    Eyes glued to the computer screen, Maya clicked the mouse rapidly as she moved from one Web site to another. “From what I see here, I’d say she’s more of a dealer than a shop owner. She’s sold some pretty rare and valuable items to museums. This article mentions a Parmelee Riesling; ever heard of her?”
    “She’s a clothing conservator at the Asian Art Museum. Carlos Romero introduced me to her.”
    “Want the phone number of Jennings’s shop?”
    “Yes, please, though I’m going to drop by her store to speak with her in person. I do better face-to-face.” This was another part of my witchy weirdness: I liked to deal with people in person, sense their vibrations and auras. Lately I had started to think I was the last person under the age of eighty who didn’t carry a cell phone. The phone robs us of body language and the subtle nuances that are part of interpersonal communication, and I’m sufficiently socially awkward that I need all the clues I could get.
    “It says Autumn’s store is open for another half an hour,” I continued, reading the Web site over Maya’s shoulder. “Any chance you’d be up for going with me?”
    She gave me a quizzical look. “Do you want me to go with you?”
    Ever since arriving in San Francisco, I’d been learning how to make friends, as well as how to be a friend. I’d always been a bit of a loner, so all this was new to me. Turns out a big part of my being a friend was asking for help when I needed it.
    And having a conversation with the woman who was suing me qualified as needing help .
    “Yes, please. Sailor’s working tonight and I’d love to have company. I’ll take you to dinner after, my treat.”
    “I’m all yours,” she said with a smile. “I happened to notice that Jennings’s shop isn’t far from Neecha.”
    “Ooh, Thai food sounds good.” We at Aunt Cora’s Closet didn’t like to skip meals.
    That went double for Oscar, who had picked a truly inspired form when he’d decided to manifest as a pig. The little fellow could eat pretty much full-time.
    At the sound of dinner talk, he came trotting over.
    “Sorry, Oscar. There is no way you’re coming to chat with the woman who’s accusing you of bodily injury,” I said. He blinked up at me, his pink piggy eyes full of innocence and contrition. I wasn’t buying it.
    Maya, of course, didn’t realize he could understand everything I said.
    “ Aw , look. The poor little guy’s hungry,” she said.
    “Let me take him upstairs, and then we can go.”
    “I’ll lock everything up down here. Good night, Oscar,” said Maya, giving him a pat. “Don’t let Lily forget to feed you.”
    “Fat chance of that,” I muttered under my breath as I passed through the break room. I grabbed Aidan’s satchel from under the table before climbing the back stairs to our living quarters over the shop.
    When I paused on the landing to open the apartment door, Oscar transformed into his natural state. Part goblin, part gargoyle, he had green-gray scaly skin, a monkeylike snout, big batlike ears, oversized hands, and taloned feet. He often sat on his haunches, but when standing at full height he reached to my waist.
    “OMG,” Oscar breathed as I closed the door behind us. Oscar was hundreds of years old but a fan of teen culture. “Is that the satchel ?”
    “You mean this?” I held it up.
    He reared back slightly. “It is! It’s Master Aidan’s satchel !”
    “Aidan’s not your master anymore, remember? But what’s so special about this bag?”
    His voice dropped and his big bottle-glass green eyes widened. “You stole the satchel ? Mistress, I hate to tell you, but you’re gonna be in big trouble. B-I-G, big .”
    “Don’t be silly; I’m not a thief.”
    “You stole my wings,” Oscar said, referring to the incident that had freed him from Aidan’s control—and placed me in Aidan’s debt in the first place.
    “That was the