The cat opened his mouth to answer. “I—”
“Fireball!”
At the bellowed warning, Daffi flung herself to the side, wrapping herself around Garlick to protect him. The air on the street went still, and then… Whhhummmpphhh!
She tucked her head in, a small scream startled from her lips as heat ripped across her back. She got it together enough to mutter,
“Mother’s strength and crone’s might,
Hide us from this spells sight,
By your grace, protect us now,
The caster I will find, this I vow.”
Blessed cool washed over her back, creating a small bubble of ice against the enchanted heat of the spell. It roared around them like a dragon’s fury, until, abruptly, it cut off.
Long seconds passed until Garlick, his face stuffed against her boobs, wriggled. “Can’t… can’t breathe…”
She let him go, suddenly aware of people around her. Abberline’s concerned face came into view.
“Miss? Miss McGee, are you okay?”
She pushed upright, anger ripping through her. “For saying someone just tried to kill me outside the damn watch house, I’d say I’m doing just fine, thank you very much, Sergeant!”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked around the street. Already watchmen and women were out here, helping confused norms and telling the tale of an underground gas explosion.
Someone had just tried to kill her. In public. In front of norms.
This wasn’t just a murder investigation now.
Now, it was personal.
She turned to Abberline. “I know who the killer is. We just have to catch them. And I have a plan to do just that…”
14
“I don’t like this,” Oberon grumbled in her ear. “My Queen should not be used as bait.”
Daffi smiled at his protective protest, ducking her head and pressing her earring, currently be-spelled for communications, as she answered.
“It has to be me,” she murmured, keeping her head down so anyone watching wouldn’t see her talking. “Sorry, handsome, but even if we put you in a dress, you still wouldn’t cut it. The killer is after me.”
“Ugh, Sparkles in a dress. Are you trying to give me nightmares?” Garlick groused. Like Oberon, who had been released for this operation, and Abberline, he was concealed along the route she was taking to walk home. She’d made a big show of saying goodbye near the watch house, the boys loudly stating their intention to go watch the latest action film, and then made her way home. Alone. Apparently.
In reality, her boys had joined Abberline and his men along her route—concealed and ready to pounce once the killer made a move.
Taking a deep breath, she continued walking. All her survival instincts and hell, simple common sense, yelled at her that walking down the middle of an empty street in the dark was not just a bad idea. It was a running about naked in the middle of a zombie apocalypse level of stupid.
Especially when someone was out to kill her.
Her heels rang out against the cobblestones, and she took solace in the rhythm of the sound. Remember. Remember who you were before you forgot. The words were whispered in the back of her mind this time with a woman’s voice, as lovely as it was soft. She ignored it as she continued.
Then it happened.
A dark figure stepped out of the shadows ahead, blocking her path between Cattermole Alley and Greek Street.
“I have to say.” Ms. Whipsnide cast off her all-concealing cloak with a flourish. Beneath it she wore the robes of the Order of the Hidden Butterknife. “I didn’t think you’d be quite this slow.”
“Oh?” Daffi stopped in the middle of the street, every muscle in her body tensed and ready for action. If Whippy so much as moved a muscle, she was ready to blast her into the next century. Witches didn’t duel often. It was illegal for the most part, not to mention dangerous.
In a built-up area like this, there was always the risk of a spell rebounding off a building or norms getting hurt as well. That wasn’t to say it didn’t happen. The incident in Pudding Lane was a great example. Norms tended to notice a little thing like the entire city being on fire, so there was a ban on dueling within London.
Whipsnide all but hugged herself in glee, her pinched face twisted into an unaccustomed smile. It didn’t look right on her face, like her muscles weren’t used to making the expression.
“You’ve walked right into my trap, finally!” she crowed in triumph. “The grand master will be so pleased with me.”
Remember, my daughter, the woman’s voice whispered on the soft breeze that lifted Daffi’s hair on her shoulders and fluttered the skirts of her dress around her legs. Remember who you were before we made you forget.
“I wonder,” Daffi mused, cocking her head and studying Whipsnide. The older witch was almost haglike in her glee. “Would your grand master be happy with all your mistakes?”
Whipsnide paused, her eyes narrowing. “I do not make mistakes. I have brought in a La Fay—a minor one, yes, but still a La Fay. I will be rewarded.”
“You don’t make mistakes!” Daffi barked a laugh. “Oh, that’s a good one. Let’s go through them. Shall we? You killed Sybil to frame me, but you were sloppy and there was a witness. Wasn’t there? Jack.”
Whipsnide folded her arms over her skinny chest with her lips pursed. “Meddling little fae shouldn’t even have been there,” she huffed.
“But he saw you, and you knew he knew you weren’t me… so he had to be silenced. Stop me if I get warm here, okay?” Daffi kept going. “But you fucked up. You didn’t know about Oberon and didn’t count on him being able to tell you’d killed Jack with cold-iron… and you didn’t count on Jack telling me you were wearing a wig. Did you?”
Surprise flowed over Whipsnide’s face. “He didn’t tell you that. He couldn’t have. He’s dead. I slit his throat from ear to ear…” she drew a finger across her throat. “He wasn’t
