“Did he say when he’d be back?” Alderose kicked at the table leg.
I was uncomfortable with my father cutting and keeping Magicals’ hair without their permission, though Kostya’s information did shed some light on why my dad traveled so frequently to see to his out-of-town clients’ needs. “How did our mother do the actual matchmaking?”
Kostya planted his elbows on his knees. “She required the client initiating the request to show up here, physically. Not by proxy, not via an animal familiar. In person. They had to fill out paperwork—real paperwork, not electronic—and leave a cash deposit.
“Moira would create a profile on the client for her eyes only and collect a sample of their hair. I assume she used the hair for making charms or working spells. Heriberto didn’t go into specific detail on your mother’s techniques.”
I blew out a low whistle. “This wasn’t a bunch of hopeful moms and aunties sitting around gossiping—this was a…a business.”
“A very successful business,” Kostya said. “Your dad said Moira made good money because she made good matches.” He extended his arm toward one of the candles and let the wax drizzle down his finger. “Turns out my mother was one of her last clients.”
“Your mother’s married.”
The demon snorted softly. “My mother wants to see her bloodline continue. She wants to play with demon grandbabies. She wants—”
I could see the light bulb going on in Beryl’s head. “Your mother wanted our mother to find a mate for you?” she asked.
“Me and my brothers,” he said, rolling the softened wax between his fingertips. “I’m thirty-four, Laszlo’s thirty-eight, and Ivan’s, like, thirty-one. My mother’s upset that none of us is adhering to her mate-finding and heir-producing timeline.”
“Your mother’s scary.” I’d met the demoness twice. She was nearly as tall as Kostya and every bit as formidable. Kostya’s father was a cream puff who doted on his wife and adored their sons.
“If the three of you could work together, I bet you’d be able to figure out how your mother did what she did and complete her outstanding commitments. Then you could decide if you wanted to formally close the business, or—”
I glared at Kostya. His comment annoyed me. It’s not that Alderose, Beryl, and I couldn’t work together; it was more that we hadn’t tried to synchronize our magical talents in a long time. A very long time. And the last time we made a concerted, coordinated effort to help our mother with her various projects, we had Serena around. She would spend her weekends patiently unknotting or detangling every mess we made of the sewing and needlework Mom assigned us.
“We have lives, you know,” Alderose muttered. “Jobs. Homes. Responsibilities. A girlfriend.”
“And a dog,” I added. I’d left my husky, Sitka, in Vancouver in the care of a group of pet-sitting shifters. Knowing she was well cared for meant I might be more willing to stay in Northampton longer. Especially if I could enlist the help of a professional witch with an inside track on our family’s magic. Putting in a plug for my current Life Plan, I added, “I think we should ask Aunt Maritza for help.”
“Why do we need Tía to deal with all of this”—Alderose waved her hand in the vague direction of the shelves to either side of us—“stuff?”
“Because Mom was her sister, because they’re both Binders, because she’s a professor at a university for Magicals in Toronto.” I paused to inhale and get a handle on my rising upset. Enrolling our aunt in our predicament would be the perfect way to reintroduce myself. Though resolving my mother’s unfinished business would likely take precedence over my ongoing problem with spontaneous visions of other peoples’ pasts. “And because I’m tired of feeling like I’ve missed out on entire chapters of my education in witchcraft because of the way we all just…just blew away from each other after Mom died.”
“Then we should have Dad’s help too. And Uncle Malvyn’s, him being the Enforcer and all. He’d get this figured out in a flash,” Beryl said, snapping her fingers for emphasis.
I got dramatic—I couldn’t help myself—and rolled my eyes. I might have added a huff. Kostya broke in. “When I spoke with your uncle, he assured me he can be here on short notice if we need him. And that he trusts me to handle the investigation.”
“Is it possible one of her clients killed Mom?” I asked. “And then killed Serena?”
Kostya wobbled his hand. When he reached for his badge, Beryl smacked her hand over his. “Or what about those customers who used to come in here to gossip and drink Mom’s tea? Could any of them have been involved?” she asked. “Either with helping Mom, or—” My sister’s shoulders sagged into a slump.
“I don’t know, which is why I’m here and why I’m asking the three of you to stay,” Kostya said, sliding his billfold to the edge of the table. “And why I’m all in favor of inviting your aunt to join us.”
“Any other reasons why you want us to stay?” Go me, always the little one poking the big bear. Before Kostya could answer, the plate-glass windows shuddered. The demon pushed out of the wingback chair and whirled to face the front of the store.
Rain streaked sideways, flickering like a school of manic fish under the glow of the streetlamps. The weather had ramped up since we’d opened the champagne.
“Crap.” Alderose’s usually confident voice hushed at the sight. She rounded the table and jogged to the door, then turned an annoyed face to me and Beryl. “Either of you know there was a nor’easter coming? I’m supposed to leave tomorrow from the portal in Boston and this is going to make the turnpike totally craptastic.”
I shook my head. Checking a weather app for the two-hour drive back to the city hadn’t even crossed my mind.
