Mind Over Magic by Lindsay Buroker
12
Morgen headedacross the parking lot to the entrance of the Timber Wolf alone, Amar saying that they shouldn’t be seen together but that he would be around. She had no idea if that meant he would skulk into the restaurant and hide in the shadows under a table or if he planned to wait in his truck and that she should flee outside to him if she got in trouble. Or maybe he intended to take off as soon as she was out of sight and leave her to find her own way back to the house.
“Should have insisted on bringing my own car,” she muttered.
The amulet lay heavy against her chest, and her doubts about it returned, along with the temptation to remove it and stuff it in her purse. But she doubted that would make a difference. If werewolves could sense it on her, they would sense it in there too.
A squawk came from the edge of the roof as she reached for the door. A raven perched there, its head cocked as a single beady eye stared down at her.
Morgen doubted it was the same one that had flown into Grandma’s room at the house, but she flattened her hand against her chest, just in case it was thinking of swooping down and trying to steal the amulet.
The door opened, and an elderly couple walked out wearing matching T-shirts that read King of the RV and Queen of the RV respectively. They glanced at her chest, maybe wondering why she was touching herself on the threshold of a restaurant.
Morgen lowered her hand, eyed the raven one last time—it hadn’t moved—and stepped into the restaurant. The back entrance that led into the parking lot was more popular than the front, and she had to weave through a crowd of people grabbing raincoats and umbrellas before venturing out.
The coat hooks mounted to the log walls were bronze wolf heads, and the theme continued into the restaurant where howling wolves adorned ceiling lamps, wall sconces, and iron wall art. Next to the cash register, a fountain featuring a wolf standing atop a waterfall burbled while a teenager with pigtails rang up tabs on a system that had been state of the art in the eighties.
The tables were full, with more people milling in a waiting area, but Morgen spotted Christian alone at a large booth, his hat taking up half the bench beside him. One of his arms was draped over the back of the seat while he sipped an amber liquid on the rocks. As Morgen made her way toward him, marveling that a town with such a small population could have so many people at this restaurant, she looked warily around for burly men who might be belligerent French-Canadian werewolves with a thing against witches.
Fortunately, retired couples taking a break from their summer travels were more typical. Given the scents of charring meat and sizzling bacon wafting from the kitchen, Morgen would have expected a clientele with younger, haler arteries.
Christian spotted her, lifted his glass, and waved her to the seat opposite him. “Glad you could make it, ma’am.”
“Yes.” Morgen slid into the booth, glancing around one last time for werewolves, but she didn’t see anyone similar to the brawny construction werewolves—or Amar—nor was anyone paying attention to her. That was a relief. “Thanks for meeting me. I’m eager to hear your plans for the property.”
If they got straight to business, maybe they could finish in a few minutes. She could skip the dining portion of the meal entirely and head back out to join Amar.
“Certainly, certainly. But let me order you a drink first.” Christian waved for the waitress.
Morgen sighed, having a feeling that straight-to-business wouldn’t happen.
“The Timber Wolf isn’t our finest dining experience, but the locals and tourists enjoy it, and it gives you a taste of what Bellrock is about. You get to pick your steak off the beef trolley, and they prepare it to your specifications.” Christian pointed to a server in an apron pushing a wheeled cart of slabs of raw meat out of the kitchen.
Even though Morgen didn’t consider herself the kind of vegetarian who vociferously proclaimed the cruelty of the meat industry and condemned others for their tastes, she couldn’t help but curl a lip at the glistening slabs of beef lined up on the cart.
“How much would I have to pay to see an offering from the tofu trolley?” she asked.
Christian blinked slowly. “You might check at the froufrou coffee shop down the street for that. They have some baked goods that are gluten-free, soy-free, sugar-free…” He sipped from his glass as he muttered, “Flavor-free,” to finish.
“I will. Thanks.”
Christian started detailing plans for the property, including sending a photographer to capture the estate at its best. Morgen decided she would lock the root cellar for that. Even though she’d been organizing the shelves, pegboards, crates, chests, and everything else down there, she doubted the pentagram on the floor and the ceremonial daggers would entice buyers.
A server brought menus as Christian spoke, and Morgen perused the selections under the wolf-head logo, hoping for trolley-free offerings. There wasn’t anything strictly vegetable-based, but she occasionally ate fish, and could have opted for the salmon, but it came with a steak on the side. All of the seafood offerings were some version of surf and turf. Maybe she would get a plate, eat the side salad, and take the rest out to Amar. He had to be hungry after a day of chainsawing logs into artwork.
“Can I send the photographer over tomorrow?” Christian asked. “Have you had time to tidy up the place?”
“Uh.” Morgen thought of the shelves full of embalmed organs that she’d alphabetized and the rooms in the main house that she hadn’t touched. “I’ll finish working on it tonight. Sure.”
The sooner the house was listed, the sooner she would find out who wanted to buy it.
The pigtailed teenager from the cash register came up to the table and handed an envelope to Morgen. “This is from the Crystal Parlor. The old lady who works there said to give it specifically to you, that you look like you could use a two-for-one voucher.” She glanced at Christian and shrugged.
“I’m the only one who gets one?” Morgen asked.
“Yup.” The teenager stuck her hand in her jeans pocket, tamping down the tip of a five-dollar-bill that had been hanging out. Had someone paid her to deliver the envelope? “Most of the randos who hang out here aren’t the crystal types.”
“I’ll be sure to check it out.”
“Said no one ever.” With another shrug, the teenager wandered off.
Apparently, the five-dollar tip hadn’t been sufficient to convince her to talk up the place.
“It’s a tchotchke shop for people who will believe anything.” Christian eyed the storefronts across the street, including one labeled the Crystal Parlor.
The words crystal witch’s sister floated into Morgen’s mind. The werewolf had said them in a scathing way, making it clear she was an enemy, but maybe one of the witches in town could tell Morgen something about that clip.
A server came to take their order, and as Christian was relaying a long list of instructions on how he wanted his wagyu prepared, Morgen opened the envelope. She was disappointed when the first thing she pulled out was indeed a two-for-one voucher, good on all crystals, geodes, and tumbled stones, with a special deal on selections from the Chakra Collection. But the next handwritten page was more interesting.
Without preamble, it read, The Timber Wolf isn’t safe for our kind. If you have trouble escaping, you can use Gwen’s amulet for assistance. Simply incant, “Under the moon’s magic, allow me to sleuth and reveal thy silvery truth,” to learn the weaknesses of your enemies and exploit them.
Morgen hoped incanting was the same as saying and that she wouldn’t need to do either. How had whoever sent this known that she wore the amulet? It wasn’t as if she’d taken it out from under her zipped hoodie, and the silver chain itself was unassuming.
For some reason, the raven popped to mind. What if it was a witch’s familiar, and it was spying on her?
As much as she cringed at the idea of strolling into shops and chatting up the employees, she might have to step out of her comfort zone to speak with whoever had sent this. Clearly, it had been someone at the crystal shop. The owner? The crystal witch?
The server cleared his throat. “And your order, ma’am? Do you want to make a selection from the beef trolley?”
“No, that’s not necessary. Just… the salmon and steak is fine. With a large salad.”
“We only have one size of salad, ma’am.” He used his hands to shape a small plate in the air. If his portrayal was accurate, it could hold a maximum of four lettuce leaves.
“That’s fine. Thanks.”
“Anything interesting?” Christian pointed at the envelope.
Morgen read the incantation again to memorize it, then slid the paper back into the envelope, showing him the coupon so he would believe it was nothing of importance. “Only if I need my chakras realigned.”
“Bunch of woo-woo crap.” He took out his phone. “I’ll need to send over some documents for you to sign, permitting me to represent you and ensuring you won’t let anyone else list the property. What’s your email address?”
Morgen hesitated, the idea of signing something and committing to this line of action bothering her, though she knew she wouldn’t have to accept any of the offers. Christian would be disappointed if she didn’t—especially if they were for substantial amounts of money—but he could get over it. If he’d truly been harassing Grandma for months and trying to get her to move into an old-folks home, he deserved it.
She gave him her email address, not expecting him to rush her to sign anything, but he kept glancing at her phone as they ate their appetizer salads, and she got the impression he wanted her to sign everything before he let her out the door. Since there wasn’t wifi at Grandma’s house, and the cell reception was a little spotty, maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. The sooner she did this, the sooner she could find Grandma’s killer.
The server raised his eyebrows when Morgen asked for a doggie bag as soon as he set their entrees down. She restrained her humor by not asking for a wolfie bag, though, given the decor, he probably wouldn’t have thought anything of that.
After signing Christian’s documents electronically on her phone, she ate the handful of vegetables that had come with the meal while stealing glances out the window at the Crystal Parlor. Unfortunately, the wares were the only things visible through the shop’s large display window. She couldn’t see anyone peering out at her.
“I’ll take care of the bill.” Christian picked up his hat and plopped it on. “Thank you for your time, ma’am. I’ll send up the photographer tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
With the business concluded, he didn’t dally. Morgen was glad. As she swooped up her take-out box, she thought about heading straight across the street to investigate the crystal shop, but she felt obligated to check in with Amar. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to ask if he knew anything about the crystal witch and if she was likely the one who sent the note, or if that person had nothing to do with the parlor at all.
The crowd had thinned by the time Morgen opened the back door, so she was the only one exiting the building, but she almost crashed into Amar’s broad back. He crouched with his fists up, facing three pale-skinned men with neatly trimmed brown hair. They were as big and muscular as Amar, but their gold watches and North Face and Ralph Lauren clothes were a lot different from his style.
“Let us in, Lobo,” one growled in a raspy voice similar in tone to Amar’s, though the accent wasn’t the same.
Morgen had a feeling these were the Loups.
“That’s our restaurant. We own it, and we run it,” the man continued.
He hadn’t yet seen Morgen through Amar, but one of his buddies had. He squinted at her as he sniffed the air in her direction.
“We have the right to go inside whenever we want,” the speaker added.
“That’s her.” The other man pointed at Morgen. “The new witch.”
“Get her,” the third one said. “We’ll make sure she doesn’t sell Wolf Wood.”