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Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Too bad it also kind of kicked my best theory to the curb.

I mean, if Mr. Hughes was trapped inside the mirror, then he probably wasn't the one laying the curses. Not because no magic user ever falls afoul of their own spells, and sometimes ends up with a new window and a new niece out of the deal, but because Hughes' face was so filled with terror, it looked like he was wearing a Halloween mask.

If I'd managed to get myself gummed up in something like this, I'd have been concerned, sure. Maybe even worried. But mostly, I'd have been embarrassed as spell, and annoyed at the length of time it was going to take me to pick my way out of the mess I'd made for myself. Or the length of time it was going to take someone else to free me.

But Hughes wasn't acting like a practitioner who'd muffed a spell, not even a nasty one. No, he was acting like a man who was trapped in a living nightmare, one who had no idea how he'd ended up where he now was. To me, that pointed towards him being not only unfamiliar with magic, but unfamiliar with the supernatural entirely.

So, if Hughes wasn't the caster… was he the intended victim of all the other curses? Was this mirror just the curse that finally got him?

He banged on the inside of the glass again, shouting hard enough that his pale face bloomed red, but I still couldn't hear him. So, I held up a finger to tell him to wait a second—to give me some time to think so I could figure out just how in spell to free him.

Hughes being the target of all the curses didn't seem to fit, either. Even if he'd just dodged the black cat painting by never hanging it up, wouldn't he have checked the umbrella to make sure it worked before he sold it? So, why hadn't that curse gotten him? For that matter, while I'd only met the guy for less than twenty minutes, he didn't strike me as the kind of man to strap on a pair of bedazzled high heels, no matter how pretty they might be. Besides, they weren't his size.

So, were the customers the targets? Or was it the pawnshop that was the target?

Hughes was banging on the glass again, slapping with his whole palms, and shouting himself hoarse. I gave him an annoyed look. Didn't he realize how rude that was? I mean, sheesh, I was going to get him out as soon as I could, but a curse like this was delicate. I'd have to unpick it without damaging the mirror, or he could get trapped inside the glass forever and then he'd really have something to bang on about.

Ugh, I was tired just thinking about all the work this was going to require. I had half a mind to charge him for it, but I was afraid he'd try to pay with taxidermy animals and a big ‘no, thanks' to that.

Another palm slap, and then a pointed finger. That got my attention. I stepped back and twisted to see what he was pointing at.

That was the only thing that saved me.

The glass counter exploded as something big and heavy crashed into it, right where I'd been standing a half a breath before. I jerked back, my arms flying up to protect my face, too surprised to even think of a spell to shield myself with. Meanwhile, glass crashed to the ground in a wave of brittle music, scattering across the carpet where it lay in glittering heaps. Jewelry, watches, even some electronics tumbled to the floor, spilling out like blood from a wound.

I spun to face whatever was coming at me, scarlet and black magic twining around my hands. The shadows hissed like furious snakes. It took me a second to recognize the man standing there, glaring at me from the middle of the chaos. It was the old man from the antique store across the street, the one who'd been arguing with Hughes when Taliyah and I had first come here.

Well, shit.

His long hair was straggling around his face, the ponytail gone. And weirdly enough, his pants were still wet. The jeans were soaked from the knees down, but he wasn't leaving any puddles on the carpet—well, as far as I could tell in the dark. What was more, his shoes hadn't squeaked or squelched at all while he was sneaking up on me.

Sneaking up on me… that was right! Of all the deplorable things to do. Well, now he'd pay for it.

If he'd been annoyed that day when we'd run across him, he was furious standing here in the dark pawnshop now. In fact, rage set heavy lines to his face. His teeth were barred, chest heaving, but he hadn't said a word or made a sound. No, he'd just decided to go for the silent attack. And whatever the spell he'd done, it had pounded the heavy counter into sand, so I was just as glad he'd missed.

In the light of my phone, I could see that there was something wrong with his eyes. The pupils were too narrow, and they were also the wrong shape. In fact, his teeth were blocky squares that looked too big for his mouth. It seemed that Mr. Antique Guy wasn't as human as he'd led us to believe.

Bedrow? Bedpost? What in spell was his last name again? Sheesh, I needed to get better at remembering people's names. It was a lot harder to do so when someone was trying to kill me, though.

Beddow, that was it.

The mirror had gone worryingly silent behind me, but I didn't want to risk taking my eyes off Beddow to check and see what Hughes was doing. I had all the trouble I needed, right here in front of me.

Beddow took a step forward, his shoe coming down with a clack that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet store. He glared at me, his eyes reflecting oddly in the light of my phone. It took me a second to realize that his pupils were squared, instead of round.

He leaned forward then, barring those big, blocky teeth. "Little witches should mind their own business."

Wow, okay. Little witches? Really?

The shadows coiled tighter, clinging to my arms as bloody energy crackled around my fingers. Beddow hauled his fist back for another blow. That must have been how he'd shattered the glass case. But there was something wrong with his fingers. They looked short and stiff, curling oddly into his palm.

I brought my hands up, ready to turn him inside out if he actually dared to take a swing at me. But as he lunged forward, I realized he wasn't going for me. He was going for the mirror.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart pounding double time.

I didn't even let myself think, I just dove forward and yanked the mirror off the wall. The wire hanging didn't give, and neither did the nail it was resting on, but the drywall sure did, ripping a hole as it went, and I bolted for the dubious safety of the shelves, hauling the big heavy mirror with me.

The stupid thing had to weigh twenty pounds at least, which didn't sound like much, but it was a lot when it was big and awkward and very, very fragile, and oh yeah, had a whole person trapped inside it.

Just carrying the stupid thing clutched against my chest felt like I was rubbing pig lard onto my skin. The curse writhed and clung, trying to find an anchor on me, but the shadows slapped it back with a smell like copper pennies. I couldn't drop the mirror, because I had no idea how I'd unpick the spell keeping Hughes trapped inside if the mirror was in shards. Which meant I had to keep it away from the smash happy weirdo stomping his way through the store.

Easier said than done.

Trying to navigate a crowded store in the dark was tricky and dangerous. Trying to do it while carrying a big, heavy, fragile bit of baggage? Stupidly annoying. I just barely managed to avoid ramming the glass onto a billiards cue that was sticking too far out from a shelf, and almost went sprawling as a result.

My breath sawed in my throat, sweat making the hair at my temples stick to my skin. This whole situation was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous and, what was more, it was annoying too.

The mirror frame cut into my fingers, and I hissed, scrambling to keep my grip and not drop it. Really, I thought as I grunted, heaving the mirror along with me as I made my way through the jammed shelves. How much did I owe Hughes, anyway? He was lucky I hadn't tossed that mirror like a Frisbee and saved myself a lot of trouble.

But Beddow had tried to hit me while my back was turned, and he'd called me ‘little witch' on top of that. And both things had royally pissed me off. It was clear that he wanted to break the mirror and I was now in the mood to spite him. So, I fought to keep my grip on the mirror and hauled me and my burden down the aisle in the vague direction of the front door.

Some of my backup had to be getting here soon, or so I hoped. At least someone who was better at hauling heavy things.

The curse on the mirror again tried to snake up my forearm, and the shadows twining around me forced it back. The greasy, unclean sensation remained though, and I had to wonder if Dawn detergent would remove it as effectively as it did on oil on a duck.

I slammed my knee against something that didn't have nearly enough give to it, and only managed to catch the curse that wanted to slip out behind my teeth. Scrambling around in the dark wasn't going to work, especially hauling a huge, honking mirror. I needed to find a spot to stash Mr. Hughes, where I was reasonably certain he wouldn't end up glass confetti.

Pawnshops had to have places to lock things up, expensive things, or things not ready for the floor. And they would probably be…

At the back of the store, past the counter. Back the way I'd come from.

Well, shoot.

I leaned against a shelf and tried to catch my breath, listening as hard as I could to see where the heck Beddow had ended up.

Over the steady drumming of the rain against the roof, I could hear his measured footsteps, thanks to my enhanced vampiric hearing. He didn't seem to be in any kind of a hurry, which was rude. I might have totally escaped by this point or laid down a nasty hex or something. I could have done all sorts of things, if I weren't trying to keep cursed Humpty Dumpty alive.

I continued to listen as I then decided there was something wrong with Beddow's footsteps. They were too loud, and almost hollow sounding. Heavy. Not quite like tap shoes—not metallic at all, but that same jarring clack of a dancer trying to take a normal step.

It took me a second before I finally placed it. Hoof beats. It was the same as that slow, clomping gait of the carriage horses that sometimes did tours of Haven Hollow at the height of summer when the tourists came flocking. Was that what had happened to Beddow's hand when he'd gone to smash the mirror? When his fingers had curled in, going stiff and hard, had they been forming a hoof?

The thoughts ticked together in my mind, slotting into place like the pieces of a puzzle. It was actually the damp pant legs that finally tipped me off. Sure, it was raining cats and dogs outside at the moment, but it hadn't been the first day Taliyah and I were here. Plus, the rest of the guy had been bone dry—even his shoulders.

Hooves. Curses. Wet feet.

The son of a gun was a Nucklevee.

They were nasty characters.

The Orkney answer to the kelpies, Nucklevee were the spot where the Fae intersected with the demonic. I tried to remember more about them as I slunk down an aisle, trying to keep away from where I could hear hooves touching the ground. I'd never been one for folklore, but there had to be something useful in the back of my brain somewhere.

Hopefully.

Nucklevees had multiple forms, that much was apparent. They could look like men, and women presumably. They could also look like a big horse, and tended to hang around the rivers that were their homes. I remembered a passage from one of my mother's grimoires that described such creatures as appearing like big handsome animals, free and unattended, but the second someone tried to touch one, that person's skin stuck fast to the horse's hide, and they were dragged down into the river to be drowned and eaten. A lot of the stories I remembered from Mother's grimoires ended with the victims being eaten, actually. By tricks, or force, or just plain ambush.

There weren't any large bodies of water in downtown Haven Hollow, but the realization of what Beddow was suddenly gave the rain outside an ominous cast.

Just like every Fae ever, Nucklevees were spiteful, and proud, and could be really cruel when it suited them. They also held onto a grudge with both fists. I was hoping Taliyah would take after her human upbringing in that one, because I didn't want to deal with a Winter Princess being mad at me for the foreseeable future.

But back to Beddow: clearly, something about Hughes and/ or his pawnshop had ticked the old horse off. It was hard to think of a punishment worthy of ‘trapped in a mirror forever', though.

Speaking of Hughes, the mirror had been quiet for a while. After some awkward shuffling, twisting, and a grunt I hoped nobody heard, I managed to get the mirror turned around far enough that I could actually see into the glass instead of just staring at the back of it.

The good news was that Mr. Hughes was still very much in there. The bad news was that Mr. Hughes was still very much in there. He wasn't looking so hot either. His skin was pallid, even in the weird, shadow light of the mirror world. There was sweat beading on his balding head, and he looked clammy. A little sick even.

His hands were pressed onto the inside of the glass, and that was a little trippy to see. The pads of his fingers were pressed so hard that they'd blanched bone white, and he was shaking as he stared up at me.

There was only so much silent reassurance I could manage, and my thumbs up didn't seem to do the trick. I figured the best course of action would be to get him the spell out of the mirror, like yesterday. Then, not only would I no longer have to haul an astonishingly heavy mirror around, one that could be smashed any time, but also the Nucklevee would have a second target to worry about. One that he was apparently feeling really salty about. Which would give me the chance to return the favor on that whole ambush strike situation.

It was a good plan.

I just needed to figure out how to peel the curse free from the mirror, without giving it another target to latch onto.

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