Chapter 6

With my carnivalmap clutched in one hand and the strap of my forager bag in the other, I wound through the gypsy wagons—all in shades of flame, from blue to orange, yellow and red—until I found the one with the big white crystal logo on its side. Chalce's Crystal Emporium. Unlike most of the others, whose sides opened like those of food trucks to display their wares or carnival games, this one had a Dutch door, the top open and secured with a bolt latch, the bottom closed but a sign in yellow declaring "Welcome."

From the open half-door, a muted, multicolored glow emanated into the gloom of the night.

Climbing the three steps to reach the door, I lifted the latch and let myself inside with a cautious, "Hello?"

No human answered me, but a massive iguana stirred to life in a nearby bin, shaking itself free of the tiny rose quartz crystals it had been sleeping in. There were similar bins dominating the floor perimeter everywhere else, smaller ones on the shelves at waist and head height, the uppermost shelf—out of reach of children who couldn't keep their hands to themselves—reserved for the large and impressive crystal specimens. And everywhere, glowing crystals of every shape and color.

Chalce must've buried lightbulbs in the bottom of the crystals to create the illusion, and it was extraordinarily effective. Little fairy lights on strings curled everywhere else, carefully arranged so they always illuminated the curling script of the labels on each bin.

There were amethyst and tiger's-eye, malachite and citrine, hematite and white quartz, hundreds of different kinds. I spied the tourmaline—labeled rainbow tourmaline to distinguish the purple-green stone from its other varieties—and the white selenite, but I didn't rush towards them right away. These gypsies worked for a warlock, and I wasn't about to blatantly purchase some of the most effective magic-devouring and truth-revealing crystals and have them rat me out to the warlock. Information was as good a currency as actual money to supes, and someone might be interested to know there was a witch with expensive crystal tastes tucked away in sleepy ol' Redbud, Indiana.

Which was why I'd spent my first hour after fleeing from the arena trading my potions and teas and cordials with the other gypsies, and anyone else who wanted them, for actual cash that I would then use to buy my crystals with. A quick trip to the public restroom had served as a private place to change my outfit twice, just in case, and as Chalce the gypsy emerged from wherever she'd been hiding—and no doubt watching me—with a cliché and on-brand, "Greetings, traveler," she was met with a young woman whose hair was tucked up under a white slouch hat wearing black leggings and a fleece jacket. I made sure to keep the sleeves long, covering my parasite ring. Most would think it only a pretty piece of jewelry, but a skilled crystallographer would definitely suspect.

"Hi, there," I said brightly, trying to sound as loud and perky as a Miss Redbud pageant winner on a Fourth of July float. "Just lookin' at all the sparklies! You sure got a lot of 'em!"

The iguana and the gypsy shared a look, then Chalce smiled. "Anything you're looking for in particular?"

I fed her a story about a bad breakup and wanting to purge me and my house of all that negative energy and protect my heart from future bozos. "Burning white sage can only do so much, am I right?"

The gypsy smiled without any humor and guided me around the bins, pointing out the ones I'd need, including the selenite. I was careful to choose a selection of poor-grade and high-grade stones, nothing that would give me away as an educated buyer, and finally turned to the rainbow tourmaline.

"You don't need that one," Chalce said, her tone suddenly suspicious.

"But it's so pretty," I whined. "Green and purple, and is that a little pink in there? So cute! I mean, it's gotta be a mood-booster with all that color, right? You don't know Jeremy, he was such a downer. I'll be detoxing for weeks, so I might as well be happy about it!"

I batted my eyelashes like a helpless and hopeful bimbo, and the gypsy forced another smile. I was, however annoying, a buying customer. "Just keep it away from obsidian," she told me, gesturing to the checkout counter.

The price was exorbitant, which I made sure to comment on in my perky voice, but I forked over the cash. Calce packaged the crystals in one blue velvet bag, not even taking the time to separate the ones that would degrade each other, but I said nothing. I was a Midwestern country bumpkin, after all. With a cheery wave to both her and the iguana, I left the wagon and hurried behind the nearest tree to divide out the crystals among my pockets.

With my primary mission complete, it was time to snoop for the warlock.

I changed back into my first outfit—Little Miss Sundress And Lipstick—and prowled around the perimeter where a warlock's wagon was most likely to be found. Out of the way, unbothered, discrete. As I walked, I sprinkled the green granules of masking sand every few steps. This little application wouldn't totally hide my trail, it would make it pretty difficult for anyone to follow. Or track where I'd been. Anything stronger would arouse suspicion, and I didn't want to be on this warlock's radar.

After another hour of meandering, I found… nothing.

Wetting my lips, I wondered, Maybe he's like me, hiding in plain sight?

I delved deeper into the carnival fairgrounds, searching for his wagon among the high-traffic areas, and immediately regretted it.

"Yoohoo!" Flora waved from Daphne's shoulder. "If it isn't the cider witch finally emerging from her farm!"

I hurried through the crowd, not because I wanted to talk to my friends, but it was the only way to get the garden gnome to shut up. Thistle thorns, she was yappier than a Chihuahua sometimes.

"So lovely to see you, dear," Daphne said with a warm smile.

She'd foregone her normal frontierswoman look of buckskin for something more align with the drop of druid blood in her ancestry: a billowing skirt, leather sandals, and her favorite fringed shawl. Her long white hair was bound in its customary braid and lilac-colored ribbon, her hand curled over the knob of her blackthorn shillelagh. In her other hand, she held a wire basket half full of glass bottles.

"Evening, ladies," I greeted quickly. "What's that, Daph? And where's Shari?"

"Goat milk," she answered, hefting the basket.

"You have goats now?"

"Well, not me, specifically, but someone dropped off a bunch of milking goats at the shelter, and well, they have to be milked or it gets very uncomfortable for them."

"Which you would know if you came to the Thursday night Crafting Circle," Flora said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Had you not shown yourself today I might've pounded down your door. I'm almost out of that hay fever tea!"

"I've been… busy," I said.

"Not busy enough to not sneak out and go to the Carnival Cauchemar all by yourself," the gnome said, pouting.

"I'm not here by myself. At least, I didn't start that way."

"Oh yeah?"

I winked. "I came in with Arthur."

"You're going on dates with the lumbersnack now and you didn't tell us?" Flora screeched.

"Flora!" Daphne admonished. "No one will want to trade for this goat milk if you're screaming like a deranged parrot, and I've had a good run of it so far. Lower your voice. Better yet." She plucked the garden gnome off her shoulder and thrust her into my arms, marching away before either of us could protest. "See you two in just a minute!"

I yanked the garden gnome away from me at the same time she took a swing at my chin.

"Hn," she grunted, though I couldn't tell if she was happy or sorry her punch hadn't landed. "Seems your reflexes are better than before. Battling more skinks?"

"No," I answered warily, unsure if she was going to try to hit me again. I made a mental note to make a new entry in my notebook that Midwestern garden gnomes seemed to be more feral than those of the East Coast. Or maybe it was just this one…

"Pity, that was a good time. Nothing exciting ever happens in this town." Then she cocked an eyebrow at me. "You gonna keep me hanging here or what?"

My arm remained outstretched, holding the garden gnome by her overalls like I would the scruff of a naughty kitten. "That depends. You gonna be nice?"

"I suppose I could forgive you for ditching us these past weeks."

Rolling my eyes, I retracted my arm and let the garden gnome sit on my shoulder, holding on to my ponytail for support. "Way to lay it on thick, Flora."

"Daph's too polite to say anything, and good luck getting Shari to use her words half the time, so somebody's gotta say something." She gave my hair a tug. "We're not the stray puppies at Daphne's animal shelter that you can come in and play with whenever you want."

I gave her a sideways look as I trailed after Daphne. "I understand that, and you need to respect that my needs and time commitments might be different than yours. We're not all extroverts, you know."

"Hmph," the garden gnome grunted. "Fine. But it would be nice to see you more than once a month, you know."

"I know." By the Green Mother, I knew. To have grown up in a manor full of my family only to trade it for a creaky old farmhouse with a talking cat? The hobs didn't count—they had their own barn and kept to themselves working the orchard, though we'd share at least one meal together each day. I knew what loneliness felt like, to be without companionship.

Given how grumpy she was now, I could only imagine her response when I finally broke the curse on my family's grimoire and returned home. That was, if the Hawthornes let me come back. While I was doing my family a service, I'd also stolen from them. Used my magic against them. Such things weren't easily forgiven.

All I knew was, the longer I stayed away, the greater their resentment would be. Without their spell book, even if it was cursed, the Hawthorne coven was weak. Ripe for an attack. Our reputation would protect them for a while, but it was only a matter of time before someone found out the truth.

"So where's Shari?" I asked when the silence was starting to get uncomfortable. Having not found the warlock, and knowing my chances were slim now that the Crafting Circle had found me and would demand my time, I wanted to go home and start work on my crystals. But I wasn't about to abandon Flora to find Daphne on her own, not after what we'd just talked about.

Flora sighed dramatically. "She's at home crocheting her costume for the Corn Maze Race tomorrow. Charlie will be there, apparently, and she wants to look—how did she phrase it? Creepy cute? She's apparently a fruit bat this year and is making a bandolier of either mauled or sad-looking fruit to wear. You know, the chibi kind? All cute and cartoony, but horrified at the prospect of being eaten, a few with their seeds spilling out of their guts?"

I gulped, wondering not for the first time where exactly Shari Cable came up with these ideas. "Better than a bandolier of those zombie voodoo dolls, right? Maybe?"

"Well, that's it," Daphne said happily, striding towards us with thumps of her shillelagh. She lifted her empty wire basket. "Six quarts sold and more interested traders on the hook! Will we be seeing you again tomorrow, dear? The corn maze is always so fun, but you need a team of four to qualify for the big prize. Jakob Tabrass himself presents it to the winners. Last year it was a thousand dollars!"

I could feel Flora's gaze trying to drill a hole in the side of my head.

Lucky for her, I was already planning on attending. I had to find that warlock, and now I knew exactly where he'd be. "Yeah. I'd like that."

The garden gnome let out a whoop. Then she hopped from my shoulder to Daphne's, waving her red cowgirl hat. "The race starts fifteen minutes after the carnival opens tomorrow night. We're at entrance A. Don't be late!"