Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

M y first full breath inside the garden room was like a power surge straight to my heart. Peaty compost mingled with the zest of basil, lemon balm, and rosemary, and intertwined with the sweet aroma of lavender, mint, and thyme. The perfumed air crescendoed into a scented chorus, a spicy medley of aromatic music.

I straightened one of the whimsical miniature paintings Mom and I'd nailed to a wooden sill, ran my fingers over the chipped paint corbels, arches, and decorative pieces we'd affixed to the walls, wiped dust off furniture we'd hauled out of thrift shops and off curbsides, cleaned, and lovingly restored as planters.

The room overflowed with life, with love, with peace.

Everything was perfect here.

Beautiful.

Serene.

Crash !

An aluminum watering can smashed against the floor at my feet with enough force to splash water on the ceiling. I jerked my mug back to keep water out of it and sloshed coffee on my shoes.

"Rrrreeee-ow ."

"Cecil, leave Fennel alone," I said. "Wait. Is that my new trowel?"

The trowel flew across the room and slammed into one of the shelves with a metallic rattle, knocking an empty pot into the planter beneath it.

A blur of black fur shot past me and into the cat bed beneath the fennel planter. " Me-owww ."

"That's enough ." I slammed my mug onto my worktable, spilling even more coffee. "Drop those pruning shears and behave yourself, you pint-sized terrorist ."

The foot-high gnome threw down the clippers he'd been brandishing like a sword, and the tool clattered across the tile. He scampered across the shelf where I grew verbena and disappeared, his footsteps echoing like the keys of an old electric typewriter, clickity-click-clack .

"Why do we have to do this every day? Have you forgotten that I saved your life, Cecil? Do you think the wolf shifters in that trailer park were going to continue to welcome you with open paws after what you did to their gardens? To their ankles ?"

Crash-bang!

"Dang it." I knelt in front of Fennel's bed, peered around. "Where'd he go?"

" Meow ."

"I know he's upset about your trip to Limbo last night, but he has to learn to communicate without violence. Now, where is he?"

The cat yawned and closed his bleary eyes, ignoring my question.

"You're still stoned, aren't you?"

He rolled onto his back in the bed. " Meow ."

"You know how strong demon-grown catnip is. What were you thinking?"

" Mee. Ow ."

"No, I'm not your mom or your parole officer. I'm the witch who was going to ask you to accompany me to meet the buyer this morning, but I can see that would be an exercise in futility, given your state of mind."

He purred motorboat-style. I was annoying him.

"Sorry to be a buzzkill." I ran my finger over the fur between his ears, and his purr settled into a contented hum. "Thanks again for getting the belladonna. I'll pick up some of that wild-caught salmon for you for when the munchies hit."

" Me-ow ." He head-bumped my hand, requesting another stroke.

Fennel was particular about being petted and didn't allow most people to touch him at all. Me, Ida, and Cecil, that was about it. So, it was nice when he asked.

"You deserve some down time." I scritched beneath his chin. "I shouldn't have sent you in there last night. I'm sorry, Fennel."

" Meow ."

"Yes, I know. You wanted to do it. But, Fennel, no matter what anyone says, you aren't my familiar and you don't have to protect me."

He drowsily winked both gold doubloon eyes.

"I love you, too. Now where is the miscreant? I have to stop him before he destroys all our tools."

Fennel's sleepy gaze zeroed in on a spot over my left shoulder.

I turned to find the garden gnome fuming in the middle of my French lavender, purple-fringed blossoms ruffling with his breath, pudgy white toes digging into the dirt. His rosy-tipped bulbous nose was the only visible part of his face besides a pair of bushy eyebrows that occasionally emerged from under his pointed purple hat. The hat was dusted with golden pollen, his gray robe coated with soil, his snowy beard pristine.

It was the magic in him, I supposed, that allowed him to be so dirty, yet maintain a clean beard.

Cecil squeaked out a sound of complaint that was a cross between a bird's tweet and the clatter of dry bones.

"Fennel asked to go. I did not, would not , force him. You've lived here for a year. Have I ever done anything like that?"

He made a less aggressive squeak.

"Exactly."

The gnome's nose twitched. His toes dug deeper.

"Are you telling me you're sorry? Is this your version of contrition, Cecil?"

The purple hat bobbed as he nodded, pollen shaking loose from the fabric and coating the lavender leaves.

The garden gnome's remorse seemed less than sincere, but I let him get away with it. At least he was acting out because he cared about someone. It was a nice change from his usual modus operandi of biting, scratching, and throwing rocks at people he just generally disapproved of. Or mailing threatening manifestos to major news outlets for reasons that made sense only to him.

Thank the gods he spoke and wrote in Elvish, or I'd for sure be on a government watchlist by now.

"Brought you something." I reached into my pocket for the new penny I'd pocketed before leaving my trailer. I held it up so it caught the sunlight and gleamed with a freshly minted copper shine.

If there was one thing Cecil couldn't resist, it was a shiny trinket.

Also, boysenberry wine and sour apple Four Lokos, but it was a little early in the day for those.

He froze.

"Like it?"

In a burst of action almost too fast to track, he leapt out of the planter, darted up my leg, down my arm, and snatched the penny out of my hand. He tucked the coin into his robe then zipped across the floor and up the side of the lavender planter and launched himself back into the purple flowers, pollen scattering like sunlit dust motes off his hat.

"Can you please grab the protection spell I asked you to craft yesterday?"

He nodded and took off again, scampering across a salvaged dresser, inside the drawers of which I'd planted garlic and vegetables—carrots, cucumbers, lettuce, onions, radishes—and disappeared. He reappeared seconds later in a pot of aloe vera, a twine-wrapped swatch of burlap in his tiny arms.

I walked over and took the herb bag from him, examined it. "This smells nice. Cedar, rosemary, and is that sunflower petals?"

He nodded briskly.

"No surprises?" At times like this, I wished I could push back his hat and look directly into what had to be a pair of beady little eyes. I supposed I could ask, but it seemed rude. "It won't explode or make burping noises or stop working the second I need it?

His purple hat bobbed up and down.

"It'll keep me from being poisoned?"

He drew a circle on the tile with his big toe.

"I'd like to remind you that if anything happens to me, the cushy garden setup you have here goes away. My credit cards are canceled, you are no longer protected from the wolf shifters, and Fennel will find a new home."

The gnome's foot retracted beneath his gray robe. He snatched the bundle from my hands, undid the twine, and spread out the contents. Then he reached into his robes and pulled out a crystal sliver, tossed it into the mix, and bundled everything up again.

"Thank you." I didn't comment on his rotten behavior. It would be a waste of oxygen. Cecil was Cecil. I was just glad he'd fixed it.

Fennel lifted his head from his forepaws. " Meow ?"

"No, you're fine to stay here. I've got no reason to believe the client will try anything. We're meeting in broad daylight at the Desert Rose Café." I pocketed the herb bag. "But, you know, better safe than poisoned."

Hell.

I'd forgotten it was Valentine's Day.

I'd gone home to grab the belladonna, my purse, and car keys, and found a handmade, red silk camellia in a clear plastic box on the front step of my trailer. Crystals the size of sand grains had been sewn on the petals to give the impression of delicate little dewdrops.

It was stunning.

I immediately tucked it into my hair, behind my right ear.

The note attached was written in Ida's slanted scrawl.

Happy Galentine's Day. Saw this a couple weeks ago and thought of you. The gals are meeting up at eight tonight in the Britton's hot tub, if you want to join us. Gladys is making one of those charcutie board things. Lots of cheese. I'm bringing wine.

"Char cutie ?" Well, it was a step up from char coochie , which was what she'd been calling charcuterie boards before I corrected her.

Although I'd forgotten the date, I hadn't forgotten about Ida. Her gift had come in last week, I just hadn't had time to pick it up. I'd go after my morning meeting with the belladonna buyer.

I was halfway to my car when my cell phone rang. The private number made me hesitate, but I answered, albeit not with my usual polite greeting. "Yeah?"

The deep male voice on the other end of the line had a refined air. "I cannot meet you at the coffee shop this morning."

"I don't like last minute changes," I said.

"Neither do I. Unfortunately, this delay is outside my control."

"Fine. Where are you? Maybe we can meet somewhere nearby." I had no idea where he was calling from. There were no background noises, nothing to clue me in. It was only his voice and a hollow, clattering inhale between sentences. "Unless you're trying to back out of our deal…"

"I would not have gone to the trouble of tracking down a low caste demon opening portals in exactly the right place to access a garden in Limbo only to back out now." His voice sounded like something pulled out of a deep freezer.

I shivered. "This isn't how I do business."

"If you want the other half of your payment, it is how you will do business today, witch ." He said the word like he'd crunched the consonants with his back teeth before spewing them at me.

"When and where?" I asked, letting my annoyance creep into my voice.

"Noon. Las Paloma. Ronan's Pub." The thinly veiled rage in his tone made me glad I'd thought to ask Cecil for the protection bag.

"I'll be there," I said.

He ended the call.

Perfect. As if today hadn't already sucked enough, I now had to meet my client at a wolf shifter bar.

Not that I had anything against shifters in general, but I had a lot against the Pallás wolf pack in particular, and the man who owned Ronan's Pub was not only high up in the pack, he happened to be the alpha leader's son.

If I had to face Ronan Pallás today, I'd require a cappuccino and a lavender scone in my belly first. The three cups of coffee I'd had earlier were already wearing off.

The Desert Rose Café was in a converted old house two blocks south of the trailer park. I landed a parking spot in front. Looked like the early morning rush was over and the brunch people hadn't yet arrived.

A mural behind the counter depicted desert roses with thick succulent stems, shiny green leaves, and pink trumpet-shaped blooms. Tucked into various spots on the mural were bits of elven memorabilia. Tiny scrolls, intricate mosaics, minuscule silver, gold, and bronze boxes, and my favorite of all, a desert rose hand-carved from a single piece of peltogyne, or purpleheart wood.

"Ooo, that flower in your hair is lovely. You look like a tango dancer," a honeyed female voice trilled.

Two people were working behind the counter, Gela and Kiv Melliza. Gela had paid me the compliment.

"Thanks."

"What can we get for you?" Kiv asked.

"Large cappuccino and a warm lavender scone, please."

Though I knew them to be cousins, they looked enough alike to be sisters. Gela was short and pretty, with round, pale brown eyes and jewel-green hair that hung to her shoulders. Kiv was also short and androgynously attractive with downward tilting eyes in a shade of brown so dark it might be mistaken for black. Their cropped hair was the same shade of green as their cousin's.

Both wore jeans, white T-shirts, and khaki aprons with the Desert Rose Café logo embroidered top center, and pinned-on name tags told patrons their names. At least, their human names.

The Mellizas were fae, and any paranormal who walked into the place would sense it right away. It wasn't so much in the golden brown of their skin or the green of their hair, or even in the certain pointedness of their ears and chins. It was the atmosphere they projected, one of whimsy and mischief with a sharp edge.

While Kiv went to work on my order, Gela leaned across the counter. She looked right and left then back at me. "You're an earth witch, right?"

"Why do you ask?"

She looked around again before speaking. "It's just," she gave the practically empty café another sweeping look, "we heard you've got a garden gnome working for you."

Working for me was one way to put it. "And?"

"Kiv and I were raised in the Seelie courts. This stays between us, of course."

"Of course."

"We just wanted to warn you about him."

" Warn me?"

Kiv arrived with my cappuccino and scone. "She's making it sound weird. We only wanted to tell you not to ever trade him to another fae," they said. "His kind are highly prized back home, and not in a good way. The Unseelie work gnomes to death in their poison gardens, and the Seelie aren't any better."

Faery fae were their own type of paranormal and only loosely related to the terrifying fae of historical folklore, but Mom had taught me they were not a people to be underestimated.

"As long as the gnome is with you, he'll be fine," Gela said. "Just make arrangements for his care in case something happens. You don't want him being auctioned off in the courts."

Because the faeries seemed genuinely concerned for Cecil, I took their warning to heart. "His name is Cecil, and he's under my protection. Make sure that gets around."

"Sure, Betty." Gela smiled. "Let him know he's safe with us."

I wasn't surprised she knew my name; I came in here regularly. Still, it was the first time she'd used it in conversation.

One more connection to the town I'm trying so hard to let go of.

"You haven't met him yet," I said. "Might want to reserve judgment."

Gela burst out laughing. "Handful, is he?"

"Cecil is a whole armful. Of dynamite. With a short fuse."

"Hey, do you or Dynamite Cecil happen to grow culinary lavender?" Kiv asked. "I'm looking for a local supplier. It's hard to find organic growers."

"As a matter of fact…"

Ten minutes later, I walked out of the coffee shop with my cappuccino, an extra scone, and an order for English lavender. Plus, the cousins seemed interested in testing out some of my charms with their clientele, too.

What did I just say about making connections to this town?

My cell rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. I unlocked the car and set my food and purse on the passenger seat. Dug my phone out of my back pocket and answered it without looking.

"Hello, this is Betty," I said.

"Betty, it's Bronwyn Jonas." Her voice was whisper-soft and trembly. "I've got a problem over here at Wicked. A big problem. Could you possibly stop by?"

Bronwyn was an active member of the Las Palmas Coven, a group of witches I loathed. I did business with her, but we were hardly pals. Why in the world would she be calling me for help?

I must've hesitated for too long, because she said, "I can pay you. Or give you store credit. Or a favor. Just … please could you come over?"

Why not? I had a couple of hours until I needed to meet with my client, and I'd planned to stop by anyway. "Sure. What time?"

"Now, please. Before it eats me."