Chapter 29

I drove quickly to the warehouse and found another inconspicuous parking place. ‘Remember, we are not going to draw attention to ourselves,' I said. ‘If you see anyone you know, hide. Pick up a book or bend down, something subtle like that.'

‘Okay, darling.'

Mum's colour was high; she really was finding this exciting. If I hadn't been thinking that she'd quite literally had me shoved under a bus, I might have been too. I'd been itching to have a real look around the black market; the brief glimpse I'd seen before had been tantalising.

There was a handwritten piece of laminated paper taped to the door with an arrow: Enter around the side. At least they had signs this time; the organisation had obviously improved. We went to the side door. It was hidden from the road since it was at the end of the warehouse row. No one would see people using the side entrance. Clever.

When we walked up to the door, Mum stopped me before I felt the buzz of magic in my teeth. ‘There's a ward around it. Hold on.'

Great. Would we be denied entry because we didn't have a password or a spelled item?

She closed her eyes and muttered for a moment, weaving her hands in the air. After a few seconds she said with satisfaction, ‘Got it. Hold my hand and we'll get through.'

I grasped her hand and she pulled me forward. As before, all was silent until the door opened and then the roar of many people in a small space rumbled over us. Mum closed the door. We were in.

I scanned the crowd and saw some familiar faces but no one I knew well. Nobody was looking at me but even so I pulled my cap down a little further.

We started to work our way up and down the rows. The first booth had nothing but packaged herbs. I had no idea what they were for, but Mum exclaimed when she saw something. ‘Oh my, how much for this?' she asked the vendor.

The vendor squinted at it. ‘Balm of Gilead is forty.'

Mum reached into her pocketbook and pulled out two twenties.

The vendor's hood fell back as he took the money. ‘Hey, you look familiar,' I said, trying for casual. ‘Do you know Jeff?'

‘Not well. Jeff keeps to himself.' The answer was terse and abrupt, not inviting any further conversation.

We walked to the next booth. ‘This was incredibly cheap,' Mum said happily. ‘It grows in North America, so it's twice as much at home.'

‘Good stuff,' I said aloud. Did you push me into a bus? I said in my head. It was harder to concentrate than I'd thought it would be and I railed at myself. I had to focus for Fluffy's sake. We needed to find the curser and stop them. If anyone else was cursed, they'd get the remaining alpine azalea and Fluffy would be shit out of luck.

The next few booths were also dead ends but the corner booth was selling grimoires like Jeff's had. Mum started examining the volumes, which gave us an excuse for loitering. ‘Hi,' I said to the stallholder. ‘I was here the other day looking for a grimoire at Jeff's booth. I wasn't sure about buying it, but now I can't see Jeff anywhere.'

‘What was the grimoire?' The vendor looked at me suspiciously.

I quickly accessed my memory. ‘The Arrowheads Grimoire,' I said promptly. ‘I think its latest owner was R. Wylor-Owen.'

Mum, who was scanning through a book, slammed it closed. The seller and I both jumped. ‘This is a fake grimoire!' she protested loudly, glaring at the man. She wagged her finger at him. ‘You shouldn't sell false wares – they could be dangerous to the uninitiated.'

‘Keep your voice down, please,' he hissed as he looked around. ‘It's not fake. All of my stock has been verified.'

‘By whom? An internet witch? Hmph.'

‘It's okay, Mum, there's another seller on the other side of the room. We'll check there,' I said, trying to prevent a scene.

‘Hold on,' the man said. ‘Jeff isn't here, I don't have that particular grimoire, but if you tell me what you're looking for, lady, I'll give you a discount. Just keep your voice down,' he pleaded again with Mum.

‘So you do know Jeff?' I asked quietly.

He nodded. ‘Of course. We all know each other here and most of us live together. Sometimes we're joined by local sellers, but Jeff is one of us.'

‘What happened to him? He was here the other day.'

He lowered his voice further. ‘Rumour is that he was cursed.'

‘Cursed?' I grasped at my non-existent pearls like I'd seen my mum do many times. ‘Is he all right? Who did that to him?'

The guy looked around again. ‘I heard that he pissed off a local. Didn't pay the protection fee.'

‘Protection?' I asked dumbly. Portlock didn't have gangs or mafia that I knew of.

He shrugged. ‘That's what I heard.'

‘Gosh,' I said, wide eyed.

Mum had been looking at the books while we spoke. When it was clear he had no more information to offer me, she thrust an old and dusty tome at him. ‘We'll take this one.'

The man blanched. ‘This is over a thousand years old. I didn't intend for it to be out on the table…' He frowned. ‘How did it get there?'

‘How much?' Mum insisted. ‘Or I can talk louder about that fake grimoire.'

He gulped and looked shifty. He was going to quote something outrageous. ‘Ten thousand.'

‘And with discount?' She was ruthless.

‘Uh, $9,800.' Now he was sweating.

‘Do you take Visa?'

He blinked. ‘It's cash only.'

‘Well, I have cash, but pounds rather than dollars.'

‘That's fine,' he said faintly.

‘Nine thousand eight hundred dollars is about ￡7700 pounds sterling, yes?' Mum said briskly. The man nodded again. She pulled out a thick wad of notes and I gaped. Who knew her ugly bag held that much moolah?

The dealer took the money, placed the ancient book in a bag and handed it to her. Mum gave him a curt nod and power-walked away. Once we were out of earshot, she let out an excited squeal that was definitely unbecoming in a lady of her station. ‘There are only two known copies of this book in the world. I can't believe I bought it for $9800 dollars – it's worth several hundred thousand pounds, maybe even a million. And it was just mouldering away at the bottom of the pile! Unbelievable! I am so glad I came with you.'

‘I think I got a lead, too. I need to ask a few more vendors to verify it.'

‘Go ahead, dear. I'm having so much fun. This has been eye-opening. Perhaps I should visit some black markets in the UK.' I grimaced. I didn't want to have accidentally started my mother on a life of crime.

As we wandered around, I whispered conspiratorially with a few vendors about Jeff not paying protection money. Their reactions verified the story, but no one would say who they'd paid money to.

We didn't spot Liv or the other three elemental witches, but by the time we left Mum was laden with packages. I had no names but at least I had something: the curser was almost certainly the one running a protection racket. No one knew anything about Stan or Sigrid, and they all thought the racketeer was a local.

I'd narrowed it down to the magic users. Liv would be furious that I was ‘picking' on her precious magic users again but it wasn't my fault that they were all dodgier than two-day-old raw chicken left in the sun. I followed where the evidence took me – and the evidence was pointing me towards some naughty shamans or witches.