Ghosts & Echoes (si-2) by Lyn Benedict

Author:Lyn Benedict [Benedict, Lyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Paranormal, Thriller, Romance, Urban Fantasy, Private Investigators, Mythology, Women Private Investigators
ISBN: 044101870X
Publisher: Ace
Published: 2010-04-27T07:00:00+00:00

14

The Retail Witch

ODALYS’S SHOP, ADDRESS BETTER DEFINED BY ALEX’S GOOGLEFU, turned out to be nothing like Sylvie had expected. She thought of magic shops, and she thought dark, dim, and claustrophobic—a showman’s tent, a bloody basement ritual, an abandoned house. At best, she had thought the shop would be new-age incense and candles, plastic bead curtains, and velvet draping—all the trappings of bell, book, and candle.

Invocat looked like a high-end cosmetics store: glass counters and shelves shining in sunlight, mirrors adding colorful blazes to dark corners, shoji doors with inked cherry blossoms marking out dressing rooms, the back of the store. It was sparsely peopled. One boy, college age, browsed along the rainbow of candles, picking one up, putting one down, reversing himself, and starting again. A girl tourist in a Miami Dolphins tee shook her head at the jewelry and made her way out as Sylvie came in.

Sylvie stepped through the glass doors; the air was cool and scented, and there were delicate wind chimes above the door.

Wright, outside, propped his feet on her dash and pushed his sunglasses up higher. He’d been quiet all morning. Probably still thinking about Demalion, about her tie to him, still wondering if she could be trusted.

She hoped he didn’t run off while her back was turned. He hadn’t wanted to wait in the truck, but until she had Odalys’s measure, she hadn’t wanted to expose Wright—or Demalion—to her. It was true: There were more people who’d hinder than help, and that was without counting those things that might home in on a doubled soul. Humans were tasty to a lot of creatures; Wright would be the equivalent of a deep-fried Snickers bar. Deeply wrong and unnatural, but irresistible.

“May I help you?” the woman behind a glass counter said. Her gaze swept Sylvie head to feet, a quick assessment, and a displeased one. She wasn’t the usual shopper, she supposed, and a duct-taped briefcase shedding fine flakes of salt was not a fashionable accessory.

But then, the woman behind the counter was as unusual as the shop—not a neohippie with long, trailing skirts, wearing a jumble of assorted charm bracelets, necklaces, and cheap, dangling earrings; not a princess of darkness either, no tats, no piercings, no black. Instead, the woman was ten years past college age and dressed like a successful corporate lawyer, smoothly and expensively professional.

“Are you Odalys?”

“I am,” she said. Her voice was as sleek as her red-gold chignon, as bright as the chic gold edge to her glasses. Her slate blue blouse was crisp, her grey skirt pristine. “And you are?”

“Sylvie,” she said. “I have a few questions for you.”

“If they’re within my purview, I’ll be glad to help.” She stepped around the counter, gestured gracefully to a seat near a glass bookshelf. Sylvie took the seat, noting as she did so that there wasn’t a smudge to be seen on the glass. Such perfection argued either an obsessive personality, strongly controlled, or extreme boredom.

“I have a problem on my hands,” Sylvie said.

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