Morgan was busy with a customer but turned to me abruptly and said, “Be careful about touching. The ingredients might rub off on you.”
I snatched my hand away from the revenge candle and moved to the relative safety of the knife display. Morgan packaged up a small knife that looked tame in comparison to the rest of her wares and handed it to a young woman who quickly melted into the crowd.
“Have we met?” Morgan tilted her head in my direction.
I had to look up to meet her gaze. Her heels gave her at least a three-inch advantage on my five-foot-seven frame.
“I don’t think so. I’m Clyde Fortune.” I hesitantly put out my hand, but Morgan just glanced at it and I let it fall. When she crossed her arms, I noticed a charm bracelet on her wrist that seemed out of place with the rest of her scary jewelry.
“Oh yes, Diana’s friend. I’ve heard about you.” She frowned and focused on my eyes. “Your eyes really are striking. You must have some powerful visions.”
Morgan referred to the different colors of my eyes. One is brown, the other pale blue. Wiccans believe that it’s a sign of psychic talent. It’s the only thing my mother can really get behind when it comes to Wiccans.
“I wouldn’t say that. In a town of psychics, what’s one more premonition, right?”
“You can’t deny it forever. But, that’s your journey, not mine.” Her voice was flat, bored. “What can I do for you? Looking for a more powerful spell than Diana is willing to share?” She gestured to her table of horrors.
“No!” I brought my voice back under control and continued, “No, I just wanted to talk to you.” I had to carefully weigh how much to tell this woman.
“Okay, talk.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
“Diana is really upset about Rafe’s death. I’ve been asking people who knew him if they had any theories on how he could have ingested peanuts.” I didn’t mention Lucan’s referral, sensing it wouldn’t help me.
“So, it was an allergic reaction? I wondered.” She put one long black fingernail to her lip.
“Yes, that seems to be the theory.”
She nodded. “Rafe was very allergic. He claimed he’d have a reaction just from smelling peanut butter.” She smiled. “He did tend to exaggerate.”
I waited for her to continue.
“I don’t think I can be of much help to you. I’m sure you’ve heard that Rafe and I had a bit of a . . . falling-out a few months ago. I left his coven and I haven’t seen much of him recently. We generally didn’t like to be around each other. In fact, I avoided last night’s ceremony knowing he would be there.” She shrugged, and focused on polishing her knives.
“Do you mind my asking what the falling-out was about?”
She looked up and held my gaze for a long moment, stiff, unyielding, as if debating whether to answer at all. “Actually, I do mind. It was personal, but I’m sure you’ll find someone willing to describe the last fight we had.” A bitter smile crossed her features, and then disappeared. “Rafe liked to be in control—most of the time.”
Her smirk was so suggestive I took a step back. I wondered again where she kept her whip.
I cleared my throat. “Were you involved, romantically?”
She let out a gust of air. “Romantically? There was nothing romantic about it.” She looked me up and down. “We both had needs. Don’t attach some fairy-tale fantasy to it.”
“What about—”
“That’s all I have to say about Rafe,” she said, her voice icy, clear. She pivoted toward a new customer examining the knives made of bone.
Dismissed, I turned and walked away. But I felt her cold, hard stare follow me down the path.
*
By the time I made it back to Diana’s booth I had discovered that everyone had a theory about Rafe’s death. I’d skulked around the various stalls listening in on the gossip, a skill passed on to me by Aunt Vi. There were outraged discussions about quality control and the faulty EpiPen, there were theories about rival covens and more than a few people mentioned the Wiccan rede of a threefold return. The general sense was that Rafe deserved what he got, which was a whole different take on Rafe than the one I had always heard from Diana.