I bypassed the house and went to the backyard—and walked straight into a wall of magic. Ouch. I rubbed my nose.
Nice ward, Margie. Let’s see what you’ve got hidden back here.
Without knowing more about the ward, I resorted to my shortcut.
Blood.
I wasn’t sure why, but my blood had a way of opening doors. I suspected it was my vampire blood since my witch friends didn’t seem to possess the same ability.
Using my dagger, I made a shallow cut across my palm and pressed against the invisible barrier. The magic resisted.
I pushed harder.
The wall disintegrated and there stood the greenhouse. The ward had cloaked it from view.
“Well, hello there.”
I sauntered to the door and pushed it open. Not even locked. Why would it be when she’d crafted a ward to hide its existence?
A blast of warm air assaulted me upon entering and my first intake of breath was heavier than normal. Sweet and pungent scents competed with each other. No surprise why. Inside were rows upon rows of flowers.
The entire middle section was bursting with color—red, orange, purple, blue, and yellow flowers beckoned me. An herb garden lined the perimeter.
How much magic was involved in sustaining an operation of this size?
“You broke my ward,” a raspy voice said. “How?”
I swiveled to face the owner. Deep lines creased her ruddy-brown skin and her white hair was threaded into a braid. Her small eyes were the color of almonds. She wore a cloak that resembled a potato sack and leaned on a plain black cane that I suspected was for more than walking support.
I crossed my arms. “Your ward wasn’t very good.”
The crone laughed. “I have a building full of flowers that’s worth a small fortune. Do you really think I’d leave its protection to a weak ward?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. It was no harder than unlocking the door to my flat.”
Her eyes turned to slits. “What kind of magic do you possess?”
“That’s not relevant.”
“Nonsense. I’d like to know what kind of magic allowed you to break my ward.”
“Why would you design a ward that could be broken at all?”
“All wards are breakable, my dear.” The crone’s thin lips parted in a smile, revealing yellowed teeth. “Have you come to steal from me?”
“No. I don’t steal. I’m a knight.”
The deep lines grew even deeper. “You’re here to shut me down?”
My gaze swept the hothouse. I could understand her concern. The crone would be arrested—and possibly killed—on the spot. “No. I’m not here about your illegal flowers. I found a petal. Someone left wolfsbane at a crime scene. I’d like to know who. Since there aren’t many places it can be obtained, it made sense to start with someone who grows it.”
She jutted out her strong chin. “Who sent you?”
“Minerva.” I produced the petal.
“Why not use it for a locator spell?”
“You know why. It’s my only piece of evidence. If the locator spell fails, there goes my petal. The old-fashioned way is better.”
“As it often is.” She studied the petal. “Yes, it’s possible it came from here. Wolfsbane is a popular trade, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“People use it for protection against vampires?”
“Oh no. Most people don’t realize it’s useful in that way. My clients range from pub owners to universities to werewolves who’d prefer not to shift.”
“Any chance you sold any recently?” The petal wasn’t dried, which meant the flower was relatively new.
“As I’m sure you can understand, I don’t keep any records. Buyers come and go and that’s the end of it.”
“But surely you’d remember recent buyers of wolfsbane.” She was old, but it was abundantly clear her memory was intact.
Marguerite chewed her chapped lip, regarding me. “There were several. A regular client. He owns a pub nearby called The Pig and Pony. Shifter clientele. They suffered from an onslaught of brawls until he started using wolfsbane to neutralize them. There was also a university student from Kings. Poor dear wanted to rid herself of an unwanted stalker. Young male wolves can seem quite predatory to a human.” She counted on her fingers. “Then there was Rudy, another regular. He married a human and his wife doesn’t like when he shifts.”
“Maybe she shouldn’t have married a werewolf.”
“The things we do for love, eh? Speaking of which…” The crone hobbled forward and reached out a pruned hand to touch my cheek. “You favor her. I’m sure that’s been critical to your survival. If you looked like him…” She inhaled deeply and shook her head.
I jerked back. “What are you talking about?”
“Your parents, my dear. Do keep up.”
“You know my father?”
“No, but I met your mother once. She came to me for assistance, as many in her condition do.”
“It must’ve been thirty years ago. How do you remember what she looked like?”
The crone’s eyes softened. “There are some clients you never forget, especially one as learned as your mother. She and I spoke of days long past. Of a world forgotten.”
That definitely sounded like my mother.
“What kind of help did she want from you?”
“A potion to disguise her scent. She didn’t want to be found.”
She worried the vampire would come looking for her and find me. “Did you help her?”
“Naturally. She had to bathe in it once a week. I gave her the formula so she could continue to make it on her own. I made sure the ingredients weren’t too scarce. Took a bit of crafting but I managed.”
My mother had done so much to protect me. More than I ever knew.
The crone touched a strand of my hair. “You have no idea how fortunate you are. So very few of you survive to adulthood.”
“She didn’t tell you his identity?”
“No, nor did I ask. Safer that way.”
I agreed.
She gave me an appraising look. “I would very much like to read your fortune.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”