“I’ve got it,” Cia said, and scooped the heavy pan out of her arms. “Share and share alike,” she added. Liz’s once reticent and introverted twin had been doing a lot of that since Liz’s injury. And it wasn’t necessary. So, okay, Liz got short of breath. And her ribs hurt sometimes. She was still healing, and no one could expect complete and instantaneous recuperation after having a huge rock land on her chest in the middle of a magical attack. By their own coven leader . . . and elder sister.
Grief welled up again, and Liz blinked furiously against the tears. Evangelina’s death had hit all the sisters hard, but the four witch sisters had felt her death most deeply because they had also lost a coven leader, and by the foulest means—addiction to demons. Although the actual cause of death had been a knife blade to the torso, the Evangelina they had grown up with and practiced their craft with for their whole lives had been dead for months before that.
Liz sighed, feeling the weakness in her ribs, a slow, low-level pain, and pulled out a clean rag to wipe down the next table. She was polishing the final booth, standing by the front door, when the flashy red Thunderbird wheeled up and parked. It wasn’t a practical car for Asheville, but it was memorable, and that was what the driver wanted—to be known as an icon in her hometown. Liz huffed out a breath and called, “Cia! Company. And not the good kind.”
Her twin was by her side in a heartbeat. “Is that Layla? Too bad we don’t have access to Evie’s demon. It could eat her.”
“Not funny,” Liz said. The demon had eaten a few humans before it was sent back into the dark. “Maybe she’s changed since high school.”
“Once a bitch, always a bitch,” Cia said. “What’s that she’s carrying?”
“A baby goat? What the—”
The door opened, and their archenemy from their high school years stepped in, bringing with her a cold spring wind through the air lock doors. Layla’s face was as beautiful as ever, which made Liz stiffen and Cia narrow her eyes. Layla was black haired and pale skinned and skinny and graceful and delicate and feminine and damn near perfect. In high school she’d been the leader of a cadre of girls who had all been gorgeous and popular, most of them cheerleaders. Unlike the Everharts, all of Layla’s pals had been human. And most of them had been mean. Now, just like in high school, the twins stood side by side, facing their enemy.
The inner doors swished closed after Layla and she stopped, standing with the poise of a model, slender and lovely, wearing a Ralph Lauren leather jacket, tailored pants, and a pair of bling-studded Manolo Blahnik ankle boots that were drool-worthy. She stared at the twins across the small space and across the years. No one spoke. When the baby pygmy goat under Layla’s arm started to struggle, she soothed it with a gentle hand, and Liz felt Cia stiffen. Layla Shiffen should not be gentle.
“Boadacia Everhart and Elizabeth Everhart,” she said, the words sounding almost formulaic, her expression determined, “I require help.”
Cia crossed her arms and made a huffing sound. Liz dropped her rag and mimicked her sister.
The resolve on Layla’s face flickered. “I can pay. And I brought my own goat.”
Liz laughed, the sound slightly wheezing from her damaged lungs.
Cia said, “Help? For what.” It didn’t sound like a question—more like an accusation. Or a challenge. “And what does our help have to do with a goat?”
Layla shifted, her composure faltering again before her lips firmed in determination. “I need you to find my mother. The goat is for the sacrifice.”
“Sac—,” Liz started, then stopped.
“We don’t do blood magic,” Cia spat. She pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“But . . .” Layla’s eyes filled with tears. “But I need you. I said the words right. I researched how to say it.” She sobbed once. A real sob. Not like the fake sobs she’d used in the school play the year she had the lead in Romeo and Juliet. “I don’t have anyone else. The police can’t help. Or won’t. They say there’s no sign of foul play. They took a missing-persons report and that’s all they’ll do,” she said, her words running together. “My mom’s in trouble. I know it. And I don’t know where to turn.” Tears fell across her perfect cheeks and dripped onto the silk scarf around her neck. “P-please.”
Neither twin reacted. They still stood side by side, staring and silent. Liz could feel the power building up under her twin’s skin, prickly and cold, like winter moonlight. It was slow to rise, with the moon beneath the horizon, but it was powerful magic, especially when she was angry. Their human sisters must have felt it too. They stepped in through the archway opening from the herb shop, one with a shotgun held down by her leg. The other sister would be armed as well, nonmagical, but deadly in the face of danger. One robbery was all it had taken for their human sisters to find a way to protect themselves. Liz shook her head at them, a minuscule motion.