Five seconds later, I was in my car and on my way to her house. Felonious Phleabottoms, magical objects, murderous daggers, and bespelled godfathers.
Susan was having an interesting day.
8
Tess
Susan’s house was just outside of town on the other side of Dead End from mine. She’d inherited it when her great-aunt had died. The old woman had been famous for her crotchety nature, but she’d always claimed Susan and Carlos were the only relatives she could stand to be around for over five minutes. She’d also been vehemently anti-vampire, but Carlos had turned long after she died, so the issue had never come between them.
When I pulled into her driveway, I had to park behind her sheriff car, which was behind a U-MOVE-IT van. Luckily, it was a long driveway.
An older man opened the door, but I could hear Susan ranting in the background. She was usually the calmest person in any situation, but her temper may have zoomed past even her upper limit of control after all this.
“Hello, you must be Tess.” The man held out his hand and then yanked it back. “Sorry. Susan told me you don’t shake hands. Please, come in. I’m Greg Butler, Susan’s godfather. I … worked for her grandfather.”
Mr. Butler would have been handsome, if he hadn’t looked so peculiarly gray, like someone who’d been seriously ill for a long time. He had short, neatly cut dark hair, brown eyes, and a warm smile. He wore a heavy, navy-blue fisherman’s sweater, dark corduroy pants, and had a thick scarf around his neck, which seemed like overkill for the relatively warm seventy-degree day we’d been having. Most northerners would wear their tiny shorts and tank tops in this weather, which was uncharacteristically warm for January.
But, again, the gray cast to his complexion. If he’d been ill, or still was, or … what had Susan said? That he might be under the influence of evil magic?
That would do it.
I smiled at him. “Yes, Tess Callahan. Glad to meet you. I didn’t realize Susan had a godfather. Are you here for long?”
“Well, let her in already!” Susan shouted from down the hall, and Mr. Butler flinched.
“I’m so sorry. Come in, please,” he said, waving me in.
I hesitated, not wanting to get too close to him in case the magic was contagious. He seemed to understand and moved away from the door.
“Come on back, Tess,” Susan called. “I’m just putting a very heavy trunk on top of this knife, because itkeeps moving closer to me.”
Maybe I should have gone to Aunt Ruby’s for dinner, after all. I’d had enough of magical daggers when the Fae queen had accused Jack of stealing hers. Luckily, that one was long gone and presumably locked up or destroyed, but here we were, facing another.
Maybe.
Maybe Susan was exaggerating?
Not likely.
“I’m coming,” I muttered, resigned to my fate.
Susan stood in the doorway to what she still called the doll room, since her aunt had filled it with hundreds of creepy, collectible dolls. When Susan inherited the house, she’d cleaned out the dolls, selling any that were valuable and donating the rest. She’d torn down the wallpaper, painted, and turned the room into a library.
Now, though, it looked like a hoarder’s dream. Boxes—some sealed and some open—filled every inch of space.
“Not that I’m not glad to help if I can, but why am I here, exactly? I don’t know anything about magical objects, really,” I said, scanning the room. The antique travel trunk sat lopsided, right in front of Susan, apparently on top of the dagger.
“You know as much as anybody else, and probably more, given what you deal with in the shop. Plus, Andy’s still recovering from his injuries.”
Deputy Andy Kelly, Dead End’s only full-time deputy, had been badly injured by very bad guys just before Christmas. We’d been solving a plot that included murder, theft, and fraud, so it had been for a good cause, but still. Luckily for Andy, our new veterinarian in town, Dr. Charithra Kumari, was a frequent visitor, or so I’d heard.
Gossip and Dead End: like peanut butter and jelly. Hard to think of one without the other.
Mr. Butler walked up behind us but didn’t get too close. “I’m sorry, Susan. I didn’t … I couldn’t fight the compulsion.”
I turned to see him massaging his left wrist, which had a pale stripe of skin all the way around it.
“Bespelled manacle?” I looked at Susan. “Compulsion built into the metal or leather?”
