“No, sir,” she replied in the tones of someone who had heard that question and all its variants. “We are not horologists.”
He frowned. “But the sign says this is a watch shop?”
“Not that kind of watch, sir.”
“So you can’t fix my watch? It only needs a new battery.”
“No sir, try the cobblers next door.”
The old man huffed and turned to storm off, almost trampling Garlick in the process. Daffi snatched him up so he didn’t get hurt.
“Young ’uns!” he huffed, obviously in a snit because his watch couldn’t be repaired even though he’d walked into the wrong establishment. “Should respect their elders!”
“Absolutely!” the cat agreed. “It’s a disgrace.”
“Indeed,” the elderly norm replied, his eyes crossing and a look of confusion on his face as he experienced the confusion most norms did when they found themselves conversing with a familiar.
“Behave,” she hissed to the cat as they walked out after the very confused norm. “You know you’re not allowed to confuse them that way.”
He snorted and allowed her to carry him. It was easier here, so he didn’t get trodden on by someone in the crowds.
“You do realize that grotesque was under Whippy’s window?” he asked suddenly.
“No. I didn’t.” She blinked. In the confusion and drama of Oberon’s arrest, she’d not thought about exactly where they were. But the cat was right. The windows there were west facing, which was the side where all the offices were on the second floor. “Crone’s tits… she could have just dropped the wig out of the window!”
“And there were cake wrappers back there as well,” Garlick informed her.
She sighed and closed her eyes for a second. The missing afternoon tea was such an insignificant detail in the grand scheme of things, but it had niggled at her like a scab. She’d just had to pick it at. But Whippy had been adamant it had been just her that afternoon, showing her the single cake wrapper in her office rubbish bin.
“So… Whippy was the last person to see Sybil alive,” she breathed. “She threw the wrappers out of the window and then got rid of the wig the same way… Jack saw her at the original murder scene so she killed him off as well…”
She blinked and looked at Garlick. “She’s our murderer… but why?”
“They will be reviled and persecuted through time.” She shook away the voice in her head and focused on Garlick.
The cat opened his mouth to answer. “I—”
“Fireball!”
At the bellowed warning, Daffi flung herself to the side, wrapping herself around Garlick to protect him. The air on the street went still, and then… Whhhummmpphhh!
She tucked her head in, a small scream startled from her lips as heat ripped across her back. She got it together enough to mutter,
“Mother’s strength and crone’s might,
Hide us from this spells sight,
By your grace, protect us now,
The caster I will find, this I vow.”
Blessed cool washed over her back, creating a small bubble of ice against the enchanted heat of the spell. It roared around them like a dragon’s fury, until, abruptly, it cut off.
Long seconds passed until Garlick, his face stuffed against her boobs, wriggled. “Can’t… can’t breathe…”
She let him go, suddenly aware of people around her. Abberline’s concerned face came into view.
“Miss? Miss McGee, are you okay?”
She pushed upright, anger ripping through her. “For saying someone just tried to kill me outside the damn watch house, I’d say I’m doing just fine, thank you very much, Sergeant!”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked around the street. Already watchmen and women were out here, helping confused norms and telling the tale of an underground gas explosion.
Someone had just tried to kill her. In public. In front of norms.
This wasn’t just a murder investigation now.
Now, it was personal.
She turned to Abberline. “I know who the killer is. We just have to catch them. And I have a plan to do just that…”
14
“I don’t like this,” Oberon grumbled in her ear. “My Queen should not be used as bait.”
Daffi smiled at his protective protest, ducking her head and pressing her earring, currently be-spelled for communications, as she answered.
“It has to be me,” she murmured, keeping her head down so anyone watching wouldn’t see her talking. “Sorry, handsome, but even if we put you in a dress, you still wouldn’t cut it. The killer is after me.”
“Ugh, Sparkles in a dress. Are you trying to give me nightmares?” Garlick groused. Like Oberon, who had been released for this operation, and Abberline, he was concealed along the route she was taking to walk home. She’d made a big show of saying goodbye near the watch house, the boys loudly stating their intention to go watch the latest action film, and then made her way home. Alone. Apparently.
In reality, her boys had joined Abberline and his men along her route—concealed and ready to pounce once the killer made a move.
Taking a deep breath, she continued walking. All her survival instincts and hell, simple common sense, yelled at her that walking down the middle of an empty street in the dark was not just a bad idea. It was a running about naked in the middle of a zombie apocalypse level of stupid.
Especially when someone was out to kill her.
Her heels rang out against the cobblestones, and she took solace in the rhythm of the sound. Remember. Remember who you were before you forgot. The words were whispered in the back of her mind this time with a woman’s voice, as lovely as it was soft. She ignored it as she continued.
Then it happened.
A dark figure stepped out of the shadows ahead, blocking her path between Cattermole Alley and Greek Street.
“I have to say.” Ms. Whipsnide cast off her all-concealing cloak with a flourish. Beneath it she wore the robes of the Order of the Hidden Butterknife. “I didn’t think you’d be quite this slow.”
“Oh?” Daffi stopped in the middle of the street, every muscle in her body tensed and ready for action. If Whippy so much as moved a muscle, she was ready to blast her into the next century. Witches didn’t duel often. It was illegal for the most part, not to mention dangerous.
In a built-up area like this, there was always the risk of a spell rebounding off a building or norms getting hurt as well. That wasn’t to say it didn’t happen. The incident in Pudding Lane was a great example. Norms tended to notice a little thing like the entire city being on fire, so there was a ban on dueling within London.
Whipsnide all but hugged herself in glee, her pinched face twisted into an unaccustomed smile. It didn’t look right on her face, like her muscles weren’t used to making the expression.
“You’ve walked right into my trap, finally!” she crowed in triumph. “The grand master will be so pleased with me.”
Remember, my daughter, the woman’s voice whispered on the soft breeze that lifted Daffi’s hair on her shoulders and fluttered the skirts of her dress around her legs. Remember who you were before we made you forget.