She really should try to be less of a total slob.
Dayna was placing the receipts in a pile in the center of the bed, when the block letters on one caught her eye and she stopped short, smoothing it out on her knee. Her breath caught.
Widow Inc.
This was it, what they’d been talking about at the station. Widow Incorporated.
The receipt was from the tea she’d got Bronagh from Sage Widow. She’d never really looked that closely at the receipts before, but the actual company name was Widow Incorporated. That’s why there hadn’t been any results when she googled it—Margery didn’t have a store website.
This meant the killer had bought something at Sage Widow.
She snatched up her phone, heart beating wildly. She had to call Reagan.
CHAPTER FORTY
DAYNA
Five minutes later, Reagan parked at the end of the driveway. When Dayna slid into the passenger seat, Reagan tapped the dusty dashboard once, lightly, with the tip of her finger, mumbling something under her breath. The minivan coughed to life, filled with the sound of indie rock music and the smell of gasoline, sending up puffs of exhaust. Reagan was wearing a white NASA T-shirt and a pair of cutoffs today. Her legs were long and toned against the ripped vinyl seat, and her gray running shoes were covered in mud.
“You’re getting your van all dirty,” Dayna pointed out.
“And good morning to you, too, sunshine.” Reagan snorted. “I’ve just come straight from practice. Give me a break.”
Dayna eyed her, amused. “Does Yemi know how you start the van now?”
“What she doesn’t know…” Reagan raised an eyebrow. “Besides, this old bucket of bolts needs a little magical assistance, or it takes a full ten minutes to start. I got your text and drove like the wind.” She waved her phone as Dayna buckled in. “Well, at least as much like the wind as this van goes. It was more like a tiny, very slow storm with lots of rattling and creaking.” She peered at Dayna’s face before shifting into reverse. “How far? You look pale. Is it just the Sage Widow thing, or is there more going on?”
“You could say that.” Dayna took a deep breath and told her about her mother’s weird behavior that morning, and her father’s reaction, which had been equally strange. After a moment she told her about Samuel, too. It felt strange to switch mindsets so drastically, from murders and witchcraft to her messed-up but thoroughly unmagical life.
Reagan whistled, a low, impressed sound. “Damn, woman. You have a lot going on.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Dayna grumbled, and smoothed out the receipt she’d been crumpling in her fist. “Anyway, let’s ask Margery about this.”
Reagan wrinkled her nose. “What exactly are we going to ask her? Hey, Margery, served any serial killers lately?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we can ask her about weird customers, anyone that seemed off. You know, like had a weird energy. She is a witch, right? Maybe she picked up on some of that.”
Reagan quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not one to look down on anyone, but she’s a hedge witch at best. I’m not sure she’d be able to tell.” She pulled into the nearest parking spot and shut the van off.
When she twisted in her seat to look at Dayna, her face was serious again. “You know you can crash with us, don’t you? For as long as you need. Ma and I are worried. I know she doesn’t want to pressure you, but she really wishes you’d come stay until this stuff with Fiona gets sorted.”
“I know.” Dayna followed her across the lot, mind still spinning, ignoring her phone vibrating in her pocket. She didn’t want to speak to Sam, no matter how persistent he was being.
Reagan was right; she was already at the coven house every available opportunity, and she crashed in their spare bedroom all the time. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine living there. She’d fantasized about that very thing multiple times. Growing up, she used to pretend Yemi had adopted her, that Reagan was legally her sister, and that she would never have to go back to the reverend. It had been a comforting idea, but now…maybe it needed to be her new reality.
She didn’t realize how tense she’d been until she relaxed slightly and felt the muscles in her shoulder scream in protest. Her dog bite was throbbing again.
“Thanks,” she said. “I might have to take you up on that, at least for a while.” She pressed her lips together, thinking hard as they entered Sage Widow, the bell over the door jangling. The mere threat of moving out might be enough to make her father realize things had gone too far. Maybe it would force him to get help for his wife.
They wandered down the first aisle, Reagan brushing her fingers over boxes and packages of dried herbs.
As she followed her down to the end of the aisle, Dayna found herself momentarily distracted. There was someone stalking across the porch outside Sage Widow; she could see him through the window, a cigarette trailing smoke from between his fingers. He was tall and thin, with startling blue eyes and curly hair that flopped in his face. It was the cigarette that stood out to her; this wasn’t a place you were allowed to smoke, and he was quite brazen about it. But as he passed the window, it was the wound on his cheek that drew her eye. Fresh and jagged and sloppily stitched together with black thread. He turned his head and caught her looking, his mouth turning up into a wolfish smile.
Did she know him from somewhere?
She passed a wide display of beeswax candles, and when she came back into view of the window, it was empty. Dayna blinked.
When they got to the front there was no one at the desk, and Reagan hit the top of the silver bell on the counter, which let out a cheery ding, and stepped back.
“So, you and Meiner…?” Reagan trailed off, waggling her brows, and Dayna snorted.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Come on. You two have been hate-flirting all week. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the way you described her when you first met her. That she’s super tall and weirdly intense.” Reagan’s grin was wicked. “I know what that means. You want to see how intense she’d be in bed.”
“Ew, Reagan, don’t be gross.” Dayna slapped her friend’s arm, and Reagan shrieked with laughter.
“You and Meiner sitting in a tree…”
Dayna’s expression must have been somewhere between despair and amusement, because Reagan laughed again. “You know I’m giving you a hard time. But am I wrong? Look me in the eye and tell me she isn’t fit.”
Dayna bit her lip, hesitating, and now it was Reagan’s turn to roll her eyes.
“I called that one.”
Another moment went by, and Dayna began to shift from foot to foot. Her dog bite was still throbbing; in fact it seemed to be getting worse. “Should I ring the bell again?”
“Nah, just yell at her.” Reagan grinned and leaned over the desk. The door behind it, which led to the back rooms, was ajar. “Auntie, you have customers!”
“Nice.” Dayna paused, fishing in her bag. “Hold on, I’ll phone the store, see if she’s hiding in the back room.”
She pulled out her cell and then nearly dropped it when it vibrated in her hands. The call display said 27 missed calls.