The little red brick facade is cutesy and the store’s sign “Cuppa” is painted in a girly, curlicue font.
When we walked through the door and the bell tinkled overhead; Lysa turned and smiled at us immediately. She was already at the front of the line, her biker chick look, and bright rainbow hair contrasting with most of the suburban housewives who clearly stopped by for a quick dose of caffeine and gossip after they dropped off their hellions. One huge woman drank coffee by herself at a table by the window. She wore workout clothes like the other moms, but I could see the outline of a wand tucked into her waistband. So she was a magical. And she was likely either law enforcement, who had to carry a wand at all times—in which case we needed to hightail it now—or she was here with Lysa. Though she should have known better, her eyes flicked to me and then Lysa, telling me everything I needed to know.
I relaxed my shoulders and led Malcolm over to the biker girl who supposedly knew about ghosts.
“Hey!” Lysa spotted us and waved us over to the pastry display. “I’m trying to decide between a rosemary scone and a bran muffin soaked in butter and cinnamon sugar.” She gave Malcolm’s mole a second glance before she hid her laughter behind her hand.
He glared at me. But I was right. The women in the shop all started to eye him appreciatively until they saw the mole and then their eyes didn’t wander back.
The adorably plump older woman behind the counter walked over to Lysa, who asked which of the pastries were better. “Take both, sweetie. You could stand to put on some weight,” the baker said. She had a sweet grandmother vibe to her.
Lysa laughed but agreed.
Once Malcolm and I ordered coffee and he tossed on an egg and spinach quiche, we paid and then found a table outside on the patio, which was thankfully empty. If we weren’t there to discuss life and afterlife matters, it might have been one of the most peaceful mornings I’d had in a long time. But I wasn’t lucky enough to get peaceful mornings yet.
Soon, I promised myself.
We ate and kept to small talk for a little bit, easing into the discussion, because other than Grayson vouching for her, I didn’t know much about Lysa.
“How’s your dad?” I asked, taking a sip of my perfectly-brewed morning roast.
Lysa’s expression stiffened for a second before she smoothed it back out. “He’s fine. This vampire shit has turned everything into a bit of a disaster. Had some pinheads come bug us.”
I kept my expression neutral as I asked, “Really? About what?”
She shrugged as she unwrapped her bran muffin and took a bite. “Mmmm. So good. You should try this.”
I didn’t press, just waited.
Eventually, Lysa swallowed and responded, “Pinheads are asking around about our acquaintances. Detective named Muller wanted to know if we’d had any visitors recently.” Her tone was conversational as she reached for the cup and took a sip of her coffee, but my heart constricted at her words.
Muller was even closer than I thought. He’d been able to trace our path somehow. Either we’d missed something or someone had spilled information on us. One of Gray’s guys? One of the people at that bar?
Fuck.
We never should have gone there, I berated myself. But we hadn’t had much choice.
“Luckily, Dad and I are such introverts. We haven’t seen anyone in ages.”
Malcolm grinned and leaned back in his seat. “Maybe you need to get out more.”
She inclined her head. “Maybe.”
My eyes tossed her a silent ‘thank you.’
Going there might have still been a mistake, but there was no doubt that Muller would have gotten even closer if she’d given up information on us. Still, the back of my neck prickled and I couldn’t help a quick glance around, wondering if the asshole cop had followed her. The skeptical part of me wondered if she was setting us up, but Gray trusted her. He trusted Cotton. And I had to trust him.
“I wasn’t followed,” she whispered. “We have a process.” She did nod toward a woman who sat just inside the coffee shop, near the window. The woman looked like a suburban mom on steroids—the one I’d noticed when I first walked in. She was massive, at least six feet tall, and it was clear she hit the gym regularly. “That’s Emily, my bodyguard.”
I gave a little nod. It made sense the daughter of a magical MC president would have one. It also made me relax a little when she told us about the bodyguard herself, though I’d already put two and two together.
Lysa set down her coffee cup and asked, “Now, let’s talk about more exciting things. You all are having problems with ghosts?”
“Just one. Maybe two, if his friend is still around,” I said. I hoped he wasn’t. I hoped that pirate fuck had dissolved when Ginny died. But I didn’t know his name, so I couldn’t be sure.
“What do you know about getting rid of them?” Malcolm plopped his notebook open on the middle of the cafe’s little table, turning it toward Lysa. “Everything we found on the internet seems like a bunch of shit.”
She grinned when she read. “Salt and sage, huh? You cooking those ghosts or getting rid of them?”
“Exactly!” Malcolm exclaimed. “Who comes up with this?”
Lysa shrugged. “Norms like to feel like they have some kind of control.
He was kind of adorably indignant about the lack of information available on ghosts. He’d even searched the magical library’s online catalog this morning.
Lysa interlaced her fingers and set them on the table. “I mean, I’m not an expert. I never got my ghost. Did you ask your dad this stuff?” She turned to me.
I pinched my napkin in my lap. “He crossed over before I knew this was a problem.”
Lysa’s eyes widened and she swallowed. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, grateful she knew that Dad’s crossover was just as much a death as any other. “This new ghost is very aggressive.”
Lysa raised a brow. “You mean willing to possess people?”
Malcolm and I shared a look before I gave a brief nod.
Lysa sucked the air in around her teeth. “Yeah, that’s not good. Ok, so I didn’t specifically research possession, just so we are clear on that. I don’t know if there’s any way to stop that. But I’ll tell you what I know.”
Malcolm set an elbow on the table and leaned forward. “Can you tell me a little about your sources?”
“Sources?” Lysa arched a brow, confused.
“Yes. What books or websites or—”
I interrupted him. “She might not remember that. It was a couple years ago.”
Lysa held up a hand to stop me. “It’s fine. I didn’t read up on it. I talked to a woman I know. Her first husband was a ghost and supposedly possessed her willingly from time to time in order to talk to her. Her name is Petronella and she lived around here until about five years ago. Then some stupid Zoo members showed up and had it out for her. So she left.”
Malcolm picked up his notebook, brought out a pen, and started taking notes. “Petronella? What was her last name?”
Lysa shook her head. “Oh no. She won’t want you to look her up. She’s not registered here and she wants to stay that way.”