Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(75)

Though it blended in with the rest of the aging, decrepit hovels that surrounded it, something drew me to the correct building. It had no porch, no stairs, and only one window at the front. I stood across the street in the alley, watching to see what kind of people walked in and out. When no one had entered or exited after I’d held vigil a full ten minutes, I wasn’t sure if I felt relief or greater fear.

“Now or never,” I whispered to myself. Miss Scarlett’s bracelet clung to my right wrist, pressing up against my circlus. Without the rest of her bracelets to clank against it didn’t sing, but every now and then I felt a little shiver of warmth from it.

Despite the section of Chatham City I was in—no one would recognize me here—I kept my head down and walked quickly across the street, hoping to keep my courage. Once I stepped inside the small pub, the world outside seemed to fade away.

The interior didn’t fare any better than the outside in my estimation. Four moldering tables and about twice as many chairs were scattered across the small hovel, which was completed by three booths across the back wall. A middle-aged woman stood behind a counter that stretched along the left wall. Glass jars filled the counter space, holding various shades of gold and amber liquid. It smelled sour, like stale yeast.

“Whatchya want?” the witch called as she flipped her hair over her bony shoulders. Light blonde roots at her scalp told me that black wasn’t her real hair color. She was thin. Too thin. Her pale skin stretched over her jutting bones, and her eyes hung down in bags.

“I have a few questions I’d like to ask,” I said, my voice sounding small despite my attempt to project it. She sized me up, her eyes narrowing.

“What kind of questions?” she asked, drumming the tops of her fingers on the counter.

“About your customers.”

She sucked on her front teeth, then gave a bored shrug.

“Sure. For a pentacle or two.”

Although I had a few coins and no plans to use them for anything else, it annoyed me to give them to her. But I needed her to talk. I pulled three pentacles out of the pocket of my olive green dress and held them up for her to see. She straightened, suddenly invested in the conversation, and extended her palm.

“One for security,” she drawled, her voice taking on a nasally intonation. “My name is Dahlia, by the way. What’s yours?”

I tossed her the coin.

“Doesn’t matter. Has a woman named Mabel come in recently? She has blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s very beautiful.”

Dahlia rolled her eyes around in thought.

“I have a lot of witches with blonde hair come in,” she finally said.

“Sure,” I said. “But are they all so beautiful it almost makes your eyes hurt?”

And do they all have enough evil power to incinerate you into ashes?

Dahlia stewed on it again. “Ya. I’ve seen her several times. Not for a few months now, mind ya.”

“Does she come in with anyone?”

“No.”

“Does she sit alone?”

Dahlia puffed out her cheeks while she thought the question over.

“No. Another witch always comes and meets up with her. Sometimes the other lady comes first, but not often.”

I tried to keep my heart from racing with excitement but failed. My thoughts flickered back to the woman I’d heard Miss Mabel talking to in the West. Could it be the same witch?

“Oh?” I asked evenly. I must not have done a very good job hiding my enthusiasm because Dahlia lifted one eyebrow and held out her hand, twiddling her fingers in expectation. I flipped her another pentacle.

“They sit in that booth.” She motioned to the back with a jerk of her head. “Neither of them take any food or drink, but they always leave a few sacrans behind so I don’t mind letting them in.”

“How often do they come?”

She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Couple times a year, sometimes less. For a while they came once a month, and then it slowed down again.”

“Have they been coming here a long time?”

“Years now. Ever since I started working here.”

“What does the other witch look like?”

“Dunno. She keeps her hood on. I’ve never actually looked her in the eye. All I can tell ya is that the woman has black hair and a figure I’d kill someone for. Nice hourglass shape and everything.”

My heart hammered a little bit faster. What was it Miss Celia had said? Angelina looked just like May. Black hair, curvy figure, and eyes that could cut. Was Miss Mabel working with her mother? It shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“What did they talk about?” I asked.

“I may have heard a thing or two,” she said, jingling the coins in her hand and raising her eyebrows. I set the last pentacle down on the counter. She snatched it and all three disappeared, vanishing into thin air.

“Like what?”

“From what I remember, they talked about a book.”

My expression must have betrayed my confusion because she shrugged. Her eyes narrowed.

“Doesn’t make sense ta me either, sweetie, but that’s what they talked about. I heard a few snippets now and then, but not much. Best I can tell ya is that they’re looking for a book.” Dahlia gave a little shudder. “And let me tell ya, both of them give me the creeps. I don’t care how pretty they are. Something isn’t right about them.”