“Don’t worry about the damage,” Julian says.
“How can I not worry? The cafe—”
“Forget about the cafe. What matters is that no one was hurt,” Julian says resolutely.
“Exactly,” Amber adds in the few seconds she manages to maintain human form.
“But—”
“Your magic hasn’t gone wonky in all the time I’ve known you. You were long overdue,” Julian adds with a pointed glance at Shifter Roulette Amber, who’s mostly herself if you don’t count the pink skin, pink hair, and the tail.
“Wonky…” I repeat as I slip on my coat and wish I could disappear inside it.
“Everyone’s powers do that once in a while,” Julian says.
“No, they don’t.”
“Of course they do. And you didn’t mean to break anything. That’s what matters.”
Which doesn’t help, since I was willing to sacrifice anything in sight to beat Ghost.
“Hey, what happened to the detective?” he asks, as if reading my mind, before I can explain that wonky magic isn’t to blame.
“He left,” I mutter, not quite able to keep the sting out of my voice. “And he’s not really a detective.”
“He’s not?” Julian asks.
I shake my head, though I’m not about to admit he worked for the agency. Like me.
“What detective?” the still rather shaken postal worker asks.
“The one I gave a down-payment to,” Julian mutters. “In cash.”
“You don’t need him,” I tell Julian. “I’ll figure out who’s behind those robberies.”
“Zoe…” Amber says. Then she neighs. And brays. And squeaks. And grunts.
“What she’s trying to say is that you don’t need to worry about anything. You’ve had a rough day. You should go home. Amber and I will take care of everything else.”
Amber nods.
And tears spring to my eyes. Because I just destroyed their cafe, and they’re being nice to me. Unlike Ghost, who just abandoned me to clean up this mess.
“I… um… have a shipment of cleaning supplies for the Cleanly Den. Mr. Berrett called and asked if I could leave them here instead of loading them in the van,” the postal worker says awkwardly, his eyes darting from me to Shifter Roulette Amber to Julian and back again. “The sitter’s late, and I was hoping you could watch Nathaniel while I brought everything inside, but maybe I should go…”
He starts backing away—holding Nathaniel in one hand and pulling the stroller with the other—and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t leave my baby with anyone after what just happened… especially not in this broken down mess of a cafe.
“You should probably take the day off, too,” Julian tells him. “The cleaning supplies can wait.”
“I can’t afford to take time off.” The postal worker looks a little sick. “We’re almost out of formula, plus the sitter, and… maybe I’ll just take a few hours. I’m still kind of shaken.”
He backs away, crashes into the door frame, and then struggles to maneuver himself out of the cafe. But his money troubles make me think of my own, so once he’s gone, I turn to Julian.
“Is there anyone you can think of who might try to set up the Cleanly Den?” I ask.
“Other than the obvious?” Julian shakes his head. “No.”
“Obvious?” I ask, frowning. “If you mean me, I didn’t—”
“Not you, Zoe.” Julian rolls his eyes. “I meant Mini.”
“Minerva Montgomery,” Troll Amber clarifies a second later in a loud growl. Her eyes take on a red, angry tint, and the fact that she’s covered from head to toe in pink fur somehow only makes her more ferocious.
“I haven’t heard that name in a while.” I frown. “No way she’s still in town.”
Back when I first met Amber, Minerva tried to sabotage the cafe. Thought it would somehow help her steal Julian. Terrible plan, I know. Of course, it didn’t work. And she hasn’t shown her face in coven meetings since.
“We see lights above the old bakery sometimes,” Julian tells me. “And Mom says she hasn’t come home, so we think she’s living up there.”
“But the place is boarded up.” I glance out the broken door, past the slowly dispersing crowd, and stare out at the abandoned building across the street. “And didn’t you tell her to leave town?”
“I don’t think she has anywhere else to go,” Julian says. “As long as she was minding her own business, we decided to leave her alone… but…”
“But now she’s sabotaging the Cleanly Den.” My eyes narrow. “Let me handle this.”
“Zoe, wait,” Amber shouts, but I ignore her and storm outside.
The few people still on the sidewalk quickly get out of the way—like my magic might be as wonky as Julian’s and something around them might suddenly blow up—but I ignore them. I have more important matters to deal with. Like bringing the witch with a capital B who dared to mess with my job—and my friends—to justice.
I storm across the street and stop in front of the abandoned shop. Purple calligraphy reads “Minerva’s Bakery”, but the place is boarded up. Paper covers the front window, and I peek inside through the gaps. Enough sunlight filters in that I can make out what’s inside. The floor, counter, chairs, and tables are all covered with dust, but I see footprints leading from the back door toward the stairs. Recent footprints at that.
“Minerva, open up.” I bang on the door.
Anger courses through me. Anger at Ghost for showing up in my life only to leave again. Anger at myself for letting him rattle me and for what I’ve done to Jewels Cafe. And anger at Minerva for trying to sabotage my dream job and messing with my friends.
When she doesn’t open the door, I cast a spell. One that sends one of the bakery’s tables flying at the door. They’re a lot smaller than those at Jewels Cafe. Small and round and delicate, but turns out they’re stronger than they look.
Glass shatters. The boards keeping the door firmly in place crack. And then the table clatters onto the sidewalk.
A glance reveals that I have an audience. The few supes who were left standing outside Jewels Cafe—and I say supes because I know the humans forgot the whole thing and went home—are now crossing the street to get a better look.
I ignore them and step over the toppled table and march inside. My footsteps echo across the dusty floor as I make my way toward the staircase.
“Minerva Montgomery, come out with your hands up,” I shout, even though I’m no longer Agent Wynter and I don’t have papers to bring Minerva in. Then again, she’s committed a crime, so I think I’ll just call this a citizen’s arrest.
I stomp up the stairs and notice that it’s almost as cold on the second floor as it is outside. Sun streams through an upstairs window, and I follow the dusty booted prints to one of the rooms, nearly mowing down Minerva as she steps out of the bedroom.
The witch is dressed in full winter gear—snow-pants, coat, hat, gloves—her red hair sticking out in greasy chunks. There’s dust on her forehead, and more on her clothes, and her cheeks look a little hollowed out. That and she kind of smells.