“Who is she?” Daphne mutters, examining the photo. “And why is it so hard to identify someone without their eyes?”
“I can run her through a database,” Cash offers. “But it’s not going to be fast. I’ll narrow it down to anyone living in Louisiana with the attributes that we can make out, but as we all know, she could be a tourist.”
“It can’t be hopeless,” I mutter. “Why else would he show us who he’s going to kill?”
“Aside from the fact that he’s a sick fuck?” Cash asks.
“Okay, point taken.” We sit in silence for a moment. “He was able to get to Daph’s doorstep. He walked right up here and left this on the mat.”
“The protection spells are for inside the dwelling,” Millie replies.
“Is it possible to put her in a bubble? If he can get to her door, he can look in the windows.”
“I’m on the second floor,” Daphne reminds me.
“And he’s not a man anymore. Do you think he can’t just float on up here and look inside?”
Daphne goes pale and swallows hard. “Well, that’s a lovely thought. I’ll never get naked again.”
“He can’t see inside,” Millie rushes to assure us. “I set that spell, as well. He can’t see in. He can’t hear what happens in here, either.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess.” I reach over and take Daphne’s hand, encouraged when she doesn’t immediately pull away. “You are safe here, you know.”
“Yeah. Sure.” She blows out a breath. “I don’t know what to do. I have to open the shop today, but I hate the idea of knowing that this poor woman is out there somewhere, going through Goddess knows what. And that she only has mere hours to live.”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do,” Lucien says and rubs circles over Millie’s back. “It’s already been set in motion.”
“I’ll do what I can on my side of things,” Cash says. “I’m taking this with me.”
“Good.” Daphne waves it away. “Get it out of here. I don’t want to see it again.”
“I’m going to Reflections with you,” I inform Daphne. “I’m going to be stuck to you like glue for the foreseeable future.”
“That’s just silly—” she starts to object, but Brielle surprises her by speaking up.
“That’s an excellent idea,” Brielle says. “You shouldn’t be alone, Daph. Even with all the protection spells in the world. We’ve learned the hard way that this maniac can manipulate and worm his way in where he’s not wanted. It will make me feel so much better if Jackson sticks close.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Daphne mutters, but she doesn’t argue. “Fine. You can be the muscle of the operation today. Some heavy pieces came in that I want on the showroom floor.”
“It’s always my pleasure to be the brawn to your brains.”
Daphne rolls her eyes, and Lucien laughs.
“It’s settled then,” Millie says.
“I want that planter over there,” Daphne says, pointing at the far end of the showroom. “By the window.”
The damn thing is made of cement and has to weigh a hundred pounds.
“Don’t you have a dolly?”
“I can help,” she offers, but I wave her away.
“Never mind, I have it.”
I muscle it over to the spot she pointed out and then wipe my brow with my forearm. “Why don’t you have employees?”
“No need.” She shrugs and then taps her lips with a forefinger as if she’s contemplating relocating the planter.
“It stays,” I say. “It looks great.”
“Fine. I don’t have employees because they’d just ask a bunch of questions that I don’t like answering. And from the experiences I’ve had, they’re not reliable.”
“What if you’re sick? Or on vacation?”
“Then I close the shop. But I’m rarely sick, and I don’t take vacations.”
I stare at her as she checks a spreadsheet on her clipboard. “You’re kidding me.”
“About what?”
“No vacations? What kind of fresh hell is that?”
She just laughs. “I like what I do, Jack. I don’t need a vacation from it. Besides, where would I go? And with whom? My sisters don’t travel. And you know I’m more comfortable surrounded by things I know. I’d hate to sit in an airplane and feel the grief of the person who sat there before me because they were on their way to a funeral. It’s best if I stay put.”
“You have shields against those things,” I remind her.
“Most of the time.” She checks something off on her list and then changes the subject. “Okay, now I need to shift these couches. I want to move different ones over here so they can be seen through the front window.”
We spend the next hour moving furniture. Watching her work is fascinating.
“How are you protecting yourself right now?” I ask. “How are you not feeling a flood of emotions? You’ve touched at least a dozen antiques in the past fifteen minutes alone.”
“I’ve learned to reach out with just a thread in my mind. If it’s an unfamiliar piece, I send out a little thread to see if there is any malicious intent in it. Nine times out of ten, there isn’t, and then I touch it and see its history.”
“What about that one time out of ten?”
“I wrap it back up and return it to where it came from.”
“Good girl.”
She opens a crate, and her eyes dilate for a moment. She must be sending that thread inside to examine the items.
She squeals with glee and pulls out a child’s rocking horse.
“Oh, this is just lovely.” She caresses the painted wood of the horse’s muzzle and along the saddle. “What a fun piece. This was gifted to a little girl in 1933 outside of Atlanta. She loved horses, but her parents couldn’t afford a real one, so they gave her this for her birthday. She played on it for years.”
Her expression falls.
“But she died when she was nine. Polio. They put the toy up in an attic and the family forgot about it until they cleaned the house out a few months ago to sell.”
“And now it can bring another child some joy.”
Her smile slips easily back into place, and my heart shifts.
“Oh, I hope so. I sincerely hope so. Let’s put it in the window, shall we?”
“Your wish is my command.”
I carry the horse to the platform in the window and set it next to an old baby carriage.
“Where did this come from?” I ask, testing out the wheels as I roll it back and forth.
“Idaho,” Daphne says. “It’s from 1910. It’s really too old to use for a baby now, but I thought it would make a great photography prop or something for someone. It once held twins.”
“They must have been tiny. This thing isn’t big.”
“They were tiny,” she agrees with a soft smile. “And very loved.”
“How do you do this?”