Sarah’s tense body jerked at the sound of Winston Maris’ voice behind her. Lorie gave the man a quick, condescending smile. “Lawrence. My name is Lawrence Abbott. And this is my,” he hesitated and sent the man a wink. “Let’s call her my plus one and leave it at that, shall we?”
The name Abbott made Maris pale, distracting him from studying Sarah too closely. “Any relation to Tucker Abbott?”
Lorie’s expression was scornful. “The prodigal son? Not that I’ll ever acknowledge. What he doesn’t know might hurt him, but it could help me, right?”
Winston’s rounded shoulders slumped in relief. “I like you, Abbott. Let your plus one look around before you go. Whatever she wants, I’ll sell you for half off.”
Lorie patted her behind obnoxiously and pushed her toward the bookshelves. His behavior was very out of character. Luckily, Maris didn’t seem aware of that. She watched him drape his arm over the weasel of a man and lower his voice. “Pardon me for noticing, but you seem determined to turn a fast profit. I think I can help you out.”
Mr. Maris chuckled nervously. “I am at what you might call a crossroads. I’ve been thinking of moving to another underground vista. Adventure is good for the soul, they say.”
Sarah tuned them out and let her senses guide her. It was in this room. The second doorway. The book that shouldn’t have existed. She had only remembered one. It had been open beside her on the floor when they’d formed their circle. When they’d cast her inside.
Somehow, it was here. In this hidden, disgusting rat hole with this small, disgusting man. It was difficult for her to believe he had the skills to rewrite a spell so complex.
It was difficult to believe he could tie his shoes.
There.
She attempted to emulate Harrison’s breathy tone, but to her it only sounded as if she were ill. Which wasn’t far from the truth. “Lawrence? I want this jewelry box. I must have it.”
Leah Gryffin rushed over to help her sell her performance. A Gryffin was helping her lie to a Maris.
It had been a strange few days.
She cooed. “You have amazing taste. I have been eyeing that since it arrived yesterday. Mr. Maris simply refuses to tell me where I can get one like it.”
“Yesterday?” Con and Lorie both spoke at the same time, glaring at each other as Maris hobbled in Sarah’s direction.
“No! No, I’m um, sorry dear but no. I’m just holding that for a friend, you see. I never sell what isn’t mine. Wouldn’t be legal. Pick something else. Anything else.”
Sarah noticed the change in Leah first. Her brilliant smile faded and her hands rose, covered in flames. Sarah took several steps back, until she was pressed against the bookshelf.
“Oh, Winnie? I don’t think you’re being entirely up front now, do you? You sell things that aren’t yours all the time. I happen to be wearing some of the proof.” She opened her arms, the flames following her movement, to reveal three necklaces and a pair of antique earrings. “I was about to leave and send the law in your direction, but how about I make you an offer? I’ll tell them to go easy on you if you give the lady the box.”
Harrison joined the others in the crowded room. “We should also know who brought it to him yesterday. I knew this wasn’t the guy.” She paused for a moment. “By the way, Leah? Remind me not to tell your brother about your first bust. I don’t think his heart can take it.”
“What’s going on here?” Maris was mad now. “I let you into my home and you steal from me? Threaten me? I know the law too, young lady. You aren’t allowed to use unnecessary force.”
Leah’s hands snuffed out, the flames evaporating. “You’re right, Winnie. I apologize. Just tell us who left you the box and we’ll leave you alone. Probably.”
“Yeah, Winston.” Lorie’s blue eyes burned as they stared down the nervous man. “Tell us who brought you the box.”
At the sound of his name, Mr. Maris seemed to deflate before their eyes. “I need a drink. Can I at least get my drink?”
He pointed to the closed, dusty bottle on his end table, and Lorie nodded.
“Thank you. Why do you want to know about that box, anyway, Abbott?”
Sarah, who’d been silent, watching the exchange, came forward. “Are you Hester’s descendant?”
“Who?” His hand shook on the bottle. “Oh. Yeah, I guess so. I never was that interested in genealogy. Can’t sell a family name, now can you? And all they’ll ever cause you is grief. Who wants to know?”
She felt the anger pulsing beneath her skin, her hands curling into fists at her side. “Sarah Blackwood wants to know.”
Lorie tensed. “Sarah, wait—”
The bottle slid out of his hands and rolled to her feet, still unopened. “Blackwood? That’s not possible.” He shook his head, looking around the room with wild panicked eyes. “It’s not possible.”