LYRICAL UNDERGROUND

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

      LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Sharon Pape

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      First Electronic Edition: May 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0059-0

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0059-X

      First Print Edition: May 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0060-6

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0060-3

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      For the guy with the aqua eyes.

      “A little magic can take you a long way.”

      —Roald Dahl

      Chapter 1

      “I’m going to be a pariah. A pariah!” Tilly wailed. “People will avoid me like I’ve got the plague.” She’d come into Abracadabra through the door that connected her shop to mine. Merlin was right behind her, like an odd shadow. Since it was not yet nine o’clock, she found me at my desk behind the counter, paying bills online. She shuffled up to me in ancient slippers she refused to replace, because the soft fabric had stretched to accommodate her bunions and arthritic toes.

      “Nonsense, Matilda,” Merlin said sternly. “There is naught to be concerned about. On that I stake my substantial reputation. You will never become a nasty little fish! Besides, if it were to happen, I would immediately change you back to your dear sweet self. Kailyn, please tell her that. She refuses to take my word for it.”

      “I said pariah, you old fool,” Tilly muttered, “not piranha. As if I don’t have enough to deal with right now.” She turned to me. “What am I to do?”

      “Why are you worried about becoming a pariah?” I asked, figuring she was back to her original plaint. “Everyone in town loves you.”

      “They won’t once they realize I’m the angel of death,” she replied miserably.

      “Hold on. You want to catch me up?”

      “I had a premonition about yet another murder.” Her voice trembled. “First, I stumble across Gary Harkens’ body, then Amanda’s and now this new murder—well, psychically anyway.”

      “What did this premonition tell you?” I asked, coming from behind the counter.

      “Just that someone else would be killed.”

      “No images of the victim, no location, no time of the murder?” She shook her head. “Aunt Tilly,” I said, “please sit down and listen to me.” Tilly settled into the chair I kept there for bored husbands and exhausted shoppers. “You have things a little muddled. First of all, I’m the one who tripped over Gary Harkens. You fell on top of me.”

      She perked up. “You’re right! You found him.”

      “Secondly, both you and Beverly discovered Amanda at the same time. And this premonition of yours is probably nothing more than a…a hunch, a bad dream, a figment of your imagination. It could be just another glitch in our magick.”

      “What a blessing you are,” Tilly said, popping out of the chair as if she were reborn. She pulled me to her and hugged the air right out of my lungs. “I’m off to bake some of your favorite Linzer tarts,” she chirped. “Traditional raspberry or tangy apricot?”

      “I believe I’d like some traditional,” I said.

      “Then it’s settled. I’ll make both.”

      “I am in your debt as well,” Merlin whispered, before following her back to Tea and Empathy. He graced me with the modified bow he’d adopted in deference to his age and a growing tendency to fall on his face if he attempted a deeper one.

      Sashkatu had been watching us from his private loge on the window ledge. He rose, stretching his sinewy feline body, before he descended his custom-built steps and accompanied the wizard back to Tilly’s place, the home of fine aromas and finer tastes.

      When I looked at my watch, it was ten past nine. I hurried to open the shop for business. Bronwen and Morgana, my mother and grandmother, would have frowned at my lack of punctuality, although there was no one beating down my door in urgent need of a cure or a spell. My progenitors agreed on very little, but on this subject, they were united. I could only hope they hadn’t noticed, but of course they had. My grandmother’s cloud of energy popped out of the ether first, my mother’s a moment later. Both were calm and white. Maybe I’d be spared a lecture