Blood Games (Chicagoland Vampires 10)

Mallory waited until he was gone. “He’s tense.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And maybe a little bitter. Did you see his eyes? There was something there when you asked if they were friends.”

“You’re thinking ex-friends?”

“Or ex–something else.”

Mallory nodded, gestured to the glass case he’d pointed out, and we made our way toward it.

Boxes of cards were displayed in tidy rows, from oversized cards that could have doubled as door hangers to a deck of cards half as big as a credit card. The art varied from fantastic to art nouveau, and so did the price. The decks ranged from a few dollars to several hundred.

“The Rider-Waite,” Mallory said, pointing to a yellow box. “Probably the classic American tarot card. Old-fashioned artwork, lots of delicious symbolism.”

Most telling was the empty spot in the third row.

“Someone bought a box of tarot cards recently,” Mallory said. “And they haven’t restocked yet.”

“Inventory,” said a woman behind us.

We turned around, found a petite human with her dark hair pulled into a topknot, the tips of her ears shaped into delicate elf-like points. She wasn’t an elf—or magic at all, as far as I could tell—so the ears must have been an homage. She wore a black skirt over chevron tights, clunky boots with thick, flat soles, and a shirt with short, puffy sleeves. She also carried a clipboard, a yellow pencil tucked beneath the silver clip.

“I’m Skylar-Katherine Tyler,” she said.

“Hi, Skylar. I’m Mallory, and this is Merit.”

“Skylar-Katherine.”

Mallory blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“My name is Skylar-Katherine. With a hyphen. Middle name Mary Francis. Last name Tyler. Skylar-Katherine Mary Francis Tyler.”

That seemed like a lot of letters to lay on a kid. More power to her for remembering them in order. “I bet when you were little you could never find one of those little license plates with your name. I certainly couldn’t.”

Skylar-Katherine stared at me. “You’re asking about the tarot cards. We had a Fletcher deck. Sold it a week ago.”

Excitement built, and I saw the gleam of success in Mallory’s eyes. It was the right deck and the right timing—a week before both of the murders.

“You haven’t replaced it yet?” I wondered. “I understood you bought the back stock?”

Skylar-Katherine nodded. “We did.” She gestured toward the stockroom. “Inventory. We’re not bringing anything else out until we’ve counted everything.”

“Could you tell us who bought the deck?” Mallory asked.

“Our customers like their privacy. Not everyone who shops here likes that fact announced to the public.”

Mal’s blue eyes flashed with irritation. “I’m one of your customers, and normally I’d agree with you. But we think the deck was used to commit a crime.”

Skylar-Katherine looked us over, and she didn’t seem impressed. “You’re not cops.”

“We’re working with the CPD and the Ombudsman’s office,” Mallory said. “We thought your staff and customers would prefer a visit from us—people who know the ropes—instead of police in uniforms. I don’t imagine that would be very good for business.”

Skylar-Katherine looked irritated, but she must have recognized the logic. “Fine,” she said. “Give me a minute.”

“Damn,” I said, as she disappeared through the door. “That was seriously impressive.”

“I have mad skills. But, you know, if Mitzy really did this, she could have just taken the box. There may not be a receipt.”

True, but I doubted Skylar-Katherine wanted to answer our questions about Mitzy. On the other hand . . . “If Mitzy—or any other employee—was going to take a deck, why take it from the display box? They’d know it was missing. They could have lifted it from the back room.”

“True,” she said.

I shrugged. “We’ll want to see the receipt either way.”

When Skylar-Katherine emerged a minute later with a slip of paper in her hand, I decided they should be paying Mallory a lot. At least until she spoke.

“The receipts from a week ago are already in storage. Inventory,” she said again, this time her tone haggard. “This is the manager’s name and address. You want the information, you’ll have to talk to him.”

“Will he be available later today?” Mallory asked.

“He might be. He might not.”

“Let me guess,” Mallory said, tucking the paper away. “Inventory.”

* * *

Mallory chatted with Skylar-Katherine about a deal on phoenix feathers (or so I guessed) while I perused the store. It was an opportunity I couldn’t exactly pass up.

Every time I thought I’d begun to get a handle on the world of the supernatural, something surprised me. In this particular case, it was the half dozen shelves of jars that apparently held ingredients for charms and spells.

Shakespeare had been right: “Eye of newt” was really a thing, as were toe of frog, wool of bat, and lizard’s leg. I decided to believe the newt, bat, frog, and lizard had been thoroughly compensated for their contributions to the magical arts, because they didn’t look especially content as their bits floated in yellowish liquid.

“I think we’re all done,” Mallory said when she joined me.

“Do you buy this stuff?”

She glanced at the shelves. “Sometimes. I really like to browse, but I try not to pay retail,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “You go through a lot of stuff, you need to keep an eye on the coin. I use Spellseller.com quite a bit. It’s cheaper, free shipping, points with every purchase. Although . . . ,” she said, trailing off as she picked up a white box with “Wolfsbane” printed in calligraphy on the end.

Mallory opened the box but then closed it and returned it to the shelf. “Hey, Skylar-Katherine!” she called out.

A pause, then “What?” echoed through the store.

“The wolfsbane. Do you have any more in stock?”

“Isn’t that poisonous?” I asked, vaguely remembering a warning Catcher had given.

“Deadly to shifters in large quantities, but according to Berna, pretty useful in smaller doses. And hella hard to find online.” Berna was a shifter, aunt to the Apex of the North American Central Pack, and a damn good cook.