Excerpt

It was a glorious June day in Seashell Cove, and we were barreling toward Summer Solstice. Tourists walked by the book-filled windows of my shop, The Widening Gyre, dripping ice cream, while across the street, adults dragged children away from the giant T-Rex replica Tetris had recently installed outside his curio and fossil shop, Ancient Treasures.

Rhiannon perched in one of the sunny display windows, washing a furry black paw in front of a stack of historical mysteries. An older couple paused outside the window to coo in her direction. Cats are good for business. Even though she was strong willed and a bit cranky, her presence alone meant Rhiannon earned her keep. Though, since I had recently discovered—through a strange turn of events—that she can talk in language intelligible to non-cat ears?1 Turns out Rhiannon has opinions. Strong ones. Constantly. I sometimes wish I'd never figured it out.

She ignored the couple. Typical. It wasn't that Rhiannon didn't like attention—she did—but if you weren't offering head scratches or food, mostly she didn't bother.

"Sarah!" Tracy burst through the front door, blond hair flying, setting the bells clattering. Dark-haired Tabitha was hot on her sneakered heels. Both teens wore Converse All Stars; Tracy's were pink and Tabitha's black. Before meeting the dynamic duo, I hadn't even known those kicks were back in style.

I looked up from the customer I was helping, a precocious twelve-year-old kid—Ash Hamamoto—whose father had dropped him off while he ran errands down Main. Parent and child had recently moved to town, and seemed nice. But then, I like almost anyone who loves reading. It's a sign of good character. I didn't yet know the Hamamotos' story, but in Seashell Cove? I was sure I'd find out soon enough. If it was the slow season, the gossip mill would have churned its info my way by now.

Lucky for Ash's father, it was tourist season and the locals were preoccupied with squirreling away money for the slow winter months.

Ash wore jeans, sneakers, and a manga T-shirt with bright, sharply drawn characters I didn't recognize. He had delicate features and dark hair cut in a brush cut that reminded me of a hedgehog. In between browsing the bookshelves, Ash had been telling me about his love of D&D. I was going to have to introduce him to my big bear of a geeky boyfriend, Stefon.

"Just a minute, Tracy. I'll be right with you." I gave both teens a firm Don't bring whatever it is into the shop in front of customers look.

"We'll wait back in the paranormal section," Tabitha said, grabbing her best friend by the shoulders and steering her down the aisle where Biff the ghost hovered. Biff loved the teens and always materialized more when they were around.

I turned back to Ash, who had two books in hand.

"Did you like the Ursula K. LeGuin book? Or did you prefer the Kwame Mbalia?"

Ash shrugged. "I liked them both. But Dad says I should stick with used books today, so I guess I'll try this one."

He held up a battered copy of Eragon.

"Dragons are always a good choice," I said. "Let's get you rung up."

I could feel the teens practically vibrating at the back of the shop. Out of sight was definitely not out of mind with those two. Now that Tracy was coming into her witchy powers, and Tabitha was training in psychic skills, both teens broadcast like whoa. I needed to have a talk with them about shielding practice, clearly. Maybe Tracy's mother, Carol, could help with that. Uncle Cyrus was supposed to be mentoring them, but hadn't been around much lately.

I sighed. We needed to set up a local training consortium or something. I had no interest in doing it myself. I really needed to ping Cyrus.

"You okay?" Ash asked, face scrunched into a furrow.

He must have heard my sigh. Or he was a budding empath. Great. Another malleable young person who would likely need my help soon. I really didn't want this added to my pile.

Ash's dad walked in as if summoned. A Japanese-American man in his mid-forties, he was neatly dressed in a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. His hair was stick straight, short, and as dark as Tabitha's and he wore stylish green-framed glasses.

"Dad! I'm getting this one, okay?"

Jerry Hamamoto nodded and smiled at his child, but his face looked pinched with worry. Was money that tight? Or was it something else? Seashell Cove used to have a library, but it had closed a few years back from lack of funding. As if books weren't more important than…whatever else our town council decided to spend money on.

At any rate, I couldn't imagine being a single parent to a gender non-conforming tween in a small town was easy. Especially as newcomers. Neither of them had said anything directly, but it seemed pretty clear to me that Ash was trans.

Good on Dad for supporting him.

"You know what?" I said, drawing Ash's gaze back my way. "Why don't I give this to you in exchange for writing up some shelf talkers for the store?"

"Shelf talkers?"

"You know, like those." I pointed to the small rectangles of paper taped to some of the bookshelves. They were covered with neat printing, mini-reviews, mostly written by my assistant, Duncan, or myself. But a few still held my father's crabbed writing. I couldn't bear to throw those in the recycling. Not yet.

"You just have to write a few sentences telling people what you liked about the book, but without giving away the story. And print it out neatly."

Mr. Hamamoto looked relieved. "Ash has been studying calligraphy lately, so that's perfect! Isn't it, Ash?"

Ash nodded, and turned back to the book.

Jerry glanced back at me. "Thank you," he mouthed.

I shrugged. "This will be a big help. We need more reviews in the middle grade and YA sections. And Ash, if you want to trade it in for another used book to review, just let me know! I might need your help with other display signs around the shop, too."

Finally I got parent and child bustled out of the shop. I peered down a couple of aisles to make sure I hadn't missed any lingering customers, and followed the sound of the teens hushed, excited voices to the very back of the store.

They were huddled over a book, standing in the aisle near the comfy chair shoved in the back corner between two bookcases.

"What's up?"

Both heads whipped toward me, as if I'd startled them.

"Tracy's mom thought you should know…" Tabitha started, then paused, winding a lock of dark, straight hair around one finger. Tabitha was Chinese American and looked it. She was in Goth mode as usual, dressing like a teen witch, which was amusing to me, partially because I had been a Goth teen myself, and partially because although Tracy was the hereditary witch of the pair, she was dressed in blue jeans and a pale blue T-shirt with a cartoon ghost carrying a load of books. The T-shirt was the latest scheme the teenagers were using to bring more cash into the store: T-shirts advertising the presence of Biff the ghost.

I hated it, but had to admit the girls were probably right.

In contrast, Tabitha wore black jeans and a black T-shirt with a hot pink pentacle on the front.

"Carol thought I should know what?" I finally asked, plucking Stories of Ghostly Encounters by Harold Dean from the shelf and slotting it back in its proper place.

Tracy raked one pink Converse high top across the carpet. "My mom wanted you to know that her athame is missing."

My blood ran cold.

An athame is a witch's ritual knife. It represents her will and intention and is energetically linked to her soul by breath and magic.

This was bad. Very bad.

"Is she sure? She didn't just leave it in an unlikely place?"

Both teens rolled their eyes.

"As if," Tabitha said.

Fair enough. No witch or warlock—or magician, for that matter—would misplace something as important as a magical tool.

So where in the nine worlds had it gone?

Rhiannon sauntered to the back and yawned.

"Maybe it's at the Kelpie," I said. "You know how much the ghosts there like magic things."

The Historic Kelpie was Seashell Cove's favorite haunted inn. Unlike me, the owner, Liam, capitalized on the fact that the place was lousy with ghosts. And dancing ones at that. We all had recent experience with what happened when one of the ghosts decided they wanted something.

I looked at Tracy, who shrugged. "As far as I know, Mom hasn't been to The Kelpie lately."

Meaning, not since we'd solved the case of the dead opera singer.

"Tell Carol I'll meet with her this evening. My backyard. Bring snacks. I don't have time to go to the store today."

I would provide the drinks, but the two teenagers would mow through any snacks I had hidden away.

"We wanted to do some more research," Tabitha said, nose already buried in yet another book.

"Okay. You can stay here, but Rhiannon and I have to get back to work."

Which was a good thing. Maybe, just maybe, The Widening Gyre was turning its finances around, even without the T-shirt sales.