It Happened One Doomsday (6 page)

“It's next on my to-do list.” He tilted his head until his eyes glinted from beneath the rim of his top hat. “Dru, when you remember where you saw that seven-fingered sign, you tell me.”

She forced a smile. “Oh, will do.”

As Salem paid for the crystal, Greyson walked in through the front door. His attitude was so changed that Dru did a double take when she saw him. He walked taller, his eyes were brighter, and the brooding look that had plagued him before was nowhere to be seen. He strode up to the counter with a trio of coffee cups and a box of fresh-baked cinnamon Duffeyrolls.

“Just to say thanks.” He cracked a slow smile.

Dru traded glances with Opal, whose wide eyes mirrored her own astonishment. Usually when they got surprises from customers, they were the unpleasant kind.

Salem turned to go but stopped and looked back at Greyson, studying him intently.

Greyson didn't notice. He was busy turning the coffee cups to read the markings on the side. “Went out on a limb here, but I think you're kind of a caramel latte girl.” He pushed a cup toward her and another toward Opal.

“Damn,” Opal said after the first sip. “That's exactly right. How'd you know that?”

Dru took a tentative sip and had to agree. It was her favorite. “Don't tell me you've been stalking my barista.”

“Just a hunch, that's all,” he said.

“Is this a new thing? Or do you always have hunches this accurate?”

He met her gaze evenly. “They've been getting better lately.”

She had no way to tell whether Greyson had some kind of natural talent, whether this was a symptom of his problem, or whether he had, in fact, interrogated her barista.

“Anyway,” Greyson said. “Just saying thanks for helping me.”

“That's what I do,” Dru said. “That's the whole reason for this shop. To help people.”

“Mostly people who get their own selves into trouble,” Opal muttered. She opened the box of cinnamon rolls with a sigh of satisfaction.

Without a word, Salem darted in and snatched a cinnamon roll, then made a beeline for the door. Greyson watched him go, looking slightly puzzled.

“Truth is,” Opal said, “most people don't even know what kind of dark magic trouble they're getting themselves into until it's too late.”

Greyson sipped his coffee and frowned. “Still not sure I buy this whole Ouija-board-and-voodoo-doll thing. But I did sleep better. That's enough for me.”

Dru suppressed a smile. It was so obvious that Greyson didn't know the first thing about magic, but in a way that was kind of endearing.

It wasn't unusual, though. By and large, people without magical powers were oblivious to their existence. Those who witnessed magic and creatures of darkness firsthand usually tried to rationalize what they saw. And if they didn't, hardly anyone believed them anyway.

But that didn't stop occasional dabblers from treading where they didn't belong. “Mostly, people who don't know what they're doing get themselves into trouble trying to cast spells on other people,” Dru said.

Opal picked up a roll with her fingertips and bit into it. “Mmm. Love spells, a lot of times.”

Dru nodded. “We do get those a lot. Dark magic.”

“Love spells are dark magic?” Greyson didn't look convinced.

Opal rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lordy. Yes. Anytime you try to cast a spell on another human being, that's dark magic. Comes back on you threefold. Trust me, nothing's so sad as a lonely person with three unrequited loves.”

Greyson gave her a dubious look and sipped his coffee.

In her years of doing this, Dru had never seen anyone come into the shop who was so innocent about magic, and yet mired in so much trouble.

He hadn't so much as touched the dark arts, but here he was afflicted by the sort of soul-sucking problem that only the darkest sorcerers usually faced. She made up her mind that Greyson was worth saving, no matter what. “So the petalite crystal is working for you?”

“Apparently.” He pulled the crystal out of his pocket and set it down on the counter.

But something was terribly wrong with it.

The petalite had been as clear as glass when she had given it to him. But just a day later, half of it had turned inky black. Sickly bluish-gray tendrils wormed through the remaining transparent part of the crystal, like smoke frozen in time.

“
Ooh
.” Opal shuddered.

Greyson looked from her back to Dru. “What?”

Dru hesitated, afraid to touch the contaminated crystal with her bare hands. Instead, she rooted around under the counter until she found a pair of salad tongs and used them to gingerly pick up the crystal. “Did you let anyone else handle this at all?”

“Just me.” He frowned. “Why?”

“Did you maybe bump into any weird strangers? Possibly you heard, I don't know, voices in the night?” She groped for some explanation other than the dark truth she suspected. “Maybe you've noticed something odd recently, like a window you didn't think you left open? Or inexplicable sounds in the moonlight?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Inexplicable? No.”

“Time for my break.” Opal quickly placed several cinnamon rolls on a napkin and tottered away on her new stiletto heels. Behind her hand, in a stage whisper, she said, “Boy's got
problems
.”

“I'm standing right here,” Greyson said as she retreated.

“Thanks for the yum-yums!” Opal called.

Greyson turned sharply to Dru. “What does she mean?”

“She's a big fan of Duffeyrolls.”

He gave her a look that was clearly not amused.

“Well.” Dru cleared her throat. “There's no easy way to say this.”

He leaned in, waiting.

Inwardly, she squirmed. She had spent hours this morning studying up on his monster dream, sifting through a stack of dusty, old books, most of them handwritten in Latin. Everything she had found indicated the worst. But she hadn't really believed it until she saw the decimated petalite crystal.

Greyson still waited, his patience clearly running low.

“You don't
have
a demon,” Dru blurted out finally. “You're
turning into
one.”

His expression didn't change. “Uh-huh. Okay.”

“You still don't believe any of this, do you?”

His silence was answer enough. His disbelief was obvious.

She waved the salad tongs in frustration. “Just don't go away yet. Ordinary petalite is not going to cut it, apparently.” Dru dropped the crystal into the lead-lined box she kept under the counter for magical contaminants. After considering it for a moment, she tossed in the salad tongs, too, then slammed the lid.

Later, she'd lock the box in her safe, hidden in the back room behind a framed picture of Ming the Merciless, where she kept anything that gave her the heebie-jeebies. But for now, she just had to get the crystal off her counter.

“Well, obviously the crystal works,” Greyson said. “Just sell me another. Or a boxful.”

“Wish it was that easy. But it doesn't work like that.” Dru launched herself down the aisle, heading for the locked cabinet containing the most potent crystals she had. “Hope you don't have any other plans for today.”

Greyson followed her, looking utterly unconvinced. “I'm telling you, I feel fine.”

“Well, that's just dandy, but it won't last long. That petalite crystal?” She gestured toward the counter. “It should've lasted you
for life
. Instead, you burned through it in less than twenty-four hours.”

“I take it that doesn't happen much.”

“That just doesn't happen. Ever.” She shook her head. “You know, I blame myself. I should've seen it yesterday. The way you reacted to that galena.”

“You mean this?” He pushed back the sleeve of his leather jacket to reveal a swollen red burn mark on his wrist.

“Sorry.” She grimaced, then unlocked the cabinet and started pulling out armloads of ingredients. “This time, let's try a more nuanced approach. This is going to require some meticulous experimentation.”

“Is all this really necessary?”

“Do you want to avoid more nightmares?” She gave him a meaningful look. “Have a seat.”

As the afternoon unfolded, she mostly relied on trial and error, using branching patterns of magic she'd learned through years of nose-in-the-book study, if not a whole lot of actual experience. That required methodically laying out different combinations of herbs and crystals. Some in their pure form, others reduced to their essences and blended together.

She ground up herbs into fine powders and applied them as poultices, looking for a reaction. She immersed crystals in purified water to transfer their properties into liquid form. From time to time, Opal offered advice from her perch at the register or dug up hard-to-find ingredients from the storage room.

Every so often, Dru checked her progress by pressing a rectangular ulexite crystal to her forehead, over her spiritual third eye, and gazing at Greyson. Ordinarily, the most she ever saw through the ulexite crystal was the change in someone's aura. But with Greyson, she could clearly see darkness surrounding him.

The tips of his fingers became shadowy claws. At the edge of his hairline, dark crescents seemed to jut upward, like horns. The sight gave her a chill.

The better she narrowed down the mix of ingredients, the more his shadow faded, leaving him looking more and more normal. It was an exhilarating feeling.

For the first time in a long time, Dru felt like a true expert. Charts and intersecting circles of magical properties laid themselves out in her mind's eye. She calculated proportions and combinations faster than she could explain them. All the while, Greyson patiently sat and tried every cure she handed him, one swallow at a time.

By the end of the day, Dru had finally concocted a potion that made Greyson's demon shadow vanish. Exhausted but triumphant, she decanted it into a skull-shaped glass bottle and slid it across the counter to him. “There. This will keep you safe for now. Take a shot every two hours. And stay as calm and focused as you can at all times. Meditation would help. This isn't a cure, but it's progress.”

He gave her a tired smile. “You know, I just stopped by to bring you coffee.”

An idea struck her, something she should have thought of before. “Oh, you know what else? I should probably get some sage and bells, and go clear out the energy in your apartment, too. In fact, if you have time, we should go over there together, so I can check you out and make sure you're all good.” Dru caught the eyebrow Opal cocked at her and felt herself turning red for no reason. “Just a precaution.”

Greyson glanced at his watch. “Maybe we could grab some dinner, too. Do you like Italian?”

Dinner.
The word hit Dru like a splash of cold water. “Oh, fudge buckets. What time is it? We have reservations at Chez Monet.” She surveyed the clutter of potions, powders, and empty boxes that covered the counter. “Like right now.”

Opal stirred from her chair, where she had been experimenting on her nails. “Go, girl. I got this. Don't you worry.”

“Really?” But she didn't dare risk giving Opal a chance to change her mind. As she hurriedly scribbled down a receipt for Greyson, she added her phone number. “Call me if anything changes. You'll be fine, Greyson.”

He nodded. “I'll call you.”

A little voice inside her insisted that she wasn't done here. That she needed to test the potion more thoroughly and make sure its effects would last. But she didn't have time if she wanted to make her dinner date.

She just had to trust that the potion would work, and nothing would go wrong.

7

HIGHWAY TO HELL

Dru stepped into the dining room of Chez Monet and took in the intoxicating scent of roses, peonies, and countless other flowers. “This place is magical,” she whispered. But for once, she didn't mean it literally.

The crisp white linen tablecloths and softly glowing chandeliers were pretty much what she had expected. But she hadn't counted on the endless vases of flowers in every imaginable color.

Brilliant blues. Romantic reds. Delicate yellows. They stretched in all directions, framed by elegantly draped weeping willow branches. Like Monet's garden spectacularly brought to life.

Dru felt as if she'd stepped into a different world. As if she'd become someone more special, more fabulous. Someone with refinement and taste and wealth. And a dress with a neckline considerably lower than that of her usual T-shirts. She resisted the urge to tug it upward.

“You look stunning,” Nate said softly. “Where did you get that dress?”

She'd had it in her closet for a year now. She'd even shown it to him when she bought it. Not that he'd noticed, apparently, but his appreciation now made up for it.

This dress was the only decent thing she owned: a burgundy satin number with spaghetti straps and a designer label. She'd been hoping to wear it if Nate ever got around to proposing.

When
he got around to proposing, she told herself.
When.

In the meantime, this might be the only chance she'd get to actually wear it. So she made an effort to enjoy it. And to project an aura of confidence that she desperately wished she felt.

Nate wore suits all the time. But she'd never seen him dressed quite this sharply before: a tailored charcoal-gray suit with a sky-blue Oxford shirt and matching blue tie. He looked like a movie star. Walking beside him gave her a warm glow.

As they crossed the dining room, she leaned closer to him. “After dinner,” she whispered, “do you want to take a stroll through the gardens out back, just you and me?”

“Oh, there's Dad.” Nate walked on ahead to greet him, leaving her behind. Dru felt a brief stab of disappointment. But they were here on business, after all. Meeting the filthy-rich investors from Switzerland, who apparently had an interest in expanding Nate's dental practice into a multimillion-dollar enterprise. No pressure or anything.