I still hadn’t solved my own murder, or Sheyenne’s.
I’d made her a promise on her deathbed that I would find out who poisoned her. Every time I looked at her ghost, that pale image of the vibrant young woman who meant so much to me, I remembered the pain and suffering she’d endured as the deadly toxin destroyed her liver and kidneys, made her sink into a shadow of herself, and then death.
That was one case I didn’t intend to file in the “Unsolved” drawer.
Sheyenne already had copies of her medical report and autopsy, and as a former med student, she was quite interested in the cause of her own demise. Amanita phalloides, the deadliest toadstool in existence. She read up on the toxicology, studied the symptoms, treatment, and prognosis. Back in the office, she was studying the file again.
“I didn’t have a chance, Beaux. Whoever slipped me that poison wanted me dead, but she didn’t care that I would spend days dying. She knew I wouldn’t be able to prove who did it.”
“She?” I asked.
“Ivory. If it was up to me, I’d have you deliver her a special toadstool quiche from me. Just to get even.”
“I don’t think poison works the same on vampires,” I said. “And we need proof before we do anything so rash. Fortunately, thanks to Mavis Wannovich, I’ve got another lead.” I smiled, drawing out the suspense. “She gave me the address of a potion supply shop, the best source for toadstool poison in the city. I’m going to have a chat with the proprietor, see if we can find out who purchased the toxin that killed you. Want to go along? The cases don’t solve themselves.”
I swear I saw a vivid flush of life come back to her cheeks. “Absolutely. I’ll consider it a date.”
“You’re such a romantic.”
Grandma Wong’s Herbal Warehouse, Potion Ingredients, Botanica, Hoodoo Supply, and Other Exotic Items was a dingy hole-in-the-wall shop filled with more clashing odors than Brondon Morris’s sample case. Bunches of dried herbs dangled from the rafters, along with shriveled body parts, both human and animal. Large glass containers held hemlock, deadly nightshade, delicate white flowers of jimsonweed, clumps of graveyard moss. Humanoid mandrake roots were submerged in an oily transparent liquid, twitching as if bored.
Small jars were labeled Eyes of Newt; it looked like caviar. Dark vials in a refrigerated bargain bin were marked Special Today, Virgin’s Blood. Incense smoldered in two small pots, filling the shop with a pungent reek, but a stronger smell of burning weeds came from behind the counter.
The only person inside the shop was definitely not a grandma, and not a Wong, either. The clerk was a young, well-tanned human with a mop of shaggy straw-colored hair, blue eyes, and a vapid smile. His nametag said Jimmy. In an ashtray on the glass countertop smoldered a joint the size of an index finger. Not only did Jimmy sell exotic magical herbs, apparently he wasn’t averse to sampling them either.
He grinned as we entered—me walking, Sheyenne gliding—but made no effort to rise from his chair. “Mellow day, friends.” He drew a long, slow inhalation through his nostrils. “Got everything you need, you know, whatever . . . a revenge spell or a love charm. Even some excellent seasonings if you’re, like, a gourmet cook.”
“We’re interested in toadstools—poisonous ones,” I said. “I understand you’re the best supplier in town.”
Jimmy didn’t exactly recoil (he was far too mellow for that), but he did react with a molasses sort of alarm. “You mean, like death caps?”
“Exactly.”
“Nasty stuff, very negative, friend.” He picked up his joint and savored a slow toke, then exhaled as he centered himself and calmed his thoughts. He saw me eyeing him, then made a good-natured invitation. “Have a hit yourself, if you want.”
“No thanks.”
“Oh, this is more than just pure weed. Plenty of special additives in the supply cases here, and I’ve experimented with a little of everything. Some real magical mystery tours! One even let me see with my eyes shut for a week. Made it really hard to sleep.” He held up the smoldering joint. “But this recipe . . . awesome mix! All in the name of continuing education.”
Sheyenne sounded impatient. “Can we get back to the poisonous toadstools?”
“Yeah, we sell that stuff here. How much do you need?”
“I’m more interested in who else purchased it . . . say, around two months ago.”
“Toadstools are a popular item, sells better than nightshade or hemlock,” Jimmy said. “Lots of negativity