was who and what she claimed to be. She hoped the woman didn’t read anything into the dampness that slicked the shallow crevice of her lifeline.
The woman made a soft rumbling noise in the back of her throat as her third eye probed the edges of Elena’s thin disguise. She cradled Elena’s hand in hers, dragging her fingernail over the open palm and tapping briefly on the lines for the heart, mind, and fate. After tilting her head one way and then the other, she looked up with an unnerving grin. “I’d say you know your way around poisons. And you’re searching for the person who cursed you.”
Elena shivered. Even she wasn’t that good at palm reading. “How did you see that?”
The old woman let go of her hand and laughed. “That you’ve been working with poison? I can smell the bitter residue of freshly ground foxglove leaves on your fingertips. As for the curse, your hands are even colder than my husband’s. That part never goes away, I’m afraid.”
The bartender, widemouthed and slit eyed, waddled to the table with two shots of gin held on a tray. The old woman stroked his arm before he left, purring words of thank-you at him. “He’s been living with cursed skin since before you were born. Never did catch up to the witch who done it. What makes you think you can find your special someone?”
“I heard a rumor there’ve been dead cats turning up on the roads. Could be someone trying their hand at blood magic.”
The woman bristled at the mention of the cats. “It’s a dark heart behind that business, and no question about it. Whoever’s doing it turned their back on the covenants years ago.”
Elena picked up her glass and swirled the gin until a blue arc of light ran through it. “Curses go against the covenants too. Could be the person who does one sort of dark magic might just as easily do the other.” She leaned in, hoping not to be overheard. “The witch I’m looking for wears a long blue robe and carries a distinct pocket watch on a silver chain.”
“Distinct how?”
“It’s got a green dragon’s eye with a yellow slit on the cover. She might work the high street on festival days reading cards for tourists, or sell potions out of the back of a wagon.”
“Sounds like you’re looking for one of the Charlatan clan.”
She’d discounted the idea after meeting the sisters, thinking them too coarse and ignorant to pull off a transmogrification curse, but maybe that was just her pride misleading her. Maybe their interest in the occult ran deeper than the novelty junk they sold on their cart.
“Are they customers of yours?”
“We get all types in here.” Madame Grimalkin spoke behind a whisker smile of indifference. “Can’t say as I’ve ever noticed any of them with that particular trinket, though.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
She tapped the base of her glass on the table, then locked eyes with Elena. “We make a decent living, me and old Paddock. ’Cause we don’t ask no questions. Let people come and go as they please, as long as they pay their bill. Which is why I don’t ask why a goatherd has no goats with her.” She paused to look over her shoulder at her husband behind the bar. “But witches that go about cursing each other are the lowest, and I spit on ’em.”
“So you’ll keep an eye out?” Elena slid another three coins on the table.
“A pocket watch like that ought to be easy enough to spot on the sly,” she answered, taking the money. Elena was about to thank her when the old woman cut her off. “But let me give you a word of advice, goatherd. Whether it’s the Charlatans mixed up in this or not, the type of witch that deals with the foul stuff like what’s going on out there with those cats don’t bother with the sort of curses you walk away from alive. Best not to go asking too many questions, if you value what skin you have left.” Madame Grimalkin swallowed her gin in one gulp, then stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got other customers to attend to.”
Elena sipped her gin and peered over the rim of the glass at Madame Grimalkin as she walked away, a definite nervous twitch in her step. She was encouraged, though. Even if it wasn’t one of the Charlatans, the witch who cursed her still might be inclined