The Girl and the Clock Tower Murder: Pandemonium Cozy Mystery #2

Chapter 20

Mahogany woke late the following day. A cup of coffee and a chocolate croissant sat on the nightstand, along with a note in Evelina's prim hand: Gone to work. More coffee in the kitchen—cream in the fridge.

Mahogany picked up the steaming mug and took a sip. The mug, magicked with a spell to keep its contents hot, warmed her hands.

She had just taken a large bite of her buttery croissant when her phone buzzed. Mahogany examined the screen. A text from Neema wondered if she'd seen Bazgul.

Tapping at the screen, Mahogany replied no, Bazgul wasn't speaking to her.

Mahogany finished her pastry, downed her coffee, and got out of bed, stretching onto her tippy toes. She headed to the bathroom and removed the scarf, protecting her hair from the ravages of sleep. Her luscious curls sprang from the cloth as if she'd just left Gothmother's Salon.

"Damn, Dimitri. You are a true magician." She brushed her teeth and pulled a crumpled outfit out of one of her bags before heading out.

The bell above the Haughty Hemlock's door rang as Mahogany pushed it open. Neema looked up from the mortar filled with an herbal mixture she was pulverizing into a tea.

"Good morning."

"Morning," Mahogany said.

"Are you sure you haven't seen Bazgul?" Neema inquired again. She twisted the pestle into the mortar, grinding the herbs.

"Positive. He gave me the silent treatment yesterday."

"That's strange." Neema frowned. "He's never stayed away this long before. I hope nothing's happened."

Mahogany snorted. "Bazgul's a lesser demon. He can handle himself." Yet, a part of her felt a tug of doubt. Over the summer, Bazgul had been poisoned by murder bent on getting to Mahogany. Could something like that have happened again? Mahogany shook her head, pushing her doubt to the back of her mind.

"Maybe, but I'm still worried. It's not like Bazgul."

"Well, he hasn't been acting normal for the last week."

Neema gazed under her eyelashes at Mahogany. "Hmm, I wonder why?" she said, grinding away with the pestle.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mahogany shot a look at Neema, her heart quickening with irritation. "This isn't my fault."

"All I'm saying is to look at things from his perspective." Neema set the mortar on the counter and held up her hands.

"He's a lesser demon and my familiar. What perspective could he possibly have?" As the words left her mouth, Mahogany cringed inwardly. When had she become so insensitive to Bazgul?

Neema gave Mahogany a withering stare, retrieved the stone bowl from the counter, and continued grinding with too much force.

Mahogany sighed. "I'm sorry." But Neema shook her head.

"Don't apologize to me. It's not me who you've mistreated."

"Bazgul, come," Mahogany said, her voice commanding. She waited a few seconds and tried again, "Bazgul, come now."

Neema raised an eyebrow. "Has he ever done that before?"

Mahogany shook her head. "Never." Dread pitted her stomach. "What if something has happened to him? What if he's hurt?"

Before Neema could answer, the Haughty Hemlock's door opened, sending the bell swinging. Cheryl, the postal worker, smiled, placed a stack of letters on the counter, and headed back out the door.

"Thank you," Neema called, and Cheryl raised her hand in return as she passed by the window to the next business.

Mahogany rubbed her forehead and went to the stack of mail. Most were invoices and sales fliers for upcoming deals from distributors. Then, near the bottom of the pile, an envelope stood out.