Pretty Witches All in a Row Read Free Page B

lights on in the rear of the store.  The strains of music reached him from his vantage point on the street, Dylan, nice and mellow.  Ascending the short flight of stairs, he knocked on the front door, trying to spot any movement through its small frosted glass window.  The music was louder now, the closed sign clearly visible in front of the window shade to his right. 
    He hated waiting.
    Gingerly, he tried the door knob, a little surprised when it turned easily.  With a little push, he opened the door slowly, ducking his head in.  “Hello?”
    The place had a decent sound system, though he couldn’t see any visible speakers.  In for a penny in for a pound…   Nick stepped across the threshold, the interior catching his interest and overriding any self preservation instincts that might have otherwise kicked in.  The store wasn’t as freaky as he’d thought it would be; no cobwebs or demonic symbols.  It reminded him of the sort of place an old explorer would have, furnished with knick knacks from his world travels.  The big rooms with high ceilings and lots of rich mahogany moldings gave it an airy feel, with plenty of comfy chairs tucked into little nooks and crannies.  Clearly the owner didn’t have a problem with people loitering, and he took that as a good sign, venturing deeper.
    Inside a large glass cabinet to his right were dozens of little glass vials, in neat rows.  By twisting his head to one side he could read the labels, each sporting the same Argent Flame logo along with descriptions like ‘come to me’, ‘prosperity’, ‘good luck’, and ‘purification’.    On the open shelf below sat a small brass container about the size of an apple, similar to the one he’d seen at the victim’s house.  Curious, he lifted the lid.
    The music cut out suddenly, a feminine voice calling out to him from the rear of the shop. “Is there something I can help you with?” 
    “Sweet Jesus…” he gasped, rattling the lid to the incense burner, having trouble replacing it properly with the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.  The owner of the voice didn’t look very witchy, or wicca-y; whatever the term was supposed to be.  Nick guessed her to be in her late twenties, dressed in soft pajama pants in a lavender flannel, with a matching tank top; a long gray sweater coat completed her ensemble.  Her eyes were a soft mossy green and a light spray of freckles kissed the bridge of her nose. Long, mahogany hair hung loose over her shoulders, falling down her back in softly tousled waves, and bare toes peeped out from the bottoms of her pants.  Either her boss had the laziest dress code ever, or she lived there.  Pretty in an understated, natural way, he could imagine seeing her at the grocery store or the dry cleaners and never once have guessed she ran a metaphysical gift shop.  She was staring at him with one brow raised, not looking particularly amused at the prospect of finding him in her store.
    “Nope, just me.  It’s a little early for breaking and entering, isn’t it?”  Her head canted to one side as she studied him.
    “Technically it’s just entering, the door was unlocked,” Nick flashed a sheepish grin.
    “But the closed sign was still up,” she set down the remote, keeping the counter between them. 
    “I heard the music, I figured someone was around.”
    “And this morning you were struck by a powerful need for incense?  So powerful, you decided to chuck convention and let yourself in?” 
    Cute.  “Not exactly.”  He reached into his inside coat pocket and withdrew his ID, the little gold badge gleaming against the leather.  “Sergeant Gibson, I’m here in a strictly professional capacity.”
    He’d clearly managed to catch her off guard with that one, as her brows rose with a measure of surprise.  “I’m Annaliese… Cross,” she added belatedly, studying his identification with interest.  “What can I do for you,