Page 46 of Death Card

Joelle can never find out that magic is real. Witches throughouttime have contemplated using magic on a widespread basis to heal mortals, but ultimately, there are too many of them and not enough of us. So, we take care of our own.

She would be furious if she knew that we have the tools to help ease her mother’s symptoms. Maybe even furious enough to kill.

“Enough of this,” Joelle says, pulling me along. “Didn’t you promise me lunch?”

I shake my head to clear my mind. “Yeah, come on.”

We push through a throng of people to wind up directly in front of Larry’s BBQ. Uncle Larry is busy ringing up a customer, but he meets my eyes and inclines his head to the side. I turn in that direction and spot a card table set up next to the stand with a stack of flyers and business cards spread across it. Sitting in a folding chair is Gramps.

“Mikaela!” He clambers to his feet and towers over Joelle and me. “What are you doing here? And who is this young lady?”

From the gleam in his eye, he knows exactly who she is, but I play along anyway.

“I don’t think you’ve met my granddad yet, Joelle. Gramps, this is your new employee, Joelle Murphy.”

Joelle immediately sticks her hand out. “The famous Zeke!” she exclaims. “We spoke over email, but I want to thank you again for the job, sir. You have a beautiful shop and the kindest grandchildren.” She flashes me a dazzling smile. “Mikaela’s really taken me under her wing.”

“Has she now?” He tilts his head in my direction, giving me a look that says,I hope it’s been worth it.

It has been but not in the way he would like it to be.

Joelle continues, oblivious to the silent exchange. “Yes, sir.” She steps closer. “I would love to speak to you sometime about what led you to open a magic shop. Mikaela says you don’t practice, but—”

“Why don’t you try some of Larry’s fried chicken, huh?” Gramps interjects, grasping Joelle’s shoulder and pointing her toward the register. “I’m sure my brother-in-law would love to fix you a plate. On the house,” he adds, for my uncle’s benefit.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Uncle Larry mutters, opening a Styrofoam tray and filling it with chicken and sides.

As Joelle wanders over, Gramps leans in close. “So, the girl isn’t a witch,” he states.

I shake my head. “No spark.”

“And no ties to magic whatsoever? A distant cousin? A friend?”

“Nope, but she’s got an…interest.”

“Hmm.” He glances over my shoulder. “And no motive yet?”

I don’t speak this time, letting the shake of my head answer for me.

“You need to stop dragging your feet on this,” he scolds. “Have you even questioned the girl, or have you spent the entire time befriending her?”

“Yes! I’ve learned—a lot,” I stammer. “I even read her mind like you wanted. She doesn’t have an evil bone in her body.”

Gramps doesn’t look convinced. “Dig deeper.”

All my confidence earlier melts away beneath Gramps’s stare. In his presence, I’m not a Witch Queen. Instead, I’m reduced to a little girl searching for her grandfather’s approval. The lastthing I want is to disappoint him with how little progress I’ve made.

“Mikaela—”

Before he can continue, a trio of older Black women approaches the table. Gramps goes into instant politician mode, replacing his frown with a wide grin. He hands each woman a flyer and spouts a rehearsed speech about the dangers we’re up against and what Mike Dupree would do to this city if elected.

“The Duprees are old money,” Gramps says, “with old ideals. But the people of New Orleans don’t want to move backward.”

“Amen,” one of the women croons.

Another remarks, “My granddaughter played me an episode of that podcast.” Her face scrunches in disgust. “The things he said about public schools made my blood run cold.”

Gramps’s eyes light up. “Let me tell you about my views—”