Page 135 of Plug and Claim

“Hello?”

There was no answer, and the sign on the door had the word ‘open’ facing her, confirming that the shop was closed.

Even better.

The privacy suited her. She only hoped the shop owner was still here.

The shop was larger than the jeweller’s had been, with several backrooms full of work benches, sowing equipment, bolts of cloth and mannequins. There was one room that, while clean, smelt of blood and leather. and the skinning knives and flaying tools left her in no doubt of what its purpose was. Disgusted, she began to retreat—and nearly missed the faint scent of magic emanating from a narrow staircase in the back of the room. The sharp tang had been hidden beneath the smell of death.

But not as well hidden as it had been in Nathaniel’s office. The smell was stronger here, and she’d detected it even in her human form.

She followed the source up a rickety staircase to the next landing.

Each step creaked loudly, causing her to tense and become hyperaware of every detail, including the discomfort the plug was causing her as she climbed the stairs.

“Hello?” she called.

“Go away please, I’m closed!” an old woman’s voice responded.

Kira continued up anyway, crossing the landing to an open door. “I’m not a customer. I’m here to ask you something.”

“Come back another time” the woman responded, her voice edged with fear.

“I mean you no harm,” Kira said, peering tentatively into the room.

It was filled to the brim with shelves and bookcases teeming with plants, books, scrolls, melted candles, and glassware. The centre of the room did not exist, occupied instead by towers of what looked like junk, and there was a small single bed squeezed in by the window as if it was an afterthought. An elderly woman was lying there with the covers pulled up to her chin, and her face was pallid as she clutched a curved dagger in her trembling hands.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” Kira said quickly, keeping one eye on the woman as she took in the room’s clutter. Everything reeked of magic, to the point that she could taste it on her tongue, like sweet, sour, and bitter, and there was an earthy undertone as if the room were alive. Glancing upwards, she saw fungi growing on a wooden chandelier that was covered in cobwebs and missing most of its candles. She forced her attention back on the woman, moderating her voice to be gentle. “Truly, I mean you no harm. I only wanted to ask you about some furs I found at Volmasque Academy.”

Recognition dawned on the woman’s face, and she lowered her dagger. “It’s you.”

“Er, yes.” I guess? “It’s me.”

“Kirabelle. The lost daughter.”

“Actually, it’s just Kira. I was never lost.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “No, not to us. But you were hidden, and now, you are found.”

Kira hesitated, wondering whether it was worth asking the old woman to clarify her meaning, or whether it would only result in more cryptic nonsense. “Who are you?”

“My dear, you of all people should know who I am.”

“You’re a witch,” Kira said. And you’re batshit crazy. She wasn’t sure whether to be fearful of the woman, or to fear for her. Witches were outlawed, a seemingly useless law given that they’d been wiped out. Or so the public was told.

“I’m Barbara,” the woman said, her gnarled hand shaking as she dropped the dagger into an open bedside drawer.

“What’s wrong with you, Barbara?”

“So blunt and direct. Such a wolfish quality. Don’t worry, I mean it as a compliment, dear.” The woman sighed and settled back onto her pillow. “I’m dying, as you can see. But I won’t suffer much longer. He will come for me soon.”

Kira tensed. “Who will come for you?”

The old woman opened her mouth to speak, but then a creak sounded from downstairs. She held a finger to her lips.

The creaking of footsteps on the stairs made Kira’s stomach knot, and she contemplated whether to shift.

“Speak of the devil,” the witch breathed, her head flopping back on the pillow. She shut her eyes. “He’s here. I didn’t think he would come so soon.”