leather coat that dwarfed her. Pink-tinted heart-shaped glasses and silver-frosted lipstick

completed the ensemble.

Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Again, I had the impression that I knew her from

somewhere, but I couldn’t quite place her. In any case, it was the blonde who held the floor.

“We’re looking for Gus,” she announced, propping one hand on one skinny hip and

tossing her two-toned hair over her shoulder in what was obviously one of her top ten poses.

“He’s not here.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes fastened on me. “Well, like, when will he be back?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

Her lip curled. “Bullshit. You must know.”

I raised my brows. “Why must I?”

“He works for you.”

Here was the born dupe of a yet-to-be-promoted micromanager.

“He’s on his own time now.”

“Are you saying you, like, fired him?”

I grinned. I don’t know why, but that belligerent mix of Valley Girl and Wicked Witch

struck me as sort of funny.

“I’m not saying anything, kiddo, other than that he’s not here, and I have no idea when

he’s coming back.” She opened her mouth, but I added, “I’m thinking that if Angus wanted

you to know where he was, he’d have left word with you.”

She glared ferociously with those Alice Cooper eyes. I studied her. We seemed to have

reached an impasse.

“I want to know where Gus is!” She was louder now. Maybe she thought we didn’t

speak the same language.

“I can’t help you.”

Her skinny chest rose and fell. “Can’t or won’t?”

This kind of stunt was not good for business. I was lucky a customer hadn’t strolled in

yet. I said, to conciliate, “Can’t, if it makes you feel better.”

“I’ll tell you what will make me feel better!”

I waited politely while she trembled with rage. Belatedly, I wondered whether she was

on something. Her eyes did look stoned. My gaze slid to her faithful companion who stood

there wordlessly waiting for…whatever. Behind the pink heart-shaped specs, her eyes met

mine, slid away.

Snowden’s class, I thought abruptly. That’s where I’ve seen you.

I still didn’t think I had a problem. I mean, I was confident I could take Wicked, if it

came down to that. I wasn’t quite sure about the stocky brunette. I was fairly sure that two

healthy, adult-sized, and aggressive femmes would be a handful, even for a guy who didn’t

have a tricky heart. But I honestly didn’t think this was going anywhere I couldn’t handle.

The blonde jerked her head to her trusty sidekick. The dark-haired girl turned toward

the front door, moving to shut it.

Now that, I admit, caught me off guard. I remembered Jake saying once that half the

people who wound up victims simply took too long to assess potential danger or ignored

their own instincts.

As the leather munchkin flipped the “Open” sign over to “Closed,” I started considering

my options.

The blonde turned back to me. “Did you, like, want to change your mind?” she

drawled.

“Like, what about?” Now she had me doing it.

I figured if I reached for the phone I would wind up in a wrestling match with her, and

I wanted to avoid that. It wasn’t solely fear of being beaten up by girls; it was the thought

that they could scream rape or God knows what, and they might be believed. Being gay

wouldn’t necessarily protect me. There are lunatics out there who believe that a gay man is

capable of anything. Even lusting after college co-eds.

She made this minute sound of impatience and fury and shoved the stack of paperbacks

on the counter to the floor.

The situation was fast morphing from farce to felony.

I could always run upstairs, lock myself in my flat, and call the cops. Or I could grab

the antique poker from in front of the fake fireplace and start whaling away with it, but… I

don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t rational, but I had a real reluctance to start crunching skulls and

breaking bones. Nor was I about to leave the shop to their mercy.

She advanced on me. “Listen, queer bait, we want an answer!”

Queer bait?

I contemplated shoving the nearest bookshelf over on her, but that was liable to kill

her. I ducked back, putting the counter between us.

“Why don’t you ask your Ouija board?”

As Jake has frequently pointed out, I have a tendency to shoot my mouth off at the

wrong time. She tried to jump across the counter top to scratch me. I backed out of range of

her ink-tipped claws.

“For fuck’s sake!” observed the brunette.

So now I knew the name of their mysterious deity.

Sabrina the Teenage Bitch wriggled forward on the polished mahogany and spilled

none too gracefully over the other side with sales receipts and assorted invoices. I slipped

around the end of the counter, keeping one eye on the lady with the mohawk.

Sabrina rose, shook her blonde mane out of her face. “I can make you so sorry,” she

whispered. My nostrils twitched as I got a whiff of cinnamon gum and overpowering

perfume. Obsession? Shalimar? Brimstone?

“Likewise,” I said evenly. “And what a waste of both of our time, since I don’t have the

information you need.”

“Kinsey,” exclaimed the second one, nodding at the window facing the street. To my

astonishment I saw Jake striding along the sidewalk clearly making straight for Cloak and

Dagger Books.

The cavalry when I least expected it. I said, “Kinsey, don’t look now, but there’s a

house with your name on it.”

Kinsey and the Poison Dwarf gaped, taken aback by what they seemed to believe were

my psychic powers – or maybe they really thought a house was blowing their way.

Jake looked like the house had hit him first. There was a discreet square of white over

his brow. One side of his face looked bruised. He was casually dressed, jeans and a leather

jacket, so he wasn’t working.

“This isn’t over,” Kinsey warned me, backing away. Her foot slid on a sheaf of papers,

and she reached out to steady herself.

“Snap out of it,” I told her. “The guy’s a cop. And a friend. D’you –”

But they freaked at the word “cop.” The dark-haired girl fumbled the front door open,

and they went hurtling through it, nearly knocking down Jake, who had paused at the sight