Release: July 2016
Series: Witchcraft #8
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Penguin Random House
The New York Times bestselling author of Spellcasting in Silk continues as witch and vintage boutique owner Lily Ivory cracks open a Pandoraβs box when she investigates some alarming apparel. . .
Even the most skilled sorceress canβt ward off a lawsuit, and Lily is not at her enchanting best with her hands full as the temporary leader of San Francisco’s magical community. So after her potbellied pig Oscar head-butts rival clothier Autumn Jennings, Lily tries to make peace without a costly personal injury case.
But any hope of a quiet resolution is shattered when Autumn turns up dead. As one of the prime suspects, Lily searches for a way to clear her name and discovers a cursed trousseau among Autumnβs recently acquired inventory. Lily must deal with a mysterious dogwalker and spend the night in a haunted house as she delves into the trunkβs treacherous past. Sheβs got to figure out who wanted to harm Autumn fast, before the curse claims another victim. . .
Chapter One
Small business owners have their morning routines. Some people switch on the lights, brew a cup of coffee, and read the paper before engaging with the day. Some count out the money in the register and tidy up the merchandise. Some sweep and hose down the front walk.
Each morning before opening my vintage clothing store, Aunt Coraβs Closet, I sprinkle salt water widdershins, smudge sage deosil, and light a white candle while chanting a spell of protection.
Such spells can be powerful, and for a small business owner like me they serve an important purpose: to help customers maintain their composure in the face of fashion frustrations, keep evil intentions at bay, and discourage those with sticky fingers from rummaging through the feather boas, chiffon prom dresses, and silk evening gowns and then trying to shove said items into pockets or backpacks or under shirts.
But protection spells arenβt much good against litigation.
βLily Ivory?β asked the petite, somber young woman who entered Aunt Coraβs Closet, a neon yellow motorcycle helmet under one arm. She had dark hair and eyes, and I imagined she would have been pretty had she smiled. But her expression was dour.
βYes?β I asked, looking up from a list of receipts.
She held out a manila envelope. βYou have been served.β
βServed?β
βYou are hereby notified of a lawsuit against you, Aunt Coraβs Closet, and one errant pig, name unknown. By the by, not that itβs any of my business, but is it even legal to own livestock in the city?β
I cast a glare in the direction of said pig, my witchβs familiar, Oscar. At least, I tried to, but heβd disappeared. Only moments earlier Oscar had been snoozing on his hand-embroidered purple silk pillow, resting up for a busy day of trying to poke his snout under the dressing room curtains while customers tried on vintage cocktail dresses, fringed leather jackets, and Jackie O pillbox hats. Now only the slight rustling of a rack of 1980s spangled prom dresses revealed his location.
βMy pigβs being served with legal papers?β
βNot so much your pig, as you. Your property, your worry. At least, thatβs how it works with dogs, so I assume . . .β The woman trailed off with an officious shrug as she headed for the front door with long strides, already pulling on her helmet. βBut that isnβt any of my business; I just deliver the bad news. Have a nice day.β
βWaitββ
She didnβt pause. I followed her outside, where someone was revving the engine of a large black motorcycle. The woman jumped on the back and they zoomed off.
βDuuude,β said Conrad, the homeless young man who slept in nearby Golden Gate Park and spent the better part of his days βguardingβ the curb outside of my store. In San Franciscoβs Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, many young homeless people lived this way, panhandling and scrounging and generally referring to themselves as βgutter punks.β Over the past year, Conradβor as he liked to call himself, βThe Conββhad become a friend and the unofficial guardian of Aunt Coraβs Closet. βYou get served?β
βApparently so,β I said, opening the envelope to find some scary-looking legal-sized documents filled with legalese, such as βparty of the first part.β
My heart sank as I put two and two together. My friend Bronwyn, who rents space in my store for her herbal stand, had filled me in on an incident that took place a couple of weeks ago while I was out scouting garage sales for resaleable treasure. It seems a woman came into the shop and started flicking through the merchandise, pronouncing it βunsuitableβtoo much of that dreadful ready-to-wear.β Bronwyn had explained to her that Aunt Coraβs Closet doesnβt deal in high-end vintage; our merchandise consists mostly of wearable clothes, with the occasional designer collectibles. The woman then turned to my employee Maya and started grilling her about the ins and outs of the store, making none-too-subtle inquiries about where we obtained our specialty stock.
Oscar started getting in the customerβs way, making a pest of himself and keeping her away from the clothes. Bronwyn tried to call him off, but he kept at it, almost as though he was trying to herd her toward the exit. Finally the woman picked a parasol off a nearby shelf and started whacking Oscar, and there was a scuffle.
The woman had screamed and flailed, lost her balance, and fell back into a rack of colorful swing dresses. Maya and Bronwyn hastily extricated her, made sure she was all right, and offered profuse apologies. The woman had seemed fine at the time, they both said, and she stomped out of the store in high dudgeon.
But if I was reading the legal papers correctly, the womanβnamed Autumn Jenningsβwas now claiming she had been βhead-buttedβ by an βunrestrained pig,β had been injured in the βattack,β and was demanding compensation.
It was a mystery. Oscar had never herdedβmuch less head-buttedβanyone in Aunt Coraβs Closet before. He wasnβt the violent type. In fact, apart from a few occasions when he intervened to save my life, Oscar was more the βletβs eat grilled cheese and take a napβ type.
He was also my witchβs familiar, albeit an unusual one. Oscar was a shape-shifter who assumed the form of a miniature Vietnamese potbellied pig when around cowansβregular, nonmagical humans. Around me, his natural form was sort of a cross between a goblin and a gargoyle. A gobgoyle, for lack of a better word. His was a lineage about which I didnβt want to think too hard.
βBad vibes, Dude,β Conrad said with a sage nod. βBeen there. Dude, I hate being served.β
βYouβve been served?β I asked. Conrad was in his early twenties and lived such a vagabond existence it was hard to imagine why anyone would bother to sue him. I could easily imagine his being picked up by police in a sweep of the local homeless population, but how would a process server even know where to find Conrad to serve him papers?
He nodded. βCouple times. But at least yours arrived on a Ducati. Thatβs a nice bike.β
βWhat did youββ My question was cut off by the approach of none other than Aidan Rhodes, witchy godfather to San Franciscoβs magical community. His golden hair gleamed in the sun, a beautifully tailored sports jacket hugged his tall frame, and a leather satchel was tucked under one strong arm. As he strolled down Haight Street with his signature graceful glide, strangers stopped to stare. Aidanβs aura glittered so brilliantly that even nonsensitive people noticed, though they didnβt realize what they were reacting to.
This is all I need.
I girded my witchy loins.
Things between Aidan and me were . . . complicated. Not long ago Iβd stolen something from Aidan, and I still owed him. And when it comes to debts, we witches are a little like elephants, bookies, and the Internet: We never forget. Even worse, Aidan feared San Francisco was shaping up to be ground zero in some sort of big magical showdown, and he wanted me to stand with him for the forces of good. Or, at the very least, for the good of Aidan Rhodes. It was hard to say exactly what was going onβand exactly what role I was willing to play in itβsince the threat was frustratingly nonspecific, and Aidan played his cards infuriatingly close to his chest.
βGood morning,β Aidan said as he joined us. βConrad, itβs been too long. How have you been?β
Despite their vastly different circumstances and lifestyles, Aidan treated Conrad with the respect due a peer. His decency sort of ticked me off. My life would be simpler if I could dismiss Aidan as an arrogant, power-hungry witch beyond redemption. His kindness toward my friend was difficult to reconcile with that image.
The two men exchanged pleasantries, chatting about the beauty of Golden Gate Park when bathed in morning dew and sunshine, and whether the Giants had a shot at the pennant this year. And then Aidan turned his astonishing, periwinkle blue gaze on me, sweeping me from head to foot.
Suddenly self-conscious, I smoothed the full skirt of my sundress.
βAnd Lily . . . Stunning as always. I do like that color on you. Itβs as joyful as the first rays of dawn.β
βThank you,β I said, blushing and avoiding his eyes. The dress was an orangey gold cotton with a pink embroidered neckline and hem, circa 1962, and I had chosen it this morning precisely because it reminded me of a sunrise. βArenβt you just the sweet talker.β
βYou catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,β my mama used to tell me. Did this mean I was the fly and Aidan the fly catcher?
βIs everything all right?β Aidan asked. βAm I sensing trouble? Beyond the norm, I mean.β
βDude, Lily just got served,β Conrad said.
βServed? I fear we arenβt speaking of breakfast.β
βA lawsuit,β I clarified.
βAh. What a shame. Whatever happened?β
βOscar head-butted a customer.β
βThatβs . . . unusual.β Aidan had given me Oscar and knew him well. βWas this person badly injured?β
βI wasnβt there when it happened, but according to Bronwyn and Maya the customer seemed fine. But now sheβs claiming she sustained βserious and debilitating neck and back injuries that hinder her in the completion of her work and significantly reduce her quality of life,ββ I said, quoting from the document I still clutched tightly in my hand.
βThat sounds most distressing. Might I offer my services in finding a resolution?β
βNo. No, thank you.β The only thing worse than being slapped with a slip-and-fall lawsuitβthe boogeyman of every small business ownerβwas being even more beholden to Aidan Rhodes than I already was. Besides . . . I wasnβt sure what he meant by βfinding a resolution.β Aidan was one powerful witch. If he got involved, Autumn Jennings might very well wind up walking around looking like a frog.
βYouβre sure?β Aidan asked. βThese personal injury lawsuits can get nastyβand expensive, even if you win. As much as I hate to say it, you may have some liability here. Is it even legal to have a pig in the city limits?β
βDonβt worry about it; Iβve got it handled,β I said, not wishing to discuss the matter any further with him. βWas there some reason in particular you stopped by?β
Aidan grinned, sending sparkling rays of light dancing in the morning breeze. He really was the most astounding man.
βI was hoping we might have a moment to talk,β he said. βAbout business.β
My stomach clenched. Time to face the music. I did owe him, after all. βOf course, come on in.β
The door to Aunt Coraβs Closet tinkled as we went inside, and Bronwyn fluttered out from the back room, cradling Oscar to her ample chest. She was dressed in billows of purple gauze, and a garland of wildflowers crowned her frizzy brown hair. Bronwyn was a fifty-something Wiccan, and one of the firstβand very bestβfriends I had made upon my arrival in the City by the Bay not so very long ago.
βHello, Aidan! So wonderful to see you again!β she gushed.
βBronwyn, you light up this shop like fireworks on the Fourth of July.β
βOh, you do go on.β She waved her hand but gave him a flirtatious smile. βBut, Lily! Our little Oscaroo is very upset, poor thing! Maybe it has something to do with the woman with the motorcycle helmet who was just hereβwhat was that about?β
βShe was serving Lily with legal papers,β said Aidan.
βLegal papers?β Bronwyn asked as Oscar hid his snout under her arm. βFor what?β
βRemember when OscarββI cast about for the right wordββharassed a woman a couple of weeks ago?β
Oscar snorted.
βOf course, naughty little tiny piggy pig pig,β Bronwyn said in a crooning baby voice. βBut I have to say, she really was bothering all of us. But . . . sheβs suing you? Seriously?β
I nodded. βIβm afraid so.β
βWell, now, thatβs just bad karma,β Bronwyn said with a frown.
βYou said she wasnβt hurt, though, right?β
βShe was fine!β Bronwyn insisted. βShe fell into the rack of swing dresses. You know how poofy those dresses areβthereβs enough crinolines in the skirts to cushion an NFL linebacker, and sheβs, what, a hundred pounds soaking wet? I saw her just the other day, when I brought her some of my special caramel-cherry-spice matΓ© tea and homemade corn-cherry scones, and she seemed fine. As a matter of fact, when I arrived she was up on a ladder, and she certainly didnβt seem to have any back or neck injuries. She was a little under the weather, but it was a cold or the flu.β
βWhen was this?β
βDay before yesterday, I think . . . I thought I should make the effort, since you werenβt even here when it happened. I just wanted to tell her I was sorry.β
βHow did you know where to find her?β
βShe left her business card. . . .β Bronwyn trailed off as she peeked behind her herbal counter. βI have it around here somewhere. Turns out, sheβs a rival vintage clothing store owner, which explains why she was so interested. Her place is called Vintage Visions Glad Rags, over off Buchanan.β
βReally. That is interesting. Whatβs it like?β
βVery nice inventory, but if you ask me not nearly as warm and inviting as Aunt Coraβs Closet. She had some ball gowns that Iβm sure were from the nineteenth century. But those are more museum pieces than anything someone would actually wear. The whole place was too snooty for my taste, by half. And expensive! Too rich for my blood.β
βDid anything happen while you were there? Did she say anything in particular?β
Bronwyn frowned in thought, then shook her head. βNothing at all. She didnβt seem particularly bowled over by my gift basket, but she accepted it. But like I say, she told me she was a little under the weather, so maybe that accounts for her mood. She did have a very sweet dog, and I always say a pet lover is never irredeemable.β
βOkay, thanks,β I said, blowing out a breath. βIf you think of anything else, please let me know. Aidan and I are going to talk in the back for a moment.β
βIβll keep an eye on things,β Bronwyn said, lugging Oscar over to her herbal stand for a treat. Oscar was a miniature pig, but he was still a porker.
In the back room Aidan and I sat down at my old jade green Formica-topped table. I bided my time and waited for Aidan to speak first. In witch circles, simply asking βWhat may I help you with?β can open up a dangerous can of worms.
βI have to leave town for a little while,β he said.
βReally?β Even though I knew perfectly well that he had lived elsewhere in the past, including when heβd worked with the father who had abandoned me, in my mind Aidan was so associated with San Francisco that it was hard to imagine him in any other locale. βHow long do you think youβll be gone?β
βAnd here I was rather hoping you would beg me to stay,β he said in a quiet voice, his gaze holding mine.
βFar be it from me to dictate to the likes of Aidan Rhodes.β
He smiled. βIn any case, I need a favor.β
Uh-oh.
βFirst,β he said, βIβll need you to keep tabs on Selena.β
Selena was a talented but troubled teenage witch who had come into my life recently. She reminded me of myself at her age: socially awkward and dangerously magical.
I clenched my teeth. It wasnβt Aidanβs place to tell me to watch over Selena; she needed all of us with whom she had grown close. But it was true that Aidan and I had both been helping her to train her powers. In her case, as in mine, the biggest challenge was learning to keep control over her emotions and her magic in general. But even as he was asking me to partner with him, Aidan still fancied himself the head of the local magical communityβme included. It was very annoying.
βOf course,β I said. βI have been.β
βOf course,β Aidan repeated. βAnd Oscar can come in handy with that as well.β
I concentrated on reining in my irritation. It wouldnβt do to send something flying, which sometimes happened when I lost my temper. Proving that Selena and I werenβt that far apart in some areas of our development.
βYouβre not Oscarβs master anymore,β I pointed out.
He nodded slowly. βSo true. Alas, I will leave that in your more than capable hands, then. Also while Iβm gone I need you to fill in for me and adjudicate a few issues. Nothing too strenuous.β
βBeg pardon?β
He handed me a heavy, well-worn leather satchel tied with a black ribbon. βYouβre always so curious about what I do for the local witchcraft community. Nowβs your chance to find out.β
βI never said I wanted to find out. Iβm really perfectly happy being in the dark.β
Aidan smiled. βWhy do I find that hard to believe? In any event, find out you shall.β
I sighed. As curious as I was about Aidanβs world, I hesitated to be drawn into it. However, I was in his debt and the bill had come due. βFine. Iβm going to need more information, though. What all is involved in βadjudicating issuesβ?β
He shrugged. βLittle of this, little of that. Mostly it means keeping an eye on things, making sure nothing gets out of hand. Handling disputes, assisting with certifications . . . Valuable job skills that really beef up the rΓ©sumΓ©, youβll see.β
βUh-huh,β I said, skeptical. At the moment I didnβt need a more impressive rΓ©sumΓ©. I needed a lawyer. βWhat kind of certifications?β
βFortune-tellers and necromancers must be licensed in the city and county of San Francisco. Surely your good friend Inspector Romero has mentioned this at some point.β
βHe has, but since Iβm neither a fortune-teller nor a necromancer I didnβt pay much attention. So thatβs what you do? Help people fill out forms down at City Hall? Surelyββ
βItβs all terribly glamorous, isnβt it? Resolving petty squabbles, unraveling paperwork snafus . . . The excitement never ends,β he said with another smile. βBut itβs necessary work, and youβre more than qualified to handle it while Iβm gone. Youβll find everything you need in there.β
I opened the satchel and took a peek. Inside were what appeared to be hundreds of signed notes written on ancient parchment, a business card with the mayorβs cell phone number written on the back in pencil, and a jangly key ring. I pulled out the keys: One was an old-fashioned skeleton key, but the others were modern and, I assumed, unlocked his office at the recently rebuilt wax museum. βAidan, what are . . . ?β
I looked up, but Aidan was gone, his departure marked by a slight sway of the curtains. Letting out a loud sigh of exasperation, I grumbled, βI swear, that man moves like a vampire.β
βVampire?β Bronwyn poked her head through the curtains, Oscar still in her arms. βAre we worried about vampires now?β
βNo, no, of course not,β I assured her as I closed the satchel and stashed it under the workroom table. βSorryβjust talking to myself.β
βOh, thank the goddess!β said Bronwyn, and set Oscar down. Whenever Aidan was around, Oscar became excited to the point of agitation, and his little hooves clicked on the wooden planks of the floor as he hopped around. βNever a dull moment at Aunt Coraβs Closet.β
# # # # # # # # # # #
About the author
Juliet Blackwell is the New York Times bestselling author of The Paris Key. She also writes the Witchcraft Mystery series and the Haunted Home Renovation series. As Hailey Lind, Blackwell wrote the Agatha-nominated Art Lover’s Mystery series. A former anthropologist, social worker, and professional artist, Juliet is a California native who has spent time in Mexico, Spain, Cuba, Italy, the Philippines, and France.
Giveaway: Leave a comment below for your chance to win a print copy of A Toxic Trousseau. US entries only, please. The giveaway will end July 7, 2016 at 12 AM EST. Good luck everyone!
All comments are welcomed.
It sounds awesome. I am sad to say that I have never noticed this series before.
I love this series, cannot wait to read it!!
Wow, I can’t believe it’s book 8! How exciting. I’m very much looking forward to reading this one.
This book looks like something I’d like! Thanks for offering this!!
I’m a little behind on this series (still have to read the last book) but this is on the buy list for July 5th to go on the TBR pile. I can’t wait to catch up and read this one.
Another series I have to catch up with.
Love this series so much!
I love a good witchy book. This is definitely on my TBR pile.
I must be under a rock. Another great series that I seem to have not known about.
I have read every book in this series and can not wait to read this one. Thanks for the chance to win.
I love this series and all the great characters in it-the Con being one I expect we will learn more about someday! Can’t wait to read this one. How nice to have a preview today! Thank you Dru> π Thank you to author Juliet as well for the opportunity to win a copy of the book. <3 It certainly is one I am anxious to read. π
Yes please Dru, add my name to the magic hat. I own five of the now eight titles in this series and would kill to have this one on my bookshelves.
Thanks Dru Ann for showcasing A Toxic Trousseau. I would love to be included in the giveaway for a copy. Happy 4th of July weekend. robeader53@yahoo.com
I love this series. I would love to win to read and review it. Thank you for the chance Druπ
Sounds like an exciting read. A new to me series and from the other comments it sounds like one I’d want to delve into. Thanks for the chance.
This sounds like a great book to add to my cozy challenge list. Thanks for a chance to win a copy.
I like the sound of this.
I love Juliet’s books and would greatly appreciate a chance at a copy of this latest book! Thanks for the post.
I love this series. I listen to the audiobooks on my commute. I think there could not be a better narrator for this series.
Love the series. Can’t wait to read this.
This book sounds amazing. Looking forward to reading “A Toxic Trousseau”. Great series. Thanks for the chance.
As a longtime fan of all of Blackwell’s writing, I know that every summer promises a new Lily Ivory mystery. I can’t wait for this one!
This is one of my favourite series and I can’t wait for the newest instalment.
Love to discover new series thxπ
Looks like a Awesome read ! Love to read new series that I have not got a chance to π Thank you for a chance to win !
How can you tease me like this…I love it!
Loved the excerpt! Thank you so much for sharing. This series has some of the best covers.
Love this series! Thanks, Dru, for the preview! Can’t wait to read it!
This series is great. I can’t wait to read this one. I love Oscar. Thanks for the chance!
These witchcraft books are so much fun! Thanks for the giveaway.
suefarrell.farrell@gmail.com
This sounds hilarious…a head butting pig for one thing…lawsuit for another let witchcraft ensue…thank you for the contest.
Marilyn ewatvess@yahoo.com
This excerpt really piques my interest. Looking forward to reading this one.
Great excerpt! Looking forward to checking it out! Thanks for the chance to win!
This book sounds great. Thank you for the chance to win a print copy of A Toxic Trousseau.
love this author and am excited about the new release. Thank you for the chance!