Poison Fruit

“I don’t know exactly,” I said. “I have to be there by eight thirty, but when I actually testify depends on how the trial progresses. Hell, I could end up having to go back the next day.”

Lee frowned in thought. “Right. Okay, text me as soon as you’re called to the stand . . . oh, shit. It’s a federal courthouse.”

I followed his train of thought, my heart sinking. “Which means I won’t be allowed to bring in a cell phone.”

All of us sat in glum silence, realizing our already harebrained scheme had a fatal flaw.

“What about Cody Fairfax?” Kim McKinney ventured. “Aren’t you both scheduled to testify on Wednesday?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Along with Chief Bryant and Amanda and Stacey Brooks. All five of us. Why?”

“Because Cody’s a police officer and he’s sort of your partner, right?” Kim said. “At least on eldritch cases. I’m pretty sure cops are allowed to have cell phones in the courthouse. My brother’s gotten in a lot of legal trouble,” she added. “I’ve spent a fair amount of time in courthouses because of it.”

The Fabulous Casimir raised his eyebrows at me. “Yes, but would he be willing to do it? Or perhaps Chief Bryant?”

“Not the chief, no. But Cody might. Not if he knew why,” I said slowly. “But if I asked him as a favor, asked him to trust me . . . maybe.”

Casimir looked around the room. “Do we have any other options?” No one answered. “Then I think you’re going to have to try it, Daisy.”

I sighed. “Great.”

As if that wasn’t enough of a curveball, before the coven’s meeting disbanded, Sinclair presented me with the wolfsbane amulet that he and Warren Rodgers had developed to enhance the unobtrusibility spell. It was another small leather pouch filled with herbs, a dried chameleon skin, and God knows what else.

“No dry runs with this one,” Sinclair warned me. “It’ll lose potency every time you use it.”

“How can you be sure it will work?” I asked him.

“Sandra helped us test and refine the recipe,” he said. “It’ll work. But, um, don’t get caught with it. Wolfsbane’s not illegal, but . . . well, it’s extremely poisonous. Not the kind of thing you want to get caught carrying in a federal courthouse. If I were you, I’d hide it in my underwear.”

I sighed again. “Good to know.”

Later that evening, I tracked Cody down on a coffee break at Callahan’s Café. His expression brightened as I slid into the empty seat across from him, then settled into something more complicated. “Hey there, Pixy Stix,” he said quietly. “Everything okay? You’ve been keeping a low profile.”

“Yeah, I know.” I’d managed to avoid him since the afternoon of the werewolf mixer. “Cody, I have a favor to ask you.”

“What is it?”

I took a deep breath. “When we’re at the courthouse on Wednesday, I need you to text Lee Hastings when I get called to the witness stand.”

Cody tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at me. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you,” I said. “I just really need you to trust me on this one. Please?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer, and I felt sure he was going to refuse. Cody wasn’t stupid. He knew I wouldn’t ask this way if there wasn’t something illegal involved. But he also knew I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important. After a small eternity, he gave me a brief nod and pulled out his cell phone. “What’s Lee’s number?”

I gave it to him. “Thank you.”

Cody pocketed his phone. “I don’t know what you and your friends are up to and I don’t want to know, but if there’s a chance that it might help level the playing field, I’m for it. This trial’s as crooked as hell.” He gazed steadily at me. “And when I told you I’d always have your back, I meant it.”

My eyes stung. “Thanks,” I whispered again, hoping I hadn’t just gotten Cody involved in something that would end with Homeland Security on his doorstep. “It means a lot.” I coughed and wiped my eyes surreptitiously. “So, um . . . everything all right with you?”

“Fine.” He hesitated. “Fine.”

We shared a moment of awkward silence before I exited the booth. “Okay, well, I’ll see you in court.”

      Forty-three

On Wednesday, I presented myself at the federal courthouse in Grand Rapids with a protective charm in the form of a silver cross strung around my neck beside the Oak King’s token, a leather pouch full of poisonous wolfsbane tucked into my brassiere, a small roll of electrical tape—at the last minute, it had occurred to Mark Reston that duct tape might set off the metal detector—and a rigid square of double-sided industrial-strength mounting tape in my purse.

I felt sick. I passed through the security checkpoint with my heart in my throat and my tail clamped between my thighs, terrified that a cursory pat-down would give me away.

It didn’t, though.

After being directed to the witness waiting room, I ducked into the adjacent bathroom. Sitting atop the toilet, I unclasped my necklace and slid the silver cross charm free. I wrapped it in electrical tape and stowed it in my right front pocket, transferring the square of mounting tape to my other pocket. That part went smoothly enough, but my hands were trembling and slick with sweat, and it took me multiple tries to refasten the clasp of my necklace.