Poison Fruit

“Of course.” Actually, the only reason I knew it to be true was because back in high school, I’d gone to an eighties-themed dance as vintage Madonna, including dangly cross-shaped earrings I’d found at the flea market, but I figured it counted. “But if we can’t risk slipping it in the judge’s briefcase, what’s the alternative?”

“You’re gonna stick it to the underside of his chair,” said Kim McKinney, who worked at the deli counter at Tafts Grocery. “That way it never leaves the courthouse, but it’ll always be in virtual contact with him. I got the idea from my brother,” she added. “He used to punk us with a remote-controlled fart machine.”

I stared at assembled members of the coven. “Look, no offense, but I was already pretty wigged out about trying to sneak it into a coat pocket or a briefcase. How, exactly, am I supposed to get past the bailiff, crawl behind the desk, and stick something under the judge’s freakin’ chair?”

“Two words, dahling.” Casimir smiled at me. “Invisibility spell.”

“Is that a real thing?” I asked.

“It’s a real thing,” Sinclair assured me. “Well . . . sort of. It’s really more of an unobtrusiveness spell than full-on invisibility. You’d have to practice. Sandra’s offered to help teach you. It’s mostly about aura manipulation, and she’s got mad skills.”

Sandra Sweddon gave me a little wave. “At your service, honey.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Sweddon,” I said automatically. “Sinclair, what do you mean by mostly?”

He glanced at Warren Rodgers, who owned the nursery. “We’re looking into old recipes based on wolfsbane and working on an amulet for you. It should intensify the effect.”

“Already got the wolfsbane,” Warren added in his laconic way. “Just need a chameleon skin to wrap it in.”

“I can get you a chameleon skin,” Casimir said to him. “Miss Daisy, we just need to know if you’re still on board with this.”

“Tell her about the distraction, dear,” Mrs. Meyers said, not looking up from her knitting.

“Right.” The Fabulous Casimir raised his artfully plucked brows. “We thought it would be ideal if we could arrange some sort of distraction on the day that you testify. Something to clear the courtroom, and give you a chance to do your thing in the ensuing confusion.”

I sighed. “Please don’t tell me you want me to pull the fire alarm.”

Casimir pursed his lips. “Don’t be absurd. You can’t take that many chances, dahling. No, no. We’re thinking a bomb scare.”

“Are you out of your mind?” I demanded. “Do you know how easily that could be traced these days?”

“No, but Lee does,” Sinclair said. “Or at least he knows people who do. He’s sure he can make it happen without being traced, and you know how paranoid he is. Lee’s really thought this through,” he added. “If we call in a highly detailed threat regarding a bomb releasing nerve gas into the ventilation system, they’ll have to evacuate. And the bomb squad can rule out the threat without conducting an in-depth room by room search that might turn up the charm.”

I looked blankly at him. “Nerve gas.”

Sinclair shrugged. “Hey, apparently Lee did a lot of research into it for one of the video games he worked on. Some Splinter Cell knockoff. All I know is that he sounds awfully convincing.”

I fought the urge to yank my hair out. “Okay, so assuming that works, how am I supposed to stick a silver cross to the bottom of the judge’s chair? Chewing gum?”

“We’ve got industrial-strength mounting tape we use to hang artwork at the tattoo parlor,” Mark Reston said. “Sheila and I are testing it with a pendant that’s about the same weight. Once you get inside the courthouse, you’ll need to wrap the cross in a piece of duct tape for a more adhesive surface, but so far, so good.”

“Crap.” That sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach had returned. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Did you hear the latest, Miss Daisy?” Casimir inquired.

“Yeah. I did.” The judge had dismissed the request to assign a different lawyer to the case, citing the fact that Dufreyne had voluntarily recused himself from representing Elysian Fields’s interests in Pemkowet for the duration of the case. I steeled my resolve. “Do you really think you can teach me to turn invisible?” I asked Sandra Sweddon.

“Unobtrusive,” Sandra corrected me. “I don’t see why not. After all, you’ve been working on visualization exercises since you were a little girl. Would you feel better if I demonstrated it?”

“Yes, please.”

The Fabulous Casimir clapped his hands. “Break time! Daisy, you try to keep your eye on Sandra as everyone else mills around the house,” he added. “Oh, and people! Help yourself to the lovely cheese tray Kim brought from the deli.”

Clearly, this little exercise had been planned in advance.

I stayed seated while everyone else rose, watching intently as Sandra Sweddon’s lips moved in an invocation.

“Excuse me, dear,” Mrs. Meyers apologized, passing between us en route to the cheese tray.

That was all it took. One moment of lost visual contact, and I had a hard time locating Sandra. It’s not that she wasn’t there—she couldn’t have made it out of the living room in the time it took Mrs. Meyers to place a slice of cheddar cheese on a Ritz cracker—but my gaze skated over and past her.