Table of Contents
Praise for the Novels of Juliet Blackwell
Secondhand Spirits
"An excellent blend of mystery, paranormal, and light humor, creating a cozy that is a must-read for anyone with an interest in literature with paranormal elements."
--The Romance Readers Connection
"It's a fun story, with romance possibilities with a couple hunky men, terrific vintage clothing, and the enchanting Oscar. But there is so much more to this book. It has serious depth."
-- The Herald News (MA)
"Lily Ivory is a twenty-first-century Samantha Stevens, minus the nose wriggling. The story combines fun and seriousness for an entertaining read."
-- Romantic Times
"Juliet Blackwell provides a terrific urban fantasy with the opening of the Witchcraft Mystery series."
--Genre Go Round Reviews
The Art Lover's Mysteries
by Juliet Blackwell Writing as Hailey Lind
Brush with Death
"Lind deftly combines a smart and witty sleuth with entertaining characters who are all engaged in a fascinating new adventure."
-- Romantic Times
Shooting Gallery
"If you enjoy Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum books, Jonathan Gash's Lovejoy series, or Ian Pears's art history mysteries... then you will enjoy Shooting Gallery ."
--Gumshoe
"An artfully crafted new mystery series!"
--Tim Myers, Agatha Award-nominated author of A Mold for Murder
"The art world is murder in this witty and entertaining mystery!"
--Cleo Coyle, national bestselling author of Holiday Grind
Feint of Art
"Annie Kincaid is a wonderful cozy heroine.... It's a rollicking good read."
-- Mystery News
ALSO IN THE WITCHCRAFT MYSTERY SERIES
Secondhand Spirits
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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, June 2010
Copyright (c) Julie Goodson-Lawes, 2010
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eISBN : 978-1-101-18798-2
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To Robert B. Lawes,
just about the best dad a daughter ever had
Acknowledgments
Thanks as always to my wonderful agent, Kristin Lindstrom, and my great editor, Kerry Donovan. It is a privilege to work with you both.
To Sophie Littlefield, Steve Hockensmith, James Calder, Cornelia Read, and Tim Maleeny for all the writer talk. It sure is nice to know I'm not the only crazy one. And to Mario Acevedo for encouraging my witchy ways. To the Pensfatales for all the support and inspiration. Who knew a grog could be such fun?
To all the witches and wiccans who welcomed me and shared their beliefs and knowledge with pride and humor. Thanks to Karen Thompson and Peter Simoni for keeping my mind on art in addition to writing. And to my family--Jane, Bob, Susan, and Carolyn; to the whole Mira Vista Social Club; and to Oscar--who won't leave me alone.
We writers ask a lot of the people around us--friends and family alike. So special thanks to everyone for putting up with me, and to Jace and Sergio, especially. You two make this home a place of magic.
My mother says I must not pass
Too near that glass;
She is afraid that I will see
A little witch that looks like me,
With a red, red mouth to whisper low
The very thing I should not know!
--SARAH MORGAN BRYANT PIATT
Chapter 1
"I need something to guard against ghosts..." whispered the young woman slouching at the counter. She cast a nervous glance around my shop floor, empty but for racks upon racks of vintage clothes, cases of costume jewelry, and shelves lined with hats. "A protective... thingamajig."
"A talisman?" I asked.
"That's it."
"Talismans don't really guard against ghosts, per se--"
"Whatever." She shrugged. "It's better than nothing."
Her feathery bright pink hair put me in mind of a silly children's toy, the kind one might win after stuffing ten dollars' worth of quarters into the mechanical contraption at the Escape from New York Pizza parlor a few blocks down Haight Street from the store. But from the jaded look in her heavy-lidded amber eyes and the multiple piercings that marched along her left eyebrow, I suspected the overall effect she was after was "aggressively alienated youth" rather than "cuddly stuffed animal."
"You're a student at the San Francisco School of Fine Arts?" I guessed as I opened the back of the glass display case and pulled out the black velvet-covered tray that held my rapidly diminishing collection of hand-carved wooden medallions. There had been a run on them lately.
"How did you know that?" Her eyes flew up to meet mine. "Can you read minds?"
"No." I shook my head and stifled a smile. "My assistant, Maya, goes to the School of Fine Arts. We've had a lot of students stop by in the past week or so asking for protection."
"Did I hear my name?" Maya emerged through the classic brocade curtains that separated the back room from the shop floor. Petite with delicate, unadorned features, she wore her hair twisted into thick locks, ending in a series of beads that clacked pleasantly against the silver rings and cuffs embellishing each ear. "Oh, hey, Andromeda."
"Um, hey," the customer said to Maya with a nearly imperceptible lift of her chin. Pink feathers swayed as she tilted her head in question. "Where do I know you from again?"