a witchcraft mystery 08 - a toxic trousseau

Table of Contents

PRAISE FOR
NEW YORK TIMES
BESTSELLING AUTHOR JULIET BLACKWELL AND THE WITCHCRAFT MYSTERIES

“A smashingly fabulous tale.”


New York Times
bestselling author Victoria Laurie

“It’s a fun story, with romance possibilities with a couple of 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)

“Blackwell has another winner . . . a great entry in a really great series.”


RT Book Reviews

“I believe this is the best of this series I’ve read. . . . Juliet Blackwell is a master . . . but truly, reading the entire series is a pleasure.”

—Fresh Fiction

“[Blackwell] continues to blend magic, mystery, and romance in this sixth novel that shines with good humor and a great plot.”

—Kings River Life Magazine

“This series gets better and better with each book. . . . A good mystery that quickly became a page-turner.”

—Dru’s Book Musings

“An enticing, engrossing read, a mystery that’s hard to put down, and wickedly fun.”

—MyShelf.com

“Sparkles with Blackwell’s outstanding storytelling skills.”

—Lesa’s Book Critiques

“Funny and thoughtful . . . an easy read with an enjoyable heroine and a touch of witchy intuition.”

—The Mystery Reader

“A wonderful paranormal amateur sleuth tale. . . . Fans will enjoy Lily’s magical mystery tour of San Francisco.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

“An excellent blend of mystery, paranormal, and light humor.”

—The Romance Readers Connection

Also by Juliet Blackwell

T
HE
P
ARIS
K
EY

T
HE
W
ITCHCRAFT
M
YSTERY
S
ERIES

Secondhand Spirits

A Cast-off Coven

Hexes and Hemlines

In a Witch’s Wardrobe

Tarnished and Torn

A Vision in Velvet

Spellcasting in Silk

T
HE
H
AUNTED
H
OME
R
ENOVATION
S
ERIES

If Walls Could Talk

Dead Bolt

Murder on the House

Home for the Haunting

Keeper of the Castle

Give Up the Ghost

OBSIDIAN

Published by New American Library,

an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

This book is an original publication of New American Library.

Copyright © Julie Goodson-Lawes, 2016

Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

Obsidian and the Obsidian colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

For more information about Penguin Random House, visit
penguin.com
.

eBook ISBN 9781101635322

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Version_1

To Chris and Casey, Bill and Brian

To the marriage of true minds let us not admit impediments

Contents

Praise for Juliet Blackwell and the Witchcraft Mysteries

Also by Juliet Blackwell

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Excerpt from
A Ghostly Light

About the Author

Chapter 1

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 Cora’s 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 aren’t much good against litigation.

“Lily Ivory?” asked the petite, somber young woman who entered Aunt Cora’s 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.

“Yes?” I asked, looking up from a list of receipts.

She held out a manila envelope. “You have been served.”

“Served?”

“You are hereby notified of a lawsuit against you, Aunt Cora’s Closet, and one errant pig, name unknown. By the by, not that it’s any of my business, but is it even legal to own livestock in the city?”

I cast a glare in the direction of said pig, my witch’s familiar, Oscar. At least, I tried to, but he’d 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.

“My
pig’s
being served with legal papers?”

“Not so much your pig as you. Your property, your worry. At least, that’s how it works with dogs, so I assume . . .” The woman trailed off with an officious shrug as she headed for the front door with long strides, already pulling on her helmet. “But that isn’t any of my business; I just deliver the bad news. Have a nice day.”

“Wait—”

She didn’t 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.

“Duuude,” said Conrad, the homeless young man who slept in nearby Golden Gate Park and spent the better part of his days “guarding” the curb outside of my store. In San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, many young homeless people lived this way, panhandling and scrounging and generally referring to themselves as “gutter punks.” Over the past year, Conrad—or as he liked to call himself, “The Con”—had become a friend and the unofficial guardian of Aunt Cora’s Closet. “You get served?”

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