Nine Lives: A Paranormal Adventure (Bad Tom Series Book 3)

by Jill Nojack

  Tom will get a laugh out of it, though. Me getting terrified in the art gallery, of all places, by my boss's sexy-time sound effects. I make a mental note to tell him the whole silly story when I get home

  I promised Cassie I'd have plenty of time to take inventory today to make up for not being able to pitch the woo this morning. Because she stank like dog. I mean, I haven't been out hunting them for two months, but that doesn't mean I want my girl to smell like one.

  It's past the shop's best season now despite the warm day, so I won't be busy waiting on people. But I'm not sure now that I can keep my promise. I keep drifting off, thinking about other things. I'm cat-brained today, distracted by every little movement.

  The multi-color potion bottles in the front window create interesting lights and shadows across the shop floor when people pass, interrupting the sunlight. I want to jump them, skitter across the floor as they appear and move, then disappear again. I definitely haven't been letting Cat hunt enough. It's so hard to tear myself away from Cassie to give him his own time despite how much I owe my animal side.

  Inventory is drudgery. I'd rather think about the eternally pompous pigeon outside the window that would make a great meal for my alter ego. And Cassie's smile—I love thinking about that. I could do it all day. Usually do. And, of course, there's the ring: I've pretty much put away every dime I've earned at the shop so that I can get a good one. That's because, when it really comes down to the nitty-gritty, there's only one thing in this big, wide world that I want, and that's Cassie by my side for the rest of my life, however long that might be.

  My eyes are drawn to the pigeon again as it struts along the top of the bench. Not my fault: it moved. I had to track it.

  Okay, so I only want two things. If I end up with everything I've ever hoped for, why shouldn't Cat's dreams come true, too? He's certainly earned a juicy pigeon dinner. But that's it. Those two things. It's not a long list. Just my ring on Cassie's finger and Cat's belly full of freshly-killed bird.

  ***

  The shop bell rings, and I come out from around a shelf full of colorful potions in vintage glass to see Robert there, looking around expectantly. When he sees me, we head for each other and shake hands; man, I'm glad to see him. More ladies visit the shop then men over the course of the day, and there's only so much small talk a man can listen to before he needs some good ol' masculine back-slapping, highly communicative grunting, and companionable silence.

  "Anything I can help you find, Robert?"

  "Already found it. I came here looking for you."

  "What's up?" I move off a little as I catch an unpleasant odor nearly covered by the smell of Old Spice. "Other than tracking in the smell of some hairy little beast?"

  "What?" He looks confused. Then he smiles. "Oh, I guess I did. Great little pup hanging around in front of the shop. Had to give his ears a scratch or two, didn't I?" He glances toward the hall to the back, ignoring my muttering about the pound. "Is Cassie here? I'd like to include her."

  "Nah, it's a gallery day."

  "I suppose you don't have to include her in every decision?"

  "Depends on what it is."

  "It's a business proposition," he says.

  I wait for it, one eyebrow cocked, curious. I have no idea what he could propose to me. I'm no businessman. Obviously, if it's about the shop, Cassie would definitely need to be here. It's hers. I just work here. And sometimes sleep on the counter when Cat's in the mood.

  He continues, "When you were young, as I recall, you were quite the chef. Your parent's diner was a popular place because of your mother's cooking, and it was still popular when you took over those duties every so often. As you know, I now own the cafe-the Diner of Earthly Delights as it's been renamed…"

  "Along with owning pretty much everything else in town." I smile. You have to chop on the guy once in a while. He can be way too serious otherwise.

  "Yes. True. And what am I going to do with it when I'm gone? With no heir…." He pauses for a moment, but just a moment. I know he's pushing back grief for his son, Kevin. "With no heir, I've been forced to think very seriously about what I'd like to do with my properties. It's been heartening to see the Giles Gallery back in Dash Simmon's hands. He seems so much more alive now."

  I nod. "Cassie says he's like a kid with a new toy. Full of plans for new exhibits with the local artists."

  "Yes. I'd like someone to have that level of feeling about the cafe as well. Your father didn't have the heart for it anymore after your mother passed. I know he would have liked to have kept it for you, but…." We don't need to rehash my forty-plus years enslaved as a house cat: nods suffice. He continues, "I'd like to see that put right."

  "Put right how?"

  "I'm not talking about a gift, Tom. I'm not Santa Claus. I'm talking about a land lease with sweat equity. You run it, you work it, and we split the profits with a portion of yours going to pay me for the business for a set period of years. How does that sound?"

  "It sounds generous…but running the diner?" I let out a low whistle. "A lotta work. I don't know…Cass needs me here."

  "That's why I'd hoped to talk to both of you." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "I know that we haven't always been close, but I can't think of anyone I'd rather see end up with the old place. Can you think of someone better suited?"

  "Nope." If I had Cat's tail right now, the tip would be tap-tap-tapping with hopeful anticipation. "I'll talk to Cassie."

  "Good. We can take up the conversation again after dinner Thursday. Gillian's looking forward to seeing both of you. She apparently has something special planned. Although, with British cookery being what it is, I'm not sure I can fake enthusiasm over it."

  "She makes a mean blood pudding," I say.

  Robert grins. "There's always delivery." He laughs. "See you then."

  It's amazing. Now that there's no one left to keep me down, it just keeps getting better and better. Except for the yapping puppy that jumps at Robert's heels when he leaves the shop. The maddening sound nearly drives the happy from my head, but fortunately, it fades quickly as the noisy pup shadows Robert down the street.

  ***

  Cassie enters from the front of the shop, locking the door behind her. It's closing time now, but I might as well have closed it hours ago. Anyone could have walked off with anything in the shop all day long—probably did—and I wouldn't have noticed. I was planning the diner's new menu in my head, complete with Mother Sander's old style comfort food. Enough of this new-age nonsense. What Giles needs is a stick-to-its-ribs experience.

  Before Cass finishes sliding the deadbolt across the door frame, I grab her up in a hug and swing her in a circle. She smacks at my back as she goes around, laughing, and shrieking for me to stop, her long brown hair trailing behind her.

  "Tom, stop it, you'll fling me into a shelf and break something!"

  Oh sure, she wants to be practical. I set her feet back on the ground and give her an extra-juicy kiss to stifle her laughter and get her in the mood for some serious business talk. Because I'm sure business is always the first thing she thinks of when she's being flung around in circles and tongue-kissed.

  I finally release her mouth from mine and pull back to look into her curious blue eyes. I linger there for a while. Yessiree bob, I sure made her forget about the inventory I was supposed to do.

  "Okay, so wow!" she says. "I was going to tell you about my weird day at the gallery, but that can wait. Why the crazy-good mood?"

  I don't answer for a minute because my eyes are drawn to a flash of movement through the shop door glass. Damn it! That dog is back. And I know I'm paranoid, but I don't like the way it's looking at Cassie. No, my gal only has one furry playmate, and that's me.

  I take her hand and lead her back to the kitchenette where no one and nothing can look in on us. I can tell she's dosed on perfume recently, but there's no whiff of dog on her like this morning. Good. "First things first," I say. "I know you. You're starving, I bet." She agrees wit
h me with a "yep" and sits at the table while I hustle up dinner. Something she really likes. Not that I have to put her in a mellow frame of mind—but it couldn't hurt, right?

  As I take out the ingredients for a spinach salad and make sure there's still a bowl full of the bacon dressing she likes, ready to be warmed, I say, "Okay, so here's the thing…you know how I love to cook? And that I'm pretty good at it?"

  I glance at her, and she looks down at her sexy flat belly, puffing it out and nodding her head. She says, "Yepper, I know."

  "So, back when my parents owned the cafe, and in the rare times when I wasn't running off to do my own thing, I helped them run the place. It was kind of expected that I'd take it over when they wanted to retire. But with me among the missing for so long, well…"

  I set a mai tai in front of her. With an umbrella and all. She gives me a look. "Trying to get me drunk?"

  "Will it make you more open to suggestion?"

  She giggles. "It might. What have you got in mind?"

  "Robert wants me to buy the Diner of Earthly Delights, my family's old cafe." She doesn't react at all, and I quickly add, "But not with money. He knows I haven't got any. I'd earn it with my labor. I'd run it, and most of my pay would go toward buying it. It would be back in the family. What do you think?"

  She looks disappointed. "That's nowhere near as much fun for me as what I had in mind." Then she beams me a huge grin. Teasing time is over. "But yes, of course you have to do it. Why wouldn't you, if that's what you want?"

  I set our salads on the table, then sit down across from her. "With you at the gallery and me at the diner—and it'll be long hours, at least at first—who's going to watch the shop?"

  "Don't worry about that!" She reaches across the table with both hands to grasp mine and squeeze them lightly. "I can get someone to work here on my days off. I mean, it would help if that someone is a witch, but it's not absolutely a requirement. I could still prep the magical items and manage the place." She lets go of my hands and places her linen napkin in her lap. "But, yes, it's been easier on me with you already knowing everything about how it runs. But that's not your problem. I completely want you to be happy."

  Her baby blues crinkle up a little at the corners as she gives me a huge smile.

  The egg timer dings. I pour the now-warm dressing into a jug and push it across to her before it gets cold. "You're amazing. So, I can talk details with Robert when we get together for the weekly dinner?"

  "Sure," she says, pouring a little more than her fair share of the dressing onto her plate of greens. "Just try not to be completely boring."

  I stand up and move behind her chair, kissing her on the top of the head, and then ease my arms around her. "I think I can find ways to keep your interest. Now, what was it you had in mind?"

  We race upstairs. Dinner can wait.

  Tom whispers he's going to take Cat out hunting and makes an effort not to wake me up too much as he slips out of bed. I wrap up tighter in the warm covers he's just vacated and watch him morph from hot guy to sleek cat, then pad softly into the hall.

  Yep. That's my boyfriend, the guy whose passion for canned tuna sometimes borders on obsession. Every so often I like to open a can when he isn't expecting it just to watch his nose twitch until he gets himself back under control. Seriously. It's adorable. In that weird, welcome to my wacky paranormal life kind of way, I mean.

  I could definitely use some extra sleep this morning before I have to open the shop. We were exhausted last night by the time we fell asleep tangled up in each other. No different than any night, I guess. It's just that every time, it still feels new. Anyway, he never got the chance to go out, and even I can tell Cat needs his me-time. Tom is starting to go all distracted.

  When I go downstairs and poke my head into the shop, Cinnamon Kendall, who started going to Salem for her coven meetings after falling out with my granny about ten years ago, is waiting outside the door. Of course, she actually fell out with the demon Anat who'd possessed my granny for most of her life—I'm still rethinking huge chunks of my childhood after finding that out—but she's recently returned to the Giles coven. She's pretty cool, but I'm not letting her in just yet. The shop doesn't even open for another fifteen minutes.

  I hope she doesn't see me as I scamper back down the short hall to duck into the kitchenette. I need to get some coffee into me before I can think about a day behind the counter.

  While I wait for the old, but still effective, chrome percolator to finish perking my coffee, I clean up last night's dinner. Our salads are still sitting on the table, wilting, giving off a strong scent of onion and honey. I grieve a little for the bacon dressing I'm never going to get to eat.

  It's tough to keep my mind where it belongs when it flashes to why I missed my meal. It wants to go back to a warm, Tom-endowed bed.

  I sometimes think he and I are a real cliché of young love. Things were never like this when I was with Dan, even though we were only a few months away from being married. He could be sweet, but then he'd turn all critical and mean out of nowhere.

  I mean, Tom can be a flake sometimes—I don't know if that's because he has to share his body with a cat or if he's always been that way—but he never gets mean. He's never critical. He loves me exactly as I am. How cool is that?

  Sure, Dan was my first love, and I'll probably never forget that. But maybe Tom will be my last. That would be kind of great.

  The reminder on my phone goes off with the first notes of "Working Girl". Time to open. No time to daydream about what Tom-and-Cassie kids would look like. And I'd just worked up a pretty picture of a little girl with Tom's soulful brown eyes and my recently-discovered talent for magic.

  Oh well. It's show time. I head out to unlock the door.

  "Hey Cin, sorry I couldn't open the place early. Had a few things to take care of," I say as I let the waiting witch in.

  Cinnamon's bright white teeth flash me a smile that contrasts with her—what does Daria call it when she's being catty? "High yellow" skin tone. Whatever. She's gorgeous, even at forty or so. "S'okay, Cassie. It's a nice day. I was enjoying it." She comes in, trailed by the shiny black puppy I goofed around with the other day. It nips playfully at the hem of her long gypsy-woman skirt.

  "Ummm…no pets in the shop. Other than Cat when he's around, I mean. He's territorial. I'm sorry."

  She looks down at the cute little guy behind her. "Not mine. Never seen it. I thought he was yours." She gently pushes it back out the door with one foot.

  "So, what can I get you today?"

  "I was hoping we both could benefit from an idea I've had. I used to do tarot readings on Tuesday and Thursday nights in the bar at the King of Wands restaurant. But with it closed for the past year, there isn't anywhere people can get a decent glimpse into their future. My only option is once a year during the Witching Faire. I could do readings from my home, but I don't like the idea of having strangers there."

  I think about the potential set of strangers you can get going in and out in a town like Giles and bob my head in agreement, "Yeah, I get that."

  "I'd be interested in setting up hours in your shop. Just a day or two per week. I'd pay for the floor space, and you'd get extra foot traffic from the ads I run for my services."

  It sounds like a great idea. Tourists would eat it up with an ice cream spoon. I idly chomp down on a fingernail while I think about it: she'd need privacy. Then I realize I have a potentially empty room that would be just the thing.

  I point toward the back corner of the shop and the short hall that leads to the storage rooms. "The big storeroom would be the right-sized space for a card table and some chairs. The smaller one and the basement storage should be able to cover everything I need to keep on hand these days."

  And then I'm wondering what my maybe-babies would look like again. A little glimpse into my own future might be fun. "Maybe a sample of your wares?"

  She gives me another brilliant smile. "Of course."

  I can't re
ally leave the shop since it's supposed to be open now, and the storeroom still needs to be cleared before it can be made into useful space, so I quickly grab the card table from the parlor closet at the back of the house and plop it in the clear space between the counter and the door. She sits facing the counter while I sit facing the street. She pulls out a deck of old, beautifully inked cards from her purse. Those have got to be handmade. If not, I definitely need some like them for the shop.

  My eyes are drawn to the door when I hear a yelp. The pup outside sure is curious. His nose leaves damp impressions on the glass, and he can't take his eyes off of us.

  I move my own eyes down to where Cinnamon's placed the deck on the table. She chooses one card and lays it down face up in front of her. It pictures a queen with a staff, sitting on a throne. "I've selected a significator for you. I sense strongly in you all the elements that are represented by the Queen of Wands: warmth, fidelity, and a nurturing personality. But also, there is another side, you see? There. Represented by the cat."

  I look closer at the card, and a black cat sits facing the queen. I smirk. That seems about right.

  "What does the cat represent on the card?"

  "A spirit of independence. And possibly an interest in the occult." Her mouth quirks up at the side as she says that last part.

  I look around the shop with a broad taking-it-all-in gesture before I smirk back. "I think you probably nailed it. What's next?"

  Her voice drops to a low, melodic tone, "I'll read the Celtic Cross for you. It's an in-depth reading, good for placing the interpretation into the correct context of the past, the present, and the future. If you could shuffle and cut the cards?"

  I shuffle, set the deck back on the table, and then lift up about half of the stack and put them to the side. She scoops up both stacks and lays out cards in the shape of a cross around the center significator with others next to it in a line. She places the final card across the center one, face down. I've never had my cards read, and it's interesting to see how it's done. It feels spiritual.