Owl Be Yours

by RJ Blain

  Daniel’s grim smile promised he had no trouble facing a six-month suspension or community service. “How thin is the provocation line?”

  “Emily would be justified in taking her temper out on him in almost any circumstance. You’re not. Should Emily be attacked, as her prospective mate, you’d be cleared of wrongdoing.”

  “What classifies as allowable aggression?”

  Aggression classified as allowable? I listened with interest.

  “On his part, yours, or hers?”

  “Let’s go with all three to be on the safe side.”

  “Common sense applies. Unless he acts or verbally threatens Emily, you can’t do anything. She can curse him out all day long, but he needs to act first. Name calling is allowed, threats aren’t. That applies to both of you.”

  I snorted. “All I’d have to do is tell Brad he’s a dickless coward to provoke him. He’s so insecure about his masculinity he’s incapable of ignoring criticism of his limp physique. If I wanted to goad him into attacking me, I’d just tell him he doesn’t have kids because he fires blanks, and as such, there’s no point in gelding him.”

  Both men grimaced.

  “What? The way he acts, I bet it’s true.”

  Daniel glared at me. “It may be true, but you don’t have to say it.”

  “He’s a dickless coward.”

  “Just don’t geld him,” he begged.

  “Murder’s okay but gelding isn’t?” I glared at Daniel and his boss. “How is that even fair?”

  “Be grateful murder isn’t off the table, Miss Hall,” Jacob replied.

  “True. I suppose I can live with just murder.”

  “And a humane, quick death. It seems important I insist you two keep any attempts to free Miranda from his influence humane.”

  “Think she’ll want to help?” I asked, unable to hide my grin. “She could be my bridesmaid of murder. That sounds much cooler than honor.”

  Daniel’s boss dropped the parole papers onto the table and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For some reason, I think she’d be delighted.”

  I made a thoughtful sound in my throat. “Where are we going to find a preacher willing to oversee a marriage after a murder? That’s going to be a problem. Does the preacher need to know about the murder?”

  “Good luck, Dan. You’re going to need it. I’ll bring in a few folks who can help make this go smoothly. If there’s going to be a murder, it’ll be so well done cops will be trying to solve it a hundred years from now. Try to keep your woman partially contained through this. We still have to follow some rules despite having the leeway needed to pull this off.”

  Daniel grunted. “Why do people keep asking me to perform miracles?”

  “I’m sure you can handle it with minimal whining. You’re not a wolf, after all. If you were, you’d be allowed to whine.”

  “With all due respect, sir, you’re an ass.”

  “But I’m a helpful ass willing to help you plan a murder. I expect a wedding invitation.” Jacob headed for the door. “Oh, and Dan?”

  “Sir?”

  “Despite your current beliefs, you do have to work tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

  Chapter Five

  For the first time since the wildfire, I had everything I needed to be me again, including the authorization to return to mowing lawns and fixing machines, clothes I didn’t have to wash after my shift, and a rental to take me where I needed to go. The rental annoyed me; after years of driving a large truck, the sporty car handled like a hummingbird on speed.

  I considered it a miracle I made it to work without crashing.

  With no need to arrive extra early, I showed up thirty minutes later than normal, which gave me plenty of time to prep the trucks and mowers before anyone else arrived.

  Nothing screamed normality like work on a Tuesday morning.

  “Nice car,” my boss greeted from behind me. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here today or if we’d have another one of those contractors again.”

  I retrieved Annie’s medical clearance from my back pocket and waved it. “Freedom is sweet, I’ve been declared healthy, and the pest had to go back to work today. The car’s a rental, and I’m just using it today.”

  I’d start petitioning for something a little saner and with fewer aspirations to be a bird. If I wanted to perform aerobatics, I’d shift.

  “Who’s on the rental?”

  “The pest is the main renter, but I’m listed as a special note. It’s in the glove box if you need to see it.” Eager to be back to doing something familiar, I headed to the back to start my routine of preparing the mowers and trucks. My boss didn’t ask to see the papers, opting to return to his office instead.

  In the week I’d been gone, someone had cut corners, and while I did my best to prep Isham’s mower, I bet it would pitch a fit by noon and spew black smoke as part of its death throes. Unless Isham coaxed the machine, which I doubted even on a good day, it’d likely seek out its revenge on its operator.

  I hoped Isham survived.

  I rocked back on my heels, thumping my wrench against my leg trying to figure out the best way to tell the boss his mower might last a week if he prayed, set up an altar, and otherwise beseeched the divine for a miracle. The quiet summoned my boss, who crossed his arms and frowned while I engaged the mower in a staring contest. “It’s too quiet in here. Quiet means trouble.”

  I pointed my wrench at Isham’s misbehaving machine. “This piece of shit is about done. If Isham’s lucky, it’ll last through to the end of the day.”

  “Why is it you always tell me things I don’t want to hear?”

  “I’m usually right, sir. That’s why.”

  “Well, when it kicks the bucket, you’ll fix it as always. You’ve been saying that old mower is about to die for years. You’re on spillover today, so your schedule’s light at worst. I got the lazy louts to pick up extra yards until you’re back into the swing of things.”

  “I was gone a week. It’s not that hard to get back into the swing of things.” I rolled my eyes, dumped the wrench into the tool box, and untethered the mower. “The parts you’re going to need will cost you more than buying a new mower. If you put in an order now, you won’t be short a mower for long. Even if you want it repaired, it might take weeks to get the parts in.”

  “You love ruining my mornings, don’t you?”

  “Hey, I kept it alive for years past its original expiration date. I bet Isham drinks because he’s convinced this piece of shit is out to get him.”

  “Point taken. Any other bad news about my machines you want to give me?”

  I glanced in the direction of the garage where the mulcher and other equipment lived. “Depends. How much does a mulcher cost?”

  “Cute, Emily. There’s nothing wrong with my wood chipper. It’s a year old. I know you like playing with the machines, but don’t concoct reasons to fiddle with them. I’ll put an order in for the mower, you just leave my wood chipper alone.”

  “How about if I slightly customized it? It’s gaudy.”

  “No.”

  “Flame decals count as customization.”

  “Why would you want to put flame decals on my wood chipper?”

  “If it cost so much money I can’t customize or fiddle with it, it needs some bling.” Mostly, I wanted an excuse to poke at its innards and see how effective it would be at transforming a lycanthrope into gruesome mulch, but I wouldn’t tell my boss that.

  “Who gave you sugar this morning?”

  I grinned. “I call him the pest. He loves when I call him the pest.”

  “I bet he does. This pest that gentleman who carted you off last week? He’s got some nerve, that one. Just so you know, those CDC contractors are almost as much of a pain in the ass as you are.”

  “Did a good job, did they?”

  “They’re not as good with the machines as you are, but they weren’t slackers. Go ahead and load your mower on Isham’s truck. I’ll tell him he has your spillo
ver until he gets a new machine that won’t try to kill him. Don’t touch my wood chipper.”

  “Come on, boss. Let me add some decals. I’ll also do the maintenance on all the machines until the new mower comes in.”

  “Fine, but no fiddling!”

  A good person didn’t plan a brutal murder, but a good personal also didn’t steal another’s freedom. What Brad had done to me paled in comparison to Miranda’s living nightmare.

  Before I’d shifted for the first time, my virus had often ruled, bringing change in its wake, directing my interest in men at its whim. Before Daniel had come sniffing around, it had liked any man it thought might serve as a good mate. Once it locked onto Daniel, it had changed its mind, fixating on him.

  It no longer bothered me about every available man to cross my path. Its interest began and ended with the source of my infection, fringing on a base need so strong I could barely resist its desires.

  Miranda’s virus likely responded to Brad the way mine responded to Daniel. It wasn’t the virus’s fault it couldn’t understand it desired a monster.

  The virus lacked morality.

  I lacked morality, too, which I supposed was why I’d resort to murder to free us both from Brad’s shadow. Even if I got caught, I’d tell an angel the truth. The government refused to free Miranda from enslavement, so I would, and I didn’t care how many hours of community service I worked or how many years in prison I faced.

  I finished my rounds prepping the trucks and mowers, and I eyed Isham’s mower, pondering if I trusted the damned thing enough to help with the extra yards being done. If I worked fast and brought the tool box with me, I held some faith I could make it last until noon.

  “Hey, how many were on my roster for today?” I howled, hoping I wouldn’t have to head into the building to talk to my boss.

  Either he’d been lurking near the back or I’d shouted loud enough to wake the dead, but my boss made his appearance a few moments later. “Six. Why? You thinking about testing your luck with Isham’s mower?”

  “Unlike him, I can fix it if it breaks while I’m out. I’ll just have to take the tools with me and hope it doesn’t break until after noon.”

  “Try not to break my tools being stubborn.”

  I rolled my eyes. I’d broken a few tools over the years, but I couldn’t be blamed; he’d purchased cheap shit. Cheap shit broke, and after listening to me rant about the piss-poor quality of his tools, he’d invested in some that could take a beating without noticing. “I think they’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t break my truck, either.”

  “Give this lecture to Isham. He breaks things. I fix what he breaks.”

  “And you fiddle with them because you can. No fiddling.”

  “Sharpening the blades and giving the engine a tune-up is not fiddling.”

  “If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.”

  “Maintenance is required if you don’t want them breaking.” I hauled Isham’s mower to my truck, got it loaded, and put the tools in the cab to keep anyone from getting any ideas about taking them while I worked. “It’s like you want to spend extra money hiring a regular mechanic.”

  “No, I just don’t want to pay for parts I don’t need yet. Your roster is in your truck.”

  I sighed, recognized I wouldn’t be winning this argument anytime soon, and headed out to finish my rounds before Isham’s mower committed a homicide-suicide. The damned thing spluttered on me half the time, and I could make a few guesses why my co-worker drank at nights.

  The mower cost me an hour with its stubborn idiocy, but I finished my rounds without injury to myself and with the damned machine barely functioning.

  Old habits died hard, and I plowed through lunch rather than taking a break so I’d have extra time with the boss’s prized mulcher and its instruction manual. After, I’d satisfy my whining virus with some exposure to Daniel and let him solve the lunch and dinner problem.

  If my virus had its way, Daniel would be stuck feeding me by hand for every meal, and once my hunger abated, it would inevitably get other ideas. In that, I understood Miranda. Like it or not, and fortunately, I did like it more than not, my virus craved Daniel’s company. I enjoyed pushing his buttons and watching his reactions.

  My virus influenced me, and it had no conception of what made Daniel a person. His virus sang to mine, mine sang to his, and we ultimately drew closer like magnets set to lock. Miranda’s virus couldn’t understand it slept with a monster, and it wouldn’t stop tormenting her until he was gone from the picture.

  For a while, I worried she’d suffer, but I believed her virus would find a new male to interest it, and after Brad, she’d have a choice in the matter.

  It occurred to me there was one way I could help her without needing a mulcher to get rid of the bastard. Any smart lycanthrope would want a woman like Miranda for his mate. If I spread word to the local packs about Brad’s choice to circumvent and force her choice of mate, what would happen? Would they, like me, want to act?

  Where the hell would I find a pack of lycanthropes to ask?

  The question distracted me all the way from my last job back to work.

  I should’ve stopped for lunch, and I expected a scolding from Daniel, which would ultimately lead to a scolding from Annie. My stomach, already spoiled from ready access to food, growled its discontent. Hunger I swore I’d never endure again annoyed me into clacking my teeth.

  Sometimes, I wondered what sort of idiot assumed I could act like an adult. Oh, right. Me.

  Back at work, all was quiet, and my boss had left a note on his door that he was working a job for one of his richest clients. I chuckled at the request for rescue if he didn’t return by four. With no adult supervision to stop me, I raided the garage and wrangled equipment so I could get a better look at the mulcher. It would be several weeks before it saw heavy duty unless we got a call about a downed tree, but if we did, it would be ready.

  My boss found me cleaning the machine after I’d done a full inspection of how it worked. He scowled. “You’re already fiddling with it?”

  “I’m not fiddling. I’m cleaning and doing a parts check.” I was also checking the blades to determine if the machine could mince human bone. I suspected it could tear through rocks without thinking twice about it. A gravel cruncher might work better, but my boss wisely rented that monstrosity when he needed it or bought gravel from a supplier like a sane man. The mulcher would have to do, assuming I could get my hands on one. Using my boss’s wouldn’t work; he’d expose me as the culprit in a heartbeat, especially if he noticed anything wrong with the machine.

  Running Brad through it would likely ensure the damned thing wouldn’t run quite right ever again.

  If I wanted to use a mulcher, I’d have to buy one or make one.

  I eyed the machine, and to toy with my boss, I asked, “Pink decals?”

  “Will pink decals keep you from tearing apart my wood chipper?”

  “I’m going with yes but only because I want to see Isham’s face when he needs to use pink equipment.”

  “When you decide you’ve had enough with someone’s bullshit, you’re a mean woman, Emily. What did Isham do this time?”

  “One too many hell shifts and forcing me to be grateful for a rescue from the CDC.”

  “Dare I ask why the CDC wanted you for a week?”

  I sighed, but as I saw no real way to avoid the subject, I shrugged and replied, “The guy responsible for my lycanthropy infection needs to pay his fines. The CDC wanted to do a diet evaluation, check my virus levels, and integrate me with more lycanthropes.” I held up my thumb to signal everything was fine. “They even gave me an updated license if you need a copy.”

  “Bring it to my office before you leave. I’ll be here late tonight. Will you be sticking around?”

  I got the feeling he meant long-term. “For a while at least. It depends on the pest they keep flinging at me.”

  “Lycanthropes have a reputation, but you’re not t
he type to wander off without a good reason. Bring that agent around. I’ll give him a stern talking to, especially if he thinks he’s stealing my mechanic.”

  “Am I paid enough to be a mechanic?”

  “Stick around, and you will be.”

  A raise? My boss was bribing me to stay with a raise? I squealed and clapped my hands. “Condition: I get to fiddle with the mulcher.”

  “Condition: you get to fix Isham’s mower.”

  “I’m going to need a lot of parts if you want that to happen. You’d be better off getting him a new one. I’m pretty sure his is possessed by the devil himself.”

  “You’re going to need parts for the trucks anyway, so I’ll pay you to junkyard dive for parts. I’ll clear you schedule for the week and give you a good budget.”

  “It’d still be cheaper to buy him a new mower, and the new mower would be better on gas.”

  “You’ll still need parts for the mowers that aren’t possessed by the devil himself,” my boss countered. “It’s a good challenge for you and will keep you out of trouble until the replacement arrives. Isham’s old mower can become a spare if you can purify the sin from it.”

  I eyed the piece of junk still loaded onto my truck. “I’m going to need a second raise if you want me to exorcise that thing. Anyway, how did I become a mechanic?”

  “You came in early, got bored, and started maintaining the machines to blow time. One day, your truck broke down, you stole my tools, raided a junk yard after making off with the petty cash, and fixed it yourself. You only have yourself to blame for this promotion and general raise. I only have to call in a specialist when something is really wrong. I figure you’ll pick up the extra mowing jobs during the busy season but will spend most of your time here handling maintenance and keeping things working in the background. When the machines don’t break, everyone gets more real work done around here.”

  I pointed at the mower. “That thing needs to be retired, but I’ll try to salvage it as a cranky spare in case another breaks.”

  “In the meantime, put your mower on Isham’s truck in the mornings. If you can’t get it running reliably, take it to the junk yard. If you really think it’s a lost cause, I’ll put in an order for two and have the next oldest machine turned into a spare.”