by Erin Johnson
Come again? I stepped closer, frowning.
It continued, looking as though each word were a struggle to get out.
Please… help… us…
My breath caught in my chest. Help them? Was this just an animal who wanted to be free, or was there more going on?
I let out some cheeps. Are they mistreating you here?
Its globular eyes bored into mine, as though pleading with me. We’re… not… really…
“Hey!”
I jumped and spun around. Quincy, thin brows pulled together, stomped toward me, pushing aside large leaves and high-stepping over exposed roots. I’d been so focused on the sloth, I hadn’t heard him come up behind me.
“What are you doing back here? This is a restricted area.”
I glanced at the sloth hanging from the branch, and, not wanting to get it in further trouble if the animals were being mistreated, stepped away from it before Quincy noticed.
“I, uh—” I couldn’t very well tell him I’d come back here to spy on him. My heart picked up its pace as I looked around—nothing but dense foliage surrounded us, and I was sure he knew his way around these enclosures better than I did if I tried to run. Maybe Peter or Daisy would hear me if I yelled for help?
The man stomped closer, then stood a few feet away with his hands on his hips, pointy elbows jutting out to either side. I decided to try and use my only power, given I had no magic, and try to talk my way out of it. It’d worked sometimes as a lawyer.
“Oh, I was just—” I had a thought and pressed my fingers to my temples. “—uh, following the psychic vibes.”
Quincy frowned deeper. “Where’s the officer?” He looked around.
“Uh… nearby.” Daisy would’ve growled at me for that lie, but I didn’t want him to know I’d ventured into the enclosure alone.
As if on cue, Peter called out, “Jolene? Jolene?”
I breathed a sigh of relief, and my shoulders slid away from my ears. A few moments later, Daisy emerged from behind a giant fern, followed by Peter.
He grinned at me, then grew confused as he looked between Quincy and me. “Where’d you go? Daisy smelled you out.”
Oh, great. I was sure I’d never hear the end of what Daisy had to endure by tracking my scent. But to my surprise, she canned her insults and edged between Quincy and me, her back to me. She stood with her hackles raised, and my lips twitched toward a grin. Was she protecting me?
She glanced over her shoulder at me and huffed. You reek of fear. Are you okay?
Reek might be a bit strong of a term, but I grinned back at her and nodded. Aw—we were bonding.
She growled. Good thing you rarely wash your hair—I was able to follow the smell of pizza grease easily.
There it was.
With Peter’s concerned gaze darting between me and Quincy, his wand in hand, I felt it safe to confront Quincy about what I’d overheard. I raised my fingers to my temples again and closed my eyes.
“Yes. Yes, I’m getting something from a nearby bird—something about Mark not having his license or…?” I peeled an eye open to gauge Quincy’s reaction.
“W-what?” He gaped at me, then Peter.
I didn’t blame him. I mean, the pet psychic thing was pretty thin at best, and how would a bird even know about licenses?
He crossed his thin arms. “Of—of course he has his license. What kind of second-rate common zoo do you think we’re running—”
Daisy barked, and Quincy jumped, pressing his mouth closed tight.
Lies!
Peter sidled up beside Daisy, his arms at his sides, but wand still in hand. “Mr. Rutherford, do I need to remind you that Daisy can smell lies?”
The thin man paled, and he looked like he was about to protest, but then his shoulders slumped. “Fine.” He shook his head. “I had no idea this was the case until moments ago.” He splayed his palms. “I assure you, the situation was remedied immediately—I just fired him!”
I sucked on my lips, not quite ready to let it go. “I’m getting something else…” I squinted one eye. “Something about him being the only one who can do this job or…?”
Quincy huffed. “I’m sure the bird is just referring to the fact that it’s not every veterinarian who knows how to care for such rare magical creatures.”
I fought a grin. The way he said the bird made it pretty clear that he knew I’d overheard his conversation.
Daisy whined. Mostly true…
Quincy threw his hands up. “I might as well tell you everything.”
Peter crossed his thick arms. “I think that’d be best.”
I grinned and came up beside him. I loved when he let out his tough cop side.
Quincy looked pained. “I have no idea what leverage Mark thinks he has, but I recently discovered he was stealing animal potions from the chilled storage in the office and using them himself.” He shook his head. “He admitted it was the same reason he lost his license in the first place. He claims my wife knew about this, but I have no idea why she’d condone such a thing.”
Daisy wagged her tail. True.
Peter narrowed his eyes. “Mark didn’t have some piece of blackmail he was holding over her? He wasn’t being asked to do anything illegal that a licensed veterinarian would balk at?”
Quincy removed his glasses, fogged by the humidity, and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. “I have no idea. Since Malorie’s death, the more I learn, the more I realize I didn’t know squat about the business.” He replaced his glasses and squared his shoulders. “While magical creature veterinarians are difficult to find, it’s not impossible. I’ll make sure our animals receive the best care possible.”
I glanced back toward where the sloth had been and caught sight of a toe disappearing up toward the top of the foliage. I turned back to Quincy, thinking about the cryptic message it’d given me. “Do you have any reason to suspect these creatures are being mistreated?”
Quincy scoffed. “Not at all. This is a state-of-the-art facility.”
Daisy wagged her tail. True.
I frowned. The sloth had said something about the animals not really being… something.
I cleared my throat. “Could they be… different in some way from other magical creatures?”
Quincy frowned, and Peter turned to look at me.
“In what way?”
I scanned back through everything the sloth had said and found myself just as confused as Quincy. I shrugged. “I’m… not sure. Sorry.” I tapped one temple. “Don’t always get the clearest signals.”
He raised one brow, looking skeptical.
Peter kept his gaze on me a moment longer, as if mulling over my words, then turned to Quincy. “You’ve got the required permits for all these creatures?”
I grinned up at his handsome face—that was a good thought. Brains and the looks.
Quincy paled. “Yes, well at least my wife assured me so.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid it may take me some time to sort through the paperwork if you’d like to see them—she was in charge of all that.”
Daisy whined. True.
Peter nodded. “We’ll be back to check on it in the coming days.”
Quincy nodded. “Fine. Well, in the meantime, I’ve got animals to see to. We’re short on staff and Malorie has been an… unforeseen loss.” He clasped his hands together.
Peter nodded. “Alright, thank you. Will you show us out?”
Quincy waved at us to follow, then led the way through the jungle. I glanced back at the tree the sloth had been on but couldn’t see it anymore. I bit my lip, itching to speak with it some more. But I doubted it would talk to me in front of Quincy, and who knew how long it’d take the creature to get its message out. It’d have to wait for the next time we came back to check into the permits.
Daisy trotted ahead, nose to the ground, but Peter fell back to walk beside me. “Edna set an appointment up for us at WWAAC, that animal rights group. We’d better head out now to make it.
”
I nodded. Hopefully that would help us fill in some of the gaps on this confusing case.
23
WWAAC
Peter’s magical scroll appeared beside his head. He grabbed it out of the air and scanned the notes his enchanted quill had jotted down. I slid closer and looked over his shoulder.
“Is this the place?”
Peter frowned, then looked up at the nondescript stone building we stood in front of. “543 Lower Sea Current Lane. I guess so.”
Daisy, who stood on his other side, lifted her nose and sniffed the air, then huffed. I think I smell that man you interrogated last night.
I shot her a flat look and growled. Does he also smell like pizza grease?
She whipped her head around to look at me, and her mouth split into a toothy grin. “Woof!” Nope—that’s your own unique odor.
Peter looked at me, eyes twinkling. “What’d she say?”
I glared at the German shepherd. “Something about needing her glands expressed?”
She barked. Lies!
The loud sound reverberated down the narrow, winding cobblestone street we stood on. We appeared to be in a business district of the island. The lane was empty of shoppers, diners, and all the hustle and bustle we passed downtown on our way to this middle tier of the island.
Peter shot me a knowing grin, then led the way across the lane. As we got closer to the wood door, I noticed the lettering on its glass window.
WWAAC Headquarters: Witches and Wizards Against Animal Cruelty
Peter gripped the brass knob, turned it, and pushed the door open. We exchanged surprised looks—despite how quiet it was outside, the place was apparently open for business. We stepped into the lobby of a busy, open-floor-plan office.
Glossy posters of sad-looking animals lined the walls. I curled my lip at the one behind Peter, which portrayed an especially pathetic-looking lion, its brow pinched, deep black eyes sad.
My lip twitched toward a grin. Maybe it was a side effect of my ability to speak to animals or just practice, but I’d gotten pretty good at reading any creature’s body language. I nudged Peter as a young, thin man with a clipboard left his desk and sped toward us.
“I know these are supposed to make you sad for these poor abused animals, but that lion just had gas.”
Peter raised a fist to his mouth to cover his chuckle.
“And how can I help you?” The young man blinked at us, then took in Peter’s badge and uniform and plastered on a thin smile.
“I’m Officer Peter Flint, this is my partner, Daisy, and our consultant, Ms. Hartgrave.” He lifted a palm. “I believe my station manager, Edna, called ahead and booked us an appointment for a tour and a meeting with Zane Perez?”
The young man shook a curly blond lock out of his eyes and adjusted his square, hip glasses. “Of course. I’m Damian, and I’ll be happy to show you around.”
Peter nodded. “I appreciate it, thank you.” A manila file folder magically appeared beside him. He opened it and withdrew the photograph of our Jane Doe. “I’m sorry, this might be a bit graphic, but we’re wondering if anyone here recognizes this woman?” He turned the photo around, and Damian cringed.
“Ew. No.”
I frowned. “You’re sure you’ve never seen her before? She’s not a volunteer maybe?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been here two years, and I’ve never seen this woman. She’s not part of WWAAC.”
Daisy wagged her tail and whined. Truth.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Not knowing this lady’s mysterious identity was getting annoying. Her presence in the enclosure really only made sense if she was trying to bust the phoenix out. It’d make sense that Malorie would try to stop her while some of her associates maybe smuggled the bird out. If she wasn’t part of WWAAC, then what was she doing there and who’d helped her?
Peter pulled the photo back. “Would it be alright if we asked around with some of the others, just in case?”
Damian shot him a flat look. “Whatever. But I’m telling you, she’s not one of us.”
Peter nodded. “Thank you.”
He spun on his perfectly white-sneakered heel and led us through the maze of desks. Men and women, mostly in their twenties, but there were some older folks too, wore bright purple shirts sporting the WWAAC logo on the front and Volunteer across the back. They gathered around the desks, speaking on communication devices, folding pamphlets, and engaging in heated discussions.
“This is where the magic happens,” Damian droned in his nasally voice.
Peter’s gaze swept over the dozens of people gathered in the front. “Are most people here volunteers?”
Our guide hugged his clipboard to his chest. “We have over one hundred volunteers, though the number varies at any given time. We also have a full-time paid staff that helps with administration, special projects, and office work, like moi.”
Peter showed the photo to various groups of volunteers. All of them denied knowing her, and according to Daisy, they were all being truthful.
Damian rolled his wrist and continued on. We passed a table of about ten people creating picket signs. One read: Shifters Are People, Too! Another read: Sam Snakeman Is Our Man!
I pointed. “What are these for?”
Damian huffed and then turned around. “Oh. There’s a rally at the palace next week for shifter rights. Sam Snakeman as well as Prince Harry and Princess Imogen will be making speeches.” He tipped his head side to side. “It’s kind of a gray area for us, as we’re really advocating for animal rights, but since shifters are half animal, WWAAC has officially come out in support of more equal treatment for them.”
I quirked my lips to the side, thinking it over. I slid closer to Peter and lowered my voice. “Maybe attitudes toward shifters are really shifting. Get it?”
He rolled his eyes but grinned down at me. “Yeah, I get it.” He grew serious. “And it’s about time. Do you want to go to that?”
I shrugged. “I’ll think about it.” I wasn’t sure how many shifters would actually attend a rally for their own rights. It was dangerous to even be suspected of being a shifter. Current laws allowed anyone to deny you housing, jobs, loans, or anything if they thought you were a shifter.
Then again, as far as I knew, nothing like this had ever happened on the island. It might be a turning point. My stomach clenched, my pessimism kicking back in. It’d take a lot to change the way shifters were viewed and treated, and none of it could happen while Ludolf ruled the shifter underground. With the way he was testing potions on me, who even knew if I’d make it to next week?
“You okay?”
Peter, Daisy, and our guide, Damian, were staring at me. I shook myself and caught up to them. “Yep.”
Daisy growled. Likely story.
Peter’s concerned look lingered on me a moment longer, but I waved it off. “I’m okay. Just… a little pensive.”
He nodded and slid an arm around my shoulders, hugging me to his side for a quick squeeze. I grinned up at him gratefully.
We finished showing the photo of our mystery woman to everyone there, and then Damian showed us back to Zane Perez’s office. He knocked and called through the white door, “The police are here to speak to you.”
“Come in” came the muffled reply.
Damian held the door open for us, and Peter, Daisy, and I filed into the small office. The young man shut the door behind us.
24
Zane Perez
“Zane Perez?”
A guy in probably his midforties with short, salt-and-pepper curly hair rose from behind his desk. “That’s me. Please, sit.”
The office was modest, cramped, and littered with papers, rally signs stacked against the wall, and a ratty couch with a pillow and thin blanket on it. I’d guess Zane often slept at the office after a long night of work,
He settled behind his desk, and Peter and I took the hard wooden chairs across from him. Daisy settled between us, Peter absentmindedly r
esting his hand on her head and scratching between her ears.
Zane wore olive cargo pants and a khaki button up, the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. He looked like he’d just come from a shift working a safari, down to the mud-splattered combat boots.
I pressed my lips together, eyeing Zane as Peter and I sat across the desk from him. Which came first—the aesthetic, or did working with exotic animals just turn you into Ranger Down Under?
Zane winked at Daisy, who could barely eye him over the top of the desk. “Hey, pup!” She growled in response, and his eyes grew wide. “Dogs usually love me.”
I thumbed at her. “Yeah, well maybe this one’s a better judge of character than most.”
He curled his lip, his expression sour, and I grinned wider.
Peter cleared his throat and covered his mouth to hide his own smile. “In fact, Daisy here has been enchanted to detect lies.” He ruffled the dog’s tawny fur, and she grinned up at him with her pointy white teeth on display. “So please keep that in mind as you answer our questions.”
Zane gawked as he looked from Peter to Daisy to me. “Am I in trouble?”
I just raised a brow—yeah, buddy, better believe she’ll call you out.
Peter cleared his throat. “Were you at the Night of the Phoenix party yesterday evening at the Magical Animal Sanctuary?”
Zane frowned. “No way.”
I cocked my head. I mean, he worked for an animal rights organization. Why wouldn’t he attend a party for an animal sanctuary?
Daisy’s bushy tail wagged as Peter’s hand rested on the back of her neck. True.
I splayed my hands. “Why not? We heard you infiltrated the sanctuary, undercover, right?”
Zane looked toward the door and scoffed. “Something like that.”
Daisy wagged her tail again. True.
Peter frowned and leaned forward. “Can you explain that to me? Isn’t Witches and Wizards Against Animal Cruelty typically in support of sanctuaries?”