How had she ever taken the real magical moments of her youth for granted? How had she failed to appreciate the kindness and goodness of the people in Shevington?
Standing now at the cottage gate, lost in thought, the sound of a booming basso voice caught Kelly off guard.
“Little Kelly Ryan? What a lovely woman you’ve become.”
Gasping in delight, her heart hammering against her ribs, Kelly turned and found herself staring straight at polished brass buttons on a tweed waistcoat. Craning her neck back, she looked up into a smiling, hairy face with just a hint of silver at the temples.
Joyful tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Stan!” she breathed. “It is you!”
As she reached for a hug, gravity gave way once more. Stan lifted her three feet off the ground in a fierce but gentle hug, and she felt the rumble of his voice in her chest. “Welcome home, sweetheart,” he said.
Regaining her balance as the Sasquatch sat her down, Kelly said, “Thank you, Stan. I’ve missed The Valley so much.”
“As did your sister,” he said. “Are you coming to live with us, too?”
Kelly shook her head. “I don’t think Jeff is ready for that,” she said. “He loves his fishing too much.”
Stan frowned. “The fish in The Valley aren’t challenging enough for him?”
“Oh, they’re challenging enough alright,” Kelly said, “he just never got used to them talking back and criticizing his bait choices.”
“Well, that’s the fun part of it for them,” Stan said. “The bass even keep score, you know. So this is just a visit?”
“Yes,” Kelly said, “I . . . uh . . . I’m here for the day to see Fiona. How is she?”
Seeming to understand that this was an important reunion, Stan laid a massive hand lightly on Kelly’s shoulder. “Fiona’s wonderful,” he said. “I know she’s going to be very happy to see you.”
Kelly reached up and covered Stan’s hand with her own. “Is she happy?” she asked.
“Happy?” Stan grinned. “When is Fiona not happy? She’s planning on taking the Shevington Rose Cup away from Hester McElroy this year.”
“Oh,” Kelly said, wrinkling her nose, “I know what that means.”
Stan nodded, as they both said, “Unicorn manure.”
Kelly laughed, feeling some of the nervous tension drain from her body. “The rainbow kind?” she asked.
“Of course,” Stan said. “Fiona has her standards.”
“So she’s home?” Kelly asked.
“Yes,” Stan said, digging a small roll of paper out of his vest pocket and letting it unscroll toward the ground, “she just asked me to pick up a few things for her at the market.”
“That’s my sister,” Kelly laughed.
“Just go around the back,” Stan said. “I’ll take my time getting these things so you two can talk. And whatever you’re worried about, Kelly, don’t be.”
“Thank you, Stan,” she said.
He started to walk away but stopped when she called out to him. “Do you still raise rabbits?” she asked hopefully.
“I do,” he said, “and when I come back, I’ll introduce you to them.”
Kelly watched as Stan covered the distance up the hill in great loping strides. Then, taking a deep breath to strengthen her resolve, she unlatched the gate and followed the cobblestone path around to the garden.
When Kelly stepped into the backyard, Fiona looked up from the table, a delicate china cup in one hand and a quill pen poised in the other. Without preamble, she said, “What were you thinking burying me in pink polyester?”
“It wasn’t you we buried,” Kelly said, walking over to stand by the table. “Your simulacrum spell was perfect.”
“Of course, it was,” Fiona said brightly. “I am a professional after all, but you still haven’t answered my question about that hideous pants suit.”
“You didn’t have one decent thing in your closet,” Kelly said. “I couldn’t put you away in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. What would people think?”
“That I looked like myself,” Fiona said resolutely, “instead of a stuffed pink flamingo. Pink, Kelly? Honestly.”
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said, a knot rising in her throat. “For the pink polyester and for everything else. I know you and Myrtle were just protecting us. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”
Fiona put her cup down carefully, pushed her chair back, stood up and held her arms out to her sister. “Since I’m not really dead,” she said magnanimously, “I forgive you for that hideous pants suit.”
Laughing and crying all at the same time, Kelly stepped into the hug. “And the rest?” she asked.
“Oh, honey,” Fiona said, holding her closer, “that awful man Ionescu didn’t give us any choice. Now, here, wipe your eyes.” She stepped back and offered Kelly a tissue that she plucked from the sleeve of her cardigan.
Kelly took the tissue with a wry expression. “You’re turning into Grandma,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “She always kept tissues in her sweater.”
“I wish I had one fraction of Granny’s abilities,” Fiona said, shooing her sister toward a second chair. “Let me get another cup so you can have some tea. You look like you need it. Shall I put anything in it?”
“No, thank you,” Kelly said hastily, “I don’t think I’m up for one of your potions just yet.”
“Well, suit yourself,” Fiona said, bustling toward the back door, “but it would do you a world of good.”
She disappeared into the cottage, re-emerging shortly with the promised cup and a heaping plate of fresh cookies.
“If you won’t take a potion,” Fiona said, “maybe you’ll be interested in one of these.”
Kelly’s eyes lit up. “Are those molasses cookies?” she asked.
“Well, of course, they are,” Fiona said as if that was just the silliest question she ever heard. “Anything else is just a waste of time.”
Kelly picked up one of the still-warm cookies, took a bite, and closed her eyes in happy appreciation. “I haven’t had one of your molasses cookies in years,” she said.
Fiona let a moment of silence pass between them as she poured tea in Kelly’s cup. Then she said quietly, “He likes them, too.”
When Kelly picked up the cup, her hand trembled. “Does he know who you are?” she asked.
Fiona shook her head. “No,” she said, “we would never put him in danger like that. He knows me only as his Grandmother Endora’s old friend.”
“What does he do?” Kelly asked.
“He works at the stables with Ellis Groomsby,” Fiona said. “Ellis says he’s never seen anyone better with the animals.”
Kelly looked away, blinking back tears. “Just like his father.”
“How are Jeff’s fishing dogs?” Fiona asked mischievously.
In spite of herself, Kelly laughed. “You mean the lazy mutts that sleep on the bank with him?” she said. “They’re fine. All six of them.”
“Six?” Fiona said with mock horror. “Good heavens! But then Jinx has four cats, so I suppose it runs in the family.”
“Can’t we tell her?” Kelly pleaded with sudden desperation. “Can’t we tell them both? He’s safe here. And Jinx has her powers now. What can Ionescu do?”
“He’s strigoi, Kelly,” Fiona said, “and he cursed you. Those things don’t just wear off like nail polish, honey.”
Kelly nodded numbly, casting her eyes down.
Scooting her chair around, Fiona reached for her sister’s hands. “Look at me,” she said.
Kelly raised her head.
“Come help me plant my pansies?” Fiona asked. “I’ve always said when you don’t know what else to do, play in the dirt.”
“I wish it were that simple, Fi,” Kelly whispered.
“Dirt is simple, dear,” Fiona assured her, “that’s why it always makes you feel better.”
As Mom walked off down the street toward Aunt Fiona’s, Festus hit me on the side of the head with his paw.
“You’re lollygagging,” Festus said crossly. “And I’m thirsty.”
“Lollygagging?” I grumbled. “Really, Festus? Lollygagging?”
“It’s a word. Look it up,” he said. “Are you going to start walking or do I have to cuff you on the other ear?”
Since he was seriously in need of a pedicure, I started walking.
“Now, when we get to the bar,” he said, “I don’t need any help from you. I’ll do the talking. You just keep your eyes open for anything unusual.
In a bar full of shifted werecats. Right. That would be a piece of cake.
As usual, The Dirty Claw was packed, but thankfully it was too early in the day for any of them to be thoroughly plastered. Festus vaulted over my shoulder intent on hitting the Red Dot table, but I grabbed him in mid-air.
“Slow down, hairball,” I whispered. “You’re supposed to be working here.”
“I am working,” he hissed back. “Like it would be normal for me to come in here and not head straight for the Red Dot table? Play along.”
Okay, so I can be slow on the uptake.
“I’m serious, Festus,” I barked crossly. “Don’t make me scruff you.”
“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.” Festus said, narrowing his eyes and putting his ears back.
No one else saw it, but I caught the approving gleam in those amber slits.
“Yes. I. Would.” I said, narrowing my own eyes. “I promised Chase I wasn’t going to let you get drunk again. We are going to sit at the bar like civilized patrons and have our Litter Box Lagers and nip nachos.”
Laughter erupted from one of the booths by the window. “Hey, Festus!” Furl called out. “She’s gonna have you wearing a cute little bell next.”
Festus curled his lips back. “Knock if off, Furl, or I’ll rip those puny flat ears of yours right off your head.”
Merle, Earl, and Furl are Scottish Fold triplets. They work at the International Registry for Shapeshifters when they’re not at The Dirty Claw.
Yeah, that’s right, the IRS.
The Registry monitors all forms of shapeshifters, not just werecats, and makes sure there’s no . . . uh . . . incidents with the humans. The werewolves get most of the bad press, but problems have died down since more of the wolves are opting to go vegan. Apparently, it’s a cholesterol thing.
When I saw the triplets, I realized why we were in The Dirty Claw. If anyone knew about rumors in the werecat community, it would be Merle, Earl, and Furl. They’re in the same Red Dot League with Festus, but none of them are serious players. Red Dot is a drinking game played on a pool table with a voice-activated laser pointer. Aloysius, a Cornish Rex, is the only Dirty Claw denizen who thinks it’s possible to catch the Red Dot.
Hairless cats tend to be a little . . . intense.
Anyway, for the rest of the gang, Red Dot is just an excuse to slug losing shots of creamed whiskey.
No one loses with more gusto than Festus.
Those were the only circumstances under which I’d seen Merle, Earl, and Furl, but I knew they did have an official and important capacity in the werecat community. Festus was being smart — very smart.
Manfred, the burly Canadian Lynx bartender, was on duty as usual. I caught his eye and called out our order before turning back to the triplets. “You guys mind if we sit with you?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Earl said, jumping over the table and landing in between his brothers to make room for us.
“What are you two doing in Shevington this time of day?” Merle asked.
Depositing Festus in the seat by the window, I slid in beside him.
“My Mom is here visiting my Aunt Fiona,” I said. “Festus tagged along. We’re just giving them a little time to talk in private.”
Manfred appeared with one bottle and one bowl of lager and a huge platter of nachos.
“Is that what I ordered?” I asked, eyeing the mountain of food.
“No,” he said, “but with these three moochers sitting here, your chow would be gone in 10 seconds. It’s on the house, by the way, with my thanks for keeping Festus away from the Red Dot table. He’s on probation for another week.”
“Will you just get over it?” Festus grumbled, lapping at his lager. “I said I was sorry already.”
The triplets suddenly got very interested in their food, and no one was talking.
“Okay,” I said, “what am I missing here?”
“Zip it, Manfred,” Festus warned.
The Lynx wiped his big paws with a bar rag, regarding Festus with twinkling eyes. “I’m not talking to you, McGregor,” he said, “I’m conversing with the lady.”
“Festus, what did you do?” I asked suspiciously.
“It was all a misunderstanding,” Festus said, studiously examining the claws on his right paw. “I actually don’t remember most of the details it was so insignificant.”
“You don’t remember most of the details because you were so drunk,” Manfred said. “He was playing Red Dot when a couple of ligers came in, and Mr. Tough Guy here called them half-breeds.”
I frowned. “What’s a liger?”
“Half-lion, half tiger,” Merle said helpfully. “Very few of them in the shifter community. All descended from one pride. It happened in the Sixties. You know. Free love and all that?”
I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to.
“So what happened?” I asked.
“What happened is that they were going to rip this old guy’s head off,” Manfred said. “They shifted. He shifted. The triplets shifted. Next thing I know, it’s like freaking Animal Planet in here. I got tigers, panthers, cheetahs, a couple of Jaguars. Everybody’s name calling. They trashed the whole bar.”
We all looked at Festus, expecting him to say something, but he suddenly decided his ears were in dire need of washing.
“Festus?” I prodded.
“Huh?” he said, pausing with one paw in mid-air. “What?”
“You started a cat fight in The Dirty Claw and you didn’t tell anyone?”
“Oh, right,” he said. “Like I’m gonna tell that uptight kid of mine. Mr. Law and Order. It was just a little discussion that got out of hand.”
“He’s banned from Red Dot for another week,” Manfred said, “so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on him, Jinx.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
“You are not the boss of me,” Festus hissed.
“No,” I said, “but if you don’t settle down and behave yourself, I’m ratting you out to Chase.”
Festus muttered something under his breath that I’m just as glad I didn’t hear, and said, “Fine. Pass me a plate. I’m hungry.”
After Manfred had moved away, Festus said, “Now, boys, I want you to just keep diving into that chow like the furry pigs you are and listen to a little story about road kill.”
The triplets exchanged glances. Furl said, “Do we have a problem?”
“You could say that,” Festus said, wiping nip cheese off his whiskers. “We found Fish Pike dead on our sidewalk yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you inform the Registry?” Merle asked. “You know that’s protocol.”
“I’m informing the registry now, you moron,” Festus said. “I’m not much of one for paperwork.”
Earl made a clucking sound in his throat. “Play nice, boys,” he said. “Tell us what’s going on, Festus.”
In between bites, Festus gave the brothers all the details. “So what do you think,” he finished. “Transient or vengeful Pike relatives?”
I almost choked on my lager when Furl said gravely, “Neither. This isn’t the first time we’ve heard about a killing with fake claws.
For the most part I’d just been listening, but I couldn’t stay silent any longer. “What are you talking about, Furl?”
“Two years ago in Seattle, we investigated a series of killings with the same kind of wounds Festus is describing,” he said, lower
ing his voice and glancing around. “We never caught the guy, but he’s a Fae hit man. I’m not saying somebody isn’t sending you a message, but the killer’s not your problem. It’s his boss you need to find.”
“And just how are we supposed to do that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Furl said, “but we have to turn this into the Registry officially.”
“Can you give us a few hours?” Festus asked. “I need to run this by my kid, and Jinx here has to tell Barnaby.”
“Yeah,” Merle said, “we can do that.”
We stayed long enough to finish the nachos and go through a second round of lager for appearances sake, then made our exit — theatrically. I stood up and interrupted the conversation and told Festus we really needed to get going.
He protested sourly and loudly.
“You’re no fun,” he declared as I literally stuffed him back in the mesh compartment while Merle, Earl, and Furl snickered.
“That might be true,” I countered, “but I know you. You won’t pull any of your stunts as long as my mother is around.”
We said our good-byes and exited to a round of taunting questions about how Festus liked being domesticated.
“You know that little act put a dent in my reputation,” Festus grumbled.
“It was necessary,” I said. “How are you going to get word back to Chase?”
“I’ll get Fiona to place a call with her mirror,” Festus said. “Think of it as the magical version of FaceTime.”
We made straight for Aunt Fiona’s tidy thatched-roof cottage. Laughter from the back garden drew us around to the side of the house. Pausing at the gate, I peered over the top, while Festus jumped down from the pack to look through the open space by the gatepost.
There they were; Mom and Aunt Fiona, giggling like school girls and planting flowers together. The reunited sisters looked so sweet, I actually choked up, and a couple of big tears rolled down my cheeks. Beside me, Festus let out with a choked gurgle of his own.
When I smiled down at him, he groused darkly, “What? You never heard a hairball before?”
“Right,” I said. “You’re a total mush ball when it comes to sentimentality, and you know it.”
“I know,” Festus said, jumping up on the gate and tripping the latch, “that we have work to do. Get the lead out.”
Witch on First: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 4 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels) Page 9