I quietly slipped away with my fingers crossed for a good outcome.
“Zara, slow down.” On the other end of the phone call, Aunt Zinnia let out a huffy sigh. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying when you talk like you’ve had five cappuccinos.”
I pulled my phone away from my ear and made a face at it to calm myself. I was inside the washroom at the library, which was where I made all my secret phone calls, since a hushed library isn’t the ideal place for talking about secret supernatural stuff. One of my coworkers, Frank Wonder, was a flamingo shifter, so he would understand, but the others were non-supernatural until proven otherwise.
Slower, I repeated my description of the morning’s events to my aunt. As my mentor in all things witchcraft, she was my best and only resource, at least until I got my hands on that Monster Manual.
She interrupted me before I could finish telling her about the kindly veterinarian.
“Whatever devious thing it is you believe I’m involved in, you are mistaken,” she said crisply. “I would never harm a defenseless creature simply to test you, Zara. Or trap you. Or whatever it is you think I did.”
I wanted to believe her. She’d hidden things from me before, but our relationship was stronger now. Ever since she accidentally killed me that one time, she’d been working hard to regain my trust.
She was quiet on the other end of the line. I visualized her mouth forming a tight pucker. I had plenty of memories to draw upon, since it was easy to offend my aunt. She had all sorts of boundary lines, and if you crossed one, it was like setting off a laser alarm in a museum; you were in trouble. Often, I would cross one of her laser lines deliberately to provoke a reaction and get it out of the way. My favorite tactic was teasing her about her clothing or decorating style. This phone call, however, had poked her on a deeper level. A not-so-fun level. She sounded genuinely hurt. Or at least her silence did.
I checked the display on my phone to make sure the call hadn’t ended.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry if it sounded like I was accusing you.”
There was some background noise on the call—the clinking sounds of a busy cafe.
“And I apologize for snapping at you,” Zinnia said.
“Now what do we do? About the fox?”
“Zara, just because we’re related doesn’t mean all of your problems become my problems. Maybe you should consult Chet Moore, since it concerns one of his... animal buddies.” She said animal buddies with a note of disgust.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Fear is a gift,” she said with an ominous tone. “Talk to Chet, and be careful. Try not to throw yourself at him. What’s that word Zoey calls you?”
“Turbo Flirter,” I spat out.
“Right. Don’t do that.”
“Sure.” I made a face at the phone again. And then, with a conversational tone, I asked, “Whatcha doing?”
“Waiting.” She breathed out noisily, making a windy sound over the phone connection. “My associate is late for our meeting. Tansy is never late.”
“Any chance your friend Tansy is a fox shifter? Or a talking blue jay? That bird knew my name.”
“Zara, I prefer not to discuss such matters over an unsecured line, but let me assuage your curiosity. No. My associate is neither of those things.”
“Tansy,” I mused. “Isn’t she the lady who supplies your special seeds and herbs?”
“Yes...” She trailed off, and I imagined her wishing she hadn’t told me anything about her plant supplier.
“So, she could have made a potion and transformed herself into another form, right? Like a fox?”
There were only the background clinking sounds of the cafe. I pictured Zinnia’s mouth scrunching in on itself until her whole face disappeared.
I asked, “Do you want the address of the vet clinic? To see if the fox is someone you know?”
“I’m sure my associate will be along any minute now. Thank you for your concern. Good luck with whatever it is that you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Come on. You know you’re curious. Who is the fox? What’s the deal with the talking blue jay?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” she replied.
And then she ended the call.
I got on with my day, helping library patrons with their requests and then helping myself to the previous day’s leftover birthday cake in the staff lounge.
Kathy Carmichael, the head librarian, came into the break room with a tiny cough to announce her presence. She lifted her chin and sniffed the air like a woodlands creature. From her bright orange-brown eyes to her round glasses and pointed nose, Kathy always reminded me of an owl. She stalked toward the leftover cake like a hunter. From the look of the twigs and dried leaves in her hair, Kathy’s morning had been as woodsy and adventurous as my own.
I asked her, “Did you bring enough twigs to share?”
She twisted her head to the side quickly, brown curls whipping. “Pardon me?”
“You have twigs in your hair, boss.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Oh, fluffernuts.” She patted through her brown curls and pulled several twigs from the tangled depths. She frowned at the sticks in her hand. “They say no good deed goes unpunished.”
“And what kind of good deed were you doing this morning before work?” I reached up and checked my own hair for twigs. I’d cut some corners while running through the woods with the fox and wouldn’t be surprised to find souvenirs in my own hair. I did have one small burr that came out with a strand of hair. I tossed both into the trash surreptitiously.
Kathy repeated my question, “What kind of good deed?” She pulled out another twig as she scrunched her face, making her beak-like nose even pointier. “The kind of good deed that kicks you in the butt when you turn around.” She finished with her hair and brushed at her hip and butt as though dusting off dirt from a boot.
“Sounds colorful.” I slid off my stool and put away my dishes. “Before I go back out to the circulation desk, let me serve you up some birthday cake. It’s only a day old. Would you like one piece or two?”
She blinked twice, slowly, like an owl. Huskily, she answered, “Leave the lid off the box, walk toward the door, and don’t look back.” She repeated in a dramatic whisper, “Don’t look back.”
There were four and a half pieces of cake remaining in the box. I tiptoed toward the door as requested and did not look back.
Before I reached the desk, my phone started to ring. The call was from Dr. Katz. That was the name of the calm, young veterinarian. Had his name drawn him to the field, or was it just a pun-tastic coincidence?
I silenced the ringing, waved to the young library page who was covering the desk, indicating I’d be right back, and kept walking all the way out the front door. I answered the call once I got outside.
“This is Zara Riddle.”
“Ms. Riddle?” It was Dr. Katz himself, with his calm, soothing tone. He sounded older over the phone. “Your fox is stable now. I’ve closed up the wound, and he’s recovering nicely. He’s a champ.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. Literally.”
He chuckled. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that compliment.
“Ms. Riddle, you can pick him up this afternoon. I would offer to keep him overnight, but I’m sure he’d be happier at home with you.”
Home with me? “What are my other options?”
“Ma’am, if you’re worried about the cost, don’t be. My assistant tells me it’s all been taken care of.”
I’d been pacing back and forth in front of the library entrance. I stopped in my tracks. The fox’s medical bills had been taken care of? What exactly had I stumbled into? None of this made sense.
Just then, a Department of Water (and Magic) van drove by slowly. The driver was my neighbor, Chet Moore, and he lifted his chin when we made eye contact. I waved. He waved back and then pulled over to the side of the street.
> On my phone, the veterinarian kept talking, letting me know the clinic’s hours. I thanked him, promised to pick up the fox before closing time, and ended the call.
I crossed the street, circled around the front of the DWM van, and pulled on the handle for the passenger-side door. It was locked.
Inside, Chet gestured for me to wait a minute. He turned toward the back cargo area before pressing some buttons. Heavy mechanical parts shifted around inside the van. It sounded like a gate closing. Once the metallic grinding stopped, he unlocked the passenger door for me.
Don’t be weird, I told myself. But I knew the command was futile.
I jumped into the passenger seat and immediately asked, “What’s the deal with the fox and the blue jay?”
He gave me a startled look. I was onto something, I was sure of it. A half-baked conspiracy theory unfurled in my mind.
“Corvin is a blue jay shifter,” I said, my tone accusing. “Don’t try to sidestep my question and pretend he isn’t. Blue jays are corvids, so your son’s unusual name all but gives it away.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before. I’ve been seeing that blue jay around the neighborhood, ever since I moved in. Watching me. I should have known it was your son.”
Chet narrowed his eyes at me. He picked up a paper coffee takeout cup from the van’s drink holder and took a sip, all the while watching me with curiosity.
“Unless Corvin’s not a blue jay shifter,” I said. “Is he a fox?” I widened my eyes and covered my mouth. “Chet, I would have used my powers to heal him right there in the forest if I’d known the fox was Corvin.” I lowered my hand to cover my heart. “I’d never dump your son at a veterinary clinic. Not knowingly.”
Chet made a sour face as he glanced down at the takeout cup. He swished his mouth from side to side then shrugged and took another sip anyway.
“You’re not reacting,” I said. “Corvin’s not a fox, or a blue jay.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about,” I said.
He made a clicking sound with his mouth and pointed at me, as if to say you finally guessed one thing right.
I nodded as the picture came together. “You just happened to be driving along by the library because this is a main street, and you saw me pacing up and down the sidewalk, then waving you down like a madwoman, so you pulled over.”
He made the mouth-click sound again and winked.
“Because you’re one of the good guys,” I said.
His right eye twitched.
“You deserve an explanation for all of this.” I rubbed my neck self-consciously. “Long story short, I might be the proud owner of a pet fox.”
He quirked one dark eyebrow.
Chet could be talkative when he got going, but judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he didn’t have the energy for it at the moment.
I cleared my throat and carried on our one-sided conversation. “Since we’re on the topic of foxes, would you mind stopping by my house after work?”
He tilted his head to the side. We hadn’t been alone and face-to-face with each other in a few weeks, not since I’d bumped into him at a grocery store and helped him select a cantaloupe. I’d been avoiding him, but my success made me think he’d been helping by also avoiding me. Wisteria wasn’t that big of a town.
“You could bring that book over,” I said. “But mainly you’d be coming by to take a look at the fox.”
His brow furrowed.
Something in the back of the van, hidden from my view by a metal barrier, made a gurgling sound—like the hunger pangs of a very large stomach. What size of creature had a stomach that big? The van rocked from the movement of something colossal shifting around in the back. I took that as my cue to exit the van. I yanked the handle and pushed the door open.
Chet’s hand landed on my left forearm. I froze into stone. He was touching me. Multiple circuits fired up in my brain confusingly. I was wary of the gurgling monster, but now I was more concerned about the presence of a certain man’s hand on my arm.
“Zara,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Not to be overly dramatic like a hormonal teenager, but my name had never sounded so sexy.
Was I breathing? I answered by baring my teeth in what I hoped was a normal smile.
He said, “I can look in on you tonight.” He turned his head away and coughed lightly. “And the book is all yours for the taking,” he croaked. “Sorry I haven’t been around. I haven’t been myself. I must have caught a flu bug or something, because I’ve been about half my usual self.”
Half his usual self was still a lot of man and wolf. I nodded at the metallic barrier separating us from the mysterious cargo. “Don’t worry about coming over tonight. Not if you’re sick. You look like you could use a night off from weird things.”
“I’ll come have a look at your fox,” he said. The corner of his mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. “I have a way with strays.”
I have a way with strays. His hand was still on my arm. I got a flash of one of Chessa’s memories: Chet, play-fighting and tumbling with a black dog, a Labrador retriever. The two of them wrestling. Chet laughing while the dog licked his face.
“I bet you do,” I said with an eyebrow waggle. “You certainly have a way with me.”
“I do?” He yanked his hand away from my arm. The ghost of his touch turned cool on my skin.
Whoops. “Never mind. See you later.” I kept smiling and jumped out of the van quickly, before I said something else I’d regret.
Along with Chessa’s memories, her flirtatious feelings had infected me. I tried to be cool and detached around Chet Moore, but instead I was the exact opposite. It’s like when you’re walking over a grate and you think, “Don’t drop your keys down there,” and you reach for your keys to make sure they’re secure, but you fumble and drop them right down the grate. I’d jumped into Chet’s van thinking, Don’t be weird, and then immediately started gushing information and making inappropriate overtures.
After tonight, I wouldn’t talk to him ever again. Not even in an emergency. It wasn’t worth risking Chessa’s wrath. After all, I liked my skull right where it was, on top of my body.
Chapter 3
“You must be the fox lady,” said the young woman at the veterinary clinic’s front counter.
“Is it that obvious?” I looked down at my purple blouse and blue jeans. “But I don’t look like some circus person who keeps exotic animals. Not today, anyway.” I grinned, thinking of my closet full of costumes and fun clothes. “For a change.”
The young woman pressed her full lips together in an adorable smile. She had a perfectly round face, olive skin, and wide-set, sparkling brown eyes. She wore an oversized pair of white cat-eye glasses that were so wrong they were right.
She tilted her round head to the side and squinted up at me. “You know how some pet owners look like their pets? That’s you, to a T, with your beautiful red fox hair. Even your eyes are the same green.”
“They’re hazel.”
“Same thing.”
Not really, I thought.
She pursed her lips and squinted again. “I’d love to get a picture of you posing with your fox. After he’s recovered completely, of course.”
I fluffed my red “fox” hair self-consciously and smiled down at the young woman. “I’ve never been asked to model before. Not with my clothes on, that is.”
She pushed her white cat-eye glasses up her short nose and laughed. “I find that hard to believe!” She pointed to a calendar hanging on the wall. The picture for the current month was a glamorous portrait of a well-fed black cat with a snow-kissed white chin and white whiskers. She explained, “That’s our calendar we send out at Christmas. All the pictures are taken right here in Wisteria. The models are all amateurs. Some months we have pictures of pets with owners, but some are just the fur-kids.” She said fur-kids like it was a regular, everyday word.
“I
t looks very professional.”
“Thanks! If you let us put your photo on next year’s calendar, I’ll be sure it goes with one of the longer months so people can spend a full thirty-one days admiring you and your fox. Definitely not February.”
“You’re very sweet.” I leaned over the counter and checked her name tag. “Fatima.” I glanced around. The vet clinic’s waiting room was empty. The corkboard on the wall contained no posters from people who were missing foxes.
“We’ll be shooting in the fall,” she said.
“Let me think about the photo shoot. I’m not sure how long I’ll have the fox. The custody situation right now is temporary.”
“Of course!” Fatima moved to the left with a quickness that surprised me. I’d assumed she was sitting on a chair, but she was on her feet and had been the whole time. She was quite short, under four feet. She stepped up onto a platform to use the computer, tapping away speedily with small hands.
Fatima said, “You’re all paid up, so you can take your little man home now.”
“About that,” I said. “Why is my bill paid? Is there a charitable fund for wild animals?”
Fatima blinked at me, her brown eyes becoming unfocused behind the white cat-eye frames.
“It was a man,” she said in a flat tone. “A large, muscular, African-American man. He came in, and he paid for the bill. He talked to the fox for a few minutes, and then he left.” Her tone stayed flat and vague. “I don’t know who he was. He didn’t leave his name.”
“Did you see his name on his credit card?”
“He paid cash.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded slowly, her eyes still unfocused. Her head tilted to the side, as though she’d suddenly grown weary of our conversation and was dozing off.
A large, muscular black man? She could have easily been describing Knox, one of Chet’s coworkers at the DWM. Knox was a shifter who could transform into an enormous bird. I’d always thought of Knox as a gentle giant, but it occurred to me that he might practice his aerial combat skills by hunting. Had the fox been his prey? If so, why would he pay the veterinary bill and then leave the animal behind with no explanation? The whole thing was getting weirder by the minute, and I’d seen a lot of weird things since moving to Wisteria, so that was saying a lot.
Watchful Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries Book 4) Page 2