It Takes Two

by Sheridon Smythe

  "No, I mean, cats really like fish. To eat.” Justine heard a snicker and turned to give Jordan a silent warning.

  But Jordan was nowhere in sight.

  So where had the snicker come from? Justine frowned, glancing at the lovebirds. Reuben seemed to have made a miraculous recovery, and now they stood together on the perch. Watching her in that odd, unsettling way they had.

  She really needed to move them to the bird room before she started believing Jordan's nonsense about witches and talking birds. Matchmaking lovebirds at that. Ha! Justine laughed to herself and concentrated on Mrs. Winberry.

  Mrs. Winberry—who couldn't have been more than five feet tall—stood on the other side of the counter glaring at her. She lifted her head, her tone frosty as she said, “Are you implying that my Frederick is a murderer?"

  A tiny bray of laughter sounded to her left. It was instantly stifled. Justine didn't even bother to look. She didn't want to know or speculate where it came from. “Mrs. Winberry, would you at least try putting the goldfish bowl in a place where the cat—"

  "Frederick. His name is Frederick. He's orange and white, and I've had him for ten years, young lady.” Mrs. Winberry sniffed. “If he knew what you were accusing him of, he'd be hurt."

  Justine gave up. A goldfish a week wouldn't break her. She wondered how many it would take before Mrs. Winberry realized beneath Frederick's orange fur there beat the black heart of a goldfish serial killer.

  Handing Mrs. Winberry a receipt for the next one, Justine automatically glanced again at the plastic bag holding the fish to make certain she'd left enough air to sustain it. Not that it mattered. The poor thing was cat food the moment Mrs. Winberry turned her head.

  Her heart stood still.

  She leaned closer, her eyes stretching wide. The goldfish was grinning at her, revealing a row of evil-looking teeth.

  Goldfish did not have teeth. Piranhas had teeth, and she did not sell piranhas.

  Justine closed her eyes tight, then opened them again. The goldfish had swam to the opposite side of the bag, its fin moving rapidly in the water. She reached out to take the bag from Mrs. Winberry, to get another look to ensure that she had imagined it, but the grumpy woman snatched it out of reach.

  "Oh, no you don't. This is my goldfish and you're not getting it back."

  With one last glaring look, Mrs. Winberry pulled her coat together and hurried from the store.

  Dazed, Justine felt of her forehead. No sign of fever. She rested her elbows on the counter and tried to think rational thoughts.

  A snicker, a bray of laughter that couldn't have come from Jordan. A goldfish with tiny teeth and a human smile.

  It was stress, she decided frantically. She had thought about last night all day, and had mentally flogged herself until she felt physically bruised and sore. Or did she feel bruised and sore because she'd made unbridled, mind-blowing love for the first time in over a year?

  With Zack. She couldn't leave him out, no matter how hard she tried, because it wouldn't have been unbridled or mind-blowing with anyone but Zack. She was an idiot for thinking she could have simple sex with the man and not involve her emotions...her heart. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  What terrified her the most was that she had to tell Zack last night had been a mistake. She had to convince him without giving herself away that there would never be anything between them again. Not even fabulous sex, because with Zack, sex didn't happen without falling in love.

  Just seeing him weakened her knees. How could she have been so arrogant to think she could fight it? Him? Her? Them?

  "Aunt Justine, are you all right?"

  Justine rubbed her itchy eyes and tried to smile. It drooped on her mouth like a grimace. “I'm fine. Just tired."

  "I finished cleaning the python's cage for you."

  "Thanks."

  "And I locked the back door. I also fed the python. I know how you hate to do that."

  Jordan was right. Feeding live rats to the snakes was the downside of her business. Chris usually volunteered because he knew how she felt. She flashed her nephew a wan, but grateful smile, not so tired that she hadn't noticed the change in him today. He was more like the old Jordan.

  "You are an angel.” To her surprise, Jordan flushed and looked away, but not before she saw the stricken look in his eyes.

  "No, I'm not an angel. I'm a big dumb chicken, just like Coach—” He clamped his mouth shut and looked at the floor.

  Justine felt a surge of anger. Anger was good. Anger would give her the courage she needed when she had to face Zack again. “Coach Wayne called you that?"

  Jordan scuffed his shoe across the floor. “Nah, just the chicken part."

  "Want to talk about it?” Justine held her breath. Please let this be it. Please let him talk to me.

  "Nah. I can't. I just can't,” he finished in a miserable whisper.

  Gently, Justine said, “I know. How about we close this place down and go out for pizza? I could call Bea and tell her I'm bringing you home.” When he shot her a wary look, she quickly added, “No questions, I promise."

  He looked hopeful for a moment, then his face fell again. “I'm grounded, remember?"

  Justine grinned. “I'm your aunt, remember? I can sweet-talk right up there with the best of them when I need to.” After all, she'd learned from the best, hadn't she?

  The look he gave her was both calculating and mischievous. “You wanna make a bet?"

  "You name it."

  "If you don't talk them into it, I get to take the python home tomorrow night—just for the night."

  "Jordan, you know how Bea feels about snakes."

  "Then you don't think you'll win?” he challenged.

  Her chin came up. If Zack could revert to his childhood and accept a dare, why couldn't she? Besides, this wasn't exactly a dare. It was a bet, and Jordan was acting like his old self again. She would do just about anything to ensure that he stayed his old self.

  "Okay, you've got a deal. But I haven't said what I get if you lose.” When he immediately looked wary again, she shook her head. “No, not questions."

  "What, then?” Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror. “I'm not cleaning the litter boxes!"

  Justine laughed at his expression, then took a deep breath. “You have to go to the game with me Friday night and show your support for the team."

  Jordan made a face. “Yeah, I heard what happened last night. Pretty dumb, huh? They act as if I'm the only who can play football, and it takes all of us to win the game.” He stared at the floor for a good long while before finally nodded. “Okay, I'll go if you win."

  Justine locked the front door and went to call Bea.

  Five minutes later she emerged from her office smiling from ear to ear. Even the thought of confronting Zack later failed to dampen her triumph.

  She had won.

  The best part was that Jordan didn't look all that disappointed about losing.

  When Justine and Jordan had gone, Mini fixed Reuben with a suspicious glare that made him squirm. Good. She wanted him squirming. Maybe she'd get the truth out of him. “Reuben, what did you do?"

  "I was clumsy and fell from the perch. I must have knocked myself—"

  "I'm not talking about your fainting spell over seeing the snake."

  "I did not faint,” Reuben insisted, raising his voice. “I fell. And just when were you going to tell me about those—those creatures? You know that if I had known, I would not—"

  "—have slept a wink. Which is why I didn't tell you.” Mini refused to feel guilty, and she wasn't a fool. “Don't think you can change the subject, dear husband. “What did you do to that goldfish? Justine looked as if she'd seen a ghost!"

  Reuben made the mistake of grinning. When he met his wife's icy gaze, he immediately wiped the grin from his beak. He tried to sound righteous. “I gave the poor fellow a chance against that nasty bully of a cat, that's what I did."

  "And just how did you do that?” Mini inquired with decepti
ve sweetness.

  Reluctantly, Reuben confessed, “Oh, I gave it a few...teeth."

  Mini groaned. “That's all?” she persisted, sensing there was more. She hoped she was wrong.

  She wasn't.

  "And...a little intelligence so he'd know what to do with those teeth."

  "Reuben, you are the most exasperating, impulsive—” Mini stopped, her anger deflating as she remembered that once the recipients of their spells traveled out of range, the spells lost their power. Almost gleefully, she reminded her husband.

  "This is true. In this case, however, I don't think that's going to happen."

  Mini froze. “What do you mean?"

  "I mean that Mrs. Winberry lives in a house directly behind this store, separated by a small alley."

  "And just how did you know this?"

  Reuben hesitated, then rolled his eyes. “I caught a thought or two from Mrs. Winberry."

  "I thought we agreed not to violate the mortal's privacy by reading their minds."

  "You said we shouldn't invade Justine's and Zachary's thoughts, and I agreed. We have the crystal ball, so there's no need. You mentioned nothing about the other mortals we encounter."

  He was like a child, Mini thought. Splitting hairs to justify his actions when he knew he was wrong.

  Like Justine had finally given up trying to convince Mrs. Winberry that her cat was responsible for her dying fish, Mini gave up trying to make her warlock husband admit he was wrong.

  She and Justine had a lot in common, she mused, shaking her weary head.

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  Chapter Fourteen

  Zack could hear the sound of running water as he fumbled with his key. He cursed beneath his breath. A broken pipe, it had to be. Why him? Why not Barry? Or the landlord, who lived in the apartment directly below him. At least he was on the ground floor.

  The ground floor...beneath him. Which meant the water was probably seeping into his landlord's apartment!

  "Shit.” Zack twisted the knob and swung the door open, fully expecting to find a busted pipe gushing water, perhaps in the kitchen beneath the sink, or in the bathroom.

  There was no busted pipe, but there was running water.

  In the bathtub.

  Both faucets were going full blast with the push-type plug on the drain firmly closed. Zack sloshed through the water and quickly turned the faucets to the off position, then planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the mess.

  It wasn't a pretty sight. He stood in water two inches deep, at least in the bathroom. More water had begun to creep into the living room, and he cringed when he considered what might have leaked through to his landlord's apartment.

  Dennis the monkey was responsible, of course.

  A noise in the hall had him swinging around, geared to let loose on the monkey. “Look, you little hair ball, I agree that you need a bath—” He swallowed the rest of his words when he realized it wasn't the monkey from hell standing in his living room, but Barry Fowler.

  He also saw the monkey, clinging to the ceiling fan in his usual fashion and observing them with bright, curious eyes. Zack wondered how Barry would react should he decide to look up and see Dennis, or if Dennis decided to let go with one of his ear-splitting, murderous screams.

  Barry, wearing the now-familiar smirk, gazed around him in feigned surprised. He tsk-tsked. “My, my. What have we here? Did you leave your bath water running this morning, Mr. Wayne? Mr. Potter isn't going to be pleased about this, not at all."

  "Who in the hell invited you in?” Zack snarled. He'd had just about enough of Fowler—and the monkey. When he risked another quick glance at the monkey, his heart nearly stopped. With his tail wrapped around the base of the fan to hold him secure and steady, the monkey's hands were free. In one of those hands he clutched a bar of soap that Zack had opened that morning; in the other hand he held a pewter dish that had been holding the soap.

  Not good, considering the monkey's excellent aim.

  He had to get Barry out of his apartment before he saw the monkey—and before Dennis decided to exercise his throwing arm. He didn't need the monkey's help dealing with Fowler.

  Justine's ex.

  Zack felt water seeping into his Sketchers. He tried not to think about how long it would take him to mop up the water, or what his landlord, Mr. Potter, was going to say about it when he found out. And if the elderly widower discovered who or what was responsible, Zack figured he'd be booking himself into a motel for the night, and apartment hunting tomorrow.

  If that happened, then Barry would win, and Zack didn't like that idea at all.

  "I think you'd better leave,” Zack told him, his voice totally devoid of even the slightest friendliness. The civilized era was officially over. He'd tried his best to keep the peace—well, except for that one time when he'd left Barry dripping in the hall.

  Barry, it seemed, wasn't inclined to leave.

  "We didn't finish our discussion."

  "I believe we did,” Zack said in a steely soft voice that even a thick-skinned person like Barry should recognize and heed.

  He didn't, unfortunately.

  "Justine's just trying to make me jealous by hanging around you."

  "I believe you mentioned that in the hall,” Zack gritted out. A darted glance at Dennis showed Zack that the monkey was growing restless. He was eying the back of Barry's head almost thoughtfully, shooting Zack occasional glances as if he were waiting for his cue. “Now, I'm going to ask you one more time to get out of my sight—"

  "And if I don't?"

  Dennis decided to answer that question by throwing the bar of soap at Barry's head.

  Thunk!

  Zack winced at the sound. The monkey's aim was true, as it had been with the apple.

  Barry's eyes widened in surprise, then rolled upward before he slumped to his knees on the wet floor. Zack caught him before he his face connected with the floor and eased him the rest of the way down.

  He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “You are in big trouble, my friend."

  The monkey flashed his yellow teeth in a wide smile and chattered something at him. He pointed at Zack.

  Zack shook his head. “No, I did not tell you to hit him with the soap, so don't try to pin this on me.” He held up his hand to the monkey and sternly demanded, “Give me the soap dish. I don't relish joining Fowler on the floor.” To his surprise, the monkey handed him the soap dish with only a moment's hesitation.

  Now Zack had to figure out what to do with Fowler. If he waited until he regained consciousness, he suspected there would be hell to pay. He didn't doubt Fowler would file assault charges, and if Zack told him the monkey was responsible, then Fowler would call the Animal Control Center.

  The idea had its appeal, Zack thought, glaring at the monkey. “I should let him, you know. It would save me a lot of headaches."

  Dennis threw his head back and cackled, then shook his head, as if he were confident Zack would do no such thing.

  He was right, too. Muttering every curse he could recall then inventing a few, Zack grabbed Fowler's arms and began to drag him from the apartment. The man could stand to lose a few pounds, Zack discovered as he tugged and pulled him into the hall.

  A quick search of Fowler's pockets produced a set of keys. With a satisfied grunt, Zack found the one he was searching for and unlocked the apartment door. Returning the keys, he pulled Fowler into the apartment and straight into Fowler's bedroom. The layout of the apartment was a duplicate of his own, he noted absently.

  It wasn't easy lifting him onto the bed, and Zack was sweating and puffing by the time he got the man stretched out on the covers. There, that should do it. He stood back and looked at the unconscious man. When Fowler awakened to find himself in his own bed, there was a slight chance he would think he'd dreamed the entire episode.

  It would be his word against Zack's.

  Locking the door on his way out, Zack hurried into his own apartment and shut and locked the d
oor. He didn't intend to answer it again until there wasn't a trace of evidence left.

  He turned and stepped into something sticky. He glanced down, frowning at the pasty white substance. It hadn't been there a moment before, he was certain.

  Slowly, his gaze followed the trail of white until it reached a pair of white-coated bare feet. Long, ugly feet. He lifted his gaze, his jaw dropping at the sight of the white apparition standing in the middle of the floor.

  While he was saving the monkey from an uncertain future, while he was literally saving the monkey's hide, the monkey had found the flour canister.

  Mini could feel her husband shaking with laughter.

  She stomped on his foot, shooting him a quelling glance. Holding the crystal ball aloft so that he couldn't see, she scolded him. “It's not funny. Poor Zack! If that creep Fowler decides to press charges, Zack could go to jail. He and Justine can hardly advance their relationship if he's behind bars."

  "Calm down, darling. If you want, I'll fly over there and help Fowler forget what happened."

  "The spell won't stick once you fly out of range, remember?” Mini felt unusually irritable and anxious for reasons that eluded her. “And you nearly froze to death on the last trip."

  "I did not!” Reuben argued. “A little ice never hurt anyone, and most certainly not a warlock. Besides, it's at least twenty degrees warmer now."

  "Still below freezing. You also nearly got caught. You can't deny that."

  Reuben opened his beak to object again, then apparently thought better of it. “So tell me, why won't Justine talk to Zack? She's been avoiding him all day, and you saw what she did with the roses—pitched them into the trash."

  "Ah, but she took them back out later. And I suspect the reason she won't talk to him is because she's trying to forget what happened last night."

  "Why, pray tell? As I recall, she was the one in a hurry."

  "It takes two, darling. Especially in making love."

  Reuben rubbed his wing over her breast, his eyelids drooping. “You can say that again,” he murmured.

  Mini pushed him away without thinking, surprised at her own actions. She never rejected Reuben's caress. What was wrong with her? To cover the awkward moment, she explained her theory. “I think Justine's deeply afraid she'll fall in love with Zack again."