by Erin Johnson
I arched a brow. “Think I could get that dance?”
He blinked in surprise. “Now?”
I held up my Walkman, then rose on my toes and placed one earbud in his ear and the other in mine. I clicked the Play button and the music started. The angsty, melancholy music of my favorite band, the Banshees, blared in my ear, and Peter flinched. I hurried to dial the volume back, then tucked the Walkman in my pocket.
Peter pressed one hand against my lower back and clasped his other one around my own hand. The pressure was light at first, then grew more solid, comfortable. We swayed for a bit in silence as the female lead singer crooned.
“This is pretty good.” Peter looked down at me. “Who is this?”
I gawked up at him. “You don’t know who the Banshees are?”
He smirked. “Should I?”
I shook my head in mock disapproval. “You’ve got so much to learn.”
As we swayed, the ball of nerves in my stomach ached until I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I summoned all my courage, and let’s be honest, I didn’t have that much, and spoke.
“I used to be a lawyer.”
Peter stiffened, and we stopped swaying for a brief moment, and then he moved again, and me with him. He didn’t say anything, but I knew from the way he lowered his head closer to mine that he was listening.
“I worked for Emerson at his law firm.” I gulped, my throat tight. I kept my gaze on the rainy street beyond his shoulder, unable to meet his gaze. I wasn’t that brave.
“It was Bruma Eve. There was a work party going on; the whole firm was there with their plus ones.”
I licked my lips. “My boyfriend at the time, Zale, and I had met at work, so… we came together. Everything was perfect. I’d been working furiously for years at the firm—had rocketed up through the ranks, was a ‘rising star,’ as my bosses put it.” I snorted.
“Eve, who you met the other night at the police ball, she worked there too. There was tension between us, but I’d never paid her much attention. She was jealous of me, as far as I was concerned, and if she cared that much about getting ahead, she should pay more attention to her work.” I shrugged.
“The partners, Emerson to be exact, gave a toast that night just before midnight and announced that I’d been made partner. I knew, of course, that it was coming. They’d told me the day before, and I was still giddy on the news. It felt—it felt like everything I’d been through, everything I’d done to fight my way out of the Darkmoon District, out of the orphanage I grew up in, was finally paying off.” I darted a quick glance up at Peter and found his gaze intent on me, rapt.
I gulped and looked back down. “And then, after everyone toasted to my promotion, Zale got down on one knee, pulled a velvet box out of his pocket, and asked me to marry him—in front of everyone.” Peter’s arms stiffened around me. “For a few seconds, I felt like everything in my life had aligned, like everything I’d ever wanted had just come together.” I smirked ruefully.
“And that was about as long as it lasted. Eve lunged forward—she’d been drinking heavily that night. In fact, she’d almost been escorted out after passing out at the open bar earlier. I realize now she was probably working up her liquid courage. She had a bottle of glowing potion in her hands and a wild look in her eyes. She uncorked it and doused me with it and—”
And I’d shifted. It’d been the last time I ever had. I took my owl form in front of the whole firm. The potion must’ve reacted with that and given me the odd quirk of being able to speak to animals as it slammed me back to human form—for good.
Emerson had fired me on the spot, and Zale had backed away from me like I was poison. But I wasn’t quite ready to tell Peter that part. The hardest part. I needed a little more time to work up to that. I’d circle back around… one shocking revelation at a time was all I could handle… and maybe Peter too.
“And what?” Peter prompted, his voice gruff.
I sighed. “It was a curse. She cursed me, and I lost all my powers. I—I haven’t been able to do magic since that day.” My whole body trembled. I’d done it—I’d told him the truth… or most of it.
Peter sniffed. “But… I’ve seen you do magic.”
I glanced up at him, a sympathetic smile on my face. “Think about it. You haven’t.” I shook my head, and he frowned, his gaze far away as he no doubt searched his memory. “That’s why I didn’t call you tonight or defend myself or anything—I couldn’t. It’s why I don’t bother carrying my wand around, either.”
Peter’s eyes grew wide as he searched my face. “That’s horrible—and so dangerous for you!”
I let out a shaky sigh. “Yeah, well, you do what you have to, you know? That night I lost my magic, my fiancé, my job….”
Peter stopped swaying. “Just because you lost your powers? That’s insane! I don’t believe those people! And why isn’t this Eve woman behind bars?”
I gulped. Okay. This was the big one. “There’s more… I have to tell you.” My heart raced, and I could feel a cold sweat starting under my arms. Great, just what I needed. “The curse also…. It took a lot away, but… it also gave me the ability to speak with animals. All animals.”
Peter let go of me and touched his fingers to my temples. “You mean…?”
I shook my head, and he dropped his arms to his sides. “No. I’ve been lying about that.”
Peter leaned back.
“I’m not a seer. I’m able to actually speak to animals.” I licked my lips and glanced to the side. “I only say I’m a seer because if anyone knew I could speak to animals they’d—"
Peter finished for me, his voice hushed. “They’d assume you were a—shifter.”
38
GOODNIGHT
A rush of energy flooded through me at hearing Peter speak that word, shifter, and I jerked my head up to look at him. My nerves jangled, I opened my mouth, searching for the right words to soften the blow. Maybe the right words were just, “I am a shifter.” There was just one last truth to tell. The rain pelted all around us. Now, in this protective bubble, just the two of us. Now was the right time to tell him.
“Wow.” Peter shook his head and gazed down at me, his eyes pinched with sympathy. “That’s a lot to take in. And I can see, given your options, that pet psychic is definitely preferable to the alternative.”
My heart sunk. The alternative? “What does that mean?”
Peter splayed his palms. “Just—of course you don’t want people to think you’re a—a—” He glanced around at the empty, dark street, but still lowered his voice. “A shifter.”
My mouth tasted sour. He must have thought it so vile he could barely say the word. Or was he only saying that because he knew how badly shifters were treated?
I suddenly felt the weight of the evening. I could’ve fallen asleep standing in the street. I stepped back, almost out of the bubble. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Had I already overshared?
“Hey.” His eyes searched my face. “Thank you. Thank you for being honest with me.” He lowered his gaze, his eyes darting from side to side. “I’m so upset for you. There should have been an investigation, charges leveled.” He looked up at me, a determined set to his jaw. “I’ll look into it, there were witnesses that night and—”
I flashed my eyes at him, horrified. “No!”
He blinked at me. “Why not?”
Uh… good question, Peter. I glanced around at the gutter full of wet trash and racked my brain. No good excuse came to mind. I shook my head at him. “It’s… complicated, okay? Please let it go. I have.”
He lifted a brow, clearly not believing me.
I nodded again, my eyes pleading with him to believe me. “I just got closure with Eve and Zale. I want to put this behind me.” And weirdly, had Daisy been there, I didn’t think she would’ve found fault with what I’d just said. It’d taken years but… I was ready to move on. I mean, I might still want to egg Eve’s house one day, but I was pretty much over it.
“
Are we good?” I raised my brows and held my breath.
Peter stared at me for several long moments, then finally nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.” He looked off over the top of my head. “I can’t say I understand all of it, but…” He leveled me an earnest look. “If you say I should let it go, then I believe you and I will.”
I blew out the breath I’d been holding. “Thank you.”
He grinned. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
My stomach clenched. I had… almost all of it. Just not the part I was most worried about. But it’d have to be a half win tonight, because I didn’t have it in me to keep pushing.
Peter must’ve been reading my mind.
“I know you’ve had a hard night….” He shook his head, jaw clenched. “I can’t believe Chief Taylor was behind all this.”
I shrugged and stepped a little closer again. “You’re one of the very few good ones.”
He slid an arm around my back again and tugged me a little closer. He held me like he had when we’d danced together… but we didn’t sway. My heart picked up its pace.
“Maybe… but sometimes I don’t feel like being good.”
His quiet, intense words made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I felt like my whole body was tingling. Suddenly, all the exhaustion of the night seemed to wash away with the pouring rain that fell around us.
I’d been brave so far. Now wasn’t the time to back down. I’d parted my lips to ask Peter if he wanted to come up, when a movement in the shadows across the street caught my eye. I glanced over. Neo stood between two buildings, soaking wet, his dark eyes fixed on us. He glared, then disappeared into the shadows.
All the heat that Peter had sparked in me chilled. Great. Neo would tell Ludolf we’d been dancing together in the rain, and the mob boss would know just how invested I was. He’d know he could threaten Peter and get me to do just about anything. I suddenly felt ill.
I glanced up at Peter, genuinely regretful. “You’re right… it’s been a long night.” I pressed my lips tight together. “I think I need a little alone time to process.”
“Sure.” Peter gave me a tight smile, his tone overly light. He seemed like he was trying not to sound disappointed. “Of course.” He shook himself and gave me a warmer smile. “We’re okay, though?”
I grinned back. “Yeah. We’re good.”
Peter waited for me to open the metal door before he waved goodnight and, hands in pockets, trudged off through the pouring rain. I watched him go for a few moments, then closed the heavy door, slid the locks into place, and leaned my back against it.
I’d made peace with Zale and Eve, told Peter about my lack of magic, and helped expose an inner precinct corruption scheme that involved murder and the chief of police. Quite the day.
I glanced up the long flight of stairs that led to my apartment—and my bed. My sweet, sweet bed. I sighed and took the steps slowly.
Of course, for all the wins, I’d also no doubt be hearing from Ludolf Caterwaul soon. And I wasn’t sure how many trips to the sewers I’d survive unscathed. But that was a problem for tomorrow. For now—sleep.
Book 4: A cursed sleuth. A gallery of secrets. Will this cryptic case be Jolene’s last?
Read Mouse of Cards to solve a mystery at the Magical Artifacts Museum today!
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NIGHT JOB
I eyed the trail of slime that now marred my velvet tablecloth with its sprinkling of gold stars and moons and grimaced. At least now I had the spending money to get it washed.
I plunked my cheek into my hand and blinked at the nerdy guy who sat across my kitchen table from me. “So you came in tonight because your pet slug is feeling… sluggish?”
He roughly rubbed his nose. “Snail, actually. And yes, he isn’t his usual peppy self. Can you tell me what’s wrong with him? Is he depressed?”
The little brown creature inched across the table, heading on a suicide mission toward the edge. Luckily, it’d be next Tuesday before he reached it.
I sighed through my nose. Goddess, I hoped Peter had a case for me soon. It’d been rough the last few weeks, having to go back to my day job as a pet psychic (night job, really). I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nearly 4:00 a.m. and closing time.
I’d already talked to a ferret with a hoarding problem, a goldfish who’d been terrorized by the neighbor’s cat through the window, and a bird who couldn’t stop molting because of a sunflower seed allergy. Talked being the operative word. I masqueraded as a pet “psychic” for cover.
The truth was, I’d been cursed a few years ago and lost all my magical powers, along with the ability to shift, but gained the oh so lovely ability to speak with animals. If I’d admitted to that, it’d basically be advertising the fact that I was a shifter—or used to be—and on the magical island of Bijou Mer that was like wearing a flashing neon sign begging people to discriminate against you.
Still, my powers had earned me a position as a police consultant. I’d helped crack a few cases, and word had spread around my little nook of the Darkmoon Night Market that I was apparently legit. Which meant lots more pet psychic business. Good, in that I had more merkles for putting food on the table, but bad in that I had to have endlessly inane conversations. Oh, from rising star lawyer to this—how the mighty had fallen.
I reached out and tapped the snail’s spiral shell. It stopped its death march across the table and swiveled its eyes, at the ends of long stalks, to look at me. They both blinked, slightly out of sync. Rude.
It was always a challenge, hiding my conversations with pets while right in front of their owners, but lucky for me snail language was basically a lot of blinking.
I winked, then blinked back. Sorry. Hey, your owner wants to know why you haven’t been as peppy lately? You feeling okay?
I glanced up at the clock—only five minutes till I could close up shop.
It winked its left eye several times. Okay? I’m feeling better than ever.
I winked my right eye several times. Really? How so?
“You okay?” The guy leaned away from the table and curled his lip at me. “You look like you’re having a conniption.”
I shot him a flat look and pressed my fingers to my temples. “My powers work in mysterious ways.” Don’t judge me. I turned back to the snail, who was winking and blinking away like mad.
I’m flying over the weeds. I’m on a rainbow trip to a garden of plenty filled with untouched leaves and stalks that reach to heaven and—
Okay. I think I knew what was going on here. I turned back to the snail’s owner and laced my fingers together under my chin. “Are you growing some ‘special’ plants at home?” I made air quotes, then tucked my hands innocently back under my chin.
The guy paled and blinked rapidly behind his glasses.
I cocked my head and plastered on a sickly sweet smile. “You alright? You look like you’re having a conniption.”
His throat bobbed. “I uh—no—why would—”
I nodded. “Thought so. I’m guessing your special little guy here got into your secret stash and ate some of the leaves. He appears to be on the trip of his little snail life.” I was fighting hard not to laugh. The situation was ludicrous.
The guy slumped in his seat, pale. “You’re—you’re not going to turn me in, are you?” He dragged both hands through his dark hair, which left it sticking up at odd angles. “Oh snakes, they’re gonna take Squishy from me, aren’t they?” He dropped his head into his hands. “I’m an unfit snail father.”
A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. Who? I wanted to ask him. Who would
be coming to take away a grown man’s pet snail? And yes, technically growing a certain variety of magical plant was illegal, but really, who was I to judge? It was harmless… unless you were Squishy, apparently. Though even the extra-slow-moving snail would survive.
I cleared my throat, and the guy lifted his face, expression contorted in a grimace. “Please don’t call the police!”
I pressed my lips tight together to keep from snickering. Oh, I couldn’t wait to tell Will and Heidi about this one. Because yeah, I was sure the police would definitely get right on this urgent case of the high pet snail.
I folded my arms and gave him a hard look. “I should. I really should. But if you promise to keep a better eye on Squishy and never let it happen again, I’ll let it go—this once.”
I blinked in surprise as the guy lurched across the table and took one of my hands in both of his. “Oh. Thank the goddess.” He pressed his forehead to the table while Squishy continued to inch towards the edge, eyes blinking out of sync.
Ooh! Look at all the pretty colors!
I glanced up at the clock that partially hid the big crack that ran down the wall. 4:00 a.m. Sweet, sweet relief.
I pried my hand out of the guy’s grip and he looked up. I gave him a tight-lipped smile and flipped my palm up. “Glad to have been of service. Tips are encouraged.”
THE CLINIC
Minutes later, I fished my keys out of my jeans pocket and gritted my teeth as I strained to work the lock closed. I’d complained to my landlady, who had the delightful nickname “the dragon,” about it half a dozen times. She seemed to think the fact that I’d consistently been late on my rent (until recently when I started my police consulting gig) meant she could neglect fixing anything in my apartment.
She was right—there wasn’t much I could do. Except continue to complain to her about it, and if she thought that was going to let up, she greatly underestimated how annoying I could be.
The lock turned, and I rattled the door to double check it was secure. Peeling band posters and graffiti covered it. The optimist in me liked to think of it as an ever-changing work of public art. I curled my lip. Right.