He cracked the seal on the box. “That’s odd,” he said with a sniff. “There’s still a full dozen in here. Normally you would have snuck into the break room already and helped yourself to at least one.” It was not an inaccurate statement. “Something’s got you rattled.”
“I had kind of a strange encounter in the woods on my way to work.”
“A strange encounter in the woods. That reminds me.” He waved one finger in the air. “We need to have a serious talk about the Little Red Riding Hood mural in the children’s reading nook. Perhaps later.” He waved for me to continue. “What happened in the woods?”
“First, my father was following me.”
Frank nodded. “That’s disconcerting, considering how complicated things are with you two.”
“I know, right? He thought he was being so sneaky, but I knew something was up. I swear he forgets I’m a witch. So I called him out, and then, get this, I cast a spell to keep him locked in fox form. He had to keep his big mouth shut the whole time, while I read him the riot act without interruption.”
Frank frowned. “You cast a form-locking spell on a shifter?” He shook his head and made a tsk-tsk sound. “Zara Riddle, consider our friendship over.”
“Frank.” I raised my eyebrows. “It was my father. The one who left me for dead.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head and tsk-tsked again. “This is exactly why shifters and witches don’t get along.”
“But you and I get along.”
“Only because you haven’t cast a form-locking spell on me.” He gave me a dirty look. “Yet.”
“And I won’t. The only spells I’ve ever cast on you have been the exact opposite. I try to calm you down when you get overexcited, Frank. This break room would be covered in pink flamingo feathers if it wasn’t for me.”
He pursed his lips tightly, so that his whole face had an accusing point to it.
“It was my faaaather,” I said. My voice sounded petulant, even to my own ears. As I heard myself, I realized I shouldn’t have cast that spell, satisfying though it was.
Frank’s pointy face continued accusing me.
“I screwed up,” I said meekly.
“Why are you telling me about this, anyway? Are you looking for some kind of absolution?”
“What?”
“Zara Riddle, I love you like I love a firm pillow and a silk sleeping mask, but I am not going to lie and say it’s okay for you witches to do whatever you want to other people, shifters or otherwise.”
I cleared my throat and swished my hand between us, as though manually trying to clear the air. A spray of magic sparkled out of my fingers inadvertently. The spell did clear the air. The smell that had been wafting up from the box of cinnamon buns was now gone.
“Point taken,” I said. “I hear you, and I understand what I did wrong. I appreciate you taking the time to point it out to me. I’m sorry.”
Frank crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “You said first. First, your father was following you. Then what?”
“Oh.” I flicked out my fingertips in a wait-for-it gesture. “The thing with my father was just the lead-up to what happened next.”
“Did you turn someone into a horse and demand a ride to work?” He batted his eyelashes. “Don’t make me report you to the PTB.”
My jaw dropped. “The PTB? Who the heck is the PTB? Is there some new secret organization in town?”
He flashed his bright teeth in a crooked grin. “PTB stands for the Powers That Be. It’s a joke.” His expression grew serious. “You really are rattled about something.”
“Yes. After I finished with my father, there was another fox. A black one. He or she knew Rhys, and they put words in my mind. Psychically. The shifter was psychic.”
“No, they weren’t.”
“Yes, they were.” I explained the exact exchange, and how Black Fox had seemed surprised at our psychic communication.
“Then it must not have been a shifter,” Frank said when I’d finished. “Shifters aren’t psychic.”
“Then how do you communicate with each other in shifter form? Most of you can’t talk that way.”
He shrugged.
I pressed on. “Frank, when you’re flying around with Rob and Knox, how do you keep from crashing into each other?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It’s a shifter thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
He took a deep breath, turned to the counter, and used a pair of tongs to transfer a cinnamon roll from the white bakery box to a plate. He then proceeded to lick the icing off the stubby silver tongs.
“Classy,” I said flatly. “It’s so much more hygienic to do that with the tongs than with your fingers.”
“Waste not, want not.” He narrowed his small, hooded eyes at me. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m going to wash the tongs when I’m done.” He turned on the water at the sink.
“You’re so gross.”
“Don’t be cranky. I’ll hurry so you can get your cinnamon bun, too.”
“No need.” I levitated a cinnamon bun from the box and floated it onto a plate. “Being a witch means you don’t need tongs, or oven mitts, or—”
He cut me off with an imitation of me, in a high-pitched voice, “Being a witch means you don’t need tongs, or oven mitts, or blah blah blah, because being a witch is the greatest!”
I put my hands on my hips. “Don’t make me use my fireballs on you. I will ruin your day, Frank Wonder.”
Frank finished cleaning the tongs, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully while he left the water running. “I wonder if it’s true, what they say about witches melting if you get them wet.” He used the sprayer attachment to direct the water my way.
I easily shielded the move with a wave of magic and tossed the water right back at him, soaking his corduroy shirt and paisley trousers.
He made a flamingo-like squawk of indignation.
I snorted.
“I regret nothing,” he said. “Except not bringing a change of clothes.”
“Tell me more about your secret shifter-communication powers, and I’ll dry your pants with a spell.”
“Deal.” He held out his arms and grimaced as though bracing himself for a high-powered fan, which wasn’t how the spell worked all.
“You’re dry,” I said casually.
He opened one eye and then the other. “Not bad.” He patted himself. “A little shrinkage.”
I snorted. “Your pants aren’t shrinking. If you think they are, that’s an issue you might want to take up with the cinnamon buns.”
He gasped in mock horror.
I waved my hand impatiently. “Tell me about your communication magic.”
“Try not to be disappointed. Honestly, it’s not that fancy. You know how when it gets busy here, we can have as many as five people working the circulation desk, scrambling in every direction, and we don’t bump into each other?”
It rarely got that busy at the Wisteria Public Library, but I nodded to show I got his point.
“It’s like that,” he said. “There’s a rhythm. A knowing. You just know each other’s intentions and movements, without having to verbalize.”
“But you could verbalize into each other’s minds if you needed to, right?”
He scrunched his face. “Not like your pet dragon.”
“He’s a wyvern, and he’s not my pet. If he knew you’d said that, he’d go on a long rant about eviscerating you.”
“Either way, he’s the one you should be asking about this.” Frank finished his pastry, licked his fingers, and washed his hands. “If you want, I can ask around about black foxes. Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Rob. He’s such a gossip.”
I raised an eyebrow. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
Frank said, “But Knox knows how to keep things quiet. I can ask him.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather keep this betwee
n the two of us for now.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Because you don’t want anyone to know your father’s in town?”
I pretended to be deeply interested in my cinnamon roll, which wasn’t difficult. It was both heavy and light at the same time, in that magical way of cinnamon buns, thanks to a practically illegal amount of butter baked in.
“Forget I brought it up,” I said. “I was probably on edge this morning from dealing with my father. I must have imagined the fox was talking to me.”
“It might have been a regular fox that you made talk with one of your spells. Poor creature. Nasty witch magic takes another innocent victim.”
I didn’t like where the conversation was going. In an upbeat tone, I asked, “How are things with your sister, Bellatrix?”
“Oh, good.” He lolled his head from side to side. “We took some flights together. Everything’s changing. Before, she was just my sister. And now, she’s... I don’t know how to explain it.”
I took another bite and waited for Frank to gather his thoughts. In the silence, I felt a warm wave of gratitude. Despite the stories about witches and shifters being natural enemies, my coworker and I had clicked from the start. We had our tiffs, but I was thankful to have him as a friend, and as a second conscience.
He finally finished his thought. “Bellatrix was always my sister, but now she’s a person.”
“When you found out your sister could turn into a swan, she finally became a person to you?”
“See, I told you I couldn’t explain it right.”
I waved my hand. “No, no. It’s wrong of me to judge. I don’t have any siblings, so I wouldn’t know. But I do understand that us supernatural folk have a lot more going on than what’s visible on the surface.”
He nodded. “We sure do.”
We chatted about life while I finished my cinnamon bun. Frank headed to the door, and I asked him to cover me for a few minutes while I made a phone call.
“Don’t be long,” he said. “It looks positively frantic out there again. We have a line forming.”
“A line?”
He grinned. “Two people qualifies as a line, right?” He winked and left the break room.
I grabbed my phone and put in a call to my other main shifter resource, my neighbor, Chet Moore.
A female voice answered. “Yes?”
I assumed it was Chet’s fiancée, Chessa. My stomach threatened to reject its recently-acquired cinnamon bun. I swallowed hard and lied, “Chessa! How lovely to hear your voice.”
“You don’t have to lie,” came a playful reply. “It’s Charlize. The less terrifying, more fun sister.”
I exhaled in relief, then asked, “What are you doing with Chet’s phone? Is everything okay?”
“Uh... I can’t talk right now. In the middle of something. How about lunch? I’ll pick you up. My treat.”
“Oh, Charlize. I could never say no to you, or free lunch.”
“Figured as much.”
“Parking’s tight mid-day, so you can text me when you get close.”
She made a hissing sound. I pictured the blonde gorgon’s hair snakes doing their excited dance. “I’ll do ssssssomething better than text you.”
“Please don’t honk,” I said with a groan. “When people honk, everyone in the library looks up and scowls at whoever’s heading for the door. It’s so obvious.”
“I won’t honk,” she said. “You’ll ssssssee.”
We confirmed the time and said goodbye. As I was putting my phone away, the door to the break room opened quickly. Frank ran in, chest heaving in his tight corduroy shirt.
“The fox,” he said breathlessly. “The fox is here. In the library!”
“My father?” I shook my head. “I knew it. This morning was way too easy.”
“Not your father,” Frank said. “The other one. The black fox. See for yourself.” He waved me over to peer through the door.
I looked through the crack. I saw the head librarian, Kathy Carmichael, chatting with one of our regulars. It was Harry Blackstone, the man I’d seen on my way in that morning. He didn’t see me, but he did remove his hat and run his hand over his hair.
His black, bushy, shiny hair.
I pulled back, closed the door, and whirled to face Frank. When I’d told Frank about my strange encounter in the woods, I hadn’t mentioned I’d also seen Harry just moments before.
“How did you know?” I asked, almost as breathless as Frank had been.
“He has a fox on his key chain,” Frank said. “I saw it when he was digging around for money to pay an overdue fee. Plus, look at his hair. No man over fifty has that much hair.”
My excitement faded. “That’s certainly something, but it’s not exactly a smoking gun. You didn’t happen to see him shift, did you?”
Frank looked me dead in the eyes. “He tapped the key chain with the fox on the counter, gave me a knowing look, and asked if I’d seen any unusual birds flying around the town lately.”
“Okay.” I nodded slowly. We were getting somewhere. Supernaturals could be very subtle, speaking in code to each other before proper introductions had been made.
“Also, he asked to see you. He asked for you by name.”
“He asked for me by name,” I repeated. “And his name is Harry Blackstone.” I grimaced. “Blackstone, for a black fox. It’s a bit obvious, don’t you think?”
Frank shrugged. “I have pink hair. My sister has weird chicken feet.”
He had a point. Magic had a mind of its own, and a warped sense of humor.
I went out to see what the man wanted.
Chapter 4
Harry Blackstone fidgeted with his floppy hat, putting it on his head when he saw me approaching, then yanking it off, folding it into a triangular shape, and tucking it into his jacket pocket.
I looked at his thick, bushy black hair and compared it with my memory of the black fox in the woods. Shifters in human form didn’t always resemble their animal counterparts, but, once you knew, there was always a detail or two that matched perfectly, such as my father’s gold-green eyes. Harry’s hair was as black and full as the fox’s, and yet not as silky or well organized. Still, it was close enough for me to make the same assumption Frank had, and connect the two.
“Zara Riddle,” he said warmly. “I warned you I’d be seeing you soon.”
“It’s always nice when you drop in, Mr. Blackstone. I mean Harry. Did you have fun at the park this morning?”
“I did.” His big, brown eyes roved left and right continuously, taking in the environment. “Until that racket with a certain red-haired fellow that you and I both know.”
“Oh?” I decided to play dumb. “And who would that be, this mutual acquaintance of ours?”
He continued on as though I hadn’t asked a question. “For a while, I didn’t know you were Rhys Quarry’s daughter.” His brows dropped limply, shadowing his big eyes as they slowed. “For a while, I didn’t know much of anything. I was very ill.”
“But you’re better now, right?”
“Thanks to Ankh’s serum, but it won’t last.”
Ankh’s serum. He was talking about the good doctor’s simulated plasma, the one that both my vampire mother and my vampire boyfriend were taking so they wouldn’t need to eat people. I shouldn’t have been too surprised. My neighbor Don Moore had been taking it as well, and it was reversing his memory issues.
Ankh’s Special Magic Blood Serum. It cures what ails you! You’ve never seen anything work like this, not even genuine Omega-rich snake oil. Why, it slices, it dices, it keeps you from forgetting your own name. Say goodbye to mindlessly snacking on friends and family like a zombie. Say hello to a Whole New You!
Harry was staring at me expectantly. He’d been saying something about his recovery, but my mind had wandered. It did that sometimes.
For lack of a better idea about how to proceed, I reached across the circulation desk counter and offered him my hand. “Consider this our formal in
troduction. Since you know my father, you must know all about me.”
It was awkward to shake hands over the high counter, so Harry squeezed my fingertips in lieu of a full shake.
“And Rhys must have told you all about me,” he said. “And what I can do.”
“You might think that, but my father and I don’t exactly...” I trailed off, aware of a person lingering nearby, moving in the holding-pattern sequence of small, insignificant movements that betrayed the person’s true intention of eavesdropping.
It was the head librarian, Kathy Carmichael. Since she’d revealed her powers on the previous Monday, she’d been hovering and lingering more than usual.
Kathy wasn’t a gossip hound, really. She wasn’t any type of hound. She was a sprite, with an insanely long retractable tongue that would make an African anteater jealous. She was older than me, yet she acted like a pesky tag-along little sister who didn’t want to be left out of any interesting developments, magical or otherwise.
I liked and respected Kathy, but I still didn’t want her listening to my conversation with my father’s associate. How could I get rid of my nosy boss? A non-magical solution came to me immediately.
I turned to the head librarian and said casually, “Frank cracked open that box of cinnamon buns. Isn’t it about time for your break?”
She hooted excitedly, and skipped toward the break room.
Like shooting fish in a barrel.
I turned back to Harry Blackstone and said, “Thanks for helping my father this morning in the woods so I didn’t have to.”
“Oh, I didn’t do much. By the time I got there, they’d already gotten away.”
“They? Is there a whole pack of you folks?”
His brow wrinkled as he looked down at his keys on the counter. There was a fox pendant on the key chain, just like Frank had said.
“A whole pack of us folks,” he said slowly, as though confused. “I, uh, it might be time for me to take my medicine.” He looked up at me, then through me, his eyes dazing out of focus. “I get a little tired sometimes.” He thumped his chest twice with his fist while clearing his throat. “Plus, I believe something in my diet is giving me heartburn. The peppers, maybe.”
Wishful Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 3) Page 2