Night Shift Witch, #1

by Cate Lawley

  It was something else altogether to peek inside someone’s head without an invitation. Morally questionable, certainly. Someday I hoped it would be illegal.

  But to have a peek unintentionally? That reeked of utter incompetence. I didn’t want to be that incompetent twit Star who never lived up to her potential.

  Also, who wanted to see inside Alex Valois’s head? That had to be a dark place. Hard pass from me, thank you.

  “These little flashes of connection that you’ve been experiencing aren’t incidents. They’re opportunities. It might be invasive, but you should take the chance to practice when it presents itself. Besides, the universe might be speaking to you and trying to tell you something.”

  Camille and I obviously had very different ideas about witch sight. Hers was the more mainstream view.

  I snorted. “Do you really think I need to know Alex Valois’s innermost thoughts? Or that I need to know Ben Kawolski’s deep, dark secrets? I can’t imagine he even has any. Oh.” I snapped my fingers. “He shook my hand and I didn’t get any creepy vibes.”

  I was taking that as evidence that he might be a nice guy, but again, the jury was still out. It did prove that he was at least not the kind of guy who had obscene, violent, or otherwise unsavory thoughts within moments of meeting me.

  It was shocking how small the number of people were that I could include in that group. Witches tended to bring out the worst in people, I was fairly sure. Camille and I had talked about it before. It was that or there were a lot of icky people out there. Third alternative: the icky ones made a point of ensuring they made some sort of skin-to-skin contact. Yuck.

  Camille eyed me with curiosity. Understandably. It was always a pleasant surprise to not have a bad experience when touching an unenhanced person. “You’re sure he hasn’t got any magic?”

  Which was a legitimate question, because if he had magic he’d be able to shield his intentions.

  Also, I should have checked.

  I didn’t.

  My chipped black nail polish suddenly became utterly fascinating.

  “You didn’t check.” And that was Camille’s mom tone.

  Wow, did I need a manicure. I picked at the edges of the polish on my thumbnail.

  “Star, what were you thinking?”

  I looked up at the concern in her voice. She wasn’t chiding me, just really worried.

  “You’ve got to check first thing.” I nodded, and she continued. “If this guy—Ben?—if he has some latent talent, you can’t work with him. He might pick up on some magical spark. Or worse, what if he’s enhanced and just not registered with the Society? That’s twice as bad, because that means he’s probably shady.”

  I winced, because yeah, I got it. “I flubbed. Honestly, I was just super shocked he didn’t send me packing right away. You should have seen this guy, Camille. Bland suit, bland tie, precise haircut.”

  “Is he cute?”

  “Huh?” I heard her just fine, but I wanted a second to consider my response. At the time, I’d just thought he wasn’t my type. But then, my type hadn’t been working out so well for me.

  But no, he was all human, all the way. Or at least I thought he was. I’d be confirming tomorrow.

  And Ben Kawolski was not the sort of guy to react well to the whole “magic is real” situation, even if there wasn’t a logistical issue with the Society.

  “Attractive, Star. Did the man make your girly parts take notice?”

  I frowned at her. “I’ll check first thing when I meet him tomorrow—about whether he has magic or not. My girly parts are a nonissue. The man’s my boss, and like I said, the uptight sort.”

  Although…was he? His hair was uptight, but was the man?

  “I’ll even gaze into bland Ben’s innermost self and tell you what I see,” I said in an attempt to head her off when it looked like she was going to pursue the attractiveness angle—and then immediately felt bad for calling him bland.

  He seemed nice.

  Nice wasn’t bland. Nice was…nice. The handshake could have been a fluke, but I suspected not.

  And just because he wore a bland tie, well, if I was being fair, it was probably a requirement of the job. Grieving people probably weren’t into groovy or creative ties. They probably wanted the person who was responsible for handling their loved one’s remains to wear the most boring tie in existence. To look as respectable as possible. To blend into the dang wallpaper.

  “You thinking about bland Ben?” Camille said with a secretive little smile.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m thinking about having a look inside my boss’s head and how potentially awkward that could make my entire work experience. I’m sacrificing my future comfort in my workspace just for you.”

  Not really.

  I was actually curious what I’d find when I had a peek inside his head, and if my mentor said it was a good idea, then I’d put aside my moral objections for the purposes of learning.

  Just this once.

  She chuckled. “If you find out he’s a secret cat lover I’m gonna be laughing so hard I’m crying.”

  I glanced at Twinkles.

  He met my gaze then deliberately lifted his hind leg and proceeded to clean his balls.

  “You really should get that cat neutered, Camille.”

  Twinkles stopped his grooming just long enough to growl at me.

  While Camille chuckled at our antics, I thought about the fact that I’d have quit my newfound job if Ben turned out to have some latent magical talent.

  And also considered the promise I’d made Camille.

  I’d give my unpredictable sight a quick opportunity. One look into Ben’s eyes, and if I connected, I’d have a look.

  But that probably wouldn’t happen.

  Pretty sure what had happened today had just been a glitch.

  3

  Lessons Learned from Twinkles the Cat

  After I’d finished a glass and a half of wine, Camille announced, “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “You’re firing me as a mentee?” I replied, stretching my legs out on the sofa. Twinkles and I had reached a temporary truce, but I still kept my sock-clad toes well away from him. “You’ve decided to move to France. No more witch training for me,” I mock mourned.

  Twinkles thought that was just dandy, and he actually lifted his head from my leg long enough to smirk in my direction.

  “France sounds nice, but no. I doubt Twinkles would enjoy the plane ride, and the only French I know would get me arrested.”

  Twinkles had just settled back into a restful pose, when Camille said, “No, I’ve changed my mind about training this evening. You’re going to have a look inside Twinkles’ head.”

  That caught his attention.

  Mine, too.

  I wouldn’t exactly put my lack of desire to see inside Twinkles’ mind on a par with the twinge of horror I’d had at getting a glimpse inside Alex’s—but it was close.

  Twinkles and I coexisted. We did not enjoy one another’s company. Camille was well aware of the nature of our relationship, that we tolerated each other only because of our shared affection for her.

  “Bad plan.” I eyed the evil beastie with the cute exterior.

  For once, I was fairly sure that Twinkles’ smirk was indicative of agreement.

  “It’s perfect.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I know you both pretend not to like each other, but that’s irrelevant. Twinkles is a perfect subject. He’s more open than a human, so you’ll have less natural resistance.”

  “He’s a cat.” I felt ridiculous pointing out the obvious, but so far as I knew, witch sight only worked on humans. Born or made, enhanced or not, didn’t matter—but human.

  “A cat with an intimate, magical connection to a witch. You know what happens when cats—pets of any kind—live with us for any period of time.” She stood up with a cheerful smile. “Come on, now. It’ll be fun.”

  Twinkles and I shared a look, and again I felt that we were in agreemen
t. Neither of us thought much of Camille’s plan.

  But we went along.

  When it came down to the wire, I trusted Camille.

  Why Twinkles agreed? Maybe I’d find out.

  Camille planted me on a footstool across from the fluffy fiend and told me to open up my mind and look.

  I looked.

  Twinkles, still lounging on one end of the sofa, licked his paw and cleaned his face. At least he wasn’t focusing on his nether region; that would have been even more distracting.

  Regardless, I got nothing.

  “Open your mind, your magic. You have to look with more than your eyes.”

  I tried. Sort of.

  Camille sat next to Twinkles and rubbed his jaw. He purred happily, but I’d swear he was eyeing me from the corner of those big green eyes of his.

  “What do you think you’ll see?” Camille asked.

  “Um, in Twinkles’ head? A plan to rule the universe, minimally.”

  Twinkles purred louder, and I rolled my eyes. “Kidding, you furry freak.”

  This time he actually turned his head to give me the evil eye.

  “Be serious.” Camille’s voice was firm. She was losing patience with the two of us. Actually, as “special” as he might be, Twinkles was still basically a cat, so I’m sure her annoyance was aimed mostly at me.

  “Okay, in all seriousness. I suspect he’s concerned primarily with the cat basics: a soft bed, sunbathing, food, chasing flies, and petting.”

  He made a huffing noise when I mentioned chasing flies. Fair enough.

  “Correction: a soft bed, sunbathing, food, hunting flies and other insects, and petting.”

  The Great and Mighty Twinkles didn’t deign to acknowledge my concession, but he also didn’t make any more disgruntled noises.

  “That sounds about right,” Camille agreed. “Any of that seem frightening?”

  I scowled, because her implication was clear. I was blocked in using my sight, because I was fearful of what I’d see.

  I scowled even harder when I realized she was likely right. People kind of sucked. Skin-to-skin contact over the years since I’d become a witch had proven that.

  Much as I loved having an intuitive mentor who understood me, it could also be a serious downer when she pushed me in ways I found uncomfortable. Like now.

  “So,” she said softly, “are you ready to try again?”

  I caught Twinkles bright green gaze, and I looked. Truly looked.

  And with my eyes and magic open, I saw.

  Not surprisingly, I received confirmation that Twinkles was indeed a maniacal fiend.

  He was consumed by a lust for the perfect meal, followed closely by a desire to discover and exploit the perfect postprandial reclining spot. One that would ideally be secluded, soft, and bathed by the gentle rays of the afternoon sunlight.

  Less anticipated was his bent toward romanticizing his own needs and desires. I contained my mental eye roll, in case I’d lose the connection, and continued to observe.

  His only other concerns were the avoidance of all things resembling work and too much compliance with his human companion’s desires. Bad cat, but again, not surprising. As much affection as Camille had for him, hers was not a blind love. She was well aware her cat had a less-than-twinkling personality.

  When I’d trawled around enough to be comfortable that I hadn’t missed anything that I desired to know, I left.

  I intentionally left certain parts of Twinkles’ mind and his memories unexplored.

  For example, my existence within his head I treated as radioactive and avoided entirely.

  Our gazes magically unentangled, Twinkles stood, presented his butt to me, and sauntered away.

  “That cat,” I muttered.

  Camille laughed. “I’m under no illusions as to Twinkles’ true nature, but he’s good company.” She paused, then amended her statement. “He can be good company when he chooses. And he keeps my feet warm at night.”

  “As long as you’re happy.” Because I wasn’t touching her love and affection for that furry freak with anything that looked like criticism.

  She arched an eyebrow. The woman knew me too well. “Question.”

  “Yes?” I knew I was about to receive the true takeaway from this lesson. It hadn’t been just about practicing the mechanics of using my sight.

  “Were you bombarded by Twinkles’ thoughts and feelings, or did you navigate through the experience?”

  Obviously, she knew the answer. “I walked through what I wanted to see, avoiding what I didn’t. But I don’t think humans are quite that simple.”

  “No,” she agreed, “but you can do it.”

  Armed with my experience from the previous evening, I showed up at Kowalski’s Funeral Home the next evening ready to be trained for the job—but also ready to have a peek inside Ben Kowalski’s head should the opportunity present itself.

  At six fifty-seven p.m., I parked around the backside of the funeral home and headed for the service entrance. I didn’t have a key yet, but that wasn’t a problem because Ben opened up the back door as soon as I knocked.

  Once the door had closed behind us, I did the deed. First I checked that he wasn’t hiding some latent magical talent, because I wasn’t lacking in all sense, but then I did the deed.

  As he reached out his hand in greeting, I took it and met his gaze. I let myself fall…metaphorically. And, unlike with Twinkles—where I floated for an instant, gathered my intel, blinked, and then retreated—with Ben, I landed.

  I’d miscalculated by adding touch to the equation. Mental note to unpack that decision and its consequences some other time.

  For now, I was too busy…

  Sitting by a fire with my hands around a mug of peppermint hot chocolate.

  Cocooned in a quilt on a snowy Christmas day.

  Lying in bed, a down comforter tucked around me, with the sound of rain falling on the roof.

  Feeling my grandfather’s arms holding me close.

  Feeling like all the love in the world surrounded me.

  I dropped Ben’s hand and stepped back, looking anywhere but at the tall redhead in front of me.

  Ben was love and warmth and comfort, and I sort of wanted to cry right now.

  I tried to catch my breath, and I thought about unsentimental things, unloving things. Twinkles. Twinkles was perfect. I thought about that furry fiend and the looming tears receded.

  Maybe Ben, who was most definitely not bland, hadn’t felt any of that. I could only hope.

  “What was that?” Ben asked.

  No such luck. Looked like I hadn’t been the only one to feel our intense connection.

  Also, I was going to kick Camille in the shin next time I saw her. “Navigate the experience,” she’d said. Yeah, right. There was no navigating that rush of emotion.

  I gave Ben a confused look and shook my head.

  I tried to speak, hoping some glib explanation would magically fall from my lips, but there was a lump lodged in my throat. I swallowed with some difficulty and walked further into the room.

  So that was one question answered.

  That breath-catching moment of eye contact I’d had with my boss the day before…not a glitch.

  Ben cleared his throat, and I realized we weren’t alone in the room.

  He pointed me to a sheet-covered body. “I thought you could assist with Mr. Chalmers’ makeup. I don’t have a real talent for it, but since our previous makeup artist retired, I’ve been handling it.”

  I nodded.

  We’d discussed this in the interview. He was hopeful I’d be able to take over this particular task once I’d had some training. But also got the impression that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t lose my job. Just one more indication that Ben Kowalski was good people. As if my peek into his head hadn’t been enough of a clue.

  He pulled the sheet back. “May I introduce Mr. Chalmers, aged thirty-two, killed in a car accident.”

  He eyed me warily as I got my
first glimpse of Mr. Chalmers. Probably for signs I was going to pass out or puke. Not likely.

  But…

  Uh-oh.

  No way Mr. Chalmers was thirty-two.

  And he sure as heck hadn’t died in a car accident.

  What were the chances? My first dead body, and I’d stumbled onto an enhanced human. That was one in…a lot.

  I flipped the sheet back below his groin, certain I was mistaken.

  But no, no mistake. There were his creation tattoos, plain as day. I was looking at a very dead golem. That was bad news. Golems were hard to kill.

  I leaned closer and inspected his tats. There were small cuts along several of them. This wasn’t garden variety bad. No, this was the murdered variety of bad.

  Murder. Just peachy. How was that going to go down? A golem in a nonmagical funeral home that had been murdered. Body dump came to mind, because golems shouldn’t end up in normal, everyday human funeral homes.

  I stepped back from the body. “I need to call my boyfriend. Ah, my ex. I mean—” I pressed my lips together and took a breath, then looked up into Ben’s very confused face.

  He should be confused. I hadn’t been bothered by my supposed first body. Had in fact, stripped the sheet off him and examined the man’s junk—or near enough that it likely looked like I was.

  “Sure.” He spoke slowly, as if addressing a small child…or a lunatic. “You can use the phone in the office. It’s just around the corner.”

  Someday, I’d have to break down and spring for a mobile phone. After I moved into my own apartment.

  I hurried to Ben’s office and dialed Alex’s number. While Alex and I might no longer be an item and he drove me nuts on a personal level, I trusted him. Besides, this was his job. He was a Society enforcer.

  “Hello?”

  How a man could sound pissed off in one word, I didn’t know, but Alex managed it.

  “Alex, it’s Star. I’ve got a problem. I just started working at a funeral home.”

  “What? What in the world possessed you?” And now he’d gone from generally pissed to specifically pissed. He didn’t understand why I wouldn’t work for the Society or pimp out my witch skills.