He rubbed his chin. "Rings a bell. Probably trouble."
I snorted a laugh. "Without a doubt." I told him about our encounter and he frowned.
"Sounds like you better watch your back for a while."
I shrugged with one shoulder. "I'm not going to stop doing what I'm doing just because of a nosy bird shifter."
Tucker mimicked my shrug. "How'd you do?"
I set down my cola and dug into my pocket for the rings. "That was all I could get. The owners came home early."
Tucker took the rings and let out a low whistle. "Money don't buy taste."
I grabbed my cola and flopped onto the couch near the door. "Ain't that the truth. They're worth a bit though, yeah?" Just because I thought they were didn't mean they weren't worthless costume jewellery. I've been wrong before.
"Let's see." He placed them in a pile on his work table and put a loupe to his eye. His brow creased in concentration as he appraised the first one. Without a word, he put it aside and peered at the second one, then the third. Finally, he put the loupe back in its place on the table and turned to face me.
His expression was completely deadpan. I would hate to play poker against him. His face gave away nothing.
"So?" I asked, as if I wasn't concerned at all. "What's the verdict?"
"The jury finds you guilty of stealing diamonds to the value of three hundred thousand dollars," he said slowly.
I pumped the air with my fist.
"However," he grabbed his cross and pressed it to his lips as he did whenever he discussed felonies, "I'll take the stones out of the settings and melt the gold down. They're too easy to identify. The yellow diamond especially. That'll have to wait a while. I can fence the others easy."
Obviously he spent a lot of time with that cross pressed against his lips. He mentioned a couple of felonies in the matter of a few breaths.
"I'll try to choose more nondescript ones next time," I said. I resisted the urge to prop my feet on his coffee table. There was a line even I couldn't cross and boots on the table were it. To be honest, I wouldn't get away with bare feet on there. He might be the gentle giant type, but he'd toss me out on my ass if I made a mess of his place.
"Where's the fun in that?" He gave a lopsided smile. "A little bit of risk is good for the soul."
"A lot of risk is bad for getting thrown in prison," I pointed out.
"They'd have to catch me first." He wiggled his shaggy eyebrows. At least, I think that was what he was doing. They rose and fell once. It was a minimalist wiggle at best.
"That's true," I agreed. The cops came sniffing around here every few months, like they did with all the pawn shops in the city. Fair enough, I guess, given how unscrupulous people tended to steal valuables and pawn them off. Not Tucker though, the pawn side of things was one hundred percent above board. He wouldn't take anything without proof of ownership.
The fencing side of things, that was another story, but he was no less meticulous. If I brought him anything he couldn't move on within a week or two, he'd hand it back to me. That was the risk I took every time I came here.
"That reminds me." He stepped over to a safe, punched in a few numbers, then pressed his hand to a pad on the right hand side. It lit up and the safe clicked. It didn't look like much, but it was probably coded to accept only his kind of magic.
He swung open the door, reached inside and pulled out a sheet of paper. From there, he stepped to his computer and punched in a few keystrokes.
"There, transferred for the last lot," he said simply. He placed the paper into a shredder.
"Thanks, I appreciate it." I pulled out my phone and checked the balance of my account in the Caymans. A few taps of the screen and half a million dollars was distributed amongst several charities. They would find the large donations in their accounts in the morning.
The only thing I left for identification were the words, "The Cat." Hence the nickname, the cat burglar. Was I cocky in leaving any kind of tracks behind? Probably, but what hospital would turn down a hundred thousand dollars? Personally, I suspected the cops turned a blind eye, since it was obvious I never kept the money for myself.
Crazy? Sometimes I thought so, but I had skills I could use to help people. Did I do it the right way? Maybe not, but I did the best I could with what I had.
"Don't mention it." He pulled out the shredded paper, placed it in a metal can, and flicked a lighter to set it on fire. It only burnt for a minute or two before it went out. "So, are you going to hunt down this Rob guy?"
"Why?" I asked teasingly. "Are you jealous?"
Tucker raised an eyebrow a tiny bit. "I don't want to see you get into trouble."
"When do I ever get in trouble?" I asked.
"Marion May, you're a magnet for trouble," he replied. "You're also very good at ducking it, but you might not always be so lucky."
"I suppose you're right," I admitted, "but I'm curious about him. I get the impression he's been looking for me."
Tucker frowned deeply. "All the more reason to be careful. If he can find you, the cops can. Or he can lead them to you."
"Maybe I should have eaten him while I could," I muttered.
"I beg your pardon?" Tucker looked as though he wasn't sure if he should laugh or not.
I snorted. "Not like that." Although, that might not be so bad. "You know what they say anyway, know your enemy. If he is the enemy, I'd rather know now than later."
He nodded to concede the point to me. "Do you want me to tag along?"
I thought for a moment. "Not tonight. You should get started on those rings, in case trouble finds you instead."
"That might be best. You know where to find me if you want me." He did that minimalist eyebrow wiggle again and I smiled.
"Yes I do," I agreed. I could deny that Tucker was also a good looking guy, but I didn't want to screw up our friendship with complications like sex.
Three
Merry's was typical of any bar downtown. Judging by the ancient sign outside, it had once been called Merry Men. The second word had dropped or been scraped off. In its place was a clumsily painted apostrophe and an S.
"Name?" A giant of a man leaned against the wall beside the door, huge arms crossed over his chest. Humour shone in his warm, brown eyes.
I wondered if every part of him was huge. My eyes moved down toward his groin before I forced them back up to his face.
I swallowed and smiled sweetly. With any luck, the light here was low enough he couldn't see my blush. "Sorry, I seem to have misplaced my invitation. I'm sure I'm on your list somewhere." As if this dump had ever been discerning about its clientele.
He chuckled. "No doubt you are, but why would you want to come to a place like this?"
I shrugged. "I'm thirsty. A little birdie told me I could get a drinkable whisky and cola here."
At the mention of the bird, he straightened up a little and frowned. "Are you in trouble of some kind?"
Was he worried for me?
I gave him a smirk. "Do I look like the kind of person who would get herself into trouble?"
He snorted. "Yes. Yes you do. That's exactly what you look like. Trouble wrapped in leather, with boots made to kick someone's ass into next week."
I cocked my head at him. "You can tell all of that just by looking, huh?"
He mimicked my head tilt until his face was at the same angle as mine. "I'm a good judge of character." A smile tugged the corners of his mouth.
"And yet, you keep company with little birds."
He jerked upright then and I sensed I had pushed a bit too far. His tight voice proved me right.
"The little bird," he said through mostly closed lips and clenched teeth, "is a good man. If he offered you his help, he meant it."
"Boyfriend?" I asked without thinking. I winced mentally. The gods knew my mouth had gotten me in trouble plenty of times. One day, I might get into more than I could handle. I didn't think this was one of those times.
When the man paused, rel
axed his shoulders and let out a loud laugh, I knew I hadn't underestimated him. He laughed until he had to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.
"That's a good one," he said once he regained his breath. "Boyfriend. Wait until I tell him. He'll be rolling on the floor."
Before I could respond, he stuck out his hand. "Johnny. Johnny Little."
I took his hand and shook it. Mine felt tiny compared to him. "Little?" I asked with a smile.
He grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's ironic. It's my name though." He gave me a questioning look.
"Marion," I replied simply. Sometimes I used a fake name, like Jane or Julia, but tonight I felt as though I could trust this man and his bird. Well, as much as I could trust anyone. "Is he here? The bird, I mean."
Johnny shrugged. "Probably, but I can't be sure. He comes and goes at all sorts of hours. Come on in, I'll buy you a drink."
"Will the rest of the line mind?" I gestured toward the empty street. "People hate a queue jumper."
He rubbed his chin, as if this was a real concern. "I'm sure they'll make an exception for someone of your reputation."
"Oh?" I asked. "What reputation would that be?"
He opened the door and gestured for me to enter first. "I don't know, I don't read gossip magazines. Unless they're talking about the English royal family, then I'll read them."
I wasn't sure what to think. He didn't seem the type to be interested in things like that.
Before I could ask, he said, "I come from a long line of outlaws and scofflaws. My many times great grandfather once had a steamy liaison with a princess or queen or something. Who knows, I could be next in line for the throne." He gave me a wink.
I laughed. "You don't look like the type who would enjoy cutting ribbons on hospital wings, or swinging bottles against boats."
"Naw, waste of perfectly good champagne." He closed the door behind us.
The inside of Merry's was dark and smelled of stale beer and unwashed bodies. Everything in sight looked worn and well-used, but sturdy. The tables might have been in place for fifty years, but they'd survive another fifty.
The bar looked like it might have predated Henry the eighth. It would probably have held his weight though, and was long enough to fit him and some of his wives, along with their heads.
"Quiet night," Johnny said to the bar attendant.
She gave him a nod. "Yeah. Must be at 'ome watchin' the football." She brushed red hair off her forehead with her arm and gave me a nod. "What'll ya 'ave?"
"Whisky and cola please," I said politely.
"Beer, thanks Orla," Johnny said. "TV still broken?"
"Same story since 2013," Orla said. "Brian won't buy a new one, the cheap-ass. Says it's cursed."
I snorted softly. "Because it stopped working in 2013?"
Orla grimaced and nodded. "Aye. Stopped in the middle of the football, no less. To this day, he refuses to accept that Chelsea lost. Meanwhile I thought folk would tear the place apart. Ah, normals and their football."
"Right," Johnny said with a nod. "It's more fun playin' with paranormals."
I blinked a couple of times. "What do you mean paranormals?" I asked carefully.
Orla smirked. "Don't try to kid a kidder, love. I can smell a shifter a mile off. What are ya?" She sniffed in my direction. "You're not a dog, or a bird. Cat of some kind?"
"Something like that," I said vaguely. Even amongst shifters, there weren't many I could trust. Even though I sensed Johnny and Rob wouldn't betray me, I still wouldn't share too much with them until I was sure.
"Aye, well, watch yourself," Orla warned. "Nott's been lurking around again." She gave us a nod and moved down the bar to another customer.
"Nott?" I toyed with my straw for a while before I took a sip.
"Richard Nott," Johnny replied as if the name left a bad taste in his mouth. He washed it down with a gulp of beer before he added, "He's a cop. Some say he hates shifters. Some say he is one. Everyone agrees he's an asshole. I'm sure a law abiding lass such as yourself won't have any need to worry about him."
"I'm sure," I agreed. "What is his problem anyway? Why does he hate shifters?" That led me to another question, "What are you?"
He pulled out a stool and lowered himself onto it. "I'm not a shifter," he replied once he'd made himself comfortable. "I'm just a regular old wizard." He held out an arm. His tattoos glowed softly for a moment before they went back to looking like ordinary ink.
I nodded. There was nothing regular about any wizard. "I see."
"I thought you might," he replied. "What's your story? Why are you so jumpy about paranormals?"
I leaned against the bar. "My parents wanted me to be normal. They didn't tell me anything about shifting until I already did it. I scared the shit out of myself. One minute I'm a person, the next…"
"How old were you?" he asked gently.
"Ten," I replied. "They were so angry. They told me not to do it again, but I didn't know how I did it in the first place."
He nodded. "I've heard of some shifter folk doing that. It doesn't help them and it doesn't help you. Did anyone see?"
"No." I thanked whatever gods there might for that. "Just my mother." Her face had turned red and I thought her eyes might pop right out of her head.
Johnny looked sympathetic. "I was lucky my parents taught me everything they knew. That wasn't much, truthfully. My father was a wolf and my mother was a witch. The old gods only knew what I'd end up being. But then, when I made the ink come off the pages of the books they used to read, and come to life…"
He smiled. "They knew then. Let me tell you." He shook a thick finger. "Some of those kids’ books are downright dangerous. Lucky my magic only lasted a few minutes back then, or the world would be overrun by dogs named Spot and hungry caterpillars."
I laughed. "That must make reading hazardous."
"I don't do much of it," he admitted. "It's dangerous unless I can keep myself under control." He tapped a tattoo on his wrist. "This is supposed to help me contain things if they get out of hand. I don't want to try it, just in case."
He sighed loudly. "It's a shame, I always did love a good monster comic."
"No offence, but Godzilla loose on the streets of the city might be bad," I remarked.
"Just a bit. And it would draw the attention of Detective Asshole." He smiled, then added, "On the other hand, it might step on him."
I laughed. "This guy really pisses you off, doesn't he?"
"He—well, speak of the devil."
I assumed he didn't mean that literally. I followed his gaze to the door.
Even without a uniform, the man who stood in the doorway screamed cop. From the unimpressed look on his face, to his neat clothes which looked out of place here, he oozed authority. The kind I always had trouble with.
His dark hair was neatly cut. Piercing blue eyes surveyed the room. His lip curled up in a sneer.
"Detective," Orla greeted. She sounded polite, but something in her tone suggested she'd prefer to throw a drink at him than sell him one. "What can I get you?"
His eyes scanned the room. More than one patron squirmed in their seat. He settled on me for a moment. I held his gaze, not wavering for a moment. Just as I thought his gaze would slide away, he licked his lips.
I suppressed a shudder and looked away first.
He seemed amused by that. "Just a beer," he replied finally. His voice was deep, but low. I would bet he knew just how to pitch it to get what he wanted. He stepped up to the bar and pulled a wallet out of his back pocket.
Orla poured his drink and placed it in front of him. He paid and turned to give me a silent toast.
I nodded and gave him a cold smile before I looked away again. I had the horrible impression he was able to hear what I was thinking. That was impossible, no one could read minds. Maybe he was astute. And maybe I looked guilty as shit.
"I should get going," I muttered.
"He does have that effect on people," Johnny agreed, "but if you go now, he
'll wonder why. Trust me, you can't let him get to you. That's what he wants."
I glanced back at the detective. His eyes were on his beer, but he knew I watched him. I could tell by the way he held himself. He was handsome enough, for someone who creeped me out.
I shook my head and looked away. "Does he come in here often?"
"Only when he's looking for someone," Johnny replied. "It's his way of letting us know he's onto them. He can't do anything, of course, because being paranormal isn't illegal."
"How does he know who to look for?" I asked. I thought back to my meeting with Rob. He knew what I was, if not who. And then he told me I could find him here. I could have kicked myself for falling into such an obvious trap.
Johnny grabbed my arm before I could get off my stool. "I don't know what you're into, lass," he whispered, "but if you panic, he'll know."
"He might already." I shook his hand off my arm. "It seems your little birdie likes to sing."
Johnny looked startled. "He would never—"
"I know you believe that. I think otherwise." I pushed the rest of my drink away and stood. "Thanks, this was…interesting."
He hissed something at me, but I had already headed toward the door. I was about to step into the night air, when Rob appeared in the doorway.
"Hey there, what's the hurry?"
Four
He looked at me like he thought he recognised me from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place me.
I tried hard not to look him in the eyes. They might give everything away, including my traitorous body's response to his smell. Whatever he washed with, it mixed with his natural scent to create a heady perfume.
Damn.
"I have work in the morning," I muttered. I wanted to drag him outside and ask why he would trap another shifter. Okay, I wanted to drag him outside for other things too, but as far as I was concerned, he was the enemy.
I looked up at him and frowned. "Not that I have to explain myself to a complete stranger," I snapped.
"Um, of course not." At least he had the grace to look embarrassed. "We just don't get new faces around here often."
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