by Erin Johnson
THE BIG FANG THEORY
ERIN JOHNSON
CONTENTS
Prequel Novella
1. The Competition
2. Murder
3. Polly Pierre
4. Twins
5. Suspects
6. Frank
7. Spilling the Tea
8. Rally
9. Boo! Hiss!
10. Chaos at the Castle
11. The Royal Bakery
12. Shifter Secrets
13. Cat
14. Teaming Up
15. The Door
16. Missing
17. The Clinic
18. Parting Ways
19. The Lair
20. Villains
21. Missing Snake
22. Police Station
23. Tonya
24. Elin
25. Lorenzo
26. Mimi Moulin
27. Sourdough
28. Vince Dupont
29. Neo and the boys
30. A Cure
31. Inspiration
32. The Teacup
33. McCray
34. An Accusation
35. The Plan
36. Ludolf Caterwaul
37. A Red Heron
38. Sam
39. Starters and Enders
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Get the FREE Prequel Novella
A magical academy. A suspicious death. Can an inexperienced cop expose the deadly secrets lurking behind bewitched classroom doors?
Check out rookie officer Peter Flint’s first case with Daisy. Saved by the Spell is the prequel to the Magic Market paranormal cozy mystery series.
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THE COMPETITION
I groaned and thunked my head against my boyfriend, Peter’s, back. It was the only thing keeping me from collapsing from exhaustion.
His body rumbled with a deep chuckle. “You okay back there?”
“Oh. Just dandy.” My voice came out muffled as I buried my face in his uniform jacket. Even the quad shot of espresso in my Americano couldn’t make up for my lack of sleep. I gripped the half empty cup and took a deep whiff. Coffee, give me strength.
I’d been up all night, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for me, given I was a night owl—literally, since I was an owl shifter. The difference was that I’d actually tried to sleep, in anticipation of attending the royal baking competition this morning.
Adding insult to injury, Peter had snored happily beside me all night. Normally, I found my cop boyfriend a delightful mix of boyish good looks and innocence wrapped up in a sexy, broad-shouldered package. But that peaceful face, blissfully snoozing beside me while I’d struggled to get comfortable, much less sleep, had left me outraged. I’d tossed and turned and eventually taken to pacing around the apartment, huffing.
I groaned. “Who has a baking competition in the middle of the day, anyway?” I lifted my aching head and glared up at the bright sun. It peeked through the chilly gray haze that still hung low over the island and the sea.
Peter chuckled again. “Bakers are known for their early hours.”
I curled my lip and crossed my arms. “Well, it’s a crabby policy.”
Daisy, Peter’s German shepherd police partner, turned to look at me and bared her pointy, white teeth. Her normally shiny, tawny-and-black fur was matted in places, ruffled in others. She growled at me. You kept me up. Her growl deepened, menacing. All night.
A few people walked past us toward the bleachers and gave us a wide berth.
I waited till they were out of earshot, then arched a brow and woofed back at Daisy.
Do you know how many times you’ve woken me up, whining and twitching and doing this high-pitched barking thing because you were chasing bunnies in your sleep?
I’d been cursed a few years ago and lost my magical powers, the ability to shift into an owl, and my career as a lawyer. But hey—as an unintended side effect, I could now speak with animals.
I frowned—I should probably have a tee made up. I Was Cursed And All I Got Was This Stupid Ability To Exchange Insults With Dogs.
Daisy huffed and turned away, shooting me some serious side eye. At least I look adorable doing it. You looked like a madwoman, pacing and grumbling to yourself at all hours.
I coughed out a dry laugh, then woofed. “Ha!” At least I don’t have a major case of bed head.
She narrowed her dark eyes and growled again.
Peter looked between us, his brows pinched in concern. “You ladies okay?”
I gave him a double thumbs-up. “Peachy.”
Daisy, enchanted to sniff out lies, growled. Liar.
Peter shot me a sympathetic smile, then turned and slid an arm around me. “Come on. Let’s go find Madeline.”
I groaned but let him lead me across the lush royal lawn behind the bleachers. We came around the side of the crowded risers, which resounded with the excited chatter of the spectators. I squinted through one eye up at the crowd. Somewhere nearby, the prince and princess and Sam Snakeman were sitting with Madeline L’Orange, my reporter friend, and with her help, I’d be speaking with them soon. I just wished I didn’t feel like something the tide had washed in.
With effort, I straightened my spine and took a bracing sip of my coffee. I followed Peter toward the big white tent—the center of everyone’s attention. Three tall peaks rose into the sky, and the white fabric, gathered at the corners, flapped and snapped in the sea breeze. The long front side of the tent was open so that the audience could see all the frantic activity inside.
Bakers decked out in white aprons bustled about, some stirring bowls or reading recipes at the dozen or so butcher block stations. Others scrambled in between them, running to the wall of pantry shelves at the right side of the tent or rushing back from it with arms laden with jars of flour and bowls of eggs. Still others rooted around in the lush garden behind the tent.
I shook my head and winced, immediately wishing I hadn’t. “How do they have so much energy?”
Peter gently nudged me and winked. “Finish that coffee and you will, too.”
I could only hope.
“There’s Madeline.”
I looked up. Peter waved to our journalist friend, who stood beside her photographer on the lawn directly in front of the tent. He caught her eye, and she grinned and held up a finger. She pointed at the bakers, directing the guy with the camera, then strode over to us, her long black hair blowing in the early morning breeze.
“You’re late.”
I shot her a flat look. “Late? It’s inhumanely early.” We’d have been on time, but Peter had struggled to make me get dressed and then drag me downstairs to the little cafe at the bottom of his apartment building. I’d had to take several breaks to sit on benches along the way up to the top of the mountain.
She flashed me a bright smile and waggled her brows. “You ready? You’re about to talk to royalty.”
“Never been readier.” I looked at her more closely, suddenly suspicious. “How are you so chipper?” She was usually a night owl like me—or at least, I’d thought so.
She scoffed and waved a hand. “Oh, I’m used to no sleep. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” She winked.
Daisy bared her teeth at Madeline and growled. She’s so loud. Should I bite her?
I considered it, then let out a low woof that was muffled by the noise of the crowd and the caw of seagulls circling overhead. Good thought, but nah. We need her.
Daisy, ears flat, plunked her tawny haunches down on the soft grass, barely able to keep her eyes
open. Peter leaned over and ruffled the fur on her head. She didn’t even respond.
I sighed and scrubbed the side of my face, then glared at the frantic activity in the baking tent. Already yeasty smells wafted my way. “Are we really that late? When did this start?”
Madeline turned and stood beside me, all four of us watching the aproned competitors bustling about.
“About twenty minutes ago.” Madeline shrugged. “Unless you mean the whole thing? This is day three of the competition—we’ve got two more to go until they announce the winners.”
I recognized the two celebrity judges—Francis, a vampire, and Rhonda the Seer—moving about among the bakers. They were popular figures in the kingdoms—the last vampire and his charismatic psychic girlfriend. Rhonda sported overalls and stopped to peek under a towel at one station, then stuck her finger in a pot of jam and sneaked a taste.
Her boyfriend, Francis, floated beside her, his toes dangling above the ground. Tall, thin, and pale, the vampire looked morose beside the bright-eyed, skipping Rhonda. I felt a kinship with the creature of the night.
A servant in blue-and-gold palace livery moved among the contestants with a tea pot and a stack of teacups magically hovering beside him. He stopped at one station to pour out a cup of tea while a couple of cubes of sugar magically lifted out of the bowl beside him and dropped into the cup with a little splash.
The servant moved on to the next table, and I took another sip of my bitter coffee, then crossed my arms, trying to warm myself in the chilly fall air. “Didn’t they do this whole thing like a year ago?”
Madeline nodded, her eyes still fixed intently on the activity in the tent. “Pretty much. But the bakers, including Princess Imogen and Prince Hank, have since opened their own bakery in the Badlands. Oop.” She winced and corrected herself. “Not the correct term anymore—on Kusuri Island. The staff Queen Edith brought in to replace them turned out to be racist sea slugs who wouldn’t work with shifters.” She shrugged. “So they’ve all been canned.”
She grinned. “With Sam Snakeman campaigning for shifter rights, royalty figured it’d be fitting to find their replacements with another competition.”
I took another sip of coffee. One woman with long blue hair frantically kneaded a ball of dough, while a trio argued over the proper way to knead. At least I guessed that was what all the raised voices and slapping the dough on the table was about.
“So are all these people shifters?” It surprised me that they’d be so open about it. While I liked the changes Sam Snakeman was pushing for, acceptance of shifters still felt a long way off.
Madeline snorted. “We’re not that far along, honey. But I believe they’ve all made statements supporting the rights of shifters to work in their kitchens. Since the palace bakery needs a whole new staff, this time the competition involves teams of three.” She flashed her eyes at me, grinning. “So who knows? Maybe there are a few shifters among them.”
I pulled my lips to the side. That would be the sea’s knees, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath. I blew out a sigh, then turned to face the bleachers. There had to be hundreds of people gathered to watch the competition. Madeline and Peter turned with me, and the journalist pointed to the top of the gold risers. “That’s Princess Imogen with the red hair.”
I recognized the bun and the bangs from the tabloids—including Madeline’s articles—with the photos that caught the princess making unflattering expressions and pondered if she’d been eating too many of her own rum balls. I was sure the princess just loved that. I glanced at the reporter and wondered if her friendship with the royals was as tight as she claimed.
“Beside her is Prince Harry, of course.”
The two held hands and chatted with their heads close together. The handsome prince smirked, and his princess threw her head back and laughed. I guessed that was her famous baking fire burning in the lantern that sat beside her hip. The little flame munched on a stick and spat out ashes onto the head of the lady who sat in front of him.
Madeline waved her hand. “A bunch of their friends are up there, but that guy, with the glasses and no chin—”
I followed her finger and spotted Sam Snakeman.
“That’s Sam.” She tipped her head side to side. “He’s shy though, so I’m going to introduce you to Imogen first.”
I raised a brow at that. Imogen, huh? No “princess”? I sighed and nodded. I sure hoped Madeline wasn’t just full of hot air. We were counting on her making the introduction so Peter and I could tell them all about Ludolf Caterwaul. We were hoping they’d believe us about the underground shifter population that lived in the sewers and about Ludolf, who bullied our community like a true mob boss.
He’d been masterful for decades at carrying out his dastardly deeds in secrecy, distancing himself from his crimes by having layers of underlings who would take the fall for him. We’d finally managed to find a crime we could pin on him, but we needed the royals’ help.
Peter, Daisy, and I had recently freed a bunch of shifters trapped in their animal forms from a zoo. They were currently destroying my old apartment, with my friend Heidi watching over them all, until we could figure out a way to turn them back to their human forms.
Ludolf had created the potions that had trapped them, and only he had the key to changing them back. With my ability to speak to animals, I’d chatted with all of them and knew they’d be willing to testify against him. But we’d need to change them back, otherwise it’d just be my word that these were shifters and not just regular animals. And no one would believe me—they’d see me as a disgraced shifter who claimed to be a pet psychic.
I gulped, my throat dry. None of our efforts would mean anything, though, unless we got the backing of the royalty. Ludolf had straight-up told me he owned the police, the judges, and the politicians on our magical island. So even if we managed to arrest him and change the shifters back, we needed a guarantee that he’d be prosecuted fairly.
I stared at the laughing princess. That’s where she came in. With their vows to fight for shifter rights, Sam, Princess Imogen, and Prince Harry were the only people in power we might be able to trust to bring Ludolf to justice.
I squared my shoulders. I had to make them believe us. I threw my head back, chugged the rest of my coffee, then gave Madeline a firm look. “Let’s do this.”
She smirked. “We’re going to have a chat at a baking competition, not storm the castle.” She winked. “Relax, honey.”
I blew out a shaky breath. Easy for her to say. Aside from my desire for justice, my whole life was riding on this. I was one of Ludolf’s test subjects in his grotesque mission to create a “cure” for being a shifter. And if we didn’t stop him soon, I’d end up like those other trapped shifters… or worse.
Peter’s big warm hand wrapped around mine and gave me a gentle squeeze. I glanced back, and his big blue eyes sparkled. “We’ve got this.”
The tightness in my chest relaxed a bit, and I took an easier breath, then nodded and squeezed his hand back. “Yeah, we do.”
Daisy whined, her head tipped to the side. Partial truth—not sure even you believe it.
Peter glanced at her, then at me, his brows slightly pinched.
I shot the dog a flat look. Not the best time for her truth-sniffing powers to be calling me out.
Madeline clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on.”
The reporter led the way up the side of the bleachers toward the palace guards who blocked the royal row with their long golden lances. We’d made it halfway up when a shriek sounded from behind us.
I startled, then whirled around.
Another scream sounded, then another—they were coming from the baking tent. People in the bleachers rose from their seats, straining to get a look. Peter drew his wand and pulled me behind him.
White-clad medics dashed through the tent, shoving through the gawking bakers. All other activity ceased. They gathered around a red-haired woman who’d collapsed on the ground, convulsing. T
wo girls in their twenties stood nearby, one wailing, the other staring, stricken. Even as the medics drew their wands, the red-haired woman grew deathly still, foam pouring from her mouth.
Lights flashed from the ends of the medics’ wands as they tried spell after spell. Still, the woman didn’t move, and Madeline and I exchanged wide-eyed looks. Finally, the taller medic rose and murmured something to the two girls. The wailing one threw her head back and moaned, loud enough for us to hear in the stunned silence, “She’s dead?!”
Gasps sounded among the audience.
“Seriously?!” A woman with short white hair dressed in a stylish white jumpsuit stood beside the tent, clipboard in hand, wearing an earpiece. It looked to me like she was involved in coordinating the event. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Not again.”
MURDER
After making sure I was alright, Peter and Daisy immediately flew into action, sending up the police signal to call for backup, cordoning off the tent, and preventing the witnesses in the stands from leaving. Madeline and I stayed standing halfway up the bleachers, close enough to the royals to eavesdrop.
Princess Imogen bent her head close to her husband and their friends, deep in hushed conversation.
Her magical flame cackled in his lantern. “Well, at least this time we know you didn’t kill anyone, Imogen.”
She flashed her eyes at him. “Somebody died, Iggy. So not the time.”
I shot a confused look at Madeline, who smirked. She leaned close and dropped her voice. There was a shocked hush still over the audience so that sobbing from the tent could be heard. “At the last baking competition, one of the contestants died and Imogen was a top suspect.”
I frowned. “Oh yeah, I remember reading about that.” I arched a brow. “She didn’t do it, did she?”
Madeline just chuckled as a reply, and I shot the princess a doubtful look. Who were we getting into cahoots with? Then again, who else could we turn to for help? My stomach tightened with nerves, and I nudged Madeline. “Should we try to talk to them now?” What if we were missing our chance?
