Deadline

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Suddenly, the larger implications of his offer struck me. “Wait. You would offer me a position as your witch. But I’ve been called a witchling more these past few days than in my entire life. I’m nowhere near as powerful as Isai, nowhere near as powerful as any number of witches you could find a stone’s throw from your office door. Why would you want me?”

  Anton smoothed a hand down the lapel of his suit jacket underneath the cloak. “You have turned down the job. I’m not sure I see that this is relevant.”

  “The vampire does nothing on a whim. If he brought this woman into his life, he has a reason. She is more than she appears.”

  Flint’s words came back, twisting something in my stomach until nausea spiraled up my throat. Hiring a less-than-experienced PI was one thing. Offering me a job as his personal witch was another. Flint was right. The vampire had a plan I couldn’t see. A plan that involved me.

  “Why did you hire me?” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for keeping my voice from cracking.

  “I already told you why the first time you asked that question.” Anton’s voice was calm and patient, a parent explaining something simple to a small child. “When I became aware of Mrs. Miller’s absence and likely demise, you were already investigating. It seemed logical to—”

  “I’d just started,” I countered. “I knew next to nothing. You could have gotten someone much more experienced than me. And with the severity of the consequences…” I straightened my spine, trying to muster all the dignity I could while staring at his forehead. “Mother Hazel says you never do anything without a reason. Why did you hire me to find the thief? Why do you want to hire me as your witch?”

  Something flickered behind Anton’s eyes, but it vanished before I could get up the nerve to look into his gaze to analyze it.

  “If I may,” he said, “I will paraphrase an…old friend of mine. I cannot see the future, I do not know for certain what will happen. But let us say I suspect you will do…interesting things. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  Frustration pulled my hands into fists, and I almost forgot myself and looked into his eyes. “I think you know a lot more than you’re telling me. What is it you think I’ll do?”

  Anton didn’t answer, just stepped to the edge of the porch. “Keep following your path, Mother Renard. We will meet again.”

  “What was in that vault?” I demanded. My heart pounded faster. “Who was in that vault?”

  He took one step off the porch and vanished.

  I glared up at the roof of my porch, certain that if I’d looked a moment ago, I’d have seen the gateway gargoyle.

  I was still glaring when headlights swept over my driveway, gravel crunching as a car pulled up to my garage.

  “I’m getting no peace tonight,” I muttered. I tried to shake off the unease the vampire’s visit had left me with, straining to pull my face into something that might resemble welcome. Then I saw who was behind the wheel and my smile faltered.

  Mrs. Harvesty waved frantically at me and threw open the door of her small sedan. She was in her late forties and blessed with smooth peach skin and red hair that looked strawberry blonde instead of grayish red, with no help from a bottle. Her face pinched with concern as she scooped a tiny ball of fluff from the passenger seat and hauled it out with all the urgency of someone air-evacuating a shark attack victim.

  “It’s Majesty,” she cried out. “He’s sick!”

  The rain had stopped, and I met her halfway, pulling on my confident veterinary face. “Tell me what happened.”

  “We were watching the kids do sparklers in the garage, and he just curled up into a ball and wouldn’t move. He didn’t respond to my voice, and when I tried to lift him up, he didn’t react. He hasn’t made a sound for hours!”

  She was cuddling him to her chest, but I didn’t touch him yet. I watched him, noting the steady rise and fall of his little body. “He seems to be breathing fine,” I said. “Maybe the sparklers scared him?”

  Mrs. Harvesty shook her head. “No, no, that’s not it. Mr. Jackson set off a load of fireworks last year, complete with a finale. Majesty loved them, chased the colors like he could catch one of the sparks. Sparklers wouldn’t scare him.”

  “I think you’re thinking of a different cat,” I said gently. Goddess knew she had enough of them. “Majesty’s just a kitten—he can’t be more than a few months old.”

  Mrs. Harvesty froze. I reached out to pet Majesty, watching him to see if he reacted with pain.

  She jerked him away, the blood draining from her face and leaving her as white as the vampire who’d just left. “You’re right,” she said. “It was just the sparklers. I’ll just get him home. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Suspicion drew my attention to the woman’s face, the lines around her eyes and the sudden anxiety tightening her features. She backed away, her spine tensing as she prepared to turn and run back to her car.

  “Mrs. Harvesty.”

  I used what Mother Hazel called a witchy voice, the tone sharper and more commanding than my usual manner. It was meant to grab attention and arrest movement. And it did. Mrs. Harvesty halted, stood there unmoving, as surely as if I’d thrown a net over her. Fear widened her eyes.

  “Let me see Majesty,” I said quietly.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” she whispered.

  I held out my hands. Mrs. Harvesty was shaking now, and whatever was going on, I didn’t want to upset her. Reaching into the well of power inside me, I poured a little magic into my voice. “It’s all right, Mrs. Harvesty. Let me hold him. Everything will be fine.”

  A tear slid down her cheek as she put the little furball in my hand.

  Magic bit my skin, hard. I hissed, but didn’t drop the kitten. The energy snapped against my flesh everywhere it touched me, like trying to hold the end of a live wire. I took a deep, steadying breath, and drew a spell over his fur with my free hand, whispering the words to banish some of that excess magic.

  The pain receded and the kitten slumped in my hand, not unconscious, but exhausted. The magic was still there, still strong, but it was a soft orb of magic now, not the hissing, sizzling fireball it had been.

  I met Mrs. Harvesty’s eyes, and it was difficult to keep the anger from my voice. “What have you done?”

  The tears were flowing now, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a sob. “I didn’t want him to die. They always die, don’t they? I just lost Princess, I couldn’t lose her son too. He was the only one that lived.”

  Mrs. Harvesty was very good with cats, but when you took care of twenty at a time, you were bound to be surrounded with the unique pain of a pet’s death. I knew that last year she’d had a bad run—six cats dying within days of each other. And I’d known it hit her hard, made her stop adopting new cats for a while. But I hadn’t realized how deep her pain had gone. What it would drive her to do.

  “What did you do?” I asked again, gently this time.

  “I…I just wanted him to stay young. To stay healthy. She said it could be done.”

  I closed my eyes, dread tightening my stomach like the fist of a toddler trying to keep a piece of candy from being taken away. “You took him to a sorceress.”

  She nodded, too fast. “I asked Mother Hazel, but she wouldn’t do it. I thought you were her apprentice, so you wouldn’t do it either, so I went to Akron and I… I found someone to do it.”

  I didn’t want to know how she’d found a sorceress. If your mind was open to the Otherworld, it wasn’t hard to notice Otherworldly happenings. And it wasn’t hard to follow them, to ask the right questions to find someone who could do what you wanted. But it was very, very dangerous.

  “Majesty is hurt,” I said, keeping tight hold of my temper. “The…spell on him is…” I had to stop and remind myself to breathe. I was so angry. Heat flamed in my cheeks, in my stomach. “It’s hurting him.”

  She broke down into sobs. I didn’t have it in me to comfort her though. Not when I could feel the pulse
of magic threatening to take over the tiny kitten in my hand.

  “I understand why you did this,” I said. “But no one—human or animal—lives forever. People die, Mrs. Harvesty. Cats die. It hurts, but that pain is a sign that their life meant something.” I held the kitten close to my chest, wincing at the throb of energy inside its downy-soft body. I didn’t know what spell had been used on him, but to keep something from dying was no easy feat. And this spell wasn’t just making him live forever—it was keeping him young. Keeping him from growing. And all that energy that should have gone into aging, into living, into getting older…it had nowhere to go. Eventually, it would have to go somewhere.

  “Mrs. Harvesty, I will keep Majesty. I will do what I can to help him.”

  “Oh, can’t I keep him?” She sobbed. “I’ll take care of him. I won’t try—”

  “No. He’s in pain, and I need to help him. And it won’t be easy.”

  I hadn’t needed to add that last part, but she had to understand how bad it was. How serious what she’d done was. I needed to know she wouldn’t do this again.

  She nodded, her brief resistance crumbling as she looked at the still kitten. “All right.” Her shoulders sagged and she turned like someone going to their death instead of their car.

  “Who did the spell and what did they charge you for it?” I called after her. If I was going to help the kitten, I needed more information. Even if I suspected I wouldn’t like the answers.

  She stopped and turned. “I don’t remember her name…but I have it written down somewhere.”

  I nodded, a lump rising in my throat as I waited for an answer to the second part of my question. “Find the name and call me. And how did you pay for it?”

  She shook her head. “There was no charge.”

  My blood ran cold, and if I hadn’t been so very aware of how important it was for me to stay strong in front of Mrs. Harvesty, I would have crumpled to the ground. There was always a price for magic. Always. Either Mrs. Harvesty was lying—and I didn’t think she was—or the person who’d done the spell had an ulterior motive.

  I looked down at the gray and black furball snuggled against my chest. What could someone possibly gain from putting a spell that strong on this little feline?

  The sound of a car door closing with all the energy of a sloth drew my attention back to Mrs. Harvesty, and I watched her put on her seatbelt and back out of my driveway. She looked like a zombie, the life leached out of her as she left behind one of her furry children. I made a mental note to call her daughter—her human daughter—and ask her to sit with her mum.

  A weight landed on my head, and Peasblossom leaned over. “I hate cats,” she reminded me.

  I looked down at the little kitten curled up in the crook of my arm. “She had him spelled to stay young. The spell is powerful, and it’s hurting him. He needs our help.”

  Peasblossom made a doubtful sound, then crawled down my arm. Inch by inch, she moved a little closer until she was peering into the furry face from a pixie’s arm away. Her face softened. “He does look a little weak, doesn’t he? Probably couldn’t jump onto the bed to reach me even if you let him out of your sight long enough to try.”

  I nodded and turned to the house. “He’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.” I paused when I noticed a package by the door. A small brown box sealed with black packing tape, nestled under one of the plastic chairs. “I didn’t order anything.”

  Paranoia was just forming the word “bomb” on my tongue, when Peasblossom zipped for the package in a pink streak of light. “Oh! It’s here!”

  Relief washed over me, and I followed her to the porch and snagged the package from under the chair—after checking to make sure no spiders had crawled onto it. “What is it?”

  “A present for you! Open it.”

  I did. Inside was a name plaque, the sort that sat on a desk. It read, Shade Renard, P.I. My heart swelled. “Oh, Peasblossom. Thank you.”

  She flew up to stand on my shoulder and gave me a one-armed hug. “I always knew you would do it,” she whispered.

  We stood like that, looking down at the plaque and thinking of the case. Wallowing in our success. After a few blissful minutes, Peasblossom spoke again, her voice soft.

  “I used your credit card.”

  * * *

  *********

  Finished? Want to talk about what you just read? Join the Magic, Murder, and Mayhem Book Club, a Facebook group where we discuss the Blood Trails series. You know you have an opinion. Share it…

  Dear Reader,

  * * *

  It’s official – Shade is a private investigator.

  * * *

  I’m sure we’re all happy for her. Well, not everyone.

  * * *

  Mother Hazel is not happy.

  * * *

  Now it’s the old crone’s turn to challenge her former apprentice with a case. Shade knows her mentor is up to something, but when the most powerful witch in existence offers you a chance at an unqualified, unlimited favor, you take it.

  * * *

  No matter what.

  * * *

  To collect, Shade must find out who—or what—killed a human in one of Cleveland's peaceful metroparks.

  * * *

  The challenge? The lead suspect is a cop, found with the victim's blood all over him.

  * * *

  The complication? He's a werewolf. As are several of the park rangers. And they're not happy Shade is on the case... Success means a favor from Baba Yaga. Failure means quitting her private investigative career—forever. Favors are never free...

  * * *

  If you enjoyed the first book in the series, you’ll love Monster. So pull on your red trench coat, pack your bottomless fanny pack with snacks, and come with Shade and Peasblossom into the dark forest.

  Follow the blood trail to MONSTER now…