by Erin Johnson
Heidi giggled and reached back to scratch his head with one finger.
I shot him a stern look and let out a couple of squawks. I’m pretty sure parrots are lactose intolerant.
He ruffled his feathers and glared at me, grumbling and growling. Yeah, well, if you’d been trapped in animal form for the last decade, I’d let you eat some.
I shot him a flat look and squawked again. We tried that earlier, remember? You’re not the one who has to clean up your droppings.
The bird huffed but shuffled back to his place behind Heidi and began to munch gently on one of the twin buns she’d piled her black hair into.
Will slumped beside her, his white lab coat splayed out on the sofa. He finished the bite of pizza he was chewing, then addressed Peter. “So you found the zebra’s family?”
Peter and I sat on kitchen chairs we’d pulled around in front of the sofa. Flashing lights from the neon signs outside my front window glared through the curtains. I glanced over. It was reassuring to know we had around-the-clock police protection—except for Ludolf’s cute little comment about owning the police department. I sighed—I didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore.
Peter nodded at Will, taking a moment to swallow his bite. “Yep, though his wife seemed alarmed at finding room for him in their apartment.” He grinned. “Their kids were thrilled, though. Thanks for your work curing his ear infection.”
Will rolled his eyes. “That so-called vet they were employing at the sanctuary was a hack.” He gestured around the room with the hand holding his slice of pizza. “All these animals—sorry, shifters—were in poor health.”
A black panther who sat beside him rested her enormous head on the arm of the sofa, her gold eyes following the food intently.
I grinned to myself—Will was about to lose that pizza if he wasn’t careful.
Peter nodded. “The veterinarian’s being prosecuted for knowing these were shifters and telling no one. Or, at least he will be, once we lift the hush order over the case.”
I chewed a bite and mulled it over. Peter had hand chosen a select few cops to know about the sanctuary case, with Bon and McCray’s approval. He’d even managed to keep it out of the press, though I doubted we’d be able to keep Madeline L’Orange off the trail for long.
With my animal translation skills, we’d been able to send most of the shifters back to their families or friends, even locating quite a few of the missing activist leaders. Many had immediately gone into hiding with their families, thanks to the police. We had no idea how Ludolf would retaliate, and I had no doubt he’d caught wind of this already. Like he’d said—he had contacts everywhere.
In the meantime, there were a couple dozen shifters whose families we either couldn’t locate or whose speech skills were so rusty, I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Since I’d been seeing Peter, I’d barely been spending any time at my apartment, so I’d volunteered it as a safe haven until we figured out what to do with the remaining shifters.
Heidi, eager to get out of her parents’ house, had volunteered to stay here and look after them all. She’d set out a half dozen bowls of water, magicked newspapers all over the floor, and even referred to half of them as her fur babies. Every time I reminded her she couldn’t keep them, she got teary-eyed, so I’d dropped it. But I knew they were all in good hands, though I didn’t love putting Heidi at risk. Who knew if Ludolf would try to take them all out or hide them again?
A small monkey scampered up Daisy’s back and perched on her head. She flattened her ears and growled. This is so humiliating.
I smirked and leaned forward around Peter to address her. The monkey groomed her, miming picking fleas out of her head. Aw. He likes you because your fur is full of bugs for him to eat.
She shot me a side-eyed look and bared her teeth. Then he must love you.
I smirked, but my smile quickly faded. I was still pretty shaken up from my confrontation with Ludolf the other night. I gingerly touched the still tender blisters on my arm. It must’ve shown on my face, because Peter slid an arm around me. “The police are doing their best to keep everyone safe.”
I glanced toward the front window again. I’d spotted Neo and his goons lurking outside the night before. I knew he was watching me. I turned back to Peter and my friends. “Look, we have to take Ludolf down.”
Will gasped. “Wha—? I hadn’t thought of that! What a brilliant idea!”
I shot him a flat look.
He rolled his eyes, and the panther edged closer to his pizza. “If we could figure out a cure for even one of these fools, the trapped shifter could testify against Ludolf.”
Peter nodded. “Right now, it’s just Jolene and Daisy’s words that these animals are actually trapped shifters.”
“Aw, guys, look!” Heidi beamed down at the sloth, who’d raised his little long-fingered hand to hold her cheek.
Will huffed. “Yeah, adorable.”
Peter nodded. “We need hard proof—transforming one of them back and getting their statement would do the trick.”
I shrugged. “Well, I know Ludolf has records of all the potions he’s used on them, but personally, I’m not up for trying to steal them back again.”
Peter hugged me closer to him, his breath coming quicker. He’d been more upset than I was when I’d told him about what happened.
I licked my lips. “Look, I’ve been thinking. Even if we could get hard evidence against Ludolf, who’s to say we don’t get buried by one of his powerful cronies? A judge or a politician just makes all this go away for him?”
Will pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like where you’re going with this, Jolene.”
A bat winged overhead, and a gazelle bounced by behind the couch. Thank the goddess we’d cast a silencing spell around my apartment. Between the sounds of hooves, the shrieking of the monkeys, and the lion’s roar—who was now snoozing on my bed in the other room—I was sure my landlady, affectionately known around town as “the dragon,” would have evicted me already.
I nodded to myself. “The animal rights activists mentioned that Sam Snakeman would be speaking about shifter rights at the palace next week. He’s got connections to Prince Harry and Princess Imogen and”—I shook my head—“and I think we could trust them.”
Peter gave me a serious look. “What do you propose?”
I bit my thumb. “We still want to keep this quiet, but I suggest we let Madeline L’Orange in on the secret—she’ll find out on her own soon anyway. She has connections to Sam and the others. I say we have her make an introduction, quietly, and we ask them for help prosecuting Ludolf.” I shrugged. “Maybe they have resources we don’t—someone who can help cure these guys.”
I gestured at the menagerie of animals stampeding around my apartment. The bat grabbed hold of the light above my kitchen table and hung upside down, swinging with it. The panther leapt after it and slammed into the wall, knocking a piece of plaster loose.
She let out a yowl. Sorry. Animal instincts.
Heidi winced.
I was definitely not getting my deposit back.
Peter nodded, finally. “I think that’s a good idea. We could use some allies—powerful ones.”
Will rolled a thick wrist. “And we know Sam didn’t grow up in shifter culture, so he probably hasn’t been bought by Ludolf yet.” He huffed. “Probably.”
Always the optimist.
I nodded. “So that’s the plan?”
We all agreed, and I went back to eating pizza, my stomach a bundle of nerves and excitement. A couple of nights ago, I’d come as close as I ever had to dying. I knew I was on a short leash with Ludolf, and I could feel this all coming to a head. Soon, this would all be over, and either we’d finally get to see Ludolf behind bars and his mob reign over the shifters ended—or, I’d disappear, another name in his cabinet of failed experiments.
Think Jolene’s mystery-solving days are over? No way! Keep reading to dive into the next magical mystery today!
; When a baker drops dead during a royal competition, Jolene teams up with her cute cop boyfriend and his sassy, lie-sniffing canine to serve up the killer.
Read The Big Fang Theory to solve a murder myssstery today!
Click Here to get your FREE copy of Saved by the Spell and 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: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/39ltzc764w
Keep reading for the next book, The Big Fang Theory!
The Big Fang Theory
About The Big Fang Theory
Welcome to the Darkmoon Night Market, where the magic and mystery are electric.
Cursed witch Jolene’s only remaining power is the ability to speak to animals. When a baker drops dead during a royal competition, she teams up with her cute cop boyfriend and his sassy, lie-sniffing canine to serve up the killer.
But the stakes are raised as Jolene ties the case to a missing politician, a fiendish crime boss, and a flock of shifters trapped in their animal forms. As she uses her magic to sniff out the suspects, Jolene’s own life is put on the line. Luckily, she’s got a bunch of powerful new friends with ties to the palace on her side.
Will it be enough for Jolene to catch the killer and stop the crime boss with a twisted mission? Or will she lose the last of her powers...and her life?
The Big Fang Theory is the delightfully thrilling conclusion to the Magic Market Mysteries (with a crossover treat for fans of the author’s Spells & Caramels series).
If you like talking animal sidekicks, delicious riddles and cheeky female leads, then you’ll love Erin Johnson’s charming tale.
Happy reading!
1
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.”
