Murder Mittens

by R. J. Blain

  Given ten more minutes, my virus would spike so hard I wouldn’t be able to see straight for a week.

  I did not have a week to appease her or stake claims on the lion who tested me in all ways possible.

  I parked the truck at the seamstress’s shop, wondering if I’d have to search for the asshole wolf who’d taken away a woman’s right to choose her mate and infected her with the virus against her will. With luck, the asshole would be present at the shop, which was one of his usual habits, or so claimed the bounty. “Steal-killing lions owe me extra nice steak,” I warned. “And compensation for stealing my kill. Good lions do not bother the lynx out for a kill. My call sign is Murder Mittens, not Distressed Damsel. Are we clear?”

  Sebastian chuckled. “Should he bruise you and you do not immediately dispatch him, we can fight over the body after I educate him on the error of his ways. He won’t learn from his mistake, as he will be dead, but I will observe initially. I am a lazy lion, and if I can admire when a woman shows off her skills, I absolutely will.”

  My virus wanted to drag him off somewhere and learn a lot of skills we’d been denied due to the scars on my face and the unforgiving nature of lycanthropy. A promise to indulge in the possibilities of a permanent partnership with the lion kept the wild side of me contained, and I got out of my daddy’s truck, grabbed my purse, and bounced into the shop.

  According to the internet, the shop offered all things sewing and craft related, and the woman who owned it would work for a low rate of ten dollars an hour for her work for those who wanted beautiful things but didn’t want to make the beautiful things. I stepped through the door into yarn heaven.

  Cats plus yarn equaled trouble, and I bet I could create a lot of trouble toying with the lion in the truck and some yarn. With wide eyes, I explored the collection, spotting a chunky black yarn that would look wonderful against the lovely tan of Sebastian’s skin.

  Holy meow with some cream on the side and a fresh fish. I snatched a skein, and on second thought, I grabbed two more before checking the label and grabbing the correct sized crochet hook.

  After sacrificing a little yarn for leashing my lion, I could make a small blanket.

  Deeper in the store, I spotted the wolf from the bounty in the corner, sitting in a rocking chair while keeping a close eye on me. He held a tablet in one hand, and a laptop sat on an end table nearby. A shelf near him held a half-finished knitting project and a mug of coffee.

  I bet the knitting belonged to the woman, who stood near her register, hard at work sorting through a box of plastic-wrapped yarn.

  Sebastian came in, and he chuckled when he caught sight of my acquisitions. “Is that going to be enough yarn?”

  I stopped, turned, and stared at him with wide eyes. “I’m really not sure.”

  He glanced at the label before picking up a sky blue skein of the same line, reading over the label. “You need at least seven skeins if you want to make a blanket. If you use all black, your eyes will rot out of your head. If you really want to be a goth queen, they have enough black. But this blue would contrast nicely.”

  In what universe did Sebastian know his way around yarn? I held the black against the blue, nodded as he had a good point on the color contrast, and asked, “Four of the blue and three of the black?”

  “That would make a nice blanket, give your eyes a bit of a rest, and still challenge you with the black.” Sebastian tucked four skeins of the blue under his arm. “Are you knitting or crocheting?”

  “I’m crocheting. I can knit, but I’m a lot slower at it. And I’m going to need to make some baby blankets. Four of them.”

  “Well, this won’t work for that, but this will work for you. Do you have a travel bag?”

  Wait. Travel bags? For yarn? People traveled with their crochet? My mouth dropped open, and I shook my head.

  “You need a travel bag or the yarn will escape, messes will be made, and tears will be shed.” Sebastian headed for the counter, nodded to the woman we would be setting free within the next few minutes, and set the yarn down. “Someone in her family is expecting, and we’re on baby blanket duty. What’s the best yarn in the market right now for baby blankets? We’ll be crocheting them.”

  The wolf in the corner tensed, but Sebastian’s comment put him more at ease. Interesting. The wolf didn’t trust his forced mate—and for good reason. But he didn’t distrust Sebastian as much as I thought he should.

  Wolves defined what it meant to be jealous over their mates.

  Cats redefined what it meant to be jealous, and my virus wanted a show to go with the yarn.

  Curious over what the lion would do, I asked, “Beanies and onesies?”

  “We can do them, too.” Sebastian made a show of thinking, which amused me, as the lion could think on his feet with the best of them. “We better get a set of hooks for each one. I bounce projects.”

  According to my virus, nothing beat having a male feline who would indulge my enjoyment of yarn. Even if I didn’t get to actually do anything with it. I had mastered a set of ten stitches, which put me at absolute last in the family for any form of crafting ability. But I could do basic blankets, and I even liked making them. More importantly, I finished what I started. “I am loyal to the death to my one and only project.”

  “You’re still going to have the supplies for at least two projects, so you need to pick your second project that isn’t for the babies.”

  Damn. Had Sebastian attended a school on how to talk dirty to a woman while visiting fiber heaven? Apparently. “I like blankets.”

  The lion smirked at me. “I like the color red.”

  Okay. If he wanted a red blanket, I could do that—and my virus demanded I fall into line, as two projects meant more time with him.

  Pushover virus.

  If he understood quilting, another hobby I enjoyed because it involved turning scraps into something worthwhile, my virus would be taken out, lost to his wily ways. I brought the black skeins and the hook over, set them on the counter, and hunted for a good weight yarn for a blanket for him. I’d need extra yarn, as it would take a larger blanket to contain the ego—and body—of a lion. I checked the skeins of a dark red and a beige, did the mental math to calculate how much I’d need for such a project, and grabbed the appropriate number before snagging a good hook, one with a well-shaped, silicon handle.

  It cost a lot, but it would be worth it.

  I set my stash onto the counter and smiled at the woman. My next words would make or break my bounty, as she’d included a confirmation phrase in her request. “I like to quilt, too, but my shears have seen better days. Do you sell any that handle being resharpened well?”

  Her eyes widened, and she glanced in the direction of the corner. She pointed in the direction of the wolf, and when I looked, I spotted several sets of shears hanging on the wall. “The gold pair over there is really nice. Good, sharp point, and it holds its edge well. If you take care of those, you’ll have them for life. The brand is excellent, and they come in several sizes. Would you like to see them?”

  Yes, I absolutely would like to see the gold pair with the good, sharp point. And I’d enjoy stabbing the wolf, as the woman had confirmed my target with her promised line. “I would, please.”

  Sebastian busied himself at the fabric section, and it amused me he shuffled through the scrap material quilters loved, as they were perfect for quilting projects and little else. Given an hour and a single excuse, I could plan an entire new quilt, fill the cab of my daddy’s truck with my ill-gotten gains, and keep happily amused with my new shears.

  My family would undergo mass hysteria if they found out what I planned to do with a good pair of shears in the next minute or so.

  The woman walked me to the shears, and each pair had one outside of the wrapper, presumably for demonstrations, and she handed me the gold ones. She kept a polite distance, giving me room to deal with her asshole of a suitor. I made a show of checking over the tips, discovering the point would p
ierce flesh with any amount of pressure. I regarded the droplet of blood beading on my fingertip. “These are nice.”

  “Yes, they are. They’re my favorite. They’re expensive, but they’re worth it.”

  I made a show of testing the scissors, adjusted my grip on the handles, and plunged the pointy end of the blades directly into the wolf’s throat, hard enough the impact made my wrist and elbow ache from the force of the blow. As a single blow to the throat wouldn’t finish him off, not unless I’d gotten lucky, I systematically stabbed at his throat, giving the woman most of my attention. I even did my best to make sure his blood sprayed only onto himself, the floor, his tablet, and not any of her precious crafting supplies. For a rare change, it mostly worked, although the ridiculous number of holes I added to his throat helped mitigate the overall spray. “These are really nice, I have to say. Fabric just wouldn’t stand a chance against these shears. I think I’ll need two pairs. I’ll also want a smaller pair good for detail cutting, as I’d like to make a nice quilt, and I’d like to work with small pieces on this one. I do enjoy the challenge of fine detail work.”

  My first blow must have been enough to sever the wolf’s spine, as he slumped in his chair without raising a hand against me or the woman. “Hi. I’m Murder Mittens, and my partner over there is Mr. Mane.”

  “I’m Carol.”

  “I am not Mr. Mane,” Sebastian growled. “My name is Sebastian. And your name is Harri.”

  “Quiet, Mr. Mane. Unless you’re buying me quilting supplies, you don’t get a say in anything right now.”

  “If I buy you quilting supplies, are you saying I get a say in everything?”

  I regarded the bloody scissors in my hand, and I shrugged. “Sure. Apparently, I am feeling the need to be domestic today. I’ll just warn you now, I am not my mother, and I am not good at cooking. Mostly because I make the people who might teach me how to cook cry when they see my face.”

  I gave Carol a lot of credit; when she comprehended the scars on my face, her eyes widened, but she otherwise kept control over her face.

  I expected shock factored into that. Even with her new virus incubating, it likely influenced her and struggled to comprehend the death of her mate.

  The CDC would help her with that—and introduce her to wolves worth taking a second look at. It amused me the CDC had attempted the same with me initially, until they learned my face really did drive people away.

  The lion sighed. “I’ll call the police and the CDC.”

  “You’re such a useful lion.” I set the shears on the wolf’s body, as the CDC enjoyed when they could make bounty-related murder weapons disappear permanently. “Do you have somewhere I can wash my hands?”

  I’d have to trash my poor shirt, which had more blood on it than I liked, but the rest of my clothes had escaped unscathed from my murder of the asshole wolf.

  I loved a good killing in the afternoon, especially when I got to rid the world of an abusive asshole. His body became Carol’s freedom, and I’d go to sleep with a smile tonight.

  Carol pointed at a door in the back, and then after a glance at my hands, she hurried over and opened the door, stepped inside, and turned on the faucet for me before returning to the wolf’s body, which twitched. The body would keep twitching for a while, as bodies tended to do after death. And once the twitching ended, the body would start doing a lot of other weird, disgusting things as putrefaction began.

  I headed for the bathroom, hoping I’d be out of the shop before the early phases of decay began. “I recommend plastic to help mitigate how much blood he gets on the floor until law enforcement arrives. It’s no problem, as you have a sanctioned bounty through the CDC, but it simplifies cleanup.”

  Carol pointed at the rug under the chair. “He spills coffee often, so I have plastic under the rug. I also know a few good practitioner tricks, as customers come in often with stained fabric. The rug can be washed, but I’d be all right with just wrapping his body in it and throwing him in the dumpster. Thank you. I… hadn’t thought someone would come so quickly.”

  “I hate users and abusers.” I pointed at Sebastian, who was rummaging through the quilting scraps with one hand while using his phone with the other. “He’s a pretty good example of how lycanthropes should behave, but he’s a cat, and since you’ll be a wolf, you’ll want a wolf. That said, I can probably introduce you to a few decent wolves. I’m a cat, too, so I don’t really have a use for wolves. I mean, you might want a cat, but you can’t have that cat. He’s mine.”

  “Because cats and dogs fight?”

  “So much fighting,” I replied with a roll of my eyes. “Wolves can be good friends, though. I don’t mind mated wolves. They’re good to have around, especially if they’ve got puppies around. Wolf puppies are cute.”

  The woman’s eyes lit up. “All children are cute.”

  I somehow kept from laughing, washed most of the blood off my hands before making use of the soap, and scrubbed until the only sign I’d tangoed with a wolf was a tiny cut on my fingertip. On second thought, I took off my shirt and attacked the blood stains on it, delighted when I got most of the blood out. I wrung my shirt out and wiggled back into it. With luck, Sebastian would be disappointed I hadn’t worn white. I emerged from the bathroom, dusting my hands off. The woman placed four pairs of shears with the rest of my acquisitions.

  Sebastian got tired of picking through fabric scraps and grabbed a large handful, took it to the counter, and dumped it on, settling into a pattern of grabbing everything he could get his filthy lion paws on and adding it to my collection.

  My virus loved everything about the odd display, which told her one thing: he wanted to make me, of all people, happy. “I’m not sure he really understands how making a single quilt works, but honestly? Watching him try to empty your scrap bin is hilarious.”

  “This makes me grateful I put the scraps of fabric in by general fabric types, so at least you will be working with compatible materials. If you want mixed media, I have scrap bags in the back, too.”

  “I am notoriously slow at quilting because I like to do the sewing by hand. I don’t have a machine.”

  Sebastian stopped and stared at me, and after muttering something to the person on the phone, he hung up. “You don’t have a sewing machine, and you like to quilt?”

  “Tiny apartment, broken face. After considering these two factors, a sewing machine has not been a reasonable purchase. My previous quilts, well, I made them after stealing scraps from my family’s various projects.”

  Turning to Carol, Sebastian asked, “Do you sell sewing machines?”

  “I do, although I only have high-end models. I keep one or two really good models around. They’re the same I use in case my machine breaks. I do have a vintage Singer for sale, though.”

  I straightened. “Vintage? How vintage are we talking about?”

  “This specific one was made in 1901, and it is a hand-crank model. It’s in really good condition, and honestly, part of the reason I’m selling it is because of that lout. I wiped out my savings account paying my share of the bounty for him. Selling it would give me a fresh start and the ability to work on my shop—or move it to a better location.”

  Fuck. I hated when I ran across how the bounties were paid sometimes. Inevitably, I took a significant pay cut.

  The CDC only paid out so much for the bounties, and in cases like Carol, they demanded a percentage of the total bounty fee. I suspected Carol had paid a token amount or the lowest the CDC could charge her, but lycanthropes ate a lot, and he had probably slaughtered her savings along with stealing her humanity. “Can I see it?”

  “It’s in the back, but sure. Come with me. It’s in great condition. I loved using it until I got my new machine. I’ve joined modern times, and I have another old hand-crank I can use if I need it. It’s just not as beautiful as this one.” Carol led me through a fabric curtain to reveal there was an entire workshop attached to her store.

  I didn’t need her t
o point out the machine. It included a wooden stand, which had been restored and polished to a high shine, and the old sewing machine had likewise seen care and handling, as I couldn’t spy many signs of its age on it. I sucked in a breath. “Oh, that’s just lovely.”

  “Isn’t it? I had it appraised.” With a ridiculous amount of spring in her step, she went to a desk tucked in a corner, opened a drawer, and pulled out a blue envelope, which she handed to me. I peeked inside to discover an appraiser had pegged its value to be over twenty thousand.

  Holy shit.

  I debated my options: badass vintage sewing machine or a replacement face?

  “Mr. Mane? I need you to come be an adult for me. I am no longer able to function as an adult, and I require immediate assistance.”

  Sebastian sighed but came in. Like me, he needed no guidance to identify the sewing machine. “I’m buying you quilting supplies, and as doing so gives me a say in things, you’re marrying me, and we’re buying that sewing machine.”

  “I don’t think it works that way, Sebastian.”

  “It does now. I heard you clearly. You gave me a say in things as long as I bought you quilting supplies. Also, do you have more of those shears available? I’d really like for her to have more pairs of those for self-defense purposes.”

  “You just don’t do that to good shears, Sebastian!” I turned to face him, pointing at him. “Do you know what happens to people who do that to good shears?”

  “What’s going to happen to you now that you’ve murdered someone with a good pair of shears?” the lion asked, his tone amused.

  “The Ghosts of Grandmothers Past will come and haunt my ass for the rest of eternity.”

  “But you will appease the Ghosts of Grandmothers Past through the purchase and loving use of that sewing machine. The Ghosts of Grandmothers Past would love that machine.” Sebastian stepped closer, giving the Singer his undivided attention. “It looks in perfect condition.” He pointed at the hand-crank. “It’s obviously been used, but the wear and tear on this is minimal at worst.”