by Raven Snow
We crept up our driveway and through the front door. None of the lights had been left on, so it was almost pitch black in the house. I’d have to talk to that man about getting some natural lighting.
Right in front of the couch was a figure of a man. He seemed to be looking around, but for what, I had no idea. As Wyatt raised his gun and opened his mouth to tell the guy to freeze, Whale came strutting into the living room.
The man lunged for the cat, eliciting a screech from Whale. Before Wyatt could even move, I had tackled the punk to the ground. No one touched my cat— even if he’d only been mine for a day or so.
Giving me an exasperated look, Wyatt slapped cuffs on the skinny man, hauling him away from me. He turned on the light after practically throwing the guy onto the couch. Once the lights were on, I greeted the face of Edward Nelson’s best friend, Jeremy Stink Bomb.
To my knowledge, the ‘Stink Bomb’ part was more of a nickname than an actual last name.
“What is that cat doing here?” Wyatt thundered, just having caught up to the present events.
“Uh-oh,” Cooper said, showing up in the doorway. “I told you he wouldn’t let you keep him.”
“You mean you didn’t meet Whale last night?” I asked, batting my eyelashes. I turned to Jeremy to take some of the heat off myself. “Better question, what were you doing trying to steal my cat?”
Stink Bomb’s eyes were a little glazed over. “Huh?”
A gust of wind came through the door, and the kid’s scent wafted over to me. Gagging, I felt that I truly understood why they called him Stink Bomb.
Leaning over toward Wyatt, I breathed in his minty goodness. “Should we really be letting him sit on the upholstery?”
The look he shot me had me raising my hands in peace. “I suppose that’s your decision, no?”
“Animals leave fur— among other things— all over the house,” he said. “Dirt! Everywhere!”
“I’m sensing some deeply rooted issues here.”
“Hey, why am I handcuffed?” Stink Bomb asked, wiggling around on the couch. “This is unlawful arrest!”
“You just tried to steal a cat,” Wyatt pointed out. “And broke into a police officer’s home. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”
Realization dawned on his face, but he said, "I don't understand. Why would I want your fu− cat?"
It'd been Wyatt's glare that caused the teenager to bite off the curse word. As a southern gentlemen, he didn't believe in swearing in front of women. That's why it was extra delicious when I could get him mad enough that he would. Made me feel like a genius at my craft: annoying people.
Wyatt hauled Stink Bomb up by the hair, and, giving me and my cat one last grimace, dragged him out the door. I heard the car door slam and pull out of the driveway. Either he was going off to kill the kid where we couldn't be traumatized by it, or he was taking Jeremy to the big house.
"Does this mean Whale can stay?" Cooper asked.
I pushed him toward the stairs, hoping he could get some homework done. "That's exactly what it means."
Pausing halfway up the stairs, a troubled expression came over his face. Hesitantly, he asked, "Are you and Dad gonna break up over Whale?"
Cooper's mother had skipped town when he was little, and he had very few memories of her. Despite that, or maybe because of that, he was hungry for a mother. Before Wyatt and I had been serious, I'd watched him watch other kids with both their parents, a pained and wistful expression set to his face. It broke my heart a little, because I knew what it was like to be missing half of a set.
"Nope," I told him lightly. "I’ll probably just get chewed out. I've been chewed out before."
Ten minutes after Cooper had retreated to his room, my cell phone rang. It used to be that my night didn't start till nine or later. Now, my nights ended at eight. It was five after eight, and I was tempted to keep whoever was on the other line waiting till my hours resumed at noon tomorrow.
"Harper Beck's phone, Harper Beck speaking."
"Hilarious," Oliver said, his accent thicker than usual. It made his words sound like they were swimming in chowder-like substance. The thought made me a little hungry, which was strange. Usually, only thoughts of pizza made me hungry.
"I kind of want some soup."
"Almost thirty-year-olds don't go gaga over soup," he told me pointedly. "That's the beginning of the end. Just like the fact that you're not out partying right now, or at least at the Wheel."
"Jeb's watching the Wheel. Did you call just to call me old? Might I remind you we're the same age?"
He made a clicking sound with his tongue. "I called to invite you out for a little fun."
"Eh."
"And a little trouble."
"I'll be right over."
Halfway to Hanes' Magic Shoppe, I realized I hadn't asked Oliver if he was still at the shop. Shrugging, I continued on, figuring it was the most likely place. Sure enough, as I rolled up, Oliver sprang out the door and got into my car. He was wearing a forest green cape this time, and it complimented his skin a lot better than the pink had.
When I told him this, he said, "Bless your blind soul; I have no idea what you're talking about. They haven't invented a color that doesn't compliment me." He looked over at me. "Good, you're wearing dark clothes."
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. "So, where's the trouble?"
"Melanie Gross's house."
I slammed on my breaks, and Oliver's head almost smacked against the dashboard. Knowing his priorities, he reached out to save his matching top hat before reaching out to stop the crushing blow to his skull. That was why we were friends, right there.
Still, that friendship might have been on its last legs. "I can't believe you dragged me out here for that. You realize I've already been arrested for breaking into her house before, right?"
"Which is why you're the teacher tonight, and I'm the student."
"No."
He started to take off his shirt, and I shielded my eyes. "If you think you can sway me with your body, you're probably right. But I'm spoken for, and you’re balls deep in the friend zone."
"Look at me," he said, dismayed.
Sighing, I did as he told me, and my eyes widened. Just about everywhere you looked on his chest and arms were bruises and scrapes. He was like a tapestry of pain, and a little part of me had to stop the rest of me from laughing.
"I find it a little ironic that we have a case of a grown man getting beaten up because he doesn't have a doll— not the other way around, as one would expect."
Oliver's eyebrows furrowed. "I wish someone else was doing this to me. I'm a walking disaster without that good luck talisman."
"I'd feel for you if this weren't so amusing," I said, pulling over to the side of the road so as not to block nonexistent traffic. "But I'm not breaking into that witch's home."
"I'll babysit for free."
"Done."
We parked a bit away from Melanie's front door, not wanting the neighbors to see people watching her house. Her car was gone, and the lights were all out. I figured she wasn't home, but one can never be completely sure in these situations.
That's what made it so fun.
Avoiding street lights, we tiptoed like a couple of idiots from bush to bush. I had a spy theme song playing in my head the whole time, and I thought about making my hands into a pretend gun for the hell of it. Then, a huge dog barked at us from behind a flimsy fence, and all those badass thoughts left my head.
Running the rest of the way, we stopped on her porch just long enough to catch our breath, as both of us were panting. Like before, I applied a bit of magic to the lock, relieved when no goop covered me for the attempt. We slipped inside just as a neighbor rounded the corner in the distance.
"I feel pretty cool right now," Oliver said. "Very suave."
Heading into the kitchen, I whispered, "You do look suave. I was just about to say something."
As with the last time I’d been here, the hous
e was almost completely barren of furniture, giving it a hollowed feeling. It was like being in a cave, only with wallpaper. The kitchen itself consisted almost exclusively of one ancient microwave and a loud fridge.
“Wow,” Oliver said. “I didn’t see this part of the house; the bedroom’s not as noticeably bad. Doesn’t her shop bring in enough?”
I shrugged. “Maybe she’s not very good with money.”
We had a silent, chorused “amen” at that, and then continued on to the rest of the house, leaving no stone unturned in our search— not that there were a lot of metaphorical stones to turn over.
After going through the whole house, we met back up in the foyer. Oliver had a welt forming on his forehead, and his hair was mussed with bits of paper and trash sticking out of it.
“You don’t look so suave anymore.”
“I don’t appreciate you.” He stomped his foot like an outraged child. “This doll’s gonna kill me if I don’t find it soon.”
I took one last look around, and then asked, “What do you want on your headstone?”
Headlights flashed into the home a car pulled up into the driveway. Melanie hopped out a minute after the engine cut off, and Oliver and I stood there in dumb silence as she walked up to the door.
Just as her key turned and she opened it, we started backing away toward the back of the house. Both of us were frozen with thoughts of prison and Wyatt’s face when he heard I’d been busted again. Didn’t double jeopardy count here?
Melanie made an almost inhuman sound when she saw us, her face turning an angry red that couldn’t have been good for her health.
“Scatter!” I cried, and we charged toward the back door, Melanie right on our heels.
We lost her in the small but dense woodland behind her backyard, and I heard her screaming obscenities and threats behind us. I kept running right alongside Oliver, both of us breathing so hard, we sounded like a couple of wheezing old-timers.
By the time we broke through the other side of the woods, we’d slowed down to a peppy walk, looking back every few seconds. But when I saw what was waiting for us, I froze for the second time that night, Oliver going white beside me.
Standing there, cheerful as the day was long, was Officer Kosher. He was leaned against his patrol car, which he’d parked on the side of the road. I resisted the urge to tell him about the legality of that park.
He whistled softly, swinging his cuffs around and around his fat pointer finger. The shiny metal gleamed in the moonlight, and when he saw me eying them, his grin got that much bigger.
“Was just about to wrap up my patrol when guess what came over the scanner?”
“I think I have an idea,” Oliver whispered to me so Kosher couldn’t hear.
He moved toward us, doing fancy, intimating tricks with the bracelet. “I’ve been waiting for this call for a long time.”
After cuffing the two of us, the unpleasant man took great pleasure in reading us our rights and shoving us into the back of his squad car. Oliver whacked his head on the way in, but I suspect that had more to do with his missing doll than it did with Kosher.
“You don’t actually think this’ll hold up, do you?” I yelled over the blasting country radio. “Wyatt’ll get me out— just like last time.”
“That may be,” he said, “but I’m going to enjoy the hell out of seeing you behind bars for the time being.” He slapped the wheel, laughing out right. “Santa must have gotten my letter.”
“Think Wyatt’ll get me out, too?” Oliver asked.
His eyes were closed, and his head was resting back against the seat. He looked drawn and tired. I supposed that most people weren’t used to riding in the back of squad cars.
“It’s hard to say what kind of mood Wyatt will be in.”
Turns out, it was a “not too pleased” one.
“What were you thinking?” he yelled at me as soon as he walked back and saw Oliver and me in one of the cells. “You really are crazy, aren’t you?”
I pressed up against the bars, giving him my sultriest look. “Crazy for you, baby.”
“Christ.”
Chapter Seven
My ears were still burning the next morning from all the yelling Wyatt had done. He hadn't made me sleep on the couch, though, which I took for a good sign. Another good sign: I caught him scratching Whale behind the ears that morning just before he left for work.
"Why don't you have a job like my dad?" Cooper asked while practically inhaling his cereal.
"Nine to five doesn't really look to good on me," I told him. "Too much work, too little disco."
He pondered that as I packed his lunch. Unlike the paper bag I'd always used as a kid, Cooper had a fancy, top-of-the-line lunch box with superheroes on it. The thing made me a little jealous, and every time I packed him a lunch, I considered running off with it.
Of course, now that I lived with them, it'd be harder to hide the theft.
Taking the bag with a healthy amount of suspicion, he asked, "What's in it?"
"Don't look a free lunch in the mouth."
"Last time, you sent me with expired tuna."
"And you lived through it." I peered down at him curiously. "You're developing quite the smart little mouth. We should probably keep that from your father."
Though the Wheel wasn't open, I headed over there after dropping Cooper off. I had no problem trusting Jeb with it most of the time, but I couldn't resist the urge to check on my baby at least every other day. What if she was being mistreated? A mistreated disco skate couldn't bring the funk, and I'd be damned if I'd let the funk die on my watch.
After last night, I wasn't going to leave Whale alone, for fear of cat-nappers coming out of the woodwork. So, once again, he rode shotgun, getting hair all over my crappy car.
Still, I got a secret thrill when he purred as I petted him on the way over. I'd never had a pet before— because of the witch thing and the fact that my mother had been allergic to everything but rats. I thanked my lucky stars on the daily that I hadn't ever been desperate enough to go to a rodent for companionship.
Someone— likely Jeb— had cleaned up the Wheel, restoring it to its former glory. I passed an invoice on my desk that detailed the damages and the prices of fixing them, and I winced. At least I could sucker Wyatt into paying for groceries for this month. That definitely took a little of the sting out of the sticker price.
Oliver came in just behind me. He would've scared me half to death, but I'd seen his electric blue cape half a mile away. There were dark circles under his eyes, his skin still a little pale. Jail did not agree with him one bit.
"You're trespassing," I said, putting away some paperwork.
"Throw me back in the slammer." He paused. "Do you think Janet and Hardy did it?"
"Nope," I said, popping the end of the word. Sliding down into a chair, I faced him. "It's too strange of a coincidence in Waresville to be true. Why would both of them break into places and pretend not to know they did it? A better defense in court would be just about anything. Plus, all the places they broke into were magic-related."
"So you think magic's involved?"
"Isn't it always?" I asked, picking at my nails. "That Jeremy kid broke into Wyatt's house last night— same deal on the memory."
"What did he want?"
"My cat."
He blinked. "Of course."
"Men who end up in jail over a doll their grandma gave them shouldn't throw stones."
Playing with the edge of his cape, he stood carefully in the middle of the room, avoiding all potentially painful objects. "I've gotta get that back."
I shrugged. "Marry her."
"Do you think that would work?"
I was out of my seat in the next moment, holding my hands up like I was stopping traffic. "God, no. I was joking. Joking! Jesus."
"I could fall into the street and get run over," he pointed out. "What’s worse: marrying Melanie or death?"
"Do I have to answer now, or can I think
about it?"
He shot me a quelling glare, and I said, "I just don't think we'd be compatible sexually, that's all... And she's evil."
My phone rang, and I looked at the caller ID. Mouthing "Wyatt," I answered, moving slightly away from Oliver so Wyatt couldn't hear his breathing or anything. To shut him up last night, I'd promised to stay away from my best friend until his urge to break into houses was gone. I'd meant it at the time, but I couldn't stay away. We were like peas and carrots.
"Hey," I said, "just alone at the Wheel. Not that you asked or anything..."
He was breathing hard— something I'd only heard him do privately or while playing a hard game of basketball. "Harper, I need you to get down here," he whispered hoarsely.
In the background, I heard a man yell, "Show yourself, coward! I've got a bullet with your thieving name on it."
"What's going on?" I asked, instantly alert.
"I think— I think I broke into Frank McHerie's magic shop."
"Have we switched roles?"
"Just get down here. He's got me trapped in the backroom, and I don't know where my gun is."
I wiggled my eyebrows at Oliver. "Copy that."
Just for giggles, Oliver got in the bug with me, though he was forced to ride in the back when Whale wouldn't move. He hissed at him on the ride over, trying to sink his claws into my friend's designer pants.
"Bad Whale, no," I said, but I was smiling.
Frank was standing in the middle of the front room when we got there, brandishing a gun and pointing it at the door to the back. He was in his late fifties, recently divorced— which made him a little cranky— and very drunk. What the man lacked in the hair department, he made up for in the gut girth.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he growled at me, the scent of stale beer wafting from his mouth.
"You're holding a gun at my boyfriend," I told him, smiling politely.
"Am not. I'm cornering a thief! I caught him on my surveillance cameras."
I'd have to remember that this place had cameras, just in case. In the business of being nosey, one never knew when they'd need to break into someplace, and I generally tried to avoid being caught on video doing it. I'd much rather have that personal element of getting caught red-handed.
