by Tina Gower
I press against his chest to get his attention again, but my fingers lace into his shirt, grabbing hold. It’s like he’s floating away from me and my brain knows to let go, but my spirit won’t let me. “Well?” I force myself to ask.
“Hale. I’m tired. I think I might throw up. Let’s not do this right now.” His eyes fall shut, slowly, slowly.
I’m sure he’s out within a few seconds. He snores, or purrs. I’ve never decided the exact sound. I’m still there clutching his shirt, afraid of what it means if I let go.
Chapter 10
I wake up a few hours early, oddly well rested, which isn’t uncommon after I’ve slept all night with Becker near me. As if there’s some kind of alarm on me, Ali comes in with some tea and we both stand there staring at a perfectly still and slightly pale-looking werewolf who’s in need of a shave and shower, sipping and stirring our beverage.
“What’s your schedule today?” I ask Ali.
“Sadly not on the early morning prep bake, but got back-to-back shifts, starting in three hours.”
I let the tea burn my tongue. “Shit. Maybe I can work a half day and then be home before he wakes up.” I blow to cool my drink. “Wait, do you think he might wake up early?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You think I know anything about drunk werewolves?”
“Probably a lot more than I do.”
She nods. “Yeah, true.” She pulls my arm, dragging me from the room. “Well, I do know one thing. A watched werewolf doesn’t wake.” She spreads her arms presenting a stack of binders on my kitchen counter. “Ta-da!”
“What is this?”
“Binders full of witches. You said you needed a witch who was qualified to tease apart threads of fate and I’ve found a few possibilities.” She slides a binder around to show recipe cards used as bookmarks. And sticky notes on each marked page. “I wrote notes on those little square papers that have sticky on them.”
“Sticky notes.”
She makes a face like she’s sniffed rotten dairy. “How uninventive and boring. I hereby name them magic unicorn pads of awesome.” She flips open the first binder. “Our coven has a library of every witch who’s gone through training and resides in the surrounding states. We want worldwide, we gotta go through the database. But nobody can do that kind of magic from that kind of distance. It’s got to be someone nearby.” She opens to a page where there’s a picture and a short write up. Here, you can see on this MUPA—”
I’m not familiar with witch acronyms. So I set my tea on the counter and place a hand over the picture to slow her down. “Whoa, wait. What’s a MUPA?”
She huffs, clearly annoyed I can’t keep up. “A Magical Unicorn Pad of Awesome. These are your tools-of-the-trade, Kate. I’m trying to meet you halfway here.” She turns to her binder. “I wrote up some side notes about each one if I had some personal knowledge and I had to use the MUPA because I gotta return these in top shape to our library. Do not—I repeat—do not put your math scribbles on these sheets. Use the MUPA.” She holds up my multi-colored pad of sticky notes.
“I think I can handle it.” I glance at all the information and the extra work she put in going through each entry for me to cut down on the time. “This is perfect. I’ll still need you for questions as I go through them.”
“I expect that.” She goes behind my counter and lifts up a basket of goodies. “Now, the important stuff. These are a mix of different protein snacks and vitamin water. It will be faster than trying to make something up when he’s awake. Better to have something on the ready, right?”
I nod, rubbing my eyes. She’s way more on top of this than me. “Right. He’ll need something right away.”
She carries the goodie basket into my room and sets it on the bed with a little note. EAT ME is on a homemade protein bar she sets near his fingers. DRINK ME on a canteen of water she’s mixed with electrolytes. She scatters a few other snacks like rose petals on the sheets. It’s like a fucked up Alice in Wonderland scene.
She laces her fingers together and tucks her clasped hands under her chin. She takes in all her work with a grin. “Well?”
“It’s perfect. You’re amazing.” I’m overcome with rare emotion for my organized cousin and hug her.
Ali jerks with shock, but then quickly recovers to hug me back, squeezing hard as though she might not let me go. There’s a brief moment of awkwardness where I want to pull away, but also calculate the appropriate show of thankfulness of my embrace. She catches on to my dilemma and lets go.
She places her hands on my shoulders. “What else do you need?”
I close my eyes as though the growing list is written on the other side of my eyelids. “For my quota of probability calculations to magically do themselves, an excuse to call in sick that won’t raise suspicion, an interview with a bus driver, and a way to get him to admit to whatever he’s hiding.”
“Bus driver?” she grins. “That’s one thing you can scratch off your list. We live right next door to the bus depot. You can swing in there on your way to work. It’s just one stop over from where you usually catch it.”
“It’s not that easy. I have to have clearance, then I gotta have Becker come with me.”
She wrinkles her nose. “How are you going to get the dirt if you go in all official?”
“That’s procedure. We follow it or lose our jobs.”
Her hands slide from my shoulders and she scratches her chin, pacing. “It’s early enough that I’ll bet the manager is in, but the first shift is out making rounds. There won’t be many people in the depot. It’s not really a peak time.”
“You missed the part where I said we needed Becker—”
“Becker Smecker—we can use magic for this. Simple magic. I can get you into the guy’s locker. You take a peek. If nothing stands out, we go and nobody knows we were there.”
“Cameras—”
She waves her hand as if she’s pushing the obstacle away. “Bah. We cut the electricity—”
“No.”
“Okay. Fine. We go in like we’re just getting an account straightened out. You have a card with them. And once we’re in the office we don’t have to worry about cameras. They can’t spy on their own employees. Some union thing.”
“How do you know that?”
“I had a friend at the coffee shop who used to do some secretarial stuff with them at another site. Answering phones and all that. She hated her boss and nagged on about him for every shift for her first week.”
I glance at the clock. “I have to be to work in two hours.”
“Then we better hurry.”
“Can’t leave Becker.”
“He’s not going anywhere for a while and we both know you’ll call in sick and work from home anyway.”
I’m not convinced.
She sits on the edge of my bed and bounces up down, up down, like it helps her think. “I’ll ward him. If he wakes up or stirs like he’s about to, we’ll know and race right back.”
I cross my arms and hum and ha, not convinced.
Ali picks out my clothes. A three-quarter sleeves tight-as-skin crimson top, black trousers and matching blazer. The undergarments she chooses are way too frilly and lacy for anything I’d wear to work. “If we’re going to do this we should get going. You jump in the shower and mull over it for a bit and I’ll set the wards.” She snatches one of the snacks lying around Becker like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs. “Here. Breakfast.” She all but shoves me and my things into my closet-sized bathroom and gets the shower going, then closes the door.
A little momentum goes a long way, as I follow through with the motions like I’m going along with her plan. It would be good to get this item crossed off my list. Becker did say that the driver was hiding something. Doubtful we’d find anything worth taking note of, but getting a short peek into the depot office and maybe a sense of what other drivers thought of my suspect could turn up a lead. Did he have any ties to an anti-fate group?
When B
ecker woke up it would be one less thing for him to stress over, which will be good to get his emotions regulated quicker. I can work this case without his help. He once said he liked my independence.
Dressed and ready, I step out of the fog created from the shower just as Ali is tucking Becker under the covers.
She props up a few pillows. “I made a Kate-shaped pillow, it should smell like you because, hello, your bed.” She sees I’m ready and takes me by the hand. “We should get going before you change your mind.”
She jogs down the steps and I follow with a hesitation as we reach her car. “I don’t know. Maybe it should just be me. You can stay with Becker.”
“Bad idea. You need a lookout. A Jekyll to your Hyde, a Doctor to your Frankenstein.”
“I don’t know if those examples instill a sense of trust…”
She bangs on her hood. “Get. In. The. Car.” She bugs her eyes at me. “Go.”
Ever obedient, especially when I’m stressed, I jump in and buckle. It’s so easy to let someone else take charge and make the decisions for once. My mind is still worked up on Dalia and what her presence means.
“Do you remember how you said that a pack can be added to?”
She dodges a car parked illegally along the curb. “Yeah, you think Becker is going to add that werewolf girl you were babbling about last night to your twosome?”
Yes. No. Maybe. Definitely. “Can I veto it?”
“I don’t know a lot about the structure. I’ve always heard wolf packs had to be sure of each member, but Becker’s not like a normal, ya know?”
Yes. I know. We pull into the depot, park, and both hop out and speed walk to the office. Camera in the corner as we walk in. Camera facing in toward the cul-de-sac where all the busses pull in. Shit, if we get questioned later about what we were doing here without clearance, I’m a goner. I should have waited for Becker.
“Can I help you?” the secretary barely looks up from her online shopping spree.
“Yeah, we just have a few questions.” Ali flashes a badge.
A badge.
Oh fuck.
“Ali—”
The secretary nearly kicks over her chair as she rises. “It will be just a moment.” She disappears to the back.
“Holy hells, Ali. Where did you get that?” I yell-whisper.
She shrugs.
“You lifted it off Becker?” I clutch my fingers through my hair. “Oh gods. Oh gods. Oh gods.”
Ali straightens, going serious. I assume getting into her role as bad-ass Ali, police investigator. “Get it together.”
“He’s going to kill me. He trusts us to take care of him, not take advantage of him. And if we get nothing? If I get nothing?”
“You’ll get something. I can see it in your face. You know something’s fishy about this driver, and nobody wants you to solve this case because they think you’re wrong and wasting everyone’s time. There’s a lot of pressure on Ian to close it and take you off it.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me yesterday. He came in and got a coffee while he was on duty.”
“Isn’t he the Chatty Kathy with you all of a sudden.”
She crosses her arms and glares. “My herbs and healing foods are working.”
The manager comes in all pasty and sweaty. His hair rumpled along with his too small shirt that doesn’t reach his wrists and over-sized pants. “Do we have a problem?”
I put an arm over Ali before she whips out Becker’s badge again and step forward. “No problem. Just need to do some follow-up on a case from a few days ago. We’ve already spoken with the driver on shift, but I just need to look around. It will take a second.”
“Sure, sure.” He runs a hand along the back of his neck, his gaze darting from me to Ali. “I’ll give you the tour.”
“That’s not necessary. Our intention isn’t to hold you from your work. We’ll be gone in a few minutes.” Also I don’t want him to see us going through lockers, or raise suspicion that might lead to questions.
I smile until the man backs out of the room. He motions to the employee area with a terrified expression. I look at Ali: she’s got her best Becker I’m-going-to-bite-you face aimed at the manager, teeth and all. I nudge her and she snaps out of it, shrugs.
“Don’t make yourself memorable,” I say through a clenched jaw. “We’re already suspicious. No actuary would ever need to check the employee area as a follow-up.”
Ali follows me into the locker room. I pull the trash out from the wall and shake it around hoping to see something useful. It’s mostly papers, but also some gum, hair, and crusty tissues. No way am I sticking my hand in there to dig around. I spot a peanut butter-smeared plastic baggie and use the baggie as a barrier from the truly nasty items, keeping my fingers from the sticky butter. There’s a used condom in here. I gag.
Ali strolls up and down the rows of lockers. “What’s the guy’s name? The driver?”
I concentrate. “Ted something.” I don’t remember his last name and I didn’t bring the file.
Ali faces the locker and points. Thank gods there’s only one Ted.
“Yeah, there’s probably something worth looking at, but it’s too invasive.”
She holds the lock between her palms and rubs, chanting. She drops something liquid that smells suspiciously like apple cider vinegar onto the metal. Then a white powder. It fizzes.
“What are you doing?”
She winks.
“I don’t have a warrant—”
She tugs and the lock comes loose. “Sometimes people don’t lock it all the way.”
“Except you used magic. If they call the police if there’s something missing or off, your magical thumbprint is all over it.” I use the cuff of my sleeve to wipe her physical fingerprints from the lock and something else that’s a white powder.
“Then we don’t take anything or leave anything out of place.”
“What did you put on this lock?” I motion, rubbing the gritty powder between my fingers.
“Baking soda. It helps raise the spell a few notches.” She pokes around inside the locker. “We got enough antacids in here to kill a fast food addict.” She moves aside, so I can see and Vanna Whites the display. “This is your future, Kate!”
I ignore her and, covering my hands with my blazer cuffs again, carefully ease aside a button-up shirt. Next to a few paranoia thriller hardbacks are a couple of breath mint cans and a few envelopes that look like his paycheck stub receipts from his direct deposit. I recognize the government seal on the back of the envelope.
There’s one mixed in that’s not like the others. Blank envelope. I dance my fingers over the pile, remembering where it’s filed in the line up, and slide it out. Open it. Appears to be a print-out of his weekly schedule and stops, a few crossed out. I flip through to a few days ago. Yep, one of the crossed-out stops is the one that missed Jared Walker as a pick-up. Using my phone, I snap a picture of the pages and send it to Becker. Holding it up to the light, it looks official. A watermark in the upper left-hand corner of the document fades through and I snap another picture without really looking at it. Even says “Revised Schedule as per Management” at the top. Damn.
Ali catches my expression. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I slide the paperwork back into place right where I found it. “The bus driver might have been following protocol and that stop could have been closed for the weekend. I didn’t think of that.” I replay the interview recording from memory, staring at the blank envelope lined up with the others like obedient soldiers.
Becker had asked the driver why he didn’t stop and the man had said it wasn’t on his schedule, but Becker smelled something fishy with the answer and I assumed the driver had been lying too. Becker explained to the man that the bus website didn’t have an update of that change. The man said, “I just do what I’m told.”
“We can ask the manager if that stop was closed for some reason.”
“We can’t, Ali
. We’ve already done more than we should have.” I carefully lock the locker, using my blazer cuffs. Although, I’m sure my fingerprints are all over and if they called Becker out he’d smell me all over this room. I’d have to tell him so he’d be prepared. And about the badge. “Come on, let’s go.”
“But we can ask the manager. I’ll say I had an unrelated question.”
“It’s not a good idea for him to connect us with that question. Everyone knows I’m working this case. They’ll know I was poking around where I’m not allowed.” Without a police escort. A real police escort. I glare at Ali, but she’s too busy doing one last circle in case she’s missed something to private investigate.
I run out of the room, nodding to the secretary to let her know we got everything we need. Ali, thankfully, is right behind me. We get to the car and she fires up the engine. “I just gotta make a phone call.”
I use the heater to warm up my fingers. Winter in Angel’s Peak in the northern California mountains means I need more than just my blazer for warmth.
“Yeah, I was standing out at your bus stop on Saturday and nobody came by to pick me up,” she says in the most fake Scarlett O’ Hara impression ever.
My face goes slack and I beg Ali with a look to stop.
She continues. “There were a few other people at the stop, too. You guys doing maintenance or something that’s not on the website? Because I gotta go out there again at that same stop and if I’m going to get left and be late for work again…yeah, I can hold.”
She raises her nose at me. “What? They’ll have no idea it was you. And it’s not your phone on the inquiry; it’s mine. You really think the government is going to dig that deeply to stick it to you?”
She has a point.
The secretary must have gotten back on the phone because Ali snaps to attention and slips into her terrible Southern accent. “What stop?” She pins me with an answer-it-now-or-die look.
“Greenfield. Across from the park,” I mumble and cross my arms and look out at the parking lot with grim annoyance.
