by Ann Denton
He reads off the docket of names but I don’t get to hear Hot Vamp’s name because Shelia, an overeager defense attorney, comes up and starts whispering in my ear.
“Heard you got fresh blood in felonies.”
I grimace, not wanting the reminder about Bennett. I change the subject and whisper back. “Are you going to Saffron’s campaign meeting?”
Shelia smacks her hair wrap and nods. “Yeah, right after my hair appointment.” She’s a gorgon, so her hair is an endless source of frustration for her. “I need another round of sedatives for these suckers. You wouldn’t believe the tangles when they get wild.” She tucks an escaped snake back into her wrap and then looks up at Ruddy.
Shit. He’s done with the roll call. Which means we need to get these clowns arraigned so we can all get back to real work. Ruddy starts rattling off dates on the calendar, and I have to pay close attention because sometimes his accent is hard to follow. How a leprechaun ever got elected is beyond me. He’s smart as shit. But he’s got a mouth full of the mumbles.
We get dates for status conferences set, and those lucky vamps who have the gold to bond out toss it in Ruddy’s pot. Clang. Clang-clang-clang. Unfortunately, Hot Vamp is one of those with gold. So I won’t get to visit my friends down at the dungeon tonight for donuts and a long hard session of staring.
Oh geez. What’s wrong with me? I’m borderline pathetic. Okay. Okay. More than borderline. Maybe a toe over.
The vamps file out and I turn to leave but Ruddy stops me. “We’ve got one more Ms. Foxy.”
I grit my teeth and smile. That wasn’t a slip of the tongue. But I don’t want to tick off the judge. Not yet, anyway. Wait ‘til it’s worth it.
I wait next to Sheila as the bailiff brings up the next prisoner from the dungeon. I’m expecting some kind of big bad. A troll who smashed up a gnome hill or something. But what I get isn’t what I expect. Jerry, the bailiff, escorts a tiny seventy-year-old woman into the courtroom. She has pin-curls like a fifties prima donna and coke bottle thick glasses.
“Your Honor. Is this a joke?”
“Nah. Tisn’t. Didna’ wanna give the others ideas. So, we left this for last. It’s a bit of shame that is.” He turns to the defendant. “Tabitha Blue, ye stand accused of Shifting Voyeurism. Ye canna watch the fellas as they shift, even be it through a crystal ball miles away. It’s illegal, lass. An’ I think you know it, being as this is your fourth offense.”
My jaw drops. This little old lady? She’s spying on shape shifters?
I mean, I come across a lot of crazy stuff as a paralegal. Like, it’s illegal for a gorgon like Sheila to do her own hair. A witch wearing her boots to bed is charged with a 9.301. Making an ugly face at a troll is a violation of penal code 7.91 Instigating Violence.
But this is the first time I’ve seen someone in for getting off on watching shifters change. I wonder if she likes to watch them turn into humans or turn into animals?
As my mind wanders, old Tabby Blue tries to pull an innocent act on the judge. She blubbers like she’s confused. Ruddy sighs. I don’t know if he’s fooled or sympathetic. But we get a date set for status conference. And Tabby creeps toward him with a shaking hand to put some gold in his pot.
“I was gonna get kibble with this but I guess I can—”
He stalls her hand and sighs. “Go on now, Ms. Blue. I’ll release ye on yer own recognizance. Get home. Anni’ don’ wanna be hearing no more of you spyin’ on the fellas. Alright?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” her voice trembles just the right amount.
I am in awe. I’m in the presence of a master. Tabby flashes me a grin as she walks out of the courtroom, pocketing her gold. I want to be her so bad it hurts.
I turn back to Ruddy, who’s packing up.
“Your Honor. I think you just got punked.”
Sheila stifles a giggle and hurries out as Ruddy glares down at me from the bench.
“Approach, lil miss know-it-all.”
Man. I was just supposed to cover for Bella. Now I’m in trouble with Ruddy. Which means trouble with Arnold. Which means an even longer night in this stupid suit.
“Your Honor, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—” I near the brimstone. It is, in fact, quite intimidating. The neon messes with your eyes as you tilt your head back, back, back. My neck cracks.
Ruddy gives me the stink eye. “That much is clear. Ye speak to me like that again, lass, an’ you’ll be in contempt.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Sorry, Your Honor.”
I leave the courtroom as quickly as possible. I smack myself as I enter the elevator. “Snap out of it. Shut your mouth, you big dope. Who does that?”
Of course, who should walk up behind me at that very moment? Someone with heavy footfalls and expensive shoes. Gah! Does the embarrassment never end? I seriously consider just staring at the walls of the elevator for the entire ride. But I pull up my big girl pants and turn around.
Immediately, I wish I hadn’t.
“Bennett.” I try to fake a smile, but my lips just manage a hard line. What was he doing down at the misdemeanor court? Was he following me? Monitoring me? Watching me eff up?
My cheeks flame.
“I don’t think you’ve been that red since our first date—”
“No.” I cut him off. He did not just go there. He did not just remind me about that little Indian restaurant, where they flipping lock the bathrooms like it’s a truck stop.
After nine months of tagging along on the outskirts of his group of friends, crushing hard on him, he’d finally asked me out. And I was nervous. I had to pee.
It’s not my fault I didn’t realize you had to ask for a key. There were damn cloth napkins on the tables! I stood there for almost ten minutes, like an idiot, thinking someone was in there in front of me. It wasn’t ‘til some lady walked up with a key that I even knew. Bennett had asked for the check by the time I got back. He thought I’d ditched him. Was ready to hate my guts.
Then he thought … I don’t even want to think about what he thought about my guts after that. Probably that I had IBS or something. Needless to say, there was no first date kiss. There almost was no second date. And I came so close to losing my witty bantering, heart thumping, giggle extracting, sweaty palm inducing sweetheart … I had a panic attack after that first date.
My palms are sweaty now. Why is he here? Why is he always here when I embarrass myself? Why did he take a job at my office? It’s torture.
I feel Ben’s green gaze on me. I cannot look. It’s like fire. I wish I could just dissolve.
I scooch over to the corner. Distance. Need distance. The doors start to close. A hand stops them.
I want to thank the savior that rescued me from a six-story elevator ride from hell. But when the doors open all the way, my jaw goes slack. Hot Vamp walks on, pink jumpsuit gone, fully tailored black shirt and slacks replacing it.
Immediately the tension ratchets up. At first, I think it’s just because I’m about to internally combust from some potent combo of lust and embarrassment. But then I realize the guys are glaring daggers at each other.
“Mr. French,” Hot Vamp inclines his head at Bennett and comes to stand by me along the side wall. Close. Too close. We could almost touch. If his arm moved just a little…
Shit. I start to panic. A cold sweat forms on my spine. My heart races.
Hot Vamp turns toward me and smiles. “Hey, gorgeous. Didn’t catch your name in there.” He starts to extend a hand.
I stumble into Bennett, my mind in full on panic mode. “Germaphobe. Conflict of interest. Um… Lesbian!”
Hot Vamp laughs. “The lady doth protest too much, I think.”
Bennett puts his hands on my shoulders. Supposedly he’s being reassuring, but I shrug him off, unable to do this. I hit the emergency stop button. I push at the doors. Like an idiot. Like a caged animal. “Out. I need to get out.”
“It’s okay Ly,” Bennett tries to calm me down.
But I’m in flight mode.
I scratch at the doors like a mad woman. “Out.”
Hot Vamp leans over behind us, undoes the emergency button, and pushes the button for the next floor. The ding signals my release, and I stumble out of the elevator. I head straight for the woman’s restroom and pull out my cell. I dial JR. “Come help me.”
“Honey, what’s wrong?” She immediately shifts into momma bird mode when she hears my voice. “I’ll take them out, whoever they are.”
It takes a minute before I can calm down enough to tell her. “There was a vamp. In the elevator. We almost touched.”
I hear her intake of breath. “Oh my stars. Where are you?”
“Bathroom. Second floor. I think.”
“Don’t move. I’m coming.”
Chapter 3
JR is there, petting my hair and rocking me back and forth.
“He’s not Alec, honey. He’s not.”
“I … I know.” I sniffle. Even the dark Viking god can’t measure up to my old high school boyfriend. A gorgeous vamp with blond curls who looked like a cherub all grown up and naughtified. His grin. I doubt I'll ever get over him. My first love, my first everything. He ruined me for vamps. I might be drawn to them. But I will never ever touch one again. It’s a toxic combo.
“I’m sorry. I think I’m being over-dramatic. But having Bennett in the elevator was painful, and then this vamp. Like, I haven’t been that drawn to anyone in a long time.”
“Wait. Back up. Painful?”
“Bennet is that ex. The one who ran away.”
“Honey,” JR rubs my back sympathetically. “If I’d known he was that guy, I’d never have left you alone with him at my desk. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “I’m over it. I have to be over it.” I rub a hand over my face, trying to pull myself together.
JR notices I’m coming back to life and she spurs the process by asking, “What do you think that stain over there is?”
That’s all the prompting I need to get up off the bathroom floor.
She helps me clean up and I return to work, using my hair as a protective shield, vowing never, ever to get it bobbed.
I ignore Arnold’s waddling, especially after he half-shifts into wolf form (the lower half only) around midnight. I hate when he does that. I've complained to HR; they don't do a damn thing. I think he does it just because he wants to walk around the office without pants.
I finish work about an hour before dawn, utterly exhausted. I shut down my four-year-old, slower than a snail computer and wave goodbye to Alexander—our receptionist and the resident man-whore of the office. JR has already left.
I stumble outside alone and call a Broomer using the Broomer app on my cell. Two minutes later, I'm on a broom behind a witch, headed for home. I want nothing more than to hop in the shower and crawl into bed, but I promised Saffron.
I curse myself for volunteering to help with her campaign, though really I couldn’t just have stood by and watched my mentor go-it-alone. Saffron's a judge running for a City Council member spot. She's the judge that used to take me aside and ream my butt for being rude in court. She'll be ticked if she learns about today. I'm hoping Ruddy is as forgiving to stand-in paralegal prosecutors as he is to little old ladies.
I fish through my purse for my keys. I don’t feel them.
“Gah, this the is best day ever! My keys are never where they’re supposed to be.”
I end up dumping out my entire purse and kneeling on the stoop to sort through my trash. I live on the second floor of a four-plex built in the sixties. It’s outdated, but close to work. It’s got built-in shelves that I’ve filled to overflowing and a perfect balcony that faces the dawn. The world’s best reading spot. Those were its selling features. Not the elderly neighbors. The dog-shifter downstairs who barks incessantly. Or the curry smell from Mrs. Snow’s apartment; the woman deludes herself into believing she’s a witch doctor and mixes together potions that smell worse than rat poison. But hey, it’s home. It’s mine. And now I can’t get inside and I’m digging on my stoop like a lunatic through a pile of useless receipts. That’s how Jacob finds me.
“Um, ride’s here.” Jacob Watts is Saffron’s husband, and my stand-in for a father. He’s a sixty-three-year old coyote shifter and one of the best people in the entire world. That’s a fact. I pop up to give him a hug.
His brown eyes sparkle with mischief. “What’s going on?”
“You know what’s going on.” I grumble and hold out a hand. He chuckles. I am a constant loser of things. It’s an annoying habit, one I can’t seem to kick no matter how many post-its I stick on my own shirt. The three neighbors have keys. JR has one, and Jacob and Saffron each do as well. I sigh as I unlock my door and push it open. At least Jacob’s hardware store keeps me well-stocked with new locks and keys.
“Five minutes. I promise. I just have to change.”
“What? Blue’s your color.” Jacob is a joker. He thinks he’s hilarious. I roll my eyes.
“Can’t be competing with your wife at her own campaign meeting now can I?”
He gives a shrug.
I push him on the shoulder. “Hey, you should be excited. You’re about to be famous. The arm candy of a City Councilor.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
“You don’t seem excited.”
He sighs and sits on my second-hand purple velvet couch.
“I want her to be happy.” Jacob’s not big on limelight. Saffron, being a judge, has always lived in it. Opposites attract I guess.
Jacob fingers a dead plant on the coffee table as I head for the bedroom. “What was this?”
“No clue,” I yell as I kick the door shut. JR’s magic includes growing plants. And she’s constantly giving them to me. Obviously, I’m a great caretaker. Thank goodness her powers do not involve small animals.
I rip off the wretched blue suit and throw on yoga pants and a light sweater. I run a comb through my stick straight hair and find some lingering were-hair from the floor. Great. I check myself in the mirror to make sure there isn’t more. Overall, I look like a human. Like my dad. Semi-attractive, blonde hair and blue eyes. Except for the bright blue jewel embedded in my chin and my black toenails, you’d never know I have some garbled mix of pixie and fae-blood. I grab some snack pack cupcakes and a bag of jelly beans out of the cabinet (improv dinner) and tell Jacob I'm ready to go.
He goes into the bathroom to shift while I grab my saddle from its hook on the wall and toss it over my shoulder. Jacob trots out, his grey coat sleek as he noses me to hurry up. I toss his clothes into a bag for him and we head out.
Riding a coyote is not the most comfortable way to get around town, but it's pretty efficient. Especially when you eat a shrink pill before the run.
I eat the spelled tablet I keep on-hand for Jacob’s rides. Two seconds later, I’m a pint-size pipsqueak; I'm about two feet tall so I fit perfectly in the saddle on Jacob’s back.
As he runs, I wish I’d brought a jacket, because the chill of fall nips at my skin. We’re in So. Cal, but the coastal winds get me. I am generally not one of those bikini-on-the-beach types. I prefer jeans and a jacket at pretty much all times, thank you.
Jacob jumps into a pile of dead leaves. And that’s what starts the game. I yell, “Yee haw!” and suddenly he’s a bucking bronco. This is a small part of why he’s my favorite person on the planet after JR. He knows what fun is and isn’t too embarrassed to have it.
We play until we get close to the parking lot of the casino. Too many humans from out of town could see. Technically, the town is spelled. Humans can’t get into most parts. The casino has exceptions. Enchantments and drunkenness work in tandem to keep magic under wraps.
Obvi, if we go to human cities, the restrictions get worse. But Tres Lunas has spelled boundaries. So, the second humans step out of town, they forget what they saw here. In that way, Tres is kinda like Vegas. If they see it here, they forget it here.
I slide off Jacob’s back, grab the saddle, and we walk toward the side door
s of the palatial Abra Casino.
As we round a corner, I see construction. The whole backside of the building is blown out. And it hasn't been cleaned up yet.
Matthew Boolye is the cajun real estate mogul who owns Abra Casino. He's ponying up most of the money for Saffron's campaign. I think he's hoping to time her win with the opening of a new theater for the casino. Free press or something. But whatever. I'm happy Saffron found a sugar daddy donor, and I don't have to go collecting door-to-door.
Jacob darts into a changing room set just inside the door for shifters. I toss the bag of clothes in after him and pull the door shut (which is no small feat considering I’m still only about two feet tall). While he shifts and changes, I grab a second spelled tablet to return me to normal size. I spend a second wishing they had spelled tablets for boobs. I mean, mine are good. But I kinda think every woman wonders … But no one’s been able to isolate the spell enough for body parts. Shame.
When Jacob steps out we tromp down a hall lit by floating fairy lights into the meeting room. Sheila Stone is already there.
Saffron and Matthew walk in laughing a second later. I’m glad to see her laughing. She’s typically such a workaholic, I don’t see her relax. Jacob and I joke that she sleeps in her courtroom. We bought her a quilt with gavels on it last Christmas so she could keep it at the office. (Surprisingly, she was not as amused as we were.)
Sheila calls the meeting to order. She's technically the organizer of the whole campaign shindig. Which—thank goodness. Because my ideas about running a campaign are limited.
My great contribution so far has been the cheesy slogan: Vote Saffron to Spice up City Council. And that little piece of brilliance only came after three glasses of wine.
Sheila pulls out a list and pops on a pair of cat-eye reading glasses. "All right, the were-bears want to have a hug-a-thon fundraiser, which is basically an excuse for them to semi-gamble on who can squeeze the other until they pass out. But it did bring in a lot of money for Ruddy's campaign for judge, so I think we need to consider it."
