I tucked a wildly waving strand of hair behind my ear. The chilly Sansea Winds that swept over the island as fall set in every year were in full swing. Tall trees waved and bowed, and a pile of leaves whisked by through a stone gutter, scraping and crackling.
We wound up a brick path surrounded by lush landscaping, all the branches and ferns bobbing and thrashing in the wind. The moon shone bright enough to light our way, quick-moving clouds blowing across it, but Peter held his wand out, the tip lit, to guide our steps. That was thoughtful of him—my shoulders relaxed a little as I took that in.
On the last case we’d worked, Peter had dropped a lot of the little habits that showed he cared. I studied his face—that thinking crease lined the space between his brows, but aside from that he looked lighter than when I’d seen him last week. The bags below his eyes had cleared, and he sported the clean-shaven look again. Maybe he’d recovered from the shock of me telling him I was a shifter—or used to be, at least, before the curse took away my ability to change into an owl.
I bit my lip. I’d recently learned that mob boss of the shifters, Ludolf Caterwaul, el creep himself, had been the one responsible for the curse that left me powerless, jobless, and almost homeless. It’d had one perk though—I could now speak to all animals, which was what got me this sweet consulting gig with the police. That was, until I told Peter the truth about me—now I wasn’t quite sure where me and that sweet gig stood.
I’d promised my friends and myself that I’d talk to Peter about the predicament that I, and a lot of shifters, were in with Ludolf. My stomach twisted, all wrung up in knots. My other big secret reveal hadn’t gone great—how would Peter take the news that there was an entire underground secret shifter society led by a corrupt maniac who was testing potions on me?
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my quilted bomber jacket and stared down at my boots. I was still working on the gentle way to break that news. In any case, Peter and I were on shaky ground—maybe best not to lead with that kind of revelation.
Peter cleared his throat, and I glanced up at him.
“We’ve got a dead body at a high-profile wedding.” His throat bobbed. “And I could really use your help on this one.”
A warm flush spread over my chest, and I grinned, thinking this over. Peter valued my help. That was a good start.
“I’m happy to.” I looked back down at the path. “I’ll admit I was a little surprised when Russo showed up at my door to tell me you wanted me up here at a crime scene.” I raised my brows, voice quiet. “I wasn’t sure I was going to hear from you.”
He nodded. “I get that. I’m still… wrapping my head around everything, but we work well together. I’d like to find a way to keep doing that.”
My stomach clenched. I wanted to keep working with him too, it’s just—we’d been on a path to something more. It didn’t sound like he wanted anything but a professional relationship. I took a deep breath. I’d just have to accept that, even though it hurt.
I cleared my throat and tried for a light tone. “So… where’s your mangy mutt of a partner?”
Peter blanched. “She’s with the new chief.”
I frowned. I’d barely seen him without his lie-sniffing German shepherd at his side. “It’s weird to see you without her.” I grinned. “She too busy getting some ear scratches to come greet me?”
Peter’s throat bobbed. “Daisy’s… Well, you’ll see. She’s not quite herself.”
I frowned deeper. Come again? What was going on here?
Peter shot me an earnest look. “It’s why I’m doubly grateful for your help.”
We exited the winding path and stepped onto a wide lawn, the front courtyard and path filled with smooth white pebbles. A massive stone castle rose to the sky in front of us, all turrets and stained glass windows and iron-studded double doors.
I let out a low whistle. “Who got married? The king and queen?”
Peter raised his brows and led us around the side of the imposingly beautiful building to the back.
“Not royalty—but still a name you might recognize. Chaz Harrington?”
I pressed my lips together for a moment. The name sounded familiar. It clicked into place, and I whirled to face Peter. “The guy running for councilor?”
Peter nodded.
We stepped onto a wide, grassy lawn. An enormous white tent glowed in the moonlight a little ways away. Closer up, rows of gilded chairs sat facing a rose-laden altar and arbor, and round tables dotted the lawn, covered in white tablecloths that whipped and snapped in the wind.
Wedding guests, dressed to the nines, sat at tables or stood in little groups, murmuring and sipping wine and coffee. I nearly choked. There had to be a thousand people here! Despite Chaz looking annoyingly self-satisfied and smarmy in all the campaign posters plastered around the island, he apparently had a lot of friends. Or his wife did.
Beyond the wide, grassy clearing, a thick line of trees marked the edge of some woods, and below that, the lights of Bijou Mer, our magical little island, twinkled and glowed. Moonlight shimmered over the dark sea, and I let out a happy sigh. While I lived in the Darkmoon District on the lowest tier of the island, I enjoyed my brief sojourns to the upper tiers when Peter and I worked high-profile cases. Views like this reminded me of a time, years ago, when I could still shift into an owl and glide over the island at night, looking down at the lights and the city.
“Jolene?”
I jumped as Peter startled me out of my thoughts.
He had a little grin on his face, like he’d been watching me for
