THE BIG FANG THEORY
ERIN JOHNSON
CONTENTS
Prequel Novella
1.
The Competition
2.
Murder
3.
Polly Pierre
4.
Twins
5.
Suspects
6.
Frank
7.
Spilling the Tea
8.
Rally
9.
Boo! Hiss!
10.
Chaos at the Castle
11.
The Royal Bakery
12.
Shifter Secrets
13.
Cat
14.
Teaming Up
15.
The Door
16.
Missing
17.
The Clinic
18.
Parting Ways
19.
The Lair
20.
Villains
21.
Missing Snake
22.
Police Station
23.
Tonya
24.
Elin
25.
Lorenzo
26.
Mimi Moulin
27.
Sourdough
28.
Vince Dupont
29.
Neo and the boys
30.
A Cure
31.
Inspiration
32.
The Teacup
33.
McCray
34.
An Accusation
35.
The Plan
36.
Ludolf Caterwaul
37.
A Red Heron
38.
Sam
39.
Starters and Enders
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Get the FREE Prequel Novella
A magical academy. A suspicious death. Can an inexperienced cop expose the deadly secrets lurking behind bewitched classroom doors?
Check out rookie officer Peter Flint’s first case with Daisy. Saved by the Spell is the prequel to the Magic Market paranormal cozy mystery series.
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THE COMPETITION
I groaned and thunked my head against my boyfriend, Peter’s, back. It was the only thing keeping me from collapsing from exhaustion.
His body rumbled with a deep chuckle. “You okay back there?”
“Oh. Just dandy.” My voice came out muffled as I buried my face in his uniform jacket. Even the quad shot of espresso in my Americano couldn’t make up for my lack of sleep. I gripped the half empty cup and took a deep whiff. Coffee, give me strength.
I’d been up all night, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for me, given I was a night owl—literally, since I was an owl shifter. The difference was that I’d actually tried to sleep, in anticipation of attending the royal baking competition this morning.
Adding insult to injury, Peter had snored happily beside me all night. Normally, I found my cop boyfriend a delightful mix of boyish good looks and innocence wrapped up in a sexy, broad-shouldered package. But that peaceful face, blissfully snoozing beside me while I’d struggled to get comfortable, much less sleep, had left me outraged. I’d tossed and turned and eventually taken to pacing around the apartment, huffing.
I groaned. “Who has a baking competition in the middle of the day, anyway?” I lifted my aching head and glared up at the bright sun. It peeked through the chilly gray haze that still hung low over the island and the sea.
Peter chuckled again. “Bakers are known for their early hours.”
I curled my lip and crossed my arms. “Well, it’s a crabby policy.”
Daisy, Peter’s German shepherd police partner, turned to look at me and bared her pointy, white teeth. Her normally shiny, tawny-and-black fur was matted in places, ruffled in others. She growled at me. You kept me up. Her growl deepened, menacing. All night.
A few people walked past us toward the bleachers and gave us a wide berth.
I waited till they were out of earshot, then arched a brow and woofed back at Daisy.
Do you know how many times you’ve woken me up, whining and twitching and doing this high-pitched barking thing because you were chasing bunnies in your sleep?
I’d been cursed a few years ago and lost my magical powers, the ability to shift into an owl, and my career as a lawyer. But hey—as an unintended side effect, I could now speak with animals.
I frowned—I should probably have a tee made up. I Was Cursed And All I Got Was This Stupid Ability To Exchange Insults With Dogs.
Daisy huffed and turned away, shooting me some serious side eye. At least I look adorable doing it. You looked like a madwoman, pacing and grumbling to yourself at all hours.
I coughed out a dry laugh, then woofed. “Ha!” At least I don’t have a major case of bed head.
She narrowed her dark eyes and growled again.
Peter looked between us, his brows pinched in concern. “You ladies okay?”
I gave him a double thumbs-up. “Peachy.”
Daisy, enchanted to sniff out lies, growled. Liar.
Peter shot me a sympathetic smile, then turned and slid an arm around me. “Come on. Let’s go find Madeline.”
I groaned but let him lead me across the lush royal lawn behind the bleachers. We came around the side of the crowded risers, which resounded with the excited chatter of the spectators. I squinted through one eye up at the crowd. Somewhere nearby, the prince and princess and Sam Snakeman were sitting with Madeline L’Orange, my reporter friend, and with her help, I’d be speaking with them soon. I just wished I didn’t feel like something the tide had washed in.
With effort, I straightened my spine and took a bracing sip of my coffee. I followed Peter toward the big white tent—the center of everyone’s attention. Three tall peaks rose into the sky, and the white fabric, gathered at the corners, flapped and snapped in the sea breeze. The long front side of the tent was open so that the audience could see all the frantic activity inside.
Bakers decked out in white aprons bustled about, some stirring bowls or reading recipes at the dozen or so butcher block stations. Others scrambled in between them, running to the wall of pantry shelves at the right side of the tent or rushing back from it with arms laden with jars of flour and bowls of eggs. Still others rooted around in the lush garden behind the tent.
I shook my head and winced, immediately wishing I hadn’t. “How do they have so much energy?”
Peter gently nudged me and winked. “Finish that coffee and you will, too.”
I could only hope.
“There’s Madeline.”
I looked up. Peter waved to our journalist friend, who stood beside her photographer on the lawn directly in front of the tent. He caught her eye, and she grinned and held up a finger. She pointed at the bakers, directing the guy with the camera, then strode over to us, her long black hair blowing in the early morning breeze.
“You’re late.”
I shot her a flat look. “Late? It’s inhumanely early.” We’d have been on time, but Peter had struggled to make me get dressed and then drag me downstairs to the little cafe at the bottom of his apartment building. I’d had to take several breaks to sit on benches along the way up to the top of the mountain.
She flashed me a bright smile and waggled her brows. “You ready? You’re about
