Ludolf had created the potions that had trapped them, and only he had the key to changing them back. With my ability to speak to animals, I’d chatted with all of them and knew they’d be willing to testify against him. But we’d need to change them back, otherwise it’d just be my word that these were shifters and not just regular animals. And no one would believe me—they’d see me as a disgraced shifter who claimed to be a pet psychic.
I gulped, my throat dry. None of our efforts would mean anything, though, unless we got the backing of the royalty. Ludolf had straight-up told me he owned the police, the judges, and the politicians on our magical island. So even if we managed to arrest him and change the shifters back, we needed a guarantee that he’d be prosecuted fairly.
I stared at the laughing princess. That’s where she came in. With their vows to fight for shifter rights, Sam, Princess Imogen, and Prince Harry were the only people in power we might be able to trust to bring Ludolf to justice.
I squared my shoulders. I had to make them believe us. I threw my head back, chugged the rest of my coffee, then gave Madeline a firm look. “Let’s do this.”
She smirked. “We’re going to have a chat at a baking competition, not storm the castle.” She winked. “Relax, honey.”
I blew out a shaky breath. Easy for her to say. Aside from my desire for justice, my whole life was riding on this. I was one of Ludolf’s test subjects in his grotesque mission to create a “cure” for being a shifter. And if we didn’t stop him soon, I’d end up like those other trapped shifters… or worse.
Peter’s big warm hand wrapped around mine and gave me a gentle squeeze. I glanced back, and his big blue eyes sparkled. “We’ve got this.”
The tightness in my chest relaxed a bit, and I took an easier breath, then nodded and squeezed his hand back. “Yeah, we do.”
Daisy whined, her head tipped to the side. Partial truth—not sure even you believe it.
Peter glanced at her, then at me, his brows slightly pinched.
I shot the dog a flat look. Not the best time for her truth-sniffing powers to be calling me out.
Madeline clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on.”
The reporter led the way up the side of the bleachers toward the palace guards who blocked the royal row with their long golden lances. We’d made it halfway up when a shriek sounded from behind us.
I startled, then whirled around.
Another scream sounded, then another—they were coming from the baking tent. People in the bleachers rose from their seats, straining to get a look. Peter drew his wand and pulled me behind him.
White-clad medics dashed through the tent, shoving through the gawking bakers. All other activity ceased. They gathered around a red-haired woman who’d collapsed on the ground, convulsing. Two girls in their twenties stood nearby, one wailing, the other staring, stricken. Even as the medics drew their wands, the red-haired woman grew deathly still, foam pouring from her mouth.
Lights flashed from the ends of the medics’ wands as they tried spell after spell. Still, the woman didn’t move, and Madeline and I exchanged wide-eyed looks. Finally, the taller medic rose and murmured something to the two girls. The wailing one threw her head back and moaned, loud enough for us to hear in the stunned silence, “She’s dead?!”
Gasps sounded among the audience.
“Seriously?!” A woman with short white hair dressed in a stylish white jumpsuit stood beside the tent, clipboard in hand, wearing an earpiece. It looked to me like she was involved in coordinating the event. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Not again.”
MURDER
After making sure I was alright, Peter and Daisy immediately flew into action, sending up the police signal to call for backup, cordoning off the tent, and preventing the witnesses in the stands from leaving. Madeline and I stayed standing halfway up the bleachers, close enough to the royals to eavesdrop.
Princess Imogen bent her head close to her husband and their friends, deep in hushed conversation.
Her magical flame cackled in his lantern. “Well, at least this time we know you didn’t kill anyone, Imogen.”
She flashed her eyes at him. “Somebody died, Iggy. So not the time.”
I shot a confused look at Madeline, who smirked. She leaned close and dropped her voice. There was a shocked hush still over the audience so that sobbing from the tent could be heard. “At the last baking competition, one of the contestants died and Imogen was a top suspect.”
I frowned. “Oh yeah, I remember reading about that.” I arched a brow. “She didn’t do it, did she?”
Madeline just chuckled as a reply, and I shot the princess a doubtful look. Who were we getting into cahoots with? Then again, who else could we turn to for help? My stomach tightened with nerves, and I nudged Madeline. “Should we try to talk to them now?” What if we were missing our chance?
She opened her mouth to speak, but a loud, familiar voice cut through the tense quiet, interrupting her.
“Alright, now, everybody remain calm!”
I turned to look as Peter’s boss, Inspector Bon, strutted across the lawn. I shook my head at him. Because yes, shouting at everyone would definitely help people be calm. I glanced to my right. Beyond the bramble patch, I could make out the turrets of the jail. With the precinct located on the royal grounds, it’d only taken the cops minutes to turn up.
Bon glanced up at the crowd, spotted the princess, and scowled. “You.”
The princess set her jaw, pink spots burning on her cheeks, while Prince Harry bit back a smile.
The little flame cackled. “It’s your biggest fan.”
I grinned. Guess I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t top of
