“Good eye, spotting it.” He grinned. “We make a pretty good team, you know?” He nudged me with his shoulder as we walked side by side through the quiet streets of the Darkmoon District. Rats scuttled through debris in the wet gutters, and nauseating smells wafted up with the steam from the sewer grates.
I shot Peter a side-eyed look as I lowered the cup from my lips. “How are you so chipper?”
He chuckled, a deep sound. “Still on your nocturnal schedule?”
I looked down at my raggedy boots as I stepped over the wet, uneven cobblestones. The click of my heels echoed off the walls of the narrow alley we turned down, laundry strung overhead.
Even though I hadn’t been able to change in years, I was, at my core, still an owl shifter. I doubted I’d ever be anything but nocturnal. Even if I couldn’t spread my wings and soar through the night sky over the island of Bijou Mer, it was still a part of me.
For a while—months, maybe years—after I’d lost it all, I’d had hope that the curse could be reversed. I’d done research, talked to potions experts, but nobody had any solutions. Part of me, I think, hoped I’d just wake up one day with my magic back, along with the ability to shift. That the curse would just sort of… time out.
I shuddered, remembering a particularly bad night. I’d had too much to drink and decided to confront the only person who’d really known what that curse was, and how to break it—my coworker, Eve. The one who’d ruined my life.
It didn’t go well. She hadn’t even had the decency to speak with me—just called the cops on me for entering her front garden. I’d gotten out of there before the police showed up.
I bit my lip. Had it been Peter who’d been summoned to take her statement? I smirked. I’d gotten at least some form of revenge, however petty. Ever since I could speak with animals, I’d made some friends in low places. Wonder how that stink bug infestation was going for her?
“Did I say something wrong?”
I blinked up at Peter, who watched me closely. Wow. I’d really gotten lost in my thoughts, there. I shook my head. “Just half asleep.”
He nodded, but gave me a tight-lipped smile.
I rolled a shoulder as we walked, careful to keep my gaze ahead—not on the handsome and oddly concerned cop beside me. I wasn’t used to anyone looking at me at all, much less like that. It made me all—jittery.
We stopped in front of the gilded fence outside the Molino residence. The gate magically swung open for us after we pulled the bell, and we’d just stepped past the fountain in the little courtyard when Millie opened the front door and stood in the frame. She wore her blond hair teased high and sported pink heels with her jeans and blinged-out tee.
Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked from one of us to the other. “Oh! Turk’s at work actually, not home.” She leaned forward and lifted her chin in the direction of the office, just down the street.
Peter gave a slight bow of his head. “We’re actually here to speak with you, Millie. May we come inside?”
“Uh.” She paled and glanced inside the house. “It’s kind of a mess.” She let out a high-pitched chuckle that sounded more like a whimper. “Been… a lot going on. Maybe you can come back when—”
“We need to speak with you now.” Peter’s throat bobbed. He took a gentler tone as Millie’s chin started to quiver. “I know this has been a hard time, with Bim’s death, but we can either talk here or up at the station.”
She nodded, eyes red and puffy as though she’d been crying just before we showed up, then stepped aside. We moved past her and took seats on the plastic-covered sofa in the parlor, while she perched on the one across the coffee table from us.
She folded her trembling hands on her lap and let out a shaky breath. “What can I help you with, officers?”
Daisy’s tail swished across the white tile floor as she stared the woman down. Millie looked like she was doing her best to keep her gaze high to avoid looking at the massive dog.
I scrubbed roughly at one side of my face and yawned. “Millie.” I lifted a palm. “We know.”
Her face went slack.
Peter cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Why didn’t you tell us about Bim’s side business?”
Millie stared back at us slack-jawed for a few long moments.
I arched a brow. “Uh… anyone home?”
She shook herself, then stared down at her hands. “I—I didn’t know she had one.”
Daisy growled, and I scoffed. “Oh, come on. We know you were a client.”
She jerked and looked up at me, wide-eyed. “How— Where did— I don’t—”
“The black envelope.” I raised my brows and flashed my eyes at her. “We know about the black envelope.”
“Eep.” Millie choked and fell into a coughing fit.
Peter half rose, but she waved him off and, while pressing a hand to her chest, cleared her throat. “I just—” She cleared her throat again. “I couldn’t admit to knowing about the boudoir photos in front of Turk. Plus, I knew you’d think the worst if I told you! You’d think I killed her because of something to do with the photos.”
She sniffled, and her bloodshot eyes grew glassy.
Peter and I exchanged looks, his curious, mine smug. Told ya it had to be the same envelope.
He leaned forward, elbows on thighs. “You didn’t kill her over the photos?”
Millie shook her head as she fought back tears, her bottom lip quivering. “No! I—” She sniffled again. “Bim and I really were friends. She told me about her side job and I asked her to take those photos of me.”
Daisy looked at Peter, a smile on her black lips. She let out a high whine. She’s telling the truth.
I frowned. Huh. Why would she
