I blew out the breath I’d been holding. “Thank you.”
He grinned. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
My stomach clenched. I had… almost all of it. Just not the part I was most worried about. But it’d have to be a half win tonight, because I didn’t have it in me to keep pushing.
Peter must’ve been reading my mind.
“I know you’ve had a hard night….” He shook his head, jaw clenched. “I can’t believe Chief Taylor was behind all this.”
I shrugged and stepped a little closer again. “You’re one of the very few good ones.”
He slid an arm around my back again and tugged me a little closer. He held me like he had when we’d danced together… but we didn’t sway. My heart picked up its pace.
“Maybe… but sometimes I don’t feel like being good.”
His quiet, intense words made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I felt like my whole body was tingling. Suddenly, all the exhaustion of the night seemed to wash away with the pouring rain that fell around us.
I’d been brave so far. Now wasn’t the time to back down. I’d parted my lips to ask Peter if he wanted to come up, when a movement in the shadows across the street caught my eye. I glanced over. Neo stood between two buildings, soaking wet, his dark eyes fixed on us. He glared, then disappeared into the shadows.
All the heat that Peter had sparked in me chilled. Great. Neo would tell Ludolf we’d been dancing together in the rain, and the mob boss would know just how invested I was. He’d know he could threaten Peter and get me to do just about anything. I suddenly felt ill.
I glanced up at Peter, genuinely regretful. “You’re right… it’s been a long night.” I pressed my lips tight together. “I think I need a little alone time to process.”
“Sure.” Peter gave me a tight smile, his tone overly light. He seemed like he was trying not to sound disappointed. “Of course.” He shook himself and gave me a warmer smile. “We’re okay, though?”
I grinned back. “Yeah. We’re good.”
Peter waited for me to open the metal door before he waved goodnight and, hands in pockets, trudged off through the pouring rain. I watched him go for a few moments, then closed the heavy door, slid the locks into place, and leaned my back against it.
I’d made peace with Zale and Eve, told Peter about my lack of magic, and helped expose an inner precinct corruption scheme that involved murder and the chief of police. Quite the day.
I glanced up the long flight of stairs that led to my apartment—and my bed. My sweet, sweet bed. I sighed and took the steps slowly.
Of course, for all the wins, I’d also no doubt be hearing from Ludolf Caterwaul soon. And I wasn’t sure how many trips to the sewers I’d survive unscathed. But that was a problem for tomorrow. For now—sleep.
Book 4: A cursed sleuth. A gallery of secrets. Will this cryptic case be Jolene’s last?
Read Mouse of Cards to solve a mystery at the Magical Artifacts Museum today!
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NIGHT JOB
I eyed the trail of slime that now marred my velvet tablecloth with its sprinkling of gold stars and moons and grimaced. At least now I had the spending money to get it washed.
I plunked my cheek into my hand and blinked at the nerdy guy who sat across my kitchen table from me. “So you came in tonight because your pet slug is feeling… sluggish?”
He roughly rubbed his nose. “Snail, actually. And yes, he isn’t his usual peppy self. Can you tell me what’s wrong with him? Is he depressed?”
The little brown creature inched across the table, heading on a suicide mission toward the edge. Luckily, it’d be next Tuesday before he reached it.
I sighed through my nose. Goddess, I hoped Peter had a case for me soon. It’d been rough the last few weeks, having to go back to my day job as a pet psychic (night job, really). I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nearly 4:00 a.m. and closing time.
I’d already talked to a ferret with a hoarding problem, a goldfish who’d been terrorized by the neighbor’s cat through the window, and a bird who couldn’t stop molting because of a sunflower seed allergy. Talked being the operative word. I masqueraded as a pet “psychic” for cover.
The truth was, I’d been cursed a few years ago and lost all my magical powers, along with the ability to shift, but gained the oh so lovely ability to speak with animals. If I’d admitted to that, it’d basically be advertising the fact that I was a shifter—or used to be—and on the magical island of Bijou Mer that was like wearing a flashing neon sign begging people to discriminate against you.
Still, my powers had earned me a position as a police consultant. I’d helped crack a few cases, and word had spread around my little nook of the Darkmoon Night Market that I was apparently legit. Which meant lots more pet psychic business. Good, in that I had more merkles for putting food on the table, but bad in that I had to have endlessly inane conversations. Oh, from rising star lawyer to this—how the mighty had fallen.
I reached out and tapped the snail’s spiral shell. It stopped its death march across the table and swiveled its eyes, at the ends of long stalks, to look at me. They both blinked, slightly out of sync. Rude.
It was always a challenge, hiding my conversations with pets
