“And Maverick?” I raised my brows.
Kalia shrugged. “Last I saw him, he said he was going to make sure the museum was sealed up and that no one had wandered off.”
I nodded. We needed to speak to those two also, at some point. I glanced over at the hovering body. Of course, there was also the possibility that Quentin was right—that the deaths were the result of curses. I knew firsthand how all too real curses could be.
Peter, Daisy, and I followed Bon and McCray out into the crowded chaos of the main room of the museum to conduct interviews. I was overwhelmed just looking at the sea of bodies—this was going to take all night. Thank the goddess Peter had cured my hangover with that spell of his—I just hoped it lasted.
I was just stepping past a glass case of golden goblets when a mouse scurried out from underneath it and dashed for the baseboards.
“Ah!” I tugged Peter’s sleeve. “I’ll be right back!” I pointed at the mouse and spun to go after it, but Peter grabbed my wrist.
“Hold on—I’ll go with you.” He frowned as he looked past me toward the dark hallway. The mouse bounced along the edge of the wall toward it. “It’s dangerous for you to go alone.”
“Great!” I was itching to go—if we waited much longer, we’d lose sight of it.
We’d started through the crowd when Bon’s gruff voice cut through the din. “Flint! Where are you going?”
We spun. Bon flashed his eyes at Peter. “We need you to do your job—and we need your canine.”
Chief McCray nodded.
Peter sucked in a quick breath. “But, sir, there’s a mouse witness and—”
He scowled. “Let the pet psychic”—his words dripped with sarcasm—“see to the mice. You have real police work to do. Now!”
He jerked his head, and Peter gritted his teeth. He shot me a conflicted look.
I grinned. “Relax—it’s a mouse, Peter.” I flashed my eyes at him. “I know that screams danger but I’ll be fine.”
He leaned close, and I glanced over my shoulder just as the mouse rounded the corner out of sight. Snakes! I was losing it!
“There’s a murderer on the loose, and with your condition—”
I bristled at the word “condition.” It made it sound like I was ill or something.
I stepped back. “I’ve been just fine with my condition for years at this point without any help from you or anyone else.” I knew he’d helped me with my hangover with magic earlier and that I’d nearly died a few times now due to my lack of magic, so I wasn’t exactly being fair. But his concern for me had crossed from cute to annoying and was now costing me the chance to interview a possibly key witness.
I softened my tone. “I grew up in an orphanage in the Darkmoon District—I can take care of myself, okay?” I pointed. “It’s getting away.”
“Flint!”
I glanced past Peter as he turned. Bon tapped his foot, mouth pinched. “Now!”
“Fine,” Peter ground out.
“Great!” I winked and spun, nearly running into an older woman. “Sorry!” I dodged her and sprinted off after the mouse.
26
THE MOUSE
I tore off after the mouse and skidded around the corner, my boots sliding across the slick marble floor. I started down the hall in time to see it scamper around the next turn up ahead. I pumped my arms and lowered my head, dashing after it.
I gained on the mouse as I headed down the next straightaway. I kept my eyes glued to the brown rodent, careful not to lose sight of it in the dim hallway. My pounding footsteps echoed off the marble floor as vases and paintings set into alcoves in the wall flashed past me. I let out a few breathless squeaks. Hey! I huffed. Little guy! Wait up!
I was nearly on its tail when I slid around the next corner behind it and ran straight into something big and hard. I stumbled back, nearly falling over.
I gaped up at Maverick, dressed in his crisp white button-up, black beret, and dark slacks.
He glared at me, puckering that scar that ran down his cheek. “What’re you doing?”
I glanced past him as the mouse scampered away, and pointed, so out of breath I could hardly speak. Man, I really needed to exercise more. Back in my heyday, I could fly over the island all night in my owl form. This was just pathetic.
“Trying to—catch that—mouse.”
Maverick glanced over his shoulder as the mouse got further away. I jogged to the side to pass him, but he side-stepped, blocking my way. Unease twisted in my chest, and I gave the security guard a more considering look.
We were in a dark hall, out of sight and earshot, with a guy I knew nothing about. I gulped—except that he was a veteran of the monster wars, which meant he knew a thing or two about combat. I glanced behind me. Maybe Peter had been right about me not chasing after the mouse alone….
Maverick took a step toward me, and I edged back. “You said you weren’t going to hurt it,” he growled.
I held my hands up. “I’m not!” I bit the inside of my cheek as the mouse scampered further away. “I just want to speak—I mean, read its mind. I’m a pet psychic, remember?” I frowned. “You seem pretty protective of it….” Did he know the mouse had seen him commit murder—twice? Was that why he didn’t want me to read its mind?
He narrowed his eyes at me.
I squared my shoulders. “So if you’ll excuse me….” I moved to go around him, but again he blocked my way. My heart picked up its pace, and the hairs rose on the back of my neck.
He shook a finger at me.
