Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Good night, Chief MacBain,” I said, and started walking toward my drive.
“We’re not done talking about this.”
But we most certainly were.
FOUR
Amanda came by the following afternoon to pick up her witch’s ladders and was horrified over the small amount I had completed.
“This is it?” She gestured at everything I had lying on the kitchen table. “This is everything? Are you kidding?”
I might have whimpered.
“You’re never going to make it. Today is already Thursday, you know.”
“I’m aware,” I grumbled as she put a steaming mug of Earl Grey in front of me. “And thank you.”
She knew her way around the kitchen as well as I did, and I appreciated it always, but more so at the moment. It was only a little after one, and I was already exhausted. I’d been out before dawn, visiting our family cemetery—which was beautiful and peaceful, bordering the preserve—communing with my ancestors before strengthening the wards. I connected with the land, the trees, and the wind, meditating with each. If anyone had seen me, it would have looked and sounded like I was talking to myself, but I’d never minded people thinking I was crazy. It kept the faint of heart from my doorstep.
“Oh my God, you’re never going to guess what our chief of police has been going on about this morning in town,” Amanda said, bringing me out of my thoughts.
She’d been at Eleanor’s diner, Bread & Butter, when he walked in and asked if anyone had seen a rabid wolf.
“First off,” she said, shooting me a look, “wolves? In New York? If we were lucky enough to have any, they’re protected by the Endangered Species Act, so he’s not allowed to just go out and kill it.”
“I doubt he wants to—”
“And if we do have a rabid one, I mean”—she threw up her hands—“we would need to trap it, but honestly, does the man even know what rabies looks like on a wolf, or is he basing everything he knows on watching Old Yeller as a child?”
“No child should watch Old Yeller,” I commented.
“I agree. If the pet dies in the movie, it needs to be banned.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Anyway,” she said, taking a seat beside me, her perfume wafting over. “He obviously had a mishap with a deer and doesn’t want to admit to it. Simply from the size he’s talking about, it had to be a deer. And if he says elk or moose, those were all killed off in the 1800s. You would think a man who—”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” I grumbled. “I need to focus on this.”
She was quiet, and I looked up from what I was doing.
“What happened?” she asked flatly.
Amanda knew a lot about me and my family. But she wasn’t aware of my true powers or what I could do—what I’d done the night before—so she couldn’t know which part of what happened was still worrying me.
“You’re right,” I told her. “A deer ran out of the woods and straight into him, and he was knocked out cold, so it’s a wonder he’s not saying he was attacked by Bigfoot.”
“And?” she prodded.
I groaned and gave her the tidbit I thought she was after. “When I checked on him, we were talking and…if not for Argos, I would have made a complete fool of myself instead of the half one I was, and I’d feel even more stupid than I do now.”
“Ah,” she said, smiling at me. “So you’re saying you let the chief see that you’re crushing on him just a bit.”
“I never said—”
“And Argos saved you from ruin.”
“I think ruin is—”
“Well, clearly, Argos deserves treats for his timely intervention, which I brought for him from the butcher,” she announced, and the cat, who was lounging on the table beside her, sat up and stared at her with adoring eyes. She, more than me, more than anyone, was his favorite. My grandfather had commented on that years ago.
Pulling a brown paper package out of the Birkin bag she was now carrying, she untied it to reveal chicken hearts.
“That’s disgusting. And you’re carrying that around in your purse?”
“Of course I am,” she said to the cat, using the ridiculous voice saved solely for him, beaming at the cat as he, indelicately, ate. “I would do anything for my angel.”
I was going to tell her that he probably wasn’t that hungry, having eaten a vargr and some kind of fae the night before, but those were secrets, after all.
“And I told you before,” she said, glancing at me, “Chief MacBain is not for you.”
I nodded because she was right but asked anyway. “And why not?”
She cleared her throat. “I have observed him for months and can say, unequivocally, that there is not an ounce of imagination in that man. He can’t conceive of anything that isn’t decidedly logical and could never, in a thousand years, appreciate your magical gifts. He’s duller than dirt, Xan, and you need someone with an overdeveloped sense of wonder and whimsy.”