Curse It (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 1), page 3
That wasn’t normal behavior. Without thinking I started after her. I wasn’t a champion runner, but I had jogged fairly often to counteract my food addiction. The training didn’t hurt, but I certainly had never trained at full speed, and the girl easily outpaced me. I called out a few times, but it only made the girl run faster. I considered zapping her, but she was too far away, and I didn’t want to hurt her if she was just some teenager who thought she was being caught out after curfew by a nosy neighbor.
My lungs burned, and I didn’t think I could keep this up much longer. The girl was still a half a block ahead of me and turned a corner out of my sight. My pace slowed, but I continued on. When I turned the corner, it was to find a quiet street, no sign of the girl. Damn. I bent over resting my hands on my knees, fighting the urge to vomit as my breathing slowed.
Straightening slowly, I looked around the dark street. A little voice whispered in my ear. What if the girl was bait? Vampires would love to play that kind of sick game. The thought had me picking up my pace as I headed back to the house, all thoughts of continuing the search gone. I had only run about a half mile, but the walk back lacked adrenaline, and fear pricked at my skin.
To distract myself, I focused my thoughts on the crime scene. The chest seemed to be a statement of some sort, and I needed to figure out what it was saying. Maybe my best friend, Lola, could ask one of her goblin foster brothers if he’d answer some of my questions. I snorted, the sound echoed in the stillness of the neighborhood. I looked around again, my paranoia creeping back in. A thought struck. What if the vamps came back to raid the house? Would they take the goblin chest?
Since I needed to perform an aura spell on it, as well as the poppy, it was too risky to leave it at Violet’s. I made it back to the house and studied my Jeep. The chest was huge and heavy. I could hypothetically use magic to bring it out to the Jeep, but it wouldn't fit. I needed to call in some muscle. I sighed and pulled out my phone from my pocket.
Bruce was a Pima, or in his native tongue an Akimel O’odham, a bear shifter who owed me after I’d taken his grandma to a doctor's appointment the week before. Normally I wouldn't have cashed in because that's what friends did, but he owned a truck. A blessing and a curse for him--if he needed to move something it was great, but if one of his friends needed to move something, he was on speed dial.
Bruce answered on the first ring, probably thinking I was looking for some fun, given that it was Friday night. "Hey, good looking, what are we doing tonight?"
"I'm glad you asked. We're moving a large metal chest from a murder scene to my house."
There was only a slight pause before he replied, “I don’t approve of grave robbing, so you’ll have to count me out.”
“Nana.”
“That’s not fair, Peg. It’s Friday. Lola and I are going to a poker game. I was going to invite you to come too," he whined into the phone.
"Bruce, you know I wouldn't ask you to move something on Friday night unless I was a little desperate. Think of Cheddar. Who will buy his kibble if I can't solve this murder? Besides, you can still go out. Have Lola meet you at my place."
As a close friend, Bruce knew about my current financial struggle. I milked it even if it was a tad over the top. He was a sucker for children and animals. He sighed into the phone, knowing he was defeated, and asked for directions.
I waited in my Jeep, so I could make a quick getaway if necessary. The rumble of Bruce’s F350 diesel engine reached me thirty seconds before he pulled up. Unlike a lot of guys, he wasn't compensating for anything. He used his truck for work as a welder and to haul around his horse trailer.
He climbed out of his truck, and I got out of my Jeep, the nervous tension leaving my muscles at the sight of him. He smiled, his teeth a bright white in contrast to his dark skin, his eyes crinkling at the corners, a result of spending time outdoors in the bright Arizona sunshine. He insisted on being his own barber, which meant every few months he shaved his head and let the thick dark hair grow out haphazardly.
"Hey, Bruce, I really appreciate this."
His smile got wider. "You bet your ass you do. It's Friday night."
"So sorry this murder upset your plans," I sniped back.
My comment had no dampening effect whatsoever on his mood. He simply came over and gave me a bear hug, lifting me off the ground. "Ah, small one, life is a circle, until it's a line with a set point."
I wasn't sure if he was being philosophical or if he recently picked up a Math for Dummies book. It was hard to tell with him. He was over a hundred and an immortal, in the loosest sense of the term. Immortals would not live forever, but with no violent impediment they could live thousands of years give or take. He was only half-shifter, chances were he probably wouldn't see past six hundred.
The grandma I had driven to the doctor the week before was actually a distant cousin through his mother's side. Didn't matter, he still treated her like an elder, even though he was technically older than she. He once explained that when you had less time to live, you matured faster and had a different viewpoint on the years you experienced. Still, he had a long life ahead of him, longer than mine as long as he never called me grandma.
"Quite the philosophy. Now move heavy things for me."
He smiled again and followed me into the house. Upon seeing the trunk, he let out a whistle. "That there is a work of art. I'm surprised the goblins let it go."
That made two of us. "It really is beautiful, but once you see a dead body in it, you tend to view it as a death trap."
He nodded. "I can see where that might make it lose some appeal. We takin' this death trap to your place?"
"Can you think of a better location for it?"
"Nope, you need a little excitement in your life, girl."
I agreed with him, though my idea of excitement was more like a wild girl's weekend in New Orleans and less murder-filled Friday nights. If I solved this case and got some more cases, perhaps I could indulge in the former. "That's settled then. Don't forget to lift with your legs; I don't want to have to take grandpa to the hospital."
"Keep that up because you'll be old someday—Grandma."
"'Grandma' doesn't bother me." I lied.
"It bugs all women. You're a vain breed." With that bit of male wisdom, he bent over and manhandled the chest like it weighed nothing. He also lifted with his back. If he wanted to be ornery that was his business, I wouldn't be around in three hundred years when he wanted to whine about arthritis. He did have a few issues navigating the huge trunk through the narrow hallway without denting the walls. All in all, he had the trunk secured in his beast of a truck in less than five minutes.
"I'll meet you at your house, Peg."
"Sounds good. Can you wait until I lock up?"
"Afraid something's going to get you?" The look he gave me was the equivalent to the one a twelve-year-old boy would give another when calling them a chicken.
Too tired to pretend to be a badass, I simply said, "There was a poppy on the body, and I'm not in the mood to donate blood tonight."
The mischievous look he sported disappeared instantly. "Hurry up, girl. Last thing I want tonight is a brawl. Friday's are better suited to poker, dancing, and general debauchery."
Saluting him, I turned back to the house. The keys that I found earlier still dangled from the deadbolt. In my rush to chase the girl, I had left them there. I turned the key in the deadbolt and walked down the path only to feel the strange sensation of someone watching me.
I turned, surveying the yard and the house, and saw no sign of anyone. A shiver ran down my spine. When Bruce revved his diesel engine at me, I jumped a foot off the ground. I swung my head back to give him a death glare. I couldn't hear him, but I could see him shaking with laughter inside his truck. I strode down the path with a haughty stride. Relief flooded my body as soon as I was securely locked inside my Jeep with the engine running. Maybe I was a chicken.
4
The drive home was slow. Fatigue had me fantasizing about showers and beds. I would have preferred a bath, but I'd probably fall asleep and be the idiot who drowned in the tub. My mother would be so embarrassed.
Unsurprisingly, Bruce beat me to my house. Even when I was alert, my driving compared to a grandmother's. Bruce on the other hand thought being in any sort of vehicle was a chance to practice skills he might one day need for NASCAR. At home, I found that Bruce was already let into the house. Lola had decided to wait at my house for him to pick her up. As my best friend, she was granted the honor of a key.
She greeted me on the porch, looking like Melody from the original Josie and the Pussycats comic. I was no slouch myself. My curly brown hair, hazel eyes, and even features along with some subtle curves definitely got attention. However, Lola always stole the show, she was simply that stunning. If I hadn’t loved her, I’d hate her.
"Hey, Peg, I heard you had some excitement tonight.” Her face warred between a smile and grimace before she dazzled me with a smile in greeting.
I sighed. “Yup, a lot of excitement for one night.”
Her smile dimmed, and she looked at me with sympathy but didn’t comment. She wasn’t a fan of my new career. “Bruce and I are going to an after-hours poker game with some of his shifter friends. Want to come?”
“Think I’ll sit this one out, Lola girl.” I considered redirecting her to the living room where we could sit more comfortably and chat, but if I sat down, I wasn’t sure if I’d make it to my bed.
She nodded. “Care if I have Bruce drop me off afterwards? I can sleep on your couch, and we can have breakfast.”
I gave her a tired smile. “That sounds great. Just use your key, and I’ll set out some bedding for you. Oh, and, Lo, don't let the guys take all your money."
Lola grinned again, a bit more toothy than usual. She did love to gamble and was pretty good at making men cry when she wanted to. Tonight, it seemed she wanted to.
"You know that won't happen. I’m lucky."
“That you are. Maybe I can borrow some of that luck. We could go to Vegas. We’ll win millions, and then my Friday nights won’t consist of finding dead bodies.”
Lines formed between Lola's eyebrows, and her voice took on disgusted edge. "I wish you were joking. Still, if someone has to do it, might as well be you," she admitted. "If you were a human, you'd be a policeman, and everyone would respect you, except for adolescent males who are super focused on breakfast foods like donuts and bacon."
I snorted, very ungracefully. "You can be such a weirdo. Where did Bruce put my trunk?"
"What trunk?"
Was she blind? She had to have seen Bruce carrying that sucker in. "The trunk he hauled over for my investigation."
Bruce chose that moment to appear. "It's in your Arizona Room, Peg. I figured you'd want it where you stored all your crap."
"Thanks, Bruce.” I gave him a tired smile. “Lola, how did you not see the giant metal trunk? It was pretty hard to miss."
Lola shrugged. "After I let Bruce in, I went to your bathroom to freshen up."
Bruce took the opportunity to hug Lola from behind, lifting her off the ground, and smell her neck. "And don't you look and smell good enough to eat."
Lola squealed in response, a flirty squeal, as opposed to the dear-lord-I-am-being-attacked squeal. It was my sign to usher them out the door. They were just friends, but their flirting was at a high school level, and I was too tired to watch them without gagging.
House reclaimed, I went and took some aspirin for the headache that began to form. The smell of dead body and poppy was stuck in my nose. The too-sweet flower with a sour undertone scent, made avoiding a shower until the morning impossible. I took a quick one, shampooing the smell away. I threw on a pair of boy shorts along with a camisole. I left out some sheets and blankets for Lola. If she came back really drunk, she would probably just crawl in with me, but I wanted to give her options.
Finally in bed, sleep found me quickly, hauling dreams in its wake. I was back at Violet's house, and someone was watching me. The feeling was so real I woke myself up. Grunting, I stretched trying to get comfortable. My foot hit something warm and solid at the end of the bed.
"God, Cheddar, you need to lay off on the kibble."
"I don't enjoy kibble, but tonight I intend to dine on the succulent flesh of a thief," a very deep male voice grumbled into the darkness.
My eyes flew open. The moonlight illuminated an attractive goblin sitting on my bed. While eons away from the horrible looking creatures humans wrote about, I didn't want to be anywhere close if he labeled me a thief. My mind flew into flight mode analyzing possible escapes.
The goblin stood on the side of the bed closest to the door. As he lunged for me, I rolled off the opposite side of my bed into the small space next to the wall. I kept a knife on my nightstand, and I reached for it, cursing because I couldn't see very well in the dark, and I doubted he was going to be kind enough to turn on the light. Goblins could see in the dark. A perk of their time spent in mines.
He hadn't quite made it all the way over the bed on his initial grab for me. I didn't think he'd miss a second time. Goblins were hard to take on, and it was too dark to hit him with a knock-back spell. Even if I could score a single hit in the dark, goblins needed two spells in quick succession due to their thick skin. I couldn’t stay still long enough to produce one despite the magic rushing forward, eager to be used. I scampered to the front of the bed, my bed creaking as he reached for me again. His fingers slid through my hair, way too close for comfort.
With him on the bed, I had a chance to get out of my room and ran for my front door. It wasn't far, a short hallway away. I didn't bother looking back because it would be a waste of time. Behind me, I heard him bang into the hallway wall when he underestimated the tight turn. The chase was on.
With only three feet to the front door, fingers gripped my hair hauling me back against a hard chest. My scalp burned. Anger boiled through me. What kind of dick pulled a girl's hair? I crouched down quickly, sending an elbow into his groin. I lost some more hair in the process, but his sharp intake of breath made it somewhat worth it. He released my hair, and I went for the front door again only to be clobbered from behind. The last thing I remembered was seeing my solid wood door coming closer to my face.
I woke up with a headache and the feeling of my blankets being too tight. I hated that. I struggled to free myself from the folds when I realized the restriction I felt had nothing to do with blankets. My hands and ankle were bound by what I assumed were plastic ties from the sharp sting of hard plastic biting at my flesh. My eyes snapped open in time to see a large hand push my shoulder, re-securing my place on to my couch. I had been teetering perilously close to the edge.
My attacker was kind enough to have turned on the lamp on my side table, which meant, I could now take in the details previously hidden in my moonlit bedroom. The pale yellow light softened his hard features, but just barely. The sharp planes were there, with the pale skin holding a slightly gray undertone. He was handsome with straight black hair tied back and blue eyes that were deep and clear as sapphires.
The goblin remained silent, standing over me while I openly studied him from head to toe. I wasn't sure if he was as tall as I thought he was, or if it was the effect of him towering over my prone form. I bet on the former. His black slacks and V-neck sweater could either be a fashion statement, or his attempt at dressing down for a B&E. He continued to stare down at me. We were playing the silent game.
I never won the silent game. "So, any particular reason you broke into my house to watch me sleep?"
"You should know, thief." His voice was deep and held a hint of an accent, something Old World. That confirmed that flight had been the right choice. His accent indicated he was probably old despite his youthful appearance.
I’d forgotten about the thief accusation, that didn't excite me, but since he hadn't killed me yet, a false sense of bravado had me tipping up my chin. "I haven't stolen anything since a Kit Kat when I was four. It was delicious, by the way. So, you may need to give me a bit more information."
"You have my property here at your house, and you have the audacity to lie to my face? Do you have a death wish, witch?"
"Given my recent career choice as a Fortune, some have assumed so, but no I don't. I don’t have anything that belongs to you." Spider webs cluttered my brain making connections difficult but then a little path cleared and I remembered the chest.
He studied me some more. It could be an intimidation tactic, or he could be deciding whether I was telling the truth or not. If I possessed any common sense, I would be scared out of my mind. Apparently I didn't. If he pulled out a knife or his eyes turned gold, a tell that a goblin was using their magic, I'm sure that would change.
"Then why is my safe in the hovel at the back of your home?" He sat on the wood coffee table in front of my couch and leaned forward.
"Hovel?" I instinctively scooted a little further back on the couch.
"The metal safe on your porch."
"Hey now, that is not a hovel. It's an Arizona room that has been relegated as storage for the time being. When it's cleared out, it’s a lovely additional living space." Why had I just said that? Maybe I had a concussion. My head hurt, the back from the near scalping, and the forehead from face planting into a door. If my hands had been free I'd have been massaging my scalp. As it was, I shifted uncomfortably on my couch.
"Are you slow? I asked why my safe was in your Arizona room, not its function." His eyes were starting to shimmer, not a good sign. Either he was about to lose it and blast me with some magic, or I really did have a concussion.
"The metal chest? That's witch business," Since he’d confirmed my suspicion there was no use denying it but I still didn't know why he was calling it a safe; there was no lock on it.
"No, the safe is my business, as it is mine."
"It's also the presumed murder weapon in the death of a young witch. Perhaps I should be asking where you were tonight." In for a penny, in for a pound.
