“You got it.” Megan’s body shimmered, a mist of pale pink sparkles dancing around her form as she shifted into her raccoon. She chittered a goodbye and scurried toward the farm, dragging the trap behind her.
With tourism at an all-time low, they were hurting for cash as it was. They couldn’t afford another arrest, especially a theft charge.
Alice sighed, taking one last look at the waning creek before calling on her crow. Her body shimmered in green, her magical signature color—which happened to match her eyes. How cool was that? And she morphed from a five-foot-eight brunette into a one-foot-seven black crow.
With a flap of her wings, she took to the sky, soaring above the trees toward town when a light shining in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Was that coming from Rainecourt Manor?
Her little heart fluttered in her chest as she altered course and headed west toward the abandoned house. Someone on the committee must have gotten through to the brothers. Halleluiah, the town was saved!
She flapped harder, elation fizzing in her veins as the mansion came into view. From the outside, you’d never know the place had sat empty for the past thirty-something years. A groundskeeper, who lived in a one-bedroom cottage on the property, kept the place immaculate. The lawn was always mowed, and the paint had never peeled.
Inside, who knew? She imagined lots of chandeliers and expensive furniture covered in sheets, a thick film of dust layered on everything, the stagnant air smelling of mildew like an old haunted house.
Or, heck, they were rich. If they could afford to pay a groundskeeper all these years, maybe they ran the AC and kept it a comfortable seventy-four degrees inside at all times.
One thing was for certain, though. Never in all the time Alice had flown around the place had she seen a light on inside.
She swooped toward the balcony, landing on the railing and ruffling her feathers before hopping closer to the window. Inside, she glimpsed a stack of boxes and a four-poster dark wood bed with a deep-burgundy duvet. A matching chest of drawers sat against the opposite wall, and…was that a fainting couch? Alice blew a puff of breath through her nostrils. Based on what she’d learned about Marcus Rainecourt, his wife probably used it regularly.
A shadow moved in the corner, and her heart rate kicked up again. If she had fingers, she would have crossed them that the person it belonged to would be Griffin. Truth be told, she didn’t know much about either brother. She didn’t keep up with the tabloids, and they were both little when their father dragged them to New York, so none of the townsfolk had much intel on them either.
Their father, Marcus, was remembered as a hard-ass warlock who looked down his nose at everyone, including the other witches and warlocks in town. He considered the residents of Shift Creek simpletons—never mind the fact he was born and raised here too. Rumor had it he sold spells on the black market to make his millions. Alice would rather be a simpleton than a criminal.
Hey, trespassing didn’t count. If she’d stayed in crow form while digging through the junkyard, she never would have gotten caught. Sometimes a girl needed to use her hands. Don’t judge.
The balcony door stood open, probably to air the place out. Even if they had run the AC for the past thirty-something years, the inside must’ve smelled dusty. Alice hopped along the railing, getting as close as she dared, when a masculine grunt emanated from inside.
“Where is it, Martin?” His voice was deep and a little bit rumbly. It was also kinda velvety at the same time, like rocky road ice cream—how the smooth chocolate melted in your mouth, and then you hit a nut or a marshmallow, and those little bumps were what gave it flair.
“How should I know? You packed the boxes.” The responding voice held a higher, nasally pitch that didn’t sound quite human.
“It wasn’t in a box. It was in the satchel with you.” Despite being obviously perturbed, something about the man’s voice made Alice shiver in a good way. Mmm… She had a sudden craving for ice cream.
As she leaned toward the open door, the man came into view. He was tall and slightly tanned, with broad shoulders and muscular legs. His dress slacks and blue button-up had obviously been tailored to fit him perfectly, and as he bent over to peer inside one of the boxes, those fabulously tailored slacks conformed to his backside like they’d been painted on. Yum.
He straightened and turned, revealing a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones. His face might have been harsh if not for his full lips—which were currently turned down in a frown—softening his features. Instead, the total package made for one fine specimen of a man. Sweet sugar, he was beautiful.
This man had an air of authority, of power, like a Rainecourt, but he looked nothing like the pictures she’d seen of Matthias and Griffin. Rather than piercing blue, his eyes were dark brown. Mysterious. Even in his current mood, they held a look of kindness the brothers lacked. And his hair was light brown…or would it be called dirty blond? Either way, unless he’d dyed it, his locks didn’t match the dark mahogany of the Rainecourts in the photos.
Her heart sank. If he wasn’t a Rainecourt, he couldn’t save the creek. So what was he doing here? She didn’t recall seeing a for sale sign on the property.
Oh well. She’d focus on tracking down Griffin this week. With any luck, she’d have a lead by the next committee meeting.
“I don’t remember seeing it in the satchel.” The nasally voice had come from a furry little critter who currently sat atop one of the large boxes. About a foot and a half long from nose to tail, the mongoose had brown fur and beady eyes. Yep, it was a talking mongoose.
A familiar. So at least he is a warlock! Maybe he knows the Rainecourts.
Shifters, like Alice and Megan, were limited to the abilities of their animal when they took on their form—aside from their minds, of course. They kept their human intelligence, but they lacked the vocal cords needed to actually speak.
Familiars, on the other hand, were magical critters who acted as helpers for the lucky witches and warlocks who were able to catch them. They were rare, and until tamed, they lived in the forest with their non-magical cousins. Only super-powerful beings could tell them apart from mundane animals and catch them, which said a lot about Mr. Hottie in there. Oh, and because they were magical creatures who didn’t shift, familiars could talk in animal form.
Must be nice. But they had no human form, and their intelligence never surpassed that of a ten-year-old, so the vocal cords were the only thing Alice envied. That and the way Mr. Hottie picked up this familiar, cradling him against his chest and stroking his fur.
I’ve got something you can stroke. She cawed at her own joke.
The mongoose snapped his head toward her. “Dinner!” He scrambled over the warlock’s shoulder and leaped to the floor, scurrying toward the balcony door.
Surely, he didn’t mean she was dinner. Did he?
He stopped beneath her, sitting up on his hind legs and pressing his little paws together. “Here, birdie, birdie.”
Holy crap. He did want to eat her!
He leaped toward her, swiping his claws like he, an animal, actually thought he could have a shifter for dinner. In his defense, he probably didn’t realize what she was, but still…
Alice screeched and flapped her wings, taking to the air and dropping a little present on his head before flying around to the front yard.