Page 22 of Wicked Little Tricks

He stepped the rest of the way into my room and sat at the foot of my bed. “Dawn called. Someone found her missing messenger. He’s dead, and it wasn’t a pretty way to go.”

I stared at him as my mind made sense of things. Was he talking about my replacement? Dawn had claimed he’d bailed in the middle of a job. “Did the client kill him?”

“Seems that way.” Braxton shrugged. “Can’t be sure, but he was dumped right outside the Silver Quarter. That’s where his delivery was. Dawn just wanted to warn you to be careful.”

“I’m touched she cares,” I said sarcastically, though my mind was hung up on his words. A messenger dead, near the Silver Quarter where the angelics lived. Could it have been the same pair that tried to kill me?

“Um, what is that?” Braxton’s eyes were on Ringo still fast asleep on the bookshelf. Poor little guy must’ve been exhausted.

While we both watched him, his head popped up. He looked around, blinking his eyes, then jumped off the shelf, darting past Braxton’s feet.

I climbed out of bed and we both followed him into the main room just as he darted into our shared bathroom. The door somehow slammed shut behind him. A moment later, we heard the toilet flush, then the sink started running.

Braxton turned toward me with his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Goblins use modern plumbing.”

“That doesn’t explain why there is a goblin usingourmodern plumbing.”

I shrugged again. “Trolls were trying to eat him.” I walked past him toward the kitchen.

Braxton followed me. “That still doesn’t explain it, Eva.”

“He could be helpful.” I pulled out the coffee carafe and started filling it with water from the sink.

“It’s almost dinner time,” Braxton commented, looking down at the carafe in my hands.

I emptied the water into the coffee maker and pulled out a bag of ground beans. “I had a weird day, and night. Let me have my coffee.”

“I guess I know better than to argue with you.” He stepped around me, pulling a loaf of fluffy white bread out of the next cabinet over. Sandwiches were a regular dinner for both of us. It would be nice to eat healthier, but who had the time?

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked as he pulled a jar of grape jelly out of the fridge. “Did you fulfill your bargain with the devil?”

“Not quite.” I glowered as I waited for the coffee to start brewing. I wouldnotbe thinking of the dream. I needed to keep that devil off my mind. I considered telling Braxton about my new bargain, but that could be dangerous. I would have to keep it to myself, and tell Ringo to do the same.

“You should call Dawn about the messenger. Find out who he was delivering to, just to make sure you don’t take the wrong job.”

Wrong job.I knew something about taking thewrong job. I almost had to laugh, but it was a good idea. I didn’t know if it was the same two angelics, but it would be smart for me to find out.

“I’ll call her after coffee.” I glanced at him. “And if any other goblins come around here while I’m gone, just call me. Don’t kill them.”

The bathroom door creaked open, and Ringo scurried out, his fur damp and fluffed up around him. He must have taken a bath in the sink.

Braxton stepped out of the kitchen to observe the tiny goblin. “And why wouldmoregoblins come around?”

I stepped up beside him and shook my head, unable to imagine Mistral actually showing up in my dinky apartment. More likely I’d be kidnapped at some point and brought back to the Citadel. “Don’t worry about it, it probably won’t happen.”

He went back into the kitchen to finish making our sandwiches. “This new secrecy thing doesn’t become you.” He finished stacking the bread together, then handed the plate to me. “Now I’ve got a job to get ready for.” Scooping up his sandwich from on top of mine, he headed for his bedroom to get changed, stopping with his free hand on the knob to look back at me. “Promise me you won’t get into any more trouble.”

I smiled sweetly. “I try not to make promises I can’t keep.”

Shaking his head, he went into his room.

Once I had poured my coffee, I carried it along with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich to the sofa. Ringo hopped up beside me, eyeing the sandwich hopefully.

I tore it in half, handing him one piece. “You don’t think Mistral would come here, do you?”

Clutching the sandwich in his little paws, Ringo looked around the dingy interior, from the threadbare sofa to the other set of blackout curtains across the one window. They didn’t open often. It wasn’t like there was much of a view. “Not likely,” he muttered, then bit into his sandwich.

---