Page 4 of The Accidental Detectives

He’s handling correspondence for all the emails and PMs we got when word hit the paranormal-sphere that we were opening a detective agency.

When we first started OOPS, word got ’round about the support we gave to new paranormals in crisis. Pack alphas, council members, clan rulers, and all manner of paranormal leaders became familiar with us, and at first, they didn’t love us helping new people into our very secretive space.

It took a while, but they got over it…because we didn’t give them a choice.

Now that we’re making this kooky idea of a detective agency Marty’s reality, we’ve been assaulted by every paranormal nut in the universe via the Internet.

Speaking of the stiff-necked British guy, he now hovered over me, dropping something on my desk. “Ms. Statleon?”

I leaned back in my brand-new ergonomic office chair, courtesy of Marty. “It’s just Nina, Tater Tot. You don’t have to be so damn formal. Nina, vampire, Dark Master, they’re all fine. Treat it like your nose and pick one.”

He adjusted his red tie and straightened, clearing his throat in his shi-shi-foo-foo British way, almost knocking over the life-size metal knight I have standing next to my desk (the one I insisted my two favorite Karens leave the hell alone).

God, I love his awkward ass. I know he hates it, but I love him anyway.

Also, I guess people think it’s weird to have a suit of armor. Like I said, we’re doing this thing in my basement, and I live in acastle. I wasn’t kidding about the dungeon part of this. When I married my mate and husband, Greg (the vampire who accidentally turned me), we moved into his castle.

In Long Island.

With a hedge maze.

There was a lot of dusty old shit down here, like swords, lanterns tapestries, and books—so many books—from some long-gone century. My husband’s been alive a really long time. As a result, he has a lot of junk.

Anyway, the second I said yes to Marty and Wanda, they set up this office faster than they obliterate a frickin’ sale at Coach. Before I knew it, we all had desks, office chairs, computers—a damn receptionist.

And a humidifier, because the damp makes Marty’s hair frizz.

If your eyeballs just rolled so far back in your head they touched your brains because the notion is ridiculous, mine did, too, when she had my Tater Tot lug that big thing down here.

Tottington waved the pink sticky note in my line of vision again, lifting a haughty raven eyebrow. “I address you as such out of respect. That’s simply my good breeding, Miss.”

He always says shit like that—mostly to me, because of course he loves Wanda and Marty—as if to remind me he came from good stock and he views me as some prom night dumpster baby.

But again, I love him anyway.

“And for the record, Miss, I preferMr. Tottington.”

“And I prefer Master of the Effin’ Universe, BFF.”

He wrinkled his nose, but his “good breeding” obviously kept him from responding.

“You know she only does it to get under your skin, Tottington,” Wanda reminded. “Ignore her. We do.”

I picked up the bright pink sticky note and read what he’d written. “Brenda Bronkowski. Who’s she?”

Tottington folded his arms across his slight chest. “The first on your long waiting list of clients. Both Mistress Wandaand Marty approved her email request. She’s outside right this moment, Dark Lord. Shall I invite her in?”

Wanda clapped her hands in glee, before composing herself by smoothing her black pencil-slim skirt. She rose with a smile. “Our first client! Tell her to come in, please, Tottington.”

While Totts went to get Brenda, I googled her name, because these two would let Ted Bundy in here if he added enough smiley emoticons and x’s and o’s to the end of his email.

Christ on a crutch.

As Brenda swept into the room, her hands clasped together in a fist, her angular face lined with worry, she brushed past Tottington and headed straight for Marty and Wanda.

“You have to help me!” she pleaded. “I’ll pay whatever you want, but I’m desperate. I’m in trouble with the law!”

“Yeah, you are,” I drawled, holding up my phone. “It’s called murder, Brenda. I looked it up!”

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