Page 17 of Jack of All Trades

“That’s crazy.”

“It is.”

Maltin hated confessing his secrets to Jack or anyone, but Jack had confessed a huge secret of his own, and he was right. As mates, they’d share a lot, including secrets. “Jack, please, don’t think I judge you. I’d never, as I have no place to judge anyone.”

“You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“If you don’t tell anyone we are or might be, or whatever, hellhounds.”

“Why would I? Sounds like we’ll be torched and pitchforked out of town. I like Valleywood. I mean, I hate what I have to do for money, but it’s better than being hidden away like a dirty secret. Wait, I guess I will be.”

“I’d never hide you away, Jack. Just because I don’t want to reveal to the world that you and I are hellhounds, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be proud to walk into any room with you.”

Jack was staring over at him, but Maltin pretended to keep his eyes on the road. It was becoming too real too quickly, and they barely liked each other. They’d fought more than been friendly.

When they arrived at the private investigator’s office, Maltin was pleasantly surprised when it wasn’t like he’d expected. He’d thought for sure he would walk into an office straight out of an old noir movie, where the man behind the cluttered desk would be wearing a stained shirt, balding, with a cigar hanging from his mouth as he drank cheap whiskey from a stained white coffee cup.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. The front of the office was sleek and modern, with a standing desk and a shining black tablet where the receptionist typed in their names. White walls were decorated with wood and metal sculptures, and the chairs in the waiting area were armless and imported from Spain.

The receptionist wore a classic black dress and had perfectly done French tip nails, and her hair was back in a braided bun. Maltin was impressed but a little disappointed. He’d have liked to pretend to be in that noir movie, where the detective would have called womenskirts, bottle blondes, cookies,orbroads. So, that wasn’t exactly PC, but old movies were anything but PC. He’d smoke abutt, call himself adick,and talk about how he just did adimein Joliet.

So much for expectations.

When they were called into his office, Dennis Peterson was a regular-looking man with a full head of dark hair and no stains on his freshly pressed white dress shirt. He was relaxing behind his glass and onyx desk with an air of calmness. “Gentlemen,” he said as he stood and proffered his hand to each of them.

After we sat in comfortable wooden scoop chairs, he asked us, “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

Jack clammed up like he’d lost the ability to speak, but Maltin didn’t mind. “We’ve recently discovered that Jack here is very different from his parents. We have no idea why.”

“Uh, okay…can you be more specific?”

Using magic was the only option if the man was far enough from Valleywood that he didn’t know about magical people. It was worth the few months it would take for him to use just that tiny bit.

Maltin whispered, “Non dicas animae quod confessuri sumus.”

Jack’s head spun to him. “Did you just,” he lowered his voice to finish, “magic?”

“Tiny bit. Only a few months’ worth.”

Dennis smiled and said, “No need for spells, Mr. Graves. I’m quite aware of the magical folk from Valleywood.”

Relieved, Matlin sighed, “Thank goodness. And this…even from those magical folk, will be confidential?”

“Of course. I understand how important it is to be discrete.”

More relief. “Good,” Maltin said. Then he laid out the story from top to bottom. Once he was finished, he glanced over to Jack, seeing how pale he was. “Jack, he’ll be discrete.”

“I understand that, and I believe it, but I’ve kept this secret since I moved to Valleywood. Excuse me for being a little iffy about telling two people in one day.”

Dennis said, “I assure you, I’ve heard much worse, Jack. And you’re sure you weren’t adopted?”

“I’m very sure. I’ve heard my birth story; I’ve seen pictures of my mother in the hospital with me. Back then, she was proud to have me for a son, so there were a ton of pictures.”

“Strange. I’m not an expert on witches, mind you, but enough to know that it isn’t usual for a shifter to be produced by twowitches. Like your…dare I say, a possible mate, a shifter would have had to have been in your lineage.”

“If there were one, they would have hidden it, so it’s possible.”

“Yes, that would have been a stain on the family, one of prestige, anyway. Full blood has always been important to families like that.”

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