Page 1 of Who Pissed Off Ivy Dell?

Ivy

The Work of a Wizard

I’m no expert onsigns or omens, but I feel like finding a dead bird on your doorstep probably doesn’t mean anything good. It’s such a small bird, too. Is it a sparrow? Oh, please don’t let it be a sparrow. Shit, this feels personal. Intentional. Who have I crossed? And who in Ivydell would sacrifice a sparrow just to prove a point?

Don’t be an idiot. An animal did this. Probably that badger you scared off your back patio. Vengeful fucker.

I nudge it with the toe of my shoe to be sure it’s dead. Oh, yeah, this frail little birdie has flown for the last time. There’s a wound in its side, but its filthy feathers prove it didn’t go down without a struggle.

Wait a minute. Those feathers don’t look real. It’s a . . . it’s a toy? Like, a cat toy? It’s lifelike from a distance, but I don’t think it was ever alive. I toe it again to flip it over. Definitely a cat toy. Real birds don’t have tiny bells inside them. Not usually. But where would a cat have come from?

Myrna steps out of her casita and waves from across the street. “Morning, doll! Whatcha studying over there?”

“I thought it was a dead bird, but I think it’s just a cat toy.”

“Ah, Wizard left you a present.”

“A wizard?”

“April’s cat. Have you met April yet?”

“No.”

“Well, then it makes sense that you haven’t met Wizard either. You had coffee this morning?”

I shake my head and start walking toward her place, stepping over the gift from Wizard. Making coffee is normally high on my morning priorities, but I thought I heard thunder when I came out of the bathroom, so instead of going to the kitchen, I stepped outside to look at the sky, and then I got sidetracked by the dead cat toy, and now my whole day is off to a weird start.

At home, I’d never leave my house looking like I’d just stumbled out of bed. But this is Ivydell, and I do a lot of things differently here. I’m different here.

Me and my bedhead cross the dirt road to Myrna’s. She hugs me like she always does, her head barely coming to my shoulder. Unlike me, she doesn’t have a hair out of place. Her sleek, platinum hair swings over her shoulders as she goes up and down the stepstool she uses to reach the cups in her cabinet. Physically, she needs a boost, but her personality takes up space. Her voice, too.

“Who would let their cat wander around outside here?” I ask. “A hawk could carry it off.”

“That hawk would have to be on steroids,” she says, bringing our full cups to her small table. “Wizard is a Maine Coon. Purebred. Big guy.”

I look up from my dry cuticles that I’ve been inspecting as she sets our coffee on the table. Then she positions her arms as if she’s ready to cradle a toddler in them. That can’t possibly be an estimation of Wizard’s size.

“No domestic cat is that big, Myrna.”

“I’m telling you, he’s big. And talkative.”

“He can talk?”

“Don’t be a smartass. You know what I meant. Cat talk. Chirps and yowls and purrs. Noisy, but he’s sweet.” She takes a sip of her coffee.

“Hmm, Jensen says his owner can be difficult. Care to elaborate?”

“Oh, April’s a pain in the ass.”

“Did she know Gran?”

“No, she wasn’t around back then. She’s only been in Ivydell for five years. Patrice would’ve put her in her place right quick, though.”

“What does she do that bothers everyone so much?”

“She’s one of those people who likes to be heard, even when she doesn’t really have anything to say. Never knows when to shut up.”

“Like her cat.”

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