Page 12 of Goblins Don't Count
Brannigan nudged me. “Why don’t you work on those cuffs in your office while the Lieutenant makes some important calls? It’s going to be a long morning.”
I grabbed Sashimi’s arm and tugged him with me out of the large office and towards my much more modest one.
“You heard me come through the window two offices away?” he murmured.
I ignored him.
“Has your sense of hearing always been so keen?”
“We aren’t talking about me.” I shot him a look.
He was smiling slightly, eyes twinkling while his silky hair looked positively edible. Did goblins eat hair? Not that I was turning into a goblin.
He asked, “You’d rather talk about me? My career?”
“Your shampoo. What kind do you use?”
He blinked and looked genuinely intrigued. “You’d like to know what kind of shampoo I use? Why would you want to know something so personal about a goblin you were so eager tohandcuffandlock up?” He made it sound like the ultimate in flirtation, like tying someone to a bed wasn’t nearly as exciting as being locked in a police station.
Was I blushing? No, I was too tired for that. “My raccoon needs better shampoo.”
“Your racoon,” he repeated, eyes narrowing. “That explains the smell. Although the alcohol …”
“I took home a drunk raccoon last night, okay? Don’t judge me and my bad life choices. It’s just that your hair is much better than his, particularly matted in blood.”
His brows drew together. “You’re saying that after you locked me up, you went home and partied with a drunk, injured raccoon? You’re fighting the Magga’s spell. You need to rest.” He sounded so serious and irritated that I hadn’t gone right to bed.
“I can’t walk away from an injured creature. I’m a witch.”
He didn’t snort and mock my plant-caring skills, but his left eye did twitch once. “Of course. I forgot to take your witch blood into consideration. Naturally you had to take home a wild creature, with who-knows-how-many diseases, particularly when you’ve never shown any signs of interest in animals before.”
I sighed heavily. I’d known him for ten years. Also, I hadn’t gotten a chance to change my shirt, the one I’d cuddled a disgusting raccoon with, so I must be incredibly rank to his sharp goblin senses.
“Exactly. See? I couldn’t help it. Sit down.” I gestured at my chair at my desk, which was the only chair in the small cramped space. Still, I had my own office.
He sat on my desk, somehow perching on a corner without disturbing any of the mess of papers strewn across it. He held out his hands while I sat down in the chair and started poring over the cuffs. He didn’t talk, just let me focus on the cuffs, running my hands over and under them, between the poorly stitched fabric covered metal and his pale green skin.
The locking mechanism beneath the fabric was mangled. The cuffs couldn’t be salvaged. Great. Months of work on these cuffs, only to be destroyed by Brannigan’s impatience. I’d have to undo the stitching, very carefully, or the magic would maybe explode and kill us, or turn us into kittens, or some other kind of exciting nonsense.
I rummaged in my drawer and came up with a pair of scissors, then I started, one stitch at a time, carefully snipping until the whole thing came unraveled in one big floppy mess, sliding off the cuffs and onto my desk.
I pulled the strands of fabric off, and then Sashimi snapped the braces apart and proceeded to pick the locks with his nails. I sat back and watched the process, which only took a few seconds before the cuffs were on the desk, neatly placed on top of the ribbons.
“Your spellwork was impressive,” he said, dropping off the desk and onto the floor, looking incredibly comfortable with or without the cuffs. “I’m sorry it was ruined.”
I stared at him and my heart and chest went in different directions. My stomach wanted to come up, raw blowfish mixing with guilt. I licked my lips and looked down. “I’m sorry for tasering you. It was not professional of me. Just vindictive. Also wrong.” I sighed and slumped back in my chair, staring at the pile of discarded fabric and metal. Also papers. My life was like that desk. And I had a psycho raccoon in my apartment doing who knew what.
He hesitated and then patted my shoulder. “There, there, little witch-human. Being securely locked up, I had the best sleep I’ve gotten for years.”
“I’m not little,” I mumbled, but I didn’t look at him.
“Your scent is large, but your stature is quite small. You should probably change into one of those extra shirts you have in that extremely small closet before anyone else gets too close.”
I did look up at him then, frowning, but not so much, because I had misjudged him. “Thank you for the excellent advice.”
“You’re really willing to take advice from a goblin?”
“Yes.” I nodded decisively. I’d take advice from anyone sensible.
