Page 32 of Raven's Instinct
She was almost to Nickel City, nothing was smoking, and the battery, heat, and oil gauges were still normal, so Kendra pushed on. It was backfiring, but no more than usual, and Kendra knew that the cost of a tow on her big vehicle would be a hefty charge on top of whatever work it needed.
There was no space for parking in front of Tiny Paws, so Kendra left the van idling, not confident it would start again, and ran Amy in.
The day care was already busy, and Kendra felt her breath quicken when she caught sight of Alan coming to meet her at the entrance.
She took the coward’s way and set Amy down on his side of the gate. “Sorry, double-parked disaster!” she called, dropping the diaper bag beside her daughter, and then she fled before Alan could wade through the clinging sea of kids.
At some point, she would have to talk to him, to figure out what—if anything—they actually wanted.
A headboard to hold onto, her owl reminded her.
Thanks, Kendra said, trying desperately to banish the idea from her mind.
There was an auto shop just down the street, and Kendra pulled in front of one of the bays just as the van gave another sputter and backfired. She turned it off and rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment to gather her wits.
The sign in the window said that they were closed, but the door to the office was unlocked, and Kendra wasn’t sure her van would start again, so she went in. The door past the desk was open to the work bay, and after a moment, Kendra went to peer in. “Hello?” she called.
An older man and a younger guy with a deliberate-looking white streak in his hair were bent over the open hood of a vintage sports car. Kendra recognized him as one of the Tiny Paws parents. He had an older girl. Franky? Kendra didn’t know his name at all, but she already knew he was a shifter, even if she was too far away to sense it at the moment.
“Right with you!” the older one called.
“I think I’ve got this,” the younger said confidently. He had a slight Texas drawl.
“Just keep in mind that the plastic is seventy years old and none of us are as flexible as we were when we were younger.”
“Sure thing,” the younger teased. “Don’t forget, I have magic hands!”
“You have arrogant hands,” the older growled. “If you break it, replacement parts are coming out of your paycheck.”
Kendra retreated nervously to the office as the older mechanic wiped his hands down and came to greet her. “We’re closed Mondays,” he said apologetically.
When he was close enough, Kendra could tell that he was a shifter, too. She told herself that the feeling of relief that gave her was false. Shifters weren’tallsafe. Bernard had a murder rap.
“Check engine light,” she said briefly. “But it’s been running really rough and starting hard for a while now.”
“Make and model?”
“Ford Super Duty van with…a lot of customization.”
The mechanic had taken a look out the shop window. “Oh, you’re Tom’s prodigy! Heard you took over some of his rounds.”
“Kendra,” she said briefly, and when the mechanic offered his hand, she shook it.
“Mason. That’s a sweet-looking unit! Great wrap.”
“That’s Rita. She’s also my livelihood,” Kendra said honestly. “Is there any chance you could work me in right away?”
“Lovely Rita,” Mason chuckled. “Take me through the symptoms,” he said, walking out of the office with her. “When you start it, does it sound like it’s a low battery or an engine issue?”
“She has plenty of juice, just doesn’t always catch right away. No indications on the panel of any problems, but she sometimes loses power while I’m driving—just briefly. She sputters a lot and backfires, which is what finally caused the check engine light to come on.”
Mason walked slowly around the vehicle, and Kendra thought it looked like he was sniffing. “It looks like a non-standard conversion. I’ve seen the mobile clinic model, butyou’ve got windows over the cab.” He peered into the passenger side, and Kendra wondered what he’d think of the car seat full of downy feathers. He was a shifter and must know that she was; he could probably put those pieces together.
“I live in it, too,” Kendra said shortly, wondering at once if it was a mistake to admit it after he’d seen evidence of Amy. Hopefully, it would help her case for getting quick service.
“I won’t know for sure until I get it up on the lift, but it’s probably your catalytic converter. Age of the van, your symptoms, that sulfur smell; it’s pretty likely.”
“Is it expensive?” Kendra asked reluctantly. “Will it take long?”
