Page 18 of The Wolfing Hour
Then again, I supposed normal was in the eye of the beholder.
After pickingup Cecil at the café, I buckled him and Fennel into Fennel’s kitty car seat. The “buckles” were snap clips attached to the ends of six-inch nylon leashes sewn into the back of the seat. I hooked one to Fennel’s collar and cinched the other around Cecil’s waist like a belt. It wouldn’t be much help in a serious accident, but it would keep them from picking their teeth up off the dashboard if I had to slam on the brakes at a traffic light.
Bachman-Turner Overdrive’s “Let it Ride” blared out of the speakers when I started the car. A promising beginning to our journey.
“It’s morning, so I’m not sure Sexton will be available, and before you chitter or meow at me, no, I didn’t call first. I’m just going to charge in and demand answers.”
The BTO song finished and “Ain't No Sunshine” by Bill Withers followed it.
That felt less promising.
“I’ll just charge right in there.” I slowed for a stoplight.
A left turn would put me on the road to the cemetery. Right would take me into downtown La Paloma.
“Soon. I’ll charge in soon.” I veered across two lanes and hung a sharp right, royally ticking off the driver behind me if the way he laid on the horn was any indication. “Right after I drop off this tincture at Wicked. It’s for one of Bronwyn’s customers.”
Cecil chittered.
Fennel meowed.
“She asked for ittwodays ago, you know. We owe it to her to get it there as fast as we can.”
Chitter.
Meow.
“Fine, I’m procrastinating. Whatever. I don’t need this kind of judgement from you guys,” I said. “Let’s just drop this off with Bronwyn, grab a burrito, maybe stop by Beau’s place and?—”
CHITTER.
MEOW.
“Fine.” I gritted my teeth. “We’ll go to the cemetery right after we stop by Wicked. You have my word.” I thumbed at the backseat. “While I’m inside with Bronwyn, could you arrange the belladonna I brought to bribe Sexton, Cecil? You do it better than I do. Also, it’s not poisonous to you.”
“Meow?”
“Not a bribe. Did I say bribe? Agift. Can you arrange the gift, Cecil?”
Cecil nodded. His purple hat flung back, and I caught a glimpse of glazed-over, beady little eyes.
“You know, Gela said those cakes you and Kiv made were basically like PCP for non-Faery folk. What exactly do they do to your kind?”
The little deviant’s response was to tug his hat back down and shrug.
“Nice to know you’re going to be at the top of your game,” I muttered.
I pulled into the parking lot behind Wicked. Cracked the window before shutting off the engine even though Cecil was a gnome, not a beagle. He had magical ways of keeping cool.
Fennel trailed me as I strolled down the walkway toward the front door. The day was warm, around eighty-five degrees, nothing like it would get in a few weeks’ time. When it started to hit triple digits, I wouldn’t leave Cecil or Fennel in the car no matter how much magic they possessed. I wouldn’t leave an iced tea in the car then. It was too risky.
The chimes announcing our entrance brought Bronwyn out from behind her counter. “Hey, Betty. Hello, Fennel.”
Fennel had a thing for Bronwyn. It was plain to see why—the woman was the polar opposite of me. Kind-hearted, sympathetic, and girl-next-door sweet. She resembled a real-world Princess Tiana, if you replaced the fairytale gown with a peasant blouse and skirt and the glittery crown with a black witch hat. Yes, the woman was wearing an actual pointed hat, and no, it wasn’t Halloween.
“We doing the hat again?”
She tossed her long black braids down her back. Dabbed at the perspiration on her golden-brown cheeks with the back of one hand. “Sales go up when I wear it, so yes.”
