Witch's Jewel by Kater Cheek

Author:Kater Cheek
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2020-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

James had already forgotten his promise, and scheduled me for a ten-hour shift that Saturday, which sucked. Not only were weekends the only time I got to go out, but traffic in the Old Town was nearly impossible after nine o’clock, which meant either going in an hour early or taking long odds against the fickle parking demons. At eight thirty-five, even the alley behind the coffee house was filled with the cars of the few, the bold: men and women who feared no parking cop.

But luck was with me today. The third circle around the block revealed a customer-only parking space in front of a record store that had gone out of business. It was less than four blocks from Ishmael’s, which meant that I actually arrived on time. Sweaty and breathless, but on time.

Elaina came in four hours later. She managed to talk about a movie she saw, the fact that she was scheduled to work in less than an hour, and that she saw another mouse (and was thinking about setting some mouse traps if I promised to take care of the corpses,) before coming right out and asking me who I spent the night with.

A blush crept up my neck and cheeks, telling Elaina far more than she had a right to know. Elaina smirked, and invited me to come to the Pygg and Wassail with her and Ulrich, hinting broadly that the mystery guy was also invited. It would have been nice to take Fenwick, actually, except that he would still be a bear until the following morning.

As the day wore on, a beer at the Pygg and Wassail sounded better and better. When Jolene and the new guy Barnabus showed up to relieve me from my shift, I shucked my apron faster than a horny prom date and loped out the door.

Lucky for me, I had forgotten where I parked, and had to make a two-block detour before remembering.

Lucky for me, because whoever was lurking near my van was staring in the direction I should have been coming from.

There’s a fine line between paranoia and sensible precaution. It could have been anyone leaning against the dark storefront with a sweatshirt hood pulled over his features. It could have been someone waiting for a friend, or maybe a homeless person. But wouldn’t a homeless person be sleeping or sitting down? And if I were waiting for a friend, I’d have my hands in my pockets, not one hand inside the jacket like Napoleon.

Hand inside the jacket. That person had a gun. Someone was waiting for me, by my van, with a gun.

Paranoia, or sensible precaution? Better take the choice that wouldn’t make me dead. I crept slowly back the way I had come. Jesus, did my footsteps always make this much noise? Was someone else watching for me?

Put my hands in the pockets of my jean jacket. Act casual. The presumed burning stare of someone behind trailed me. Up a block, back another one, hide in a corner.

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