Dust billowed in the air, coating me in a fine layer of grit, sticking to my skin and making my nose twitch. I stepped onto the median, away from the rumbling old bus that had dropped me off, and now wheezed and backfired as it pulled away, gravel spitting from beneath its tires.
“Well, Flynn,” I said to the rat who sat on my shoulder. “What do you think?”
We looked at the faded town sign where we’d been deposited. Gravestone. Population eight hundred and fifty-nine. How the Supernatural Investigation Agency had found this place, I didn’t know, and as much as I disliked the very idea of laying low, Gravestone was to be my new home. For now, at least. The SIA had fabricated a backstory that I was a long-lost relative of recently deceased John Smith and had come to claim my inheritance, such as it was.
The summer sun beat down on us. Despite it being not yet noon, the heat of the day was almost unbearable, and Flynn tunneled his way under my hair, seeking shade.
“I hear ya,” I muttered, already feeling my skin prickle and sweat start to pool in places I’d rather not think about. Sliding my sunglasses up my nose, I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and pulled it along behind me as we made our way down the pothole-littered road into the township of Gravestone itself. My left foot was encased in an orthopedic walking boot up to my knee, making progress slow. Yet, despite my apparent injury, the bus driver refused to enter the town, electing to drop me off at the outskirts to shave a few precious minutes off his route.
I’d been sorely tempted to zap his butt with a blast of magic, but Flynn had been quick to nix that idea with a lick to the side of my neck in warning. It was all I could do not to fling him off me in revulsion. Gross. But he’d not only seen my fingers flex, he’d also felt the power surge of magic vibrating beneath my skin, preparing to erupt. Which was partly why Flynn was with me today. As my ex-partner, he was finely attuned to my magic, and, according to my boss, I was not to use my magic while residing in Gravestone. In fact, I was to keep my witch status under lock and key altogether. Hence the swift response from Flynn. No magic. At all. Full stop. Basically, I was to pretend I was human, and to be perfectly honest, despite my exemplary skills as an undercover SIA agent, I had a niggling worry I had finally met my match and was on a case I couldn’t pull off.
Flynn was a prime example that things could, and sometimes did, go wrong. Flynn was, in fact, Gavin Flynn, shifter and fellow SIA Agent, only he’d copped the brunt of the blast that had taken us down. Now he was a rat, and I had a broken foot. Somehow, I thought I got the better deal. Except I was saddled with him as my familiar. Honestly, I didn’t think my boss, Scott Harding, knew what to do with him, so handing him off to me was the easiest option.
Grumbling beneath my breath, I continued the trek toward town, cursing the fact I didn’t have a hat or sunscreen as the sun's rays beat down on us, unrelenting in their goal of frying me to a crisp. My foot started to twinge, and my limp became more pronounced the farther we walked. Right now, I’d kill for water. Beer would be better. After all, I was on an enforced vacation, may as well kick back, relax, and enjoy a few adult beverages. The only problem? I didn’t know how to kick back or relax. But Harding had convinced me I needed to at least press pause if I wanted to come out of this alive.
On my last assignment, I’d had the good fortune—or was it misfortune—to stumble upon a wand smuggling ring. Not only were the wands counterfeit, but they were also tainted with dark magic. Deadly magic. The wands had been weaponized. I’d grabbed one as proof, and to try and find where they were manufactured,when I’d been spotted and my cover blown. Harding had me extracted, and I’d handed over the wand and all the intel I’d gathered. Only the safe house he’d temporarily stashed me in had been compromised, an attack launched in the dead of night. Flynn, who’d been assigned as my bodyguard, was the one who woke me in time for us to escape, but we’d been caught in a magical blast that had changed both our lives irrecoverably. Now, Harding suspected the SIA had a mole—and I had a price on my head. Oh, and Flynn was turned into a rat.
So, here I am, sweating up a storm in Gravestone, suitcase, walking boot, and pet rat in tow, although every time I referred to Flynn as my pet, he’d bite me. So touchy.
“I need to rest,” I said through gritted teeth, shoving the extendable handle of my suitcase down and balancing my butt on the top of said suitcase, taking the weight off my leg. SIA medics couldn’t heal me or return Flynn to his usual form. But they didn’t know what I knew. We’d been hit by one of the counterfeit wands. Dark magic. The break in my foot would eventually heal on its own, but I had to wear the walking boot and learn patience until then. Patience had never been my strong suit. I wondered if Flynn would regain his human form in time as well, or if he was stuck in this furry, four-legged state forever.
I heard the car approaching before I saw it. The cloud of dust was a dead giveaway as well. Sitting on my suitcase by the side of the road, I reached a hand up to Flynn, who was peeking out around the curve of my neck, most likely wondering what fresh hell I’d gotten us into, when a sheriff’s truck shot past, hit the brakes, and skidded around in a U-turn before pulling to a halt beside me. Burying my face in the crook of my arm, I waited for the dust cloud to settle, all the while cursing Gravestone and its poor excuse for a road.
“Excuse me, ma’am, is everything okay?”
Lowering my arm, I looked up at the man behind the wheel. His elbow rested on the door, window down, as he looked me over, his lips curling in a slow, sexy smile.
“Oh, everything is just dandy,” I snapped, my mood soured by the heat, dust, and unconscionably long trek from the main road to town. I should have insisted the driver do his actual job and deposit me in town. Preferably right at my doorstep. But I hadn’t known then what I knew now—that it was one hell of a walk. “I figured it was a beautiful day for a walk.” Sarcasm dripped from every word, and Flynn ducked beneath my hair, recognizing the tone and knowing I was not in the mood to be trifled with. Bad enough that I’d been forced into hiding, but to be sent here, the ass-end of nowhere, was insult to injury.
The sexy smile slipped. “What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?”
“Sheriff Joshua Calder,” he introduced himself. “Protecting the citizens of Gravestone.”
“Protecting them from what? Boredom?”
His brows shot up. “All right then,” he said, removing his elbow from the window frame and wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel. “I see you’ve got this all under control.” He’d shoved the truck in gear and prepared to leave when common sense smacked me in the face.
“Wait!” I yelled.
He paused and turned his head to look at me, saying nothing, engine idling.
Through gritted teeth, I said, “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate a lift. I didn’t realize it was so far when the bus dropped me off.”
Sheriff Calder’s eyes widened. “Hector dropped you off?”
“If Hector is the old as dirt driver who smells like pine tree air freshener, then yes, Hector dropped me off.”
Sheriff Calder shook his head, turned off the engine, and climbed out of his truck. “He should know better,” he muttered under his breath. “Here, let me help you with that.” He moved to take the suitcase, but I extended the handle and kept a firm hold on it.
“I can manage.”
“I’m sure you can. Excuse me for being polite.” His sarcasm matched my own. The last thing I needed was to get on the radar of local law enforcement, so, swallowing my pride, I released the handle. “By all means.” I left him to it and hobbled my way around the truck to the passenger door. Truth be told, I was grateful for the lift.
Two minutes later, we were driving down the pothole-riddled road.
“So, what brings you to Gravestone?” the sheriff asked. “Vacation?” The hopeful inflection in his voice was impossible to miss. No doubt wishing that I was here for a short time, and he’d be putting me in the rearview sooner rather than later. I get that a lot.
“Inheritance.” It was time to bust out my cover story. “My great uncle passed away recently.”
He frowned. “Your great uncle? The only person who’s passed recently was old John Smith, and he had no relatives.”
“Correction. He was my mother’s estranged uncle.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I ground out. I rummaged in my bag for my pain killers, shaking two into my palm before tossing them into my mouth.
I could feel his eyes on me. “Hurts, huh?” The walking boot was relatively well hidden by the long flowing skirt I wore, which was another part of my undercover assignment. Wear dresses. Fit in. I was not a dress girl, although I had to say that I was rather grateful for the cool cotton this particular garment offered in the heat.
“What tipped you off?” Oh my God, would you just stop already! The poor sheriff had done nothing wrong. I didn't know why all I was giving him was grief. Which was a lie in itself. I was in a foul mood because I was off the case, to put it in a nutshell. I was benched. I was in hiding. And it rankled like a burr under my saddle.
He looked at me for a second longer, mouth compressed into a line so thin his lips practically disappeared. Yep. Pissed him off. Well done, Holly. Five minutes into your new life, and you’re already on the wrong side of local law enforcement. A record.
Flynn chose that exact moment to peep his head out from beneath my hair, his whiskers twitching as he stood on his hind legs and leaned toward the sheriff, sniffing.
“Oh my God, what is that?” The truck swerved and bounced into a pothole, throwing me against the door. My head smacked on the side window with an audible crack before he regained control and quickly apologized.
I reached up and grabbed Flynn, cradling him in my hands. “This is Flynn. My pet rat.” Flynn restrained from biting me but shot me a look that said he wasn’t pleased at the pet reference. Too bad.
“Urgh!” He shivered. “Who keeps a rat as a pet?”
“I do.” My voice dripped ice, and Flynn’s tail swished across my wrist. I wasn’t sure if he was soothing me or joining me in my irritation.
“Well, keep it away from me. I don’t like rodents.” The sheriff's shudder was totally uncalled for.
“Suits me.” I stroked my hand down Flynn’s back, his fur as soft as a kitten’s, then tucked him back up on my shoulder. Flynn immediately made himself invisible, hiding beneath the heavy curtain of my hair.
We continued the drive in silence while I overtly studied Sheriff Joshua Calder. Early forties. Tall. Fit. A sprinkling of salt and pepper at the temples. Laugh lines indicated he did smile on occasion. Carried himself with an air of confidence, suggesting he’d been sheriff of Gravestone for some time and was comfortable in his role.
“The road is being re-sealed next week,” he said into the silence, making me jump.
“Right.”
“It’s not always this bad,” he continued, as if embarrassed about the state of the road. “The whole thing has been a pain in my rear from start to finish. Rather than laying asphalt on top, the mayor wanted the old road dug up.”
“Right.”
“That took a week.”
Given the machinery we have available for such tasks, that seemed an extraordinary amount of time. “What were they using, oxen?”
“Might as well have been.” His sigh was heartfelt, and my earlier animosity eased a fraction. I understood frustration. “Then a storm hit.”
“Hence the potholes.”
“Hence the potholes,” he agreed. “Next week can’t come quick enough. Three cars have already lost their mufflers, driving like maniacs.”
“Is that why you were out this way? Patrolling for maniacs?” I knew what was coming as soon as the words had left my mouth.
“Have I found one?”
“Har har.”