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‘Fuck’s sake,’ I muttered.
I went to the fridge and gave him a few slices of ham, then busied myself making a brew. I booted up my laptop and started typing up my report for Thackeray. God, the whole thing was such a mess.
After an hour of clicking away, I hit send and shut down the computer for the night. I had even sent a condensed version of the report to Channing’s Connection email address; he needed to know why we wouldn’t be on Jingo’s case the next day.
I snaffled a whole packet of Jaffa cakes as I drank my tea. I didn’t feel too bad about it – they were comfort calories and after the day I’d had, I needed them.
I’d been played from the beginning, we all had. Jingo had been two steps ahead of me the whole time. He had killed Ivy Blossom solely to start a vendetta that had ended with his supposed death, then he’d leapt into his attacker’s body and taken control of it. He’d used his new body to walk through the dryads’ normally impenetrable defences to kill the naysayers who had refused to do business with him. No doubt the dryads would now be working with Jingo’s organisation.
If Ash Aspen hadn’t gotten hot-headed, maybe we would have tracked Jingo down for Ivy’s death. Instead, Ash had lashed out, created a vendetta and protected Jingo under the eye-for-an-eye rule. Later, Jingo had killed his now-fellow dryads. Once again, that fell outside the scope of the law because it was an in-house matter.
Regardless of how well Jingo knew the laws and tap danced around them, I would get him. I didn’t like being played.
I stood up to go to bed. ‘Night, Bird.’ I paused. Bird didn’t seem like much of a name and if he was sticking around, I felt like I should call him something else. Anyway, Bird was the name Jingo had given him. ‘Shall we give you another name?’
‘What name?’ Bird asked.
I thought for a moment. ‘Loki?’ I suggested to the cheeky caladrius.
He clacked his beak in thought. ‘Loki,’ he agreed, sounding happy. ‘Loki trickster!’ He ruffled his feathers in approval.
I stifled a grin. Trickster was one word for it; in my view, Loki was a wanker. ‘Goodnight, Loki,’ I said to the bird. I left the table lamp on for him.
‘Good night, Pigdog.’
I don’t know what it says about me that the nickname made me smile. I headed for bed feeling lighter than I had for days. I consciously put the last couple of days behind me, but I put Jude Jingo before me. I had my sights on him and whether he knew it or not, his days were numbered.
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About Heather G. Harris
Heather went to university in Liverpool, where she took up skydiving and met her future husband. When she’s not running around after her children, she’s plotting her next book and daydreaming about vampires, dragons and kick-ass heroines.
Heather is a book lover who grew up reading Brian Jacques and Anne McCaffrey. She loves to travel and once spent a month in Thailand. She vows to return.
Dharma Alchemy
BY Becca Wood
Dharma Alchemy by Becca Wood
Pulled out of bed by an emergency call, this doctor must tend to a creature that can easily eat her. But will she lose her life trying to save theirs?
Chapter One
I’ve never claimed to make smart life choices. I was angry, screaming along with Rob Zombie’s “Dragula,” and overdriving my headlights on the deserted rural roads. As is common with midnight call-outs from Jack Fero, more curiosity than was healthy polluted the purity of my anger.
He’d said to meet him at his house, and that turned my anticipation up to eleven – for which there were valid reasons. Jack lived at an ostensibly abandoned airstrip hidden on a ranch south of Austin, and his private room in the top of a converted control tower remained a mystery. His landlord was a spry geezer with an outrageous French accent who could turn into an albatross. The first time I’d been to their airstrip, we left in a shady ambulance on a rescue mission, followed by identical goth banshee sextuplets driving a pink hearse.
Am I bragging? Absolutely.
Going there for an undisclosed medical call in the middle of the night had me guessing at what new, bizarre doctor skill I’d have to pull out of my ass. That enticing possibility didn’t stop me being testy. My Saturday night date had gotten well into the good part, and I had a thing or two to say to Jack about poor timing. He wouldn’t share anything about the problem, our ultimate destination, or why he needed me specifically. Right before he disconnected, he asked almost off-handedly if I was menstruating.
I parked in front of the hangar, well away from the softly glowing lights outlining the small airstrip. The night air was cool and slightly damp, a waft of diesel exhaust coming from the ambulance idling on the tarmac. After tying a bandana over my unruly red hair, I checked my boot laces and pulled my pack from behind the jeep’s back seat. Jack had also kept mum on what supplies I needed, so I brought only my beloved ‘ohshit bag’. It held everything needed for the first ten minutes after you say ‘oh shit’. Leaving human emergency medicine to tend to the non-human folk of Central Texas had meant significant changes to its contents.
