Page 2 of Woods of the Raven

He reached out and gently pulled the writing instrument from behind my ear where I’d tucked it. “This is called shoplifting.”

What?

He could not be serious, and I was about to say something horrible, really give him a piece of my mind.

“Oh no,” Benny Haskins, the store owner, told the chief from where he was behind the front counter. “Xan brought a basket of strawberries for my wife in exchange. He’s fine.”

I smiled up at the chief. “You see, I’m not a criminal.”

He just scowled at me and left.

“What did you do to Chief MacBain?” Benny asked me.

I had no idea.

Whenever I saw him, he was frowning, never smiled, and I was always doing something wrong he needed to point out.

The last time I parked my bike downtown, I got in trouble for no lock and no bicycle license. I had to go to the city hall to get one, and Avril Thompson had me behind the counter helping her look for the form, since she could not remember the last time someone got one.

The man was ridiculous, and why I was his special project, I had no idea.

“I would love to be his special anything,” Jennifer Dougherty was saying as we walked together to the piano store she owned and where she gave lessons. She was fabulous. She looked and dressed like a 1940s movie star, all glamour and big hats, cat-eye sunglasses, A-line dresses, and very high heels. “You’re lucky.”

“I don’t want to be lucky,” I told her just as we were about to cross the street and the chief pulled up in front of the crosswalk, leaned out his window, and warned me not to jaywalk. “I’m not going to!” I snarled at him.

“See that you don’t.” Then he was on his way, not even noticing when he ran a red light.

“He could have caused an accident,” I groused to my friend.

“His eyes are so dark,” she said with a really annoying sigh. “And the arms on that man,” she nearly purred. “Really, I could do with him watching over me.”

I didn’t need watching over, and I definitely didn’t need a snarly shadow stopping to remind me that while riding a bike, hand signals were required in traffic. What traffic?

It was maddening.

That morning, when he got out of the passenger seat of the SUV, I noted he had the same expression as always when he saw me—a grimace. Now I was certain he was unhappy to be at my home, and likely also not thrilled to be out in the cold, damp early morning November air.

“Morning, Xan,” Deputy Peter Rooney called over with a wave.

“Pete,” I returned the greeting, smiling. Pete had been my friend since third grade, when he and his family had moved here. “Would you like some tea?”

He glanced sideways at the chief, who only glowered back. “Do you have a travel mug I can borrow?”

“Of course,” I assured him, lowering my voice as both men reached the first step to my porch. “Good morning, Chief MacBain.”

He was scowling as though somehow, already, I’d offended him. “Morning, Mr. Corey,” he rumbled.

Why he had to call me Mr. Corey, every single time, was beyond me. What was wrong with just using my name? I’d asked him to please use it every time we bumped into one another.

“We have some questions.”

Of course he did. Why else would he be here? I glanced at Pete, who rolled his eyes, and then I met MacBain’s gaze. “Certainly.”

“Do you live here alone?”

I was guessing that spectral dogs and a daemon masquerading as a black cat didn’t count. And technically, the ghosts only dropped by; they didn’t live with me. Yes, sometimes the stays were extended, but they had other places to be. “I do. May I ask what this is about?”

He cleared his throat. “I was trying to determine if you were the only one on the property.”