Page 2 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“From upstairs?” Ben backs up a step, his eyes wider than when he thought there was a bear. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Haven’t you seen her shift?”

“Yeah but…” He squints. “Fuck, it is her…”

I step aside as a few humans walk past and stop to take a picture of poor Mrs. Ellis in possum form.

“She used to hit me with her cane whenever she saw me because I reminded her of her nephew.” I sigh. “I’m going to miss that.”

“Only you would miss getting beaten by an old lady. Let me guess… it made life interesting?”

“Damn right it did.”

Ben smiles sadly as he stares at the dead possum. “I’ll miss her cookies. She always had some ready for me when I got back from work. I reminded her of her son.” Ben nudges my shoulder. “And she liked him.”

“Figures.” I shake my head as I stare at more humans stopping to take photos of Mrs. Ellis. To them, she’s just roadkill, and the memorial is an amusing part of city life. I wish I could tell them all she was so much more—even if she did try to beat me up from time to time—but humans can’t know the truth. Not about her, or any of the others…

Ben raises an eyebrow. “What are you thinking about?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Buddy, dude, bud, bestie… ummm… pal. Dudeguy. I’ve known you since middle school. It’s not nothing.”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “It’s just that Mrs. Ellis wasn’t the type to jaywalk.”

“Maybe she was in a hurry.”

“What about the possum shifter I saw on Queen Street last week? Plus all the rat and raccoon shifters? The one squirrel near Union Station? Not to mention the skunk shifter—”

“Up in the Annex, yeah.”

“You think all of them are suddenly jaywalking? And how do drivers not see a possum? Rat shifters I get, they’re small. But Mrs. Ellis?” I shake my head. “Before last month, the only shifter roadkill we’d seen was that raccoon back in 2015… and everyone knows why that happened.”

“Tragic.” Ben purses his lips. “People are driving like assholes lately. My cousin is working on an anti-jaywalking campaign for the Skunk Council.”

“Drivers have always sucked,” I say. “That’s nothing new, but these shifter deaths are.”

“If you think there’s more to it, why don’t you bring it up to the PB&J?”

As in the Paranormal Bureau of Justice, not the sandwich, obviously. I shake my head. “I’m sure someone already has. How could they not know?”

Ben stares at his shiny black dress shoes. “Sometimes I wonder if we should move to a small town. Somewhere safer.”

“But then how would we order midnight burritos?”

“Or midnight sushi?” Ben suggests.

“Midnight curry?” I add.

“Midnight burgers?” Ben stares into the distance as though dreaming about said burgers.

His watch beeps, and he looks down at it. “Shit, I’m late! Bye, Mrs. Ellis! I’ll miss you,” he says before he starts to speed walk down the street toward his office building.

I pause to do a quick possum prayer to release Mrs. Ellis’s spirit into the great shifter beyond. Then I rush to catch up to Ben. I don’t have anywhere to be yet, so might as well walk him to work.

As I fall into step next to him, my phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket.

“Chore?” Ben asks as he adjusts his red bowtie.