Witches for Hire (Odd Jobs #1)(37)

A mint leaf floated in Clive’s drink. He had been told by a huge man with tattoos trailing from his receding hairline into his shirt that no true Southerner could live down there without trying a mojito. Every sip was refreshing. “I bought a farm.”

Mia closed her eyes for a few seconds, as if counting, and then reopened them. “You could have gotten one of those for free in our old world.”

“Leaving didn’t mean I started hating horses, and having my own plot of land for something other than….” He paused. “Is this a pool party?”

“Backyard barbecue. There is a pool here, but no one has whipped off their clothes and jumped in… yet.”

“Anyway.” Clive cleared his throat. “You spend your money how you want to, and I’ll do the same.”

“Whatever you say, Sir Knight.” Mia bowed at the hip, holding her spatula to the side like her sword.

“When I discover what thing from home you still cling to, I will mock you mercilessly.”

“As if I’ll reveal it in your presence.” Mia sidestepped to the sink and washed her hands now that all the food was cooking. “Have you seen Nevarra yet?”

A groan left Clive’s lips at hearing the troublemaker knight’s name. “I hoped he skipped off to another world by now. How can a low-magic realm hold his attention for this long?”

“I have no clue, but I suspect to see him attached to one of your cases soon.”

“A world away, and I can’t avoid my past troubles. It would be easier on me if you told me who bought your services.”

“Nope.” Mia cupped her hands while turning toward her team and Edarra. “Next wave of food is ready! Come and make your plates!”

“Stingy.”

She winked at him. “But I can make a mean burger.”




FROST-DUSTED NEEDLES still clung to the evergreens, and blue strings of lights straddled a line of reindeer in the sky above the road where Clive waited for the retired detective who had been Levi’s former partner to pass through. Contrary to the orientation classes, which spoke of preparing for Thanksgiving at the start of November, he’d rarely seen turkey decorations or baskets of bountiful harvest. It unsettled him because bad intel, including the innocuous sort, was plain unlucky. He looked at the picture of Benjamin Kearney that Simone had given him from her small stash of items not confiscated by the Council during the first murders. It held enough of Kearney’s essence to scry for his location, but there was almost nothing memorable about the man except for thick black eyebrows forming sharp points, which gave his eyes a dramatic expression even when his face was motionless. None of his employees had met Kearney, since Levi had worked hard to keep his old cop life and witch job afterward separate. Clive frowned. As if he needed another similarity between himself and the dead witch. He ignored the grinning Levi and focused on Kearney’s more serious face. This was a man who didn’t like surprises. Hard steps and then rhythmic breathing sounded down the road. Please let him be a reasonable man, Clive thought as he stepped into view.

With much longer black hair now streaked with gray tied behind his head, Kearney looked far removed from the man in the photograph.

Clive held up his hand. “If I may—” The gun moved so fluidly into Kearney’s hands to point at Clive that he broke off to form a ward. “I mean you no harm.”

“Then you should have used a phone.”

“You are a respected colleague of Levi Pepper. If I lead a trail to you, I do not believe I am honoring his wishes.”

The gun didn’t lower. “State your name.”

“I am Clive, an otherworlder who runs Witches for Hire.”

“The knight.” Kearney lowered his gun to his side but didn’t return it to its holster. “Why are you digging up the past?”

“Because an injustice went unanswered.”

Kearney began jogging in place. “Say what you mean or get out of my way.”

Clive took it as a good sign that he hadn’t been shot yet. He looked Kearney in the eyes and spilled his true motive for putting his nose where it didn’t belong. “I want my people to trust me. Simone and Jeremy worked for Levi, and I can tell they respected him in a way that I want to earn from them. People are dying. In my world, we did something about it, and I’m not willing to give that up here.”

Kearney returned his gun to the holster on his back.

“I need your help. I was told he kept notebooks, and they’re not in the Council’s possession.”

The former detective’s frown seemed to thin his eyebrows into sharper points. “Who told you I have them?”

“Someone trustworthy who won’t reveal that information to anyone who would harm you.”

“Why should I give them to you?”

Clive showed the picture to Kearney without moving closer. “You cared about him as a friend. A murder of someone who served at my back would never sit well with me, no matter how much time had passed. Is this the same for you?”

Silence met Clive’s question for a long moment. “If I consider giving them to you, how do I reach you?” Kearney raised his hand. “Emphasis on if.”

“May I give you a folded frog?” When Kearney frowned at him, Clive went on, “In your world, they’re called origami.”