Pretty Little Fliers: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Magic Market Mysteries Book 1)

you telling her?
I ignored him.
“Yes… yes, I see it now.” I sank back down into my chair, and the woman edged closer. “The vomit stems from a traumatic incident Mr. Floofy had as a kitten.”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she kept them on me as she slid her purse from her arm and sank back down into the wobbly chair across from me. “Go on.”
I pressed my eyes shut tight to keep from rolling them. Every time. Man, people were suckers for sob stories about their pets. What should I go with this time? Past life expectations from when he was a pharaoh’s cat or confidence issues from being the runt of the litter and feeling unwanted?
I peeled an eye open. Judging by the size of Mr. Floofy, I wasn’t sure the runt one would be believable.
I opened my mouth, about to go with the Egypt thing, when the door banged open downstairs, the bell above it tinkling. I looked to my left, frowning, as heavy footsteps clomped quickly up the stairs.
I lifted my chin and shouted, “Hey! I’m with a client, come back later!” What were the chances I’d get two in one night?
“Ow!” a deep voice cried.
I arched a brow. The narrow staircase had a surprisingly low ceiling—bet this guy hit his head.
“Go away!” I called again.
The footsteps started up again, and a moment later a man burst through the beaded curtain, carrying an enormous dog in his arms.
The older woman screamed and jumped to her feet, clutching Mr. Floofy to her chest. The cat arched its back and hissed at the limp German shepherd in the man’s arms.
Oh snakes. This wasn’t just a man. It was a man sporting the blue-and-gold uniform of the Bijou Mer police force.
My stomach dropped and I shoved away from the table, toppling my chair backward. I raised my hands.
“I didn’t do it!”
“Huh?” The officer’s panicked face softened, and for the briefest moment he looked like he was about to laugh. He shook himself, and his thick brows pinched together again. The whites showed all around his blue eyes, which bored into me.
“My dog’s dying!” His eyes flicked to the huge dog, foam dripping from its lips. “I need your help!”

PET PSYCHIC
The officer stood in front of me and lifted his thick brows, the panting police dog in his arms. He watched me with wide eyes, expectant.
I frowned and let my hands drop to my sides. “Uh… I’m not a vet.”
He looked wild-eyed behind him toward the stairs that led to the street entrance. “It said pet something outside!”
I lifted a brow. “Yeah. Pet psychic.”
I pointed to the older lady, who clutched her hissing cat to her chest. She looked frantically from me to the police officer.
“She’s my client—I’m giving her cat a reading.”
The huge German shepherd let out a pitiful whine, and my chest tightened in sympathy, in spite of myself. Though the officer was tall, and judging by the muscles that his tight uniform hugged, in great shape, a vein in his neck bulged with the effort of carrying the massive canine.
Twin red spots burned on the officer’s pale cheeks. “I’ve heard rumors of a back-alley vet here in the market—can you take me there?”
I crossed my arms and shot him a flat look. “Really? You’re a cop—you think I’m going to take you to an illegal vet?” I scoffed and batted my lashes. “Sorry, Officer, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I mean, I did. My friend Will ran it. And if I brought a cop to his place, it’d be the last thing I ever did because Will would, without a doubt, kill me.
The cop gritted his teeth. “Daisy’s fading fast.”
I smirked. Daisy? For a police dog? I would’ve guessed Killer or Fang.
“So take her to a vet.” I flashed my eyes at him. It wasn’t smart to sass a police officer under the best of circumstances, but was even dumber given my situation. Seeing as I was operating a semifraudulent business and all.
Though I wasn’t really a pet psychic, I could speak to animals. Normally shifters like me could speak to other animals of their kind when in animal form. When I used to be able to change into an owl, for instance, I could communicate with other owls—though even then, a lot was lost in translation.
But no shifter, and no psychic as far as I knew, had ever possessed the ability to speak to all animals. Woop de doo, how extra of me. This fantastic little gift came benefit of the curse that’d been leveled on me four and a half years ago by a jealous colleague who’d outed me as a shifter, cost me both my fiancé and career, and overall ruined my life.
On top of it, I’d lost all my magical powers and the ability to shift. I itched, even now, to spread my wings and soar through the night. But no—I was stuck in this rathole, feet planted firmly on the stained carpet.
My only compensation was the whole speaking to animals thing, which I figured was some unforeseen side effect of the curse. But in a city where shifters, while not technically illegal, were despised and shunned, it was best to keep my abilities to myself.
Hence, my cover as a pet psychic.
And double hence, why I had to get this officer and his dog out of my apartment as quickly as possible.
The officer’s face crumpled. “My dog’s dying.” His voice cracked, and I looked away.
Geez, he cared more about this pooch than probably anyone had ever cared about me. I grimaced at the sickly sweetness of it all.
“She won’t make it to a vet on a higher tier.”
I gulped and dared a glance at him.
His earnest blue eyes searched my face. “Please.”
My stomach twisted. Did he have to say it so quietly and with so much depth behind it?
I rolled my eyes at myself. I was sure his square jaw and stupidly handsome face had nothing to do with my sudden urge