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

tomorrow, buddy.”

DEAD
I gripped the pantry cupboard door with one hand and scratched my lower back with the other. Dusty shelves stared back at me, empty except for—I squinted—what was that shiny thing back there in the corner?
I bit my lip and turned so I could shove my whole arm into the deep cabinet. Maybe I’d gotten lucky and a can of tuna had slid into the shadows. I leaned closer until the upper shelf dug into my shoulder and patted my hand around, feeling for whatever was back there.
My fingers closed around something with wriggling legs.
Hey!
“Ahh!” I lurched back and whined as I wiped my palm off on the leg of my holey sweatpants. I let out a series of barely audible chirps and hisses.
For sands sake, Gary! How many times have I told you to stay out of my pantry!
I’d learned early on, when I first moved into my apartment years ago, that if you can’t beat the cockroaches, best to make peace with them. And while I knew this particular one well, it didn’t make it any less disgusting to grab him unexpectedly. I shuddered.
Well, toots, guy’s gotta eat, huh? He scuttled forward into the dim light of my apartment, antennae waving.
Dusk came early in the Darkmoon district, with its tight, tall buildings and shadowed streets. I’d just woken up and still needed to turn on some lights.
Back in the day, when I had magic, that would’ve involved a simple flick of my wand. But now, I had to go around lighting candles and lanterns one by one. Lame.
Gary’s rusty brown wings fluttered. Don’t worry, I didn’t take anything. You ain’t even got any crumbs in here. Gary scuttled forward. At least that makes one surface of your apartment that’s clean. He rolled onto his back, bug legs wiggling in the air, and devolved into wheezing cockroach laughter.
You know you’re in a good place in life when a cockroach thinks you’re a joke. I slammed the cupboard door shut and hissed. Bye, Gary.
I spun and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Sleep lines crisscrossed my face and my long black hair, which I’d tied into a bun before falling asleep, was now a tangled rat’s nest that hung askew from the top of my head.
Looking good. I winked at my reflection and pushed through the beaded curtain. I half turned sideways and watched my slippered feet as I tromped down the narrow stairs. At the bottom, I slid the locks back and turned the deadbolt, then opened the heavy metal door a crack and peeked out.
One of the bartenders from next door set out a sandwich board on the street, and the rare and deadly books dealer down the way rolled out a cart. Other than that, the coast was clear. Which was perfect, since I didn’t have a bra on.
I crossed one arm across my chest and lunged out the door, flipped the switch next to the tangle of black wires on the wall, and ducked back behind the door. I waited until my pink-and-purple neon sign that read Pet Psychic above a crystal ball hummed, then flickered on.
My buddy ran a black market human goods store, a couple of blocks over. After I’d lost my powers, he’d used his skills as a magicneer to hook me up with the sign since I couldn’t magically power one like everyone else could.
I left the door unlocked for potential customers and tromped back upstairs. Seeing as I was way behind on my rent, and it was only a matter of time before my terrifying landlady kicked me out, I should probably get out there, hustle, and do what it took to bring in some customers. I scoffed. Just the thought of it made me tired.
My stomach rumbled as I pushed through the beaded gold and silver curtain at the top of the stairs and headed for what passed as a kitchen. A rusted metal sink full of chipped, dirty dishes and about two feet of warped, stained countertop constituted the prep area. The deep pantry cupboard stood to the left, and a couple of crooked shelves hung on the walls.
I dropped to a crouch in front of the ice box in the corner. Another contraption my magicneer buddy had given me. I had no idea how it worked, but it kept my food cold, so it was good by me. I pulled open the door and sighed. Or at least, it did in theory—when I had food.
I pressed a hand to my aching middle and huffed. Looked like I’d be dining creatively tonight. I reached for the half-empty jar of mustard and a jar of pickles—two left, sweet—then shuffled to the couch.
The springs creaked and groaned as I threw myself onto the threadbare cushions. A faded flower-and-witch-hat motif striped the pale brown fabric, and a clump of stuffing pooched out beside my head.
I often wondered what color it had been when it was new a thousand years ago, and how the dragon, my landlady, had ever managed to get it up the cramped stairwell. I sighed. Ah well, some things were always going to be mysteries. Like how my coworker had ever found out I was a shifter and what curse she’d used on me to expose my abilities and steal my magic.
I gritted my teeth and wrenched the lid off the pickle jar, then lifted it to my lips and took a swig. I crinkled my nose at the sour taste. Some things, you just had to let go.
After I’d polished off what little “food” remained in my apartment, I plunked my head down on the arm of the sofa and stared up at the brown water stains. Footsteps thudded across the ceiling and outside the open windows behind me, shouts sounded, food cart bells rang, and a low bass beat vibrated the walls.
Ah, the sweet sounds of home. A wave of bitterness washed over me, and I gnawed the inside of my cheek. I’d