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

grown up in an orphanage here in the Darkmoon District. Like a lot of shifter children, I’d been abandoned. Probably either by normal magical parents, who were horrified to have a shifter on their hands, or by animal parents who were likewise horrified.
It didn’t matter. I didn’t remember them, anyway, so how could I miss them?
I’d fought so hard to drag myself out of this slum, put myself through law school, and land a job at Bijou Mer’s top firm. But here I was—fallen right back down into the muck of it.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Guess this was where I belonged. Once a street rat, always a street rat… or owl, in my case.
I wriggled deeper into the lumpy cushions. I’d better get used to sleeping on couches… if Will was indeed still speaking to me. After the incident with Peter and Daisy last night, I’d passed out and slept all day. I should probably go apologize to my vet friend. I yawned. Later.
My stomach twisted as I thought of Will and the conversation we’d had last week. When I inevitably got evicted and begged to stay with him, I knew what he’d say. Go to Ludolf. I snorted and rolled onto my side. Fat chance of that.
Will had assured me the shifter mob boss would help me with a loan. And I’d assured him I wouldn’t like Ludolf’s terms. Owing a man like that a favor? It gave me the heebie-jeebies.
Ludolf had funded the orphanage I grew up in, and he’d visited every Bruma, handing out toys and telling us children to call him “uncle.” He’d told us, with a wolfish smile, that when we grew up we should come to him whenever we needed help. But I’d seen some things back then that had filled me with unease.
And more recently, the case I was working before I’d been cursed—I’d had some good leads that pointed to Ludolf being involved in some pretty corrupt dealings. I’d been so close to getting to the truth of it but…. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. But that was another one of those mysteries I just had to let go.
I threw an arm over the edge of the couch and fished around for my Walkman. I dragged it up onto my stomach and slid the headphones over my ears, then hit the play button.
I closed my eyes as the “Sounds of the Sea” cassette played soothing ocean noises—waves crashing and wind blowing. Another treasure from my handy friend who had the hookup on human goods.
I imagined having my wings again, swooping through the air at night, circling over the magical island of Bijou Mer. My shoulders relaxed, and the tension in my jaw let up a little.
Just when I’d gotten perfectly comfortable, blazing bright light flooded through my closed eyelids. Great. I groaned and peeled my eyes open, pushed myself up with one arm, and looked over my shoulder.
Flashing neon light in an alternating rainbow of color shone through the three big windows that looked onto the street. Snakes. I’d forgotten to close the curtains.
I dragged myself upright and slid my feet into my slippers, then shuffled over to the window. The bright light from the sign across the street made me squint.
As I spread my arms wide, gripping the edges of the black velvet curtains, glass shattered and a woman flew backward through the third story window across the street.
I gasped.
She plummeted to the street below, then lay still, her limbs at odd angles.
“Snakes,” I hissed.
People in the street screamed, some crowding closer to the woman, others scurrying away.
“She’s dead!” a lady wailed.
One woman lifted her wand into the air and sent up a burst of magic. I leaned my head out the open window and peered upward at the low clouds. It looked like rain. A bright red pulsing light hung magically in the sky—the police signal.

THE DRAGON
I ignored the first knock at the door, but when the pounding started up again, I yelled, “We’re closed!”
I probably shouldn’t chase away a potential client, but after witnessing that woman fall to her death, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to explore a hamster’s past life, or whatever.
“Jolene!”
I sat upright on the couch at the muffled sound of my name. Was that—?
“It’s me! Officer Flint.”
I dropped my head into my palm. Of course it was. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that he would be the one to respond to the police signal? His dog had been injured last night while patrolling the night market—this was his beat.
“Coming!”
I pushed to my feet and peeked at the mirror beside the beaded curtain. Not sure why I bothered. My appearance hadn’t gotten any better. I scrubbed at the dried spit at the corners of my mouth and smoothed my eyebrows back.
Kill, kill, kill. I just love to kill things.
My eyes darted to the daddy longlegs in her wispy web above my head. She ate the gnats, so I kept her around, but did all her songs have to be so unsettling? Her tiny, breathy voice didn’t make it any better.
Wrap ’em up while they’re still alive, die, die, eat ’em.
In my experience, all spiders were creepy as shell.
I jogged down the stairs, turned all three locks (I’d thought it best to call it a night after the whole dead woman incident), and yanked the metal door open.
Peter stood there, as tall and handsome as ever, with Daisy at his side. Rain fell and warm, humid air flooded into the stairwell. The officer’s hood kept him mostly dry, but Daisy’s wet fur looked dark and clumpy.
“Hi.” I crossed one arm over my chest and used my other hand to tuck some flyaway hairs behind my ear.
“Hi.” He grinned and hit me with the full force of those boyishly good looks.
I shook myself mentally. He cop. You disgraced, cursed shifter.
“So.” I rocked on my heels. “What brings you by?”
He pressed his lips into a straight line. “A woman across