“Miss Bulcock brought this… lapse to my attention and was present during the disciplinary meeting. She left the room just after Miss McGee. And that—” Ms. Whipsnide’s voice broke, and she dabbed artfully at the corners of her eyes. Large crocodile tears rolled down her cheeks in a performance worthy of the stage. “That… was the last time anyone saw poor Sybil alive.”
“Hmmm… motive and opportunity,” the sergeant mused.
Daffi thought quickly. This was not good, not good at all.
“Neither,” she argued. “Miss Bulcock was only present at the disciplinary. She has no actual power to level any reprimand. That lies solely with Ms. Whipsnide. And if the murder occurred between six and seven p.m., I was on my way to Daphne’s Bakery over on Friar’s Clunge. I have receipts and passed several cameras, both mortal and magical, on the way home so my movements can be corroborated.”
Whipsnide’s tearful expression slipped and she looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp.
“Well,” the older witch huffed, “I’m afraid this is the last straw, Miss McGee. I would have allowed the incident with the fae beast to slide but insubordination and being questioned by the watch over the murder of our beloved Sybil because you were jealous…” She sobbed again, all for the benefit of the sergeant. Daffi doubted she ever let anything as crass as actual feelings affect her cold, blackened heart. “… I’m afraid I can’t tolerate that on my staff. I have to let you go. You’re fired.”
7
She’d been sacked. Actually sacked. All because the watch had asked her a few questions. The sergeant hadn’t even taken her down to the watch house, despite Whipsnide throwing her not just under the bus, but the plane, train and tram as well.
Daffi had barely had time to process the fact that she’d been sacked from the museum, a “helpful” spell from Whipsnide packing up all her personal belongings and dumping them in a box on the front steps as she was frog-marched out by Whipsnide herself and Iggy, the gargoyle on the museum’s security team.
She hadn’t bothered arguing. As museum director, Whipsnide’s word was law and it was well-known that Iggy thought the sun shone out of her proverbial. So there was no point appealing to him. She just took her box and left, back ramrod straight as she walked away from the job she loved.
The box didn’t contain much. Just a cute mug with a cat in a witch’s hat, a small plastic succulent (she’d managed to kill every plant she’d ever bought) and three notebooks with her research. Not much for three years of work.
Fortunately, Garlick had had enough presence of mind to get Oberon and himself out of the building, and they trailed behind her as she stalked home. She didn’t talk, didn’t want to talk right now. Not at the moment, and both boys—fae and feline—seemed intelligent enough to realize that. Either that or their survival instincts had kicked in at the first snarled, “I’m fine!”
* * *
But it seemed the day wasn’t done with her yet. When she arrived back at her apartment, the landlord was waiting for her with a notice of eviction in his grubby little hand.
“You have to be freaking kidding me,” she hissed, snatching it from his hand. “Conduct unbecoming? Economic liability?”
She glared over the paper at him without moderating her gaze. Normally she made sure to keep a happy, or at least neutral, expression on her face because if not her resting bitch face took over and told everyone she looked at to fuck off and die in a variety of unpleasant and painful ways.
“We received word that you’ve been let go from your place of employment,” he started. “And subclause thirty-four, paragraph C states—”
“Let me look at that,” Garlick demanded, pushing his way past Daffi, his tail lashing like a helicopter blade.
The landlord blinked and, with no available excuse not to, handed the scroll over to the cat. Garlick sat on his hind paws and started to read, his whiskers twitching once in a while.
Silence fell. The landlord looked at Daffi, who ignored him, and then at Oberon, who shrugged. She was grateful for the reassuring presence of the big fae at her back. At least if it got ugly, she knew she had the backup of his big… axe. For a moment she wondered where he’d stashed it and then decided she really didn’t need to know.
“Can he actually like… read?” the landlord finally asked, watching the cat in amazement. Although he was at least aware of the magical world, Daffi didn’t know to what level. He might be used to dealing with the magically inclined rather than a full-on witch and had never interacted much with a familiar before. And even then, for a familiar Garlick was… unusual.
“I probably read better than you,” Garlick commented without taking his eyes off the scroll. “I also understand contract law as well as being more than capable of preparing legal arguments.”
He sighed and rolled the scroll up with a snap, handing it back to the landlord.
“Good news and bad news,” he told her.
“Oh?”
“Bad news. He can totally kick you out, like now.”
She blinked. Okay, it was a shitty end to a shitty day, but she would not cry. Not even when Oberon slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close. For a moment she ached to just lean back against him and let him take her back to his home. Forget all this and become his queen. No one would dare arrest a queen of the fae. Would they?
Despite the temptation, she straightened her spine. That would be running. She was a McGee and a McGee never ran from anything. They faced it head on. Always had, always would. They might not have blue blood in the magical world. They might be run-of-the-mill “steady” witches, but they were witches. And a witch always dealt with shit when needed.
Remember, the headline on the paper tucked in the landlord’s arm declared. Remember who you were before you forgot.
She ignored it. She knew exactly who she was, thank you very much. She was the witch currently being evicted from her flat. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, she sighed.
“Okay, you said good news as well?”
She needed good news. She really did.
The cat grinned.
“This gentleman didn’t realize that by evicting you without notice, he just made himself liable for your living expenses until you’ve found somewhere new.”
The landlord started. “Wait, what? No I did not!”
The cat trotted away, his tail held like a banner.
“Sub clause, nine forty, paragraph D. Read it and weep. Don’t fuck with me on contracts, bitch. I’m demon trained.”
“I can’t believe you managed to get us a reservation at this time of night.”
Daffi looked around with wide eyes as they hauled her trunks through the door into what turned out to be an expansive corner suite. She’d passed by this place many times but never thought she’d end up staying here. The Mad Pumpkin was one of the premier hotels for the magical community in the city. She’d never so much as looked at getting a table downstairs. Even the afternoon tea was out of her price bracket.
“Nothing is too good for my bride-to-be,” Oberon exclaimed, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close for a quick hug. “You deserve the very best and I intend to give it to you.”