Page 3 of Night Owl Books

He pointed toward the light from my bookstore, barely seen through the dark trees. Senses on alert, we followed her path, both moving silently through the woods.

Once we emerged and were walking back up the lane, he asked, “Did you see the truck?”

I shook my head. “Just the woman running up my hill. No truck.”

He nodded. “Can I ask? I don’t recognize your scent.”

I saw a candy wrapper fluttering in the tall grass. When I reached for it, he tapped my shoulder.

“Let me get it,” he said, pulling a baggie out of his pocket.

“Trash sometimes blows onto my property,” I explained.

He put his hand in the baggie, picked up the wrapper without touching it, and took a sniff. Shaking his head, he crumpled it into his pocket. “Just trash. That hasn’t touched a hand in at least a day. I’ll throw it away.”

We kept walking and I finally answered his question. “You don’t recognize my scent because you’ve probably never met one of my kind. I don’t know how many of us are left.”

He stopped walking, so I did too. He was a tall Black man, even taller than me, maybe six-eight. He had the shoulders of a linebacker and crinkles around kind eyes. He waited.

“I’m a Eurasian eagle-owl.”

His head tilted as he took me in, all six feet of me. My bright gold eyes were what people noticed first. On my driver’s license, it read that I had brown eyes. They weren’t, though. They were gold with specks of orange. I had a woman in a grocery store once cross herself at the sight of me and then run out into the parking lot. I started having food delivered after that.

I have long brown hair—almost the exact shade as the feathers around my face in my other form—and horribly pale skin, which was probably due to my being nocturnal.

“I’ve never met an owl shifter,” he said.

I shrugged and started walking again. “Like I said.” I didn’t like leaving a stranger in my home all alone. “That McKenna better not be stealing any of my books.”

He gave a low chuckle. “They should be safe. I put her in my rig while you were circling your home. I’m sure she’ll appreciate you finding her bag. Now she has her glasses and the keys to get into her place.”

“You’re driving her?” I asked.

“I am.”

We stepped up beside his SUV and the woman jumped in her seat with a yip of fear. The cop held up her bag and her body relaxed in relief.

He turned back to me and tapped the metal nameplate on his chest that readGarraand then held out his hand and smiled. “If you notice anything, call the station and ask for me. Okay, ma’am?”

Uncomfortable with all that beauty aimed at me, I froze a moment before looking down at his proffered hand, shaking it and mumbling, “Okay. And it’s Orla.”

TWO

Detective Orla

By the time they drove away, it was close to two in the morning. I flipped theClosedsign, locked the door, and flicked off the lights. Should I have stayed open for four more hours? Yes, but as the owner, I could do what I wanted. On my way up the stairs, I picked up my book and headed to my bedroom.

I rarely bothered with lights, as I had perfect night vision. Dropping the book on my nightstand, I went to the window, opened it wide, disrobed, and then felt the fire sweep through me as I shifted to my other form.

Stretching out my wings, I fluffed my feathers to shake off the aftereffects. Hopping to the windowsill, I listened to the quiet rustling of the leaves, the skittering of small creatures in the woods.

Owls are silent flyers which makes us excellent hunters. The edge of an owl’s wing has fringed feathers that break airflow and reduce noise. Our wings also have serrated edges that create microturbulences and, again, reduce noise. And the feathers themselves are downy and velvety, absorbing sound. All of which meant that rabbits and mice never heard me coming.

I leapt off the windowsill and glided around my territory. This was when I felt most myself. I was comfortable in my feathers in a way I never was in my skin. I scanned the brush near the woods, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I knew it wasn’t my place to investigate a crime, but it almost felt like I was in one of the mysteries I loved to read. And if a meal presented itself to me along the way, I wasn’t going to say no.

Flapping, I rose higher and again circled over the road leading to my bookstore. I flew over the area I’d walked with the officer, searching for anything I might have missed.

In the shallow ravine beside the road, I caught a pink sparkle. Gliding close to the ground, I stretched out my talons and snatched up a phone. I flew home, left it on the windowsill and then went back over the area I’d just checked.

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