Page 20 of Pixie Problems
Rhys looked at me. “Don’t even think about it. You just signed on with me.”
“But Mexican food and Hawaii!”
He laughed as he locked the doors. “I give out bonuses as well. Maybe I’ll do Hawaii this year just for you.”
“But you don’t serve Mexican food.”
His lips twitched. “We can come here whenever you want.”
Welllllll, okay. Maybe I would hold off applying here for a little while. I sighed. And then our eyes met again. What had just happened had been . . . chaotic. We slowly made our way back to our table. Our food was now cold, but I didn’t care, I scarfed it down quickly, and then sat back with a happy belly.
“Your gift is . . . a game changer,” Rhys said quietly.
I sighed. “Yeah. It really is.” And I was grateful for my gift, I really was. If only for nights like this where I could help save a life. It was some of the other things that came with my gift that I found awful. And for every person that Icouldhelp, there were five more that I couldn’t. That helpless feeling was gut wrenching. Part of me, the part that was in tune with my emotions and handled things like a boss rather than a denying, avoiding fool, realized that my Insight was part of the reason I was so prickly on the outside.
I’d had to learn early on to guard my heart well, because I had such aninvasivegift. It was literally a gift that saw too much and knew too much. It never won me any friends, and had, in the course of my life, caused more problems than it had solved. But I was determined to buck that trend. I knew an apothecary shop wasn’t a magic pill that would solve all of the problems that my Insight dealt me. But it was a bona fide way that I could activelyhelpothers. No more stopping random strangers in the street and giving them warnings that they ignored anyway.
Well, I might still have to do that, but the thought that people who needed help would actually come to me cheered me considerably. It was a rough world out there. People needed help. And there were so many ailments Icouldhelp. I’d gone through a massive amount of school. Years and years of it. I had a PhD from Harvard as well as my naturopath license from Bastyr University. I’d also been certified by the Herb Witch Society, or HWS for short, to handle the more magical cures. In short, I was a lean, mean, potion-brewing doctor that could actually help people if given half the chance.
If only I could get enough capital for my business. I needed a lot of equipment, and an awesome location. And all of that tookmoney.Something I was a little bit short on. I had about fifty grand saved, but I needed at least that much more to open my apothecary.
“In other news,” I said, trying to lighten the overall heavy feeling of the room and forcing my mind back to my conversation with Rhys, “I’ll be able to tell when someone’s had enough to drink at The Laughing Elf.”
He smirked. “Like my very own intoxication police.”
I threw a chip at him.
Chapter7
Rhys
Iwoke up the morning after Dice and I had closed down Tres Hermanas with a weighted fuzzball on my head. When I snorted in confusion, without opening my eyes, I heard a squeak and a lot of jabbering in a high pitched, clearly offended voice.
Oh no. Please let it be a dream.
Except, I opened my eyes, and there was a pink and white fuzzball looking at me with huge, baby-blue eyes. In them I correctly read retribution and death. This thing looked cute and cuddly—it was about a six inch tall tubby pink and white fluff-ball with huge, baby-blue eyes that walked on two feet that were hidden under all its fur, two pink bat-like wings, and tiny hands with cute, fuzzy pink ears that flapped when he moved—but it was a killer. For one, when I offended it, in any way, it exacted creative vengeance.
Yesterday, I'd forgotten to put a slice of lemon in its water before I went to the club and I came home to the power button on my TV remote chewed off. The power button. On my remote control. Cruel. Very cruel. And also deviously smart.
The fluff-ball was, believe it or not, an animal that wassupposedto be a good emotional/mental support animal. They were supposed to be all kinds of cuddly and loving and were smart enough to be able to tune into a person's mental and emotional health and be able to come up with—and implement—various ways of helping them. It was a creation of the pixies, ironically. The swix was created to help other pixies who were struggling, and it was the mastermind of Venala Swix, a pixie geneticist from the 17th century.
So far, it had not helped my emotional or mental health one little bit. As a matter of fact, I was now contemplating swixicide. Or just conveniently losing it in the star ether. But I couldn't, because Ben had asked me for a favor. The fact that I saw him smirking as he walked away should have clued me in, really.
I picked the swix up by its scruff and lifted it off my face. My bleary eyes focused on its malignant little face, and I glared at it. “Off. My. Face.” The swix chattered again, clearly telling me off, but I ignored it, dropped it on my comforter, and swung my feet over the side of the bed, rubbing my hands up and down my face to wake up.
I needed a shave.
I stumbled to the bathroom, and looked in the full-length mirror, cursing the light when it came on automatically. This townhouse that Draven had given me was high tech like that. I didn't mind. Mia came over more now than before because it was closer to her favorite donut shop and she felt safer here than my old one.
I glared at the elf in the mirror. My eyes were blood shot, I had a three-day growth of facial hair that I hadn't had time to shave, and my skin looked like someone was using it to test the latest jaundice-yellow bronzer on the market.
“You've looked better,” I told my reflection. Then I grimaced. Talking to yourself. That was number one on theyou're going crazylist. I used the restroom, then jumped in the shower. I could hear the pink ball of death moving around in the other room. Which, in and of itself, was terrifying. If that thing was letting me hear it move, then it wanted me to be very afraid of what it was doing. I cursed and hurried through my shower ritual, cutting myself shaving when I heard a crash in my closet.
Oh no.
I hurriedly rinsed and bolted out of the bathroom naked and dripping wet, coming to a stop in front of my closet. My closet was fine, mostly. The pink doominator was licking its little paw, and before me were two shoes, twodifferentshoes, lined up. They were flipped so I could see the two one-inch diameter holes in the soles of the shoes. Notunwearable, butso, so annoying!
I swore, creatively. And when the doominator gave me an evil little grin, I yelled and tried to tackle it so I could toss it out my second story window. It was evil. It would probably bounce.
