Page 9 of Pixie Problems
He turned back, and an eyebrow went up in question. “The little ginger herb witch in the back?”
He nodded.
“She has beginning stages pancreatic cancer. Please tell her to get in to see a specialist as soon as possible.”
He pondered me for several moments. “What a horrifically beautiful gift,” he said quietly. “Thank you. I will tell her.” And then he left, melting into the shadows.
And didn't that sum up my year so far?
My life was in the toilet, I had a horrifically beautiful gift that gave me way more information than I wanted, and I had a pack of vengeful and mean as snakes coyote shifters that wouldn't leave me alone.
I wassucha catch.
I scoffed and started up my bike.
As if I had time for love.
Chapter3
Dice
After I passed the interview with the hobbit woman who owned The Tea Hobbit, Lucy Button, and she offered me a job, I went home to change into jeans and a tee-shirt, and stopped by the Sheriff's Office to see if anyone there had a lead on a place to stay. I didn't like apartments. Too little privacy, and there was no security. Unless you could afford the ritzy apartments and spend more money than the cost of rocket fuel. But I didn't make that kind of money. The Tea Hobbit paid just two dollars over minimum wage. I was considering a roommate situation, but only if I wouldn't murder them within the first week.
“Oh, for the love of—Lucky, you're stapling your blouse to the bulletin board.” I went over to sort her out, but before I could gently pull out the staples, Lucky stood from her crouch...and her whole shirt ripped down the center. She squeaked and attempted to pull together the ragged edges before she exposed herself, while I pulled my leather jacket off, shaking my head. “Here. Use this.” I handed my jacket over, and she hurried to put it on, completely beet red.
“Girl, you have more mishaps thanAmericas Funniest Videos.”
“I'm so embarrassed,” she said, somewhat teary. “That's the second time this month.”
I patted her shoulder. “Yep. I believe it. Before you head home and change, I need some info. I just got hired at The Tea Hobbit and I'm looking for a place to stay. Do you know of any places renting that have security on-site, or do you know of anyone looking for a roommate? Preferably someone I wouldn't kill within a week.”
“You can't say that in a Sheriff's Office,” she whispered.
“Believe me, Miss Lucky. I'm well aware of Miss Hart's violent tendencies,” Sheriff Finn said, coming in the front door, making bright sunshine splash across us before the door closed, and the tinted windows blocked it again. That Lucky was wearing my jacket only threw him for a moment before he asked, “Weren't you looking for a roommate, Lucky? And you live in those townhomes that have security over on Seaview?”
Lucky looked startled. “Yes?”
Finn nodded. “Sounds perfect to me.” He nodded at me respectfully before he made his way to his office and shut his office door.
Hmm. A little too perfect.
“Okay, first,” I held up a finger, “I'm totally not going to get offended if you don't want me as a roommate. I have coyote shifters after me, and obviously my home would be a potential place they could show up. Two,” I held up another finger, “I'm okay if you just don't like me and think I'm crazy and don't want to room with me because of that. And three,” I held up another finger, “I'm okay with the chaos that follows you and I promise to try to help whenever I can, and I promise not to laugh. Much.”
I smiled when she laughed. “I'm okay with you, Dice, honestly, but after you live with me a week, you'd be hitching a ride on a cargo ship to get away from me.”
I scratched my ear. “Possibly? But we could try it and see? Can I look at the townhouse?”
“Sure. Let me tell Finn I'm taking my lunch.”
I nodded and attempted to smooth over the job she'd been doing, stapling wanted posters to the community bulletin board. She had about fifty staples in each one. No wonder her blouse had ripped. Heck, my leather jacket might have ripped with that many staples in it!
When she came back, I was standing well away from the board, looking like I was minding my own business. She was already embarrassed. No point in embarrassing her further if I could help it.
We drove in her car because she absolutely refused to get on the back of my bike, which was just as well. I only had the one helmet, and she clearly would need a helmet.
She had a sporty little jeep. It was hot pink, but despite the color, it reminded me of the old army jeeps I'd seen in some of my grandpa's pictures from his days in the service. When I asked Lucky, she turned beet red again.
“It's an army surplus jeep. I got it at an auction place not too far from our town.” She clammed up, and I hummed in thought for a moment until it dawned on me—Army jeeps were pretty tough. She'd obviously chosen it because it could withstand her propensity for chaos.
