Page 5 of Pixie Problems
Finn sighed. Yep, called it in one. Wow. I felt really bad for her now. And she'd gone away so droopy and sad.
“Have many office mishaps?” I asked, trying not to laugh.
“On the daily,” Finn said with another sigh, and I grinned. Poor Lucky. And poor Finn.
Finn worked on the form in silence for a few moments, had me sign a few things, and then we headed back to his SUV so he could drop me off at Chance's shop in town. “Gimme a sec,” I said and went back to find Lucky.
I found her in the copy room, and the copy machine was clearly possessed. It was spitting out copies of something at the speed of light, and seemed to have no interest whatsoever in stopping anytime soon. Lucky was pressing button after button, clearly panicking. Papers were lining the floor, scattered all around her. I wanted to laugh, but heroically restrained myself and instead stepped around her and unplugged the machine. The sound of dead silence in the room had more weight because of the chaos from only seconds ago.
I cleared my throat while Lucky dropped her chin to her chest and let out a strangled scream. “Lucky?”
Clear, turquoise eyes turned to look at me. “You're not supposed to be back here,” she said in a small, slightly defeated voice.
“I promise I'm on my way out the door.” I scribbled my name and number on the back of one of the papers littering the floor and handed it to her. “I'm new in town. I could use a friend.”
She blinked owlishly at me through her pink glasses with hearts on the sides. My Insight told me she wore them for fashion, and not need. “You don't want to be friends with me. Everyone in town avoids me as if I have the plague. I'm the unluckiest person in the universe. My name is a cosmic joke.”
I sized her up. She was about my height, 5'6” or so, long, blond, wavy hair, big turquoise eyes that were slightly larger than average, making her look like a cartoon character, and she was dressed in business casual with a grey pencil skirt, and a dusty pink satiny shirt.
But she looked as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Atypically for me, I wanted to reduce some of that weight. I considered for a moment that I might put her in danger by trying to befriend her but shook my head at that thought. I couldn't live my life in fear. I just had to keep pressing on.
I tapped my number. “Call me. I promise your luck, or lack of, doesn't scare me.”
She looked at me with the most serious expression anyone of my acquaintance had ever given me. “If it doesn't now, it will.”
I felt like hugging her, and I was not by nature a person that doled out hugs. Or received them, for that matter. Instead, I patted her shoulder awkwardly and hustled out the door to the black SUV with the engine running. It was raining gently here in town, but it had been pouring outside of the boundary line. Weather wizards at work, clearly. I appreciated that they let in the rain and didn't keep it perpetually sunny every day. I actually loved it when it rained; I just didn't particularly want to get stuck outside in it when I wasn't prepared for it.
Finn didn't question what I'd gone back for, and I didn't volunteer the information. As he drove, I paid attention to the way the town was laid out. I had my phone GPS, but sometimes tech was finicky when under the influence of so much magic.
“Will my GPS work here in town?”
Finn nodded. “We have a few tech wizards that worked with the team of boundary wizards and a few others that created our safe-haven. All of our tech works better, actually, than outside the barrier.”
Huh. That was interesting. For one, I hadn't even known that there was such a thing as a tech wizard. Clearly, I was behind the times. It made sense. Magic adapted to the age and location we lived in. If the world needed tech wizards, then they would be born. Magic was clear-cut and intuitive like that.
We pulled up in front of a large baby-blue building. One side had what was clearly an office, and the other was the garage. Both garage bay doors were wide open, and I could clearly see my faded mint-green Ford truck in the air being supported by a scissor lift, with Chance poking around the undercarriage.
She came forward, wiping the grease off her hands with a large purple cloth. “I'd like to shake the hand of the person that restored that beautiful vehicle. That truck is a thing of beauty.”
If I were prone to blushing, I would've been beet red. Thankfully, I never blushed. “Thanks. My grandpa and I restored it together.”
Chance gave me a once-over, and I stood tall. Well, as tall as I could at my height. Then she held out a grease-free hand and shook mine. “You both did a fantastic job. I love the dual leather seats. It's not classic, but they sure are comfy.” She grinned and I smirked. Yep, we went for comfort over true-blue restoration on that singular point.
“Thanks. How's the truck looking?”
She nodded for us to follow and led us to the cute and tidy office I spotted earlier. “It's the alternator. As you probably know, these trucks we can't just plug in and ask the onboard computer what the issue is. But I poked around underneath the truck and under the hood and everything else looks great. Unfortunately your alternator is dead, and we don’t have your model in stock. I'll put in a rush order. Should be here in a few days.”
I could do a few days. Especially if I had my bike.
Chance eyed me as I signed a few papers, and I knew she was dying to ask about my bike. Finn was poking around my truck, checking out the whitewall tires, and the interior of the cab. “Nice bike,” she said, and I laughed. Yes. Yes, it was. I didn't want to get into a long-winded discussion on myAprilia RSV4,so I just thanked her for hauling it out of the back of my truck for me.
“Did your bike come in that pearlescent deep purple color?” Finn asked as I made sure I grabbed my go backpack, and my guns that Chance had also stored in the corner of her office. I was truly grateful. My go backpack was loaded with everything to keep me comfortable for a few days: toiletries, a few changes of clothes, pajamas, etc.
After making sure I had everything, I turned to the sheriff. “Nope. It's custom. You interested in getting a bike, Sheriff?”
“Wanna let me ride yours?” he asked, trying to look angelic, but not quite able to pull it off. Lion shifters. I shook my head. Not angelic in the slightest. The words ferocious and terrifying came to mind when I thought of them, usually.
“Not a chance.” I flashed him a smirk, threw a leg over, and started my bike.
