Page 6 of Booked for Murder

I still used my magic to maintain my cardiovascular system, although that barely scraped the surface of my abilities.

I figured Senator Godrin had hated me for my magical capacity as much as I’d loathed his friendship with my ex-boss. As I had half a brain and even understood how to use it, I wouldn’t voice my opinion and add myself to the suspect list. In fact, I’d consider heading home and finding some form of magic trick I could do to convince people I wasn’t an exsanguinator capable of bursting an asshole’s skull like a grape.

I’d never been able to pop a skull, and Bradley Hampton knew that. He’d been the one who’d dragged me to a slaughterhouse to test the limits of my magic, having evaluators record precisely how far I could go in case of a murder like Godrin’s.

Meridian huffed at my silence.

“What kind of adepts are they bringing in?” I asked, not because I wanted to know the answer, but because Meridian expected the question.

That was what curious mutts like me did when in the presence of adepts. We asked questions. We asked a lot of questions. We annoyed our higher-ranked friends in our thirst for the knowledge we didn’t need, because why would low-ranked mutts need to know how the world worked?

Meridian pointed at my ex-boss. “The hot kind.”

Yes, Bradley Hampton classified as hot. I didn’t miss the days I’d dealt with the hate-filled glares of women who wanted the adept. He could have any single woman in New York, and his status as single put him at the top of the eligible bachelor charts. As I didn’t want to think about my ex-boss at all, I pointed at the library, which contained a very important matter of personal business in the form of my grumpy cat. “What about Ajani?”

Right after limping my way back to my home turf, I’d found a cold and soaked tabby kitten, and she’d been at death’s door. Taking the suffering animal to my job interview at the library had counted as blatant idiocy, but I had refused to let the poor girl die in the storm, and I hadn’t had time to take her somewhere safe before the interview.

We’d both been worse for wear then.

In some ways, the wet, shivering fluffball had won me my job, as my boss valued one thing above all else: compassion. I’d met his criteria through putting a potential job at risk for the sake of another.

We’d both been hired that day, me for my knowledge, literacy, and ability to follow basic directions, and her for being nothing more than a sickly little kitten.

I got paid in money, she got paid in cat food, treats, and her own lodgings at the library. She did an excellent job of controlling the mice and rat populations and protecting the stacks from pests, an unexpected benefit of having her around. She came home with me on the weekends and most evenings, as the boss insisted I be around to keep an eye on her during the days.

Some nights, especially if we’d notice signs of rodents in the building, she stayed at the library.

With my ex-boss around, I’d be taking her home every night.

“Oh, right. The boss is talking with the cops to get clearance to bring Ajani out for you. I caught her and put her in her carrier right after the murder, so as soon as we get clearance, I’ll bring her over. The boss thinks you should stay well clear; he’s had enough of the staff being hassled for one day. I think he was more worried you’d shove your cane up someone’s ass, but you didn’t bring your cane today.”

“I forgot it on my way out the door.”

“You can’t keep forgetting your cane, Janette. You can barely walk without it. Just get a second one to keep at the library if you must insist on walking without it like a stubborn idiot. I’ll get one for you if you don’t bring your own.”

When Meridian issued threats, she meant them. I caved, holding my hands up in surrender. “I’ll bring a cane just for work. The cops aren’t going to claim my cat as evidence or anything, are they?”

I’d turn myself into a suspect if anyone thought they could hurt my kitty. There would be blood, none of it would be mine, and I’d regret nothing.

“I’m sure they won’t treat your cat as evidence.” With a laugh and a shake of her head, Meridian headed back to the cordon, slipped under the tape with the help of a cop, and spoke to someone. After five tense minutes, she headed into the library with a police escort, emerging a few minutes later with my fleece-lined carrier.

My cat drew unwanted attention, but I ignored those staring at my fellow librarian, instead focusing on my pet, who hissed and spat feline curses at her containment. Once home, Ajani would spit and hiss for another hour, but she’d forgive me for interrupting her day as long as I provided my lap for her use whenever she wanted, fed her to her schedule rather than mine, and spent at least an hour brushing her coat.

Ajani loved the brush more than life itself.

I took the carrier from Meridian, grunting at my cat’s hefty sixteen pounds, all of which was pure muscle. Some days, I swore I’d adopted an oddly colored miniature lion, one with a big cat’s attitude. “Thanks, Meri.”

“You’re welcome. The boss says to get out of here, and he’ll have someone swing by your place and leave a note in your box with the updated schedule. It doesn’t look like any of the books were damaged, but the entry will need to be sanitized.”

The building’s historic veneer would need sanitization, too, but I kept my mouth shut about that.

“How are we to address the boss if the cops come around?” I asked, setting my kitty down beside me until I needed to make the painful walk back to my apartment with her. In what I thought of as a ridiculous but amusing game, our boss liked switching up job titles, roles, and so on at his whim. As such, we just called the crazy older man ‘the boss’ and worried about his name of choice only when around the patrons.

“Mr. Tawnlen,” my co-worker replied. “We’re to be formal, at least for now. We’ll have to deal with using our last names with proper forms of address until the adepts clear out. He even brought out our official name tags and plates once he got clearance to go into the library. Us librarians get to go by our work titles, and because our boss is a dick, he’s switched it up on us again.”

Well, that would save me if I had to come in to be questioned. However, switching up our work titles worried me. Jobs had a tendency of moving around during one of the switches. Once, I’d gotten switched to acquisitions for two months, and I’d gotten to read every book the library didn’t have but wanted to consider. “Have I been transferred back to acquisitions? Please? I’ll beg, Meri. I’m not above begging. Those were the best days of my professional life.”

Well, mostly. I wanted my dream job back, but only the parts where I got to drive the fast cars without worrying who might want to kill Bradley Hampton.