Ghost Light

“You can try,” he said, flashing a lazy crocodile smile.  He flexed one paw and the tips of its claws pressed against my arm.  Each needle-sharp claw slid into leather, but, so far, didn’t touch flesh.  The claws had struck the blade strapped to my forearm.

I stifled a shudder and lifted my head to face the cop.

“Sorry officer,” I said.  I kept the cat perched in my arms, but lifted my gloved hands in supplication.  “This is all a misunderstanding.  I was just trying to find my lost cat and bring him home.”

The cop looked from me to the cat in my arms and back again.  I couldn’t have conjured the cat from thin air, but the guy looked reluctant to let me go.

“And you were standing out in traffic because?” he asked.

“When I finally found my cat, he was playing in the road,” I said.  The faerie’s claws squeezed my arm, making tears well up, though not drawing blood.  He let out a chuckling purr.  The cat bastard was enjoying this.  I blinked away the tears and ground my teeth.  If I lived through this day, I swore to never again pick up one of the foul creatures except to wring its neck.  “A bus was coming and I didn’t think…I just stepped out into traffic.  I couldn’t let my sweet Butterball die.  I had to try to save him.”

A chorus of awwwwwws escaped the crowd.  Someone in the rear of the crowd clapped their hands and someone else cheered.

“Butterball?” the cat sidhe asked.

That’s what you get for putting holes in my jacket.  I warned you not to scratch the leather.  Plus, you could stand to lose a few pounds.  What do cat sidhe eat, lead weights?  I tried not to picture the cat playing with a mouse twice his size.  Were there huge rat fae in our city too?  On second thought, I don’t want to know.

While the cat sidhe and I bantered telepathically, the crowd began to disperse.  A lady in a baggy sweater and matching knit scarf called me an angel and I hoped she hadn’t noticed my glowing skin.  My skin looked normal now, and I wasn’t seeing any more flashing sparks of light behind my eyelids, so hopefully my wisp glow had fully dissipated.  I’d have to learn how to control my fae powers, but that meant a foray into my wisp heritage.  That would have to wait.

There was still one person from the crowd who hadn’t budged.  I stared at the uniformed figure and sighed.  He was below average height and weight, but looks can be deceiving.  I should know.  I assessed the threat he posed—gun,  baton, cuffs, wide stance—just as Jenna had taught me.  I ran multiple possible fight scenarios through my mind, drawing some satisfaction from each.  But I wasn’t here to pick a fight with the city’s finest.  We were technically both on the same side and I wanted to keep things that way.

Trouble with the local authorities wasn’t just foolish—it was bad for business.  If I landed myself in jail, my PI license could be revoked.  If I couldn’t legally work cases, Jinx would have my head.

“I’m really sorry if I worried anyone,” I said.  “I’ll keep Butterball inside from now on.”

The cat sidhe stopped licking his paw long enough to skewer me with a nasty look.

“There’s just one more thing, ma’am,” the cop said.  “How about you empty your pockets and show me what you were about to throw into the road.”

Crap!  I had some very unorthodox items in my pockets.  How would I explain the bottles of potions and bags of herbs?  Heck, the cop would probably think the herbs were drugs.  Even though they’d discover their benign nature once tested, I’d still be looking at cuffs and a ride in this guy’s squad car.

I may not have inherited the family allergy to iron, but being cuffed and trapped in a metal box was not how I wanted to spend my evening.  And if I was hauled downtown, they’d frisk me for weapons.  I may eventually talk my way out of the herbs and charms, and the stakes at my back were only pencils to anyone but the undead, but the concealed silver throwing knives strapped to each arm, not to mention the iron dagger in my boot, could cause some serious trouble.

I looked into the cop’s face and struggled to remain calm.  His eyebrow twitched and his hand slid onto his gun.  I tried not to stare at the handcuffs hanging from the officer’s belt as I adjusted my grip on the cat.  If I started glowing again, I’d probably wind up getting shot.

Mab’s bloody freaking bones.

“You surprise me, Princess,” the cat sidhe said.  “You swear like a lubber fiend.”

Shut up.  I juggled the cat onto my left arm and slowly reached into my right pocket.  I slid the vial of iron shavings from my coat with shaking fingers.  I held it out to the officer as something fell from my pocket onto the damp pavement.

“What’s this?” the cop asked, reaching for the vial.

“Glitter, um, for the holidays,” I said.