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  Owl or Nothing

  A Very Shifty Mystery

  Willow Mason

  Copyright © 2020 Willow Mason

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  Also by Willow Mason

  Chapter One

  I wrenched the door of the Barnyard Tavern open, skidding across the old wooden floorboards and grabbing an apron from the stack on the sidetable as I slid past. One glance at the clock left me sighing in relief. Six twenty-nine p.m.

  Time to spare.

  Barry cast an ominous glance my way as I tied the apron tight around my waist and slipped under the gap in the counter. “These breaks are running later and later.” His gruff tone matched to his grizzled, waist-length beard perfectly.

  “You told me half an hour, and it’s only just that.”

  I could have said more—could have compared my behaviour to a certain co-worker who was noticeably absent despite her shift starting on the dot of six o’clock—but I didn’t. Barry was going to do me a favour tonight, not that he knew it yet.

  Instead, I settled for an eyeroll as I picked up a lemon and washed it under the cold tap, preparatory to slicing. When someone ordered a whisky, it was bar policy to hang limp slices on the edge of the customer’s glass. Yeah, we were just that fancy.

  As if to spite my cynicism, the knife twisted in my hand and sliced into the tender meat of my finger. Of the dozen patrons in the bar, six sets of eyes turned in unison, glowing with interest.

  One day past the full moon and its effects lingered.

  I stuck my finger into my mouth and sucked off the blood while fishing for a plaster in the chuck-everything-that-doesn’t-have-a-designated-spot drawer.

  “Are you trying to get us worked up?” Silvana asked, leaving her booth by the door to slide onto a bar stool like she was made of liquid. Her eyes gleamed with a pale hint of gold while her incisors played peek-a-boo over her bottom lip.

  “Just an accident,” I grumbled, giving up the hunt and pressing a tissue against the wound instead. “You need to exercise better self-control. It’s not my fault your wolf is showing.”

  Leighton Palmer came up to the bar, waggling his pint glass. I filled it, making sure the amber liquid came right up to the brim, the head flowing over. He was a regular, but a poverty-stricken one. He’d nurse two drinks all day long, hands cupping the glass as gently as a lover.

  When he’d gone, Silvana arched an eyebrow and smiled at me. “Have you asked Barry for the time off?”

  “Not yet. I’m waiting for the perfect moment.” If Barry turned me down, I could kiss my expensive retreat packet goodbye.

  “I can’t believe you got your travel shots before confirming you can go on holiday.” Silvana’s eyes glowed yellow before she grasped at my sleeve. “Give me a look.”

  With a quick peek at my boss’s office door—still shut—I rolled up my blouse to display a shoulder that resembled a pin cushion.

  “How many injections did you have?”

  “Eight.” I gave a smile as she whistled. “If I didn’t have my vaccination certificate, it would’ve been a lot worse.”

  Silvana poked at the tender site and I pulled back, but not before she plucked a feather and held it aloft, grinning. “Seems I’m not the only one who’s animal is showing.”

  I picked it out of her fingers, blushing as I crushed it up and tossed it into the bin. “It’s just stress.”

  The door to the office popped open. “You’re on your own tonight, Liv,” Barry called out.

  “What’s the excuse this time?” I called back, annoyance overpowering my self-interest. “Hangover? Favourite TV show on?”

  My co-worker Gabby wasn’t the most reliable barmaid in the world, but this past month her work habits had grown ridiculous.

  I slid a curious frown in Barry’s direction. “Or did you finally talk to her last night about you-know-what and she’s decided never to darken your door again?”

  Recently, money had been disappearing from the till. A good magic trick, but one I sensed had Gabby’s grubby fingerprints all over it.

  Barry gave a noncommittal grunt and slammed the door to his office.

  Ignoring the hint, I ran over and opened it. “Is it okay if Silvana fills in for the night? Otherwise, I’ll be run off my feet.”

  His bushy eyebrows drew together. “If you’re desperate, but on a training wage only. I’m not made of money.”

  Training wage. Might as well call it a pittance. Still, if it was paid out in cash, Silvana wouldn’t mind. What Inland Revenue didn’t know about wouldn’t hurt them.

  I walked back, giving her a wink before Barry appeared in the doorway. “Not starting until eight, either.” He slammed the door closed again.

  Silvana didn’t appear bothered. She gave a languorous stretch, raising both arms high and tilting her head back. Every movement looked like it came straight out of a men’s magazine if they still had such things nowadays. A men’s website, maybe?

  “What’re you looking so pleased with yourself about?”

  “I had a great time last night. Both my legs and my stomach got a fantastic workout.” Silvana tipped me a wink while my abdomen tightened. “I must’ve run for miles.”

  “Well, I had a great sleep-in after watching a movie.”

  “I suppose your mouse talked you into that.” Silvana shook her head and planted both elbows on the counter. “You should hang out with me at the next full moon and I’ll show you what a good time feels like.”

  “It wasn’t my idea.” Dee scampered out of her hiding place under the bar and ran up my arm to perch on my shoulder. She sat back on her haunches, washing her face with quick swipes of her paws. The white fur was already spotless, but the poor girl had a fetish.

  “What did you want to do?” Silvana leaned forward, eyes lighting up with glee. “Go out on a cheese hunt?”

  I flicked a dish towel at her. “You know Dee is lactose intolerant.”

  “I forget.” Silvana gave a lazy flap of her hand. “Who can keep up with the multitude of food allergies on top of everything else?”

  “I wanted to watch everyone changing,” Dee complained, giving up her obsessive washing to tug on my ear. “But somebody wouldn’t let me out of the house.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  Silvana’s eyes gleamed with a burst of humour. “It’s not safe to stay cooped up with a bird of prey, either, is it Owlivia?”

  I bared my teeth at the joke. My full name had been one of my least favourite things long before the government labs ran amok and spread the shape-shifting disease. While a goodly portion of the refugees in Beechdale were your bog-standard wolves, foxes, or bears, my lucky stars had alighted on owl.

  Still, it was way better than landing on mouse—a shift my flatmate hadn’t worked her way back from yet.

  “You know I don’t change. I’m not the one out hunting every time there’s a full moon.”

  Since that was precisely Silvana’s point, the conversation died. I finished off the garnishes and began twisting the top-shelf bottles s
o all the labels lined up, facing out. Not a necessity any longer since I knew the positions of every spirit off by heart, but the routine warmed my soul.

  With a gigantic yawn, Silvana sidled away from the bar. “I’m just going to chat with a few people about something.”

  I gave a nod, my lips thinning as I watched her insinuate herself into a group of males standing near a disused dartboard. For chat, read flirt, and for something, read—

  “Hey, there. What d’you have on tap here?”

  I turned away from Silvana’s antics and stared into the face of a new customer. It wasn’t often someone turned up that I didn’t recognise, and I couldn’t help but return his wide smile. “We’ve got a lager, an IPA, and a Pilsner. Anything else comes in a bottle.”

  “A pint of lager, thanks.” The man checked over his shoulder with a sudden jerk, as though scared someone was following.

  “You just arrive in town?”

  “Yeah.” He turned back to me and I noticed what a rich shade of blue his eyes were. It was somewhere between the dark hues of first dawn and the unnamed slushy flavour they served at the petrol station. “I’ve never visited Beechdale before but I’m following up a lead.”

  My interest snapped off like a brittle fingernail. “You’re a policeman?”

  He snorted, and I relaxed a shade as he reached in his pocket for his wallet. “Nah, I’m a journalist. Been working on a story and it led me here.”

  I pushed the full beer towards him, the frothy head tipping over the lip and trailing bitter bubbles in a line down to the counter. He handed over some coins and the zing of his hand touching mine sent a shiver racing up my arm.

  As he curled a hand around his beer, I saw his knuckles were grazed and specks of blood were caught under his fingernails. A fighter? It didn’t suit the man’s slim build, but these days I knew better than to dismiss something based solely on appearances.

  “What’s your story about?” I asked while pretending the line of customers waiting farther along the bar were invisible. “I can’t imagine there’s anything exciting to report on in Beechdale. We’re the epitome of a small, quiet town.”

  He winked as he raised the glass and gulped down half in a long swallow. If his rumpled clothes were reporting the story right, he’d spent most of the day trapped in a car, driving here. No wonder he needed a beer.

  “I’m in town because I’ve heard of some nasty injuries occurring to hikers around here. The official statements blame the tourists themselves for falling down slopes or off pathways, but I’m sure the true culprits lie elsewhere.” He flicked his mahogany fringe out of his eyes before taking another pull at his beer.

  Oh. One of those.

  With disappointment twisting my belly, I muttered an excuse and moved down the bar to serve the other patrons. I’d met his type before. A nutter who thought everything bad that happened in the world could be laid at a shapeshifter’s door. Like we weren’t the victims in this whole sorry mess.

  Yeah. I knew the type. Sometimes I even agreed with them.

  As conspiracy theories went, this one was lazy. To believe humans never landed on the moon took effort. Thinking the earth was flat required active disbelief of so many available facts that I felt a grudging respect for the people who wholeheartedly threw their weight behind it.

  But blaming shifters every time a hiker took a wrong turn in the woods hardly stretched the imagination. You just had to ignore the walking injuries stretching back for decades before the government released the shape-shifting disease.

  Silvana leapt onto the bar counter and spun around on her butt, jumping down on my side with a dancer’s grace. She sported tousled hair, and a satisfied grin on her face. My envy warred with piety, easily winning.

  “There’s a gap in the counter precisely so you don’t need to do that,” I said, not even bothering to dose my voice with a reprimand. Silvana ignored everything and anything society expected of her. I was the exact opposite, though it hadn’t always been that way. Probably the reason we were such firm friends.

  “I know.” Silvana grabbed an apron and tied it around her waist, the emphasised curves immediately turning into a local attraction. The increasing numbers of patrons crowded even closer to the bar, pressing against it as though it was a stand-in for the woman behind.

  So much for blonds having the most fun.

  I ran a hand through my tangled hair and suppressed a sigh as I turned to the next person in line. Silvana didn’t bother with such courtesy, serving whoever stood in front of her when she looked up.

  Dee popped from the safety of my apron pocket to perch on my shoulder again. She gave my cheek a flick. “Didn’t Barry say Gabby wasn’t turning up for work tonight?”

  I shrugged in annoyance. My flatmate could see Silvana working the bar beside me, so even if she’d slept through half the evening, the truth was out there. “Yeah, so? It’s hardly a news flash.”

  The mouse ran around the back of my neck to stand on my opposite shoulder. I turned with a frown of annoyance to check the view. Nothing.

  “Why’s she turned up to work, then?”

  “Eh?” I stared around the room, serving up three orders and handing out change at the same time. There was no sign of Gabby anywhere. “What’re you talking about?”

  “She’s over by the aprons. Look.”

  I walked behind Silvana to reach the other side of the counter. The aprons were stacked on the sidetable, ready to grab the moment a barmaid walked in through the door.

  Nobody stood there.

  I was about to return to serving when a small motion caught my eye. One of the apron strings fell off the table, the whole pile shuffling an inch in the same direction.

  “You can see Gabby?” I asked, cold fingers of dread playing on the vertebrae in my spine. “By the table?”

  “Can’t you?”

  I stared into my flatmate’s eyes, suppressing a shiver. Dee was small, but she was mighty.

  One of her powers was an ability to see ghosts.

  Chapter Two

  Questions and fears rose in a bubble inside my head. I didn’t know how to explain the situation to Silvana, so just said, “I’m going outside for a few minutes’ break.”

  Once upon a time, I’d been a smoker and heading out of a bar in the dead of night brought those memories up in a rush. I could almost taste the bitter tang of tobacco against my tongue.

  “Did Gabby follow us?” I asked, resting on a picnic table that didn’t get used, even in summer. This high up the mountain ranges that split the South Island of New Zealand down the middle, the nights ranged from brisk to bitter. As soon as the sun shut up shop, the rest of the atmosphere gave up trying.

  “I called out to her,” Dee said, scampering down to rest on my bosom as though it was a mouse shelf. She strained her neck, peering in through the windows. “Yeah,” she said in a voice full of relief. “She’s coming.”

  With the first full moon after the shifter disease spread worldwide, Dee had shifted into her mouse form the same way I’d transformed into an owl. We’d been driving out of town when it happened, reacting to reports of mayhem on the radio. Neither of us were even aware we were infected.

  I’d come close to eating my flatmate and best friend that night.

  As she cowered before me on the front seat of my battered Honda, Dee had called out, “You can’t eat me. You cheated on your diet already this week and you’ll get fat!”

  The silly warning hit a part of my brain that stayed completely me, even during the intensity of the moon’s sway. I’d stepped back from the brink, returning to human.

  Dee had never been that lucky.

  Whether her strain of the disease was different, mutated, or she’d just had another run of bad luck, she stayed permanently altered into her new mousy form.

  We’d gone to every witch in Beechdale seeking a cure, but each spell had proved fruitless, at least for the stated intent. During our endeavours, Dee had picked up the ability to see gho
sts. I doubted they made up for a life spent as a rodent, but at least she had something.

  “Is she outside yet?”

  Dee giggled and shook her head. “Gabby’s got stuck at the door. She’s trying to open it with the handle.” The mouse ran up to sit atop my head. “Just walk straight through, you dolt! You’re a ghost now.”

  Either Gabby didn’t hear the comment or didn’t understand it was meant for her. After another minute spent shivering in the cold breeze, I walked over to hold the door open until Dee confirmed the ghost had walked outside.

  “She’s apologising for being late for work, but her boyfriend wasn’t there to wake her, and the alarm didn’t go off.” Dee shook her head. “The poor thing doesn’t realise she’s passed over.”

  “Why is she even here?” I asked as the thought struck me. “She phoned Barry to tell him she wouldn’t be in.”

  “That’s your question?” Dee glared at me, then scampered down my arm and jumped across to an outside table. She stood on her hind legs, staring at a spot of empty air. “You’re dead, love. How did that happen?”

  After a few moments, the mouse gave an exaggerated sigh. “This is useless. Gabby doesn’t understand she’s dead, so she can’t give us any answers. I’ve never talked to a ghost this fresh before. We must go to her house to find out answers.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police,” I suggested, shivering. “They’ll want to know a healthy young woman’s died.”

  “And tell them what?” The image of a mouse sitting back on her haunches, paws on her hips should have been funny, but Dee’s indignation remained human-sized.

  “We can’t just turn up at her house,” I argued. “What if Marshall’s there?”

  Marshall was Gabby’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. A nice man whose frequent public outbursts about her laziness had endeared him to me.