Eerie stillness greeted his senses as he hopped from his makeshift bed and ducked behind a tomb. With no cameras in sight, he shifted, stretching his arms over his head. A splotch of pink paint marred the sleeve of his dark green sweater.
Odd. He couldn’t remember painting anything.
He sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Of course he didn’t remember painting anything. He couldn’t rememberanyanything.
Maybe a walk around town would jog his memory. He made his way to the cemetery gates, but they were locked. A quick glance at his watch told him it was only seven A.M. No one would be around to open the gates for another three hours.
He tilted his head, studying the padlock on the chain, and the strange notion that locks could never keep him out made his brow furrow. Cradling the culpable object in his palm, he rested his other hand atop it. Without so much as a twitch of his nose, the lock disengaged, and the gate swung open.
“How about that?” He stepped through and locked it behind him. Shifters didn’t normally possess extra powers beyond their animals’ instincts, so his newfound ability had him pondering. Could he be part witch? Or maybe he had some kind of magical lock-picking artifact? Possibly his watch or something in his pocket?
He patted the front and back of his pants but found them empty. His watch had to be magical. It was the only explanation. He felt his rabbit in his soul. If he had witch blood pumping through his veins, he surely would’ve felt that too.
The rising sun tamed the chill in the morning air, and he tipped his head back, letting it warm his cheeks for a moment before hanging a right and making his way toward the French Quarter. He would find some shifters—preferably rabbits—and hope to hell someone could tell him who the fluff he really was.
* * *
“We searched half the night. Where could he be?” Destiny wrung her hands and rocked back and forth in the chair across from the high priestess’s desk.
Crimson’s dark brown hair hung in ringlets down to her shoulders, and lines formed on her forehead as she frowned. “You lost the Easter Bunny?”
“Yes!” Destiny flung her arms into the air. “I mean, technically, he hopped away, but he doesn’t know who he is, he’s in a strange city, he’s helpless.”
Crimson drummed her manicured nails on the desk. “Strange city, I’ll give you, but I highly doubt a hundreds-of-years-old fae is helpless.”
“He doesn’t know he’s a fae. He didn’t even know his name. Can you do a scrying spell or something?” Before she could answer, Destiny’s phone pinged with a notification from Divine Grace. “Oh, thank heaven. If my miracle got approved, I can just…”
Her shoulders slumped with her sinking heart. “Auto-rejected. You have got to be kidding me. What the heck is Article C-37?”
“Talk to me, hon.” Crimson rose and walked around her desk before leaning her backside against the edge. “What happened?”
Destiny laughed dryly. “I’m a fuck up. That’s what happened.”
Crimson raised her brows. “I think that might be the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss.”
“I can’t seem to do anything else right, so why not?” She pressed her hands together and inhaled deeply, attempting to connect with the collective consciousness for guidance. Relaxing her body, she focused inward, letting the world slip away before she turned her attention to the ether.
Normally, a warm light and a soft vibration would greet her, allowing her to sift through the sands of wisdom to find the answers she needed. Now, no ethereal luminescence warmed her soul, and not even a quick buzz danced through her psyche. It was as if someone had unplugged her.
She sighed heavily and opened her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing is wrong with you.” Crimson sank into the chair next to her and rested a hand atop hers. “Believe me, I’m the queen of fuck ups, and you don’t belong anywhere in my queendom. No one expects you to be perfect.”
“Gabriela does.” She dragged a hand down her face. “Then there’s Michelle.”
She explained her predicament, how she missed the deadline to perform a miracle, and the ridiculous timeline Gabriela had given her. “I thought, surely, restoring Pete’s memories so he can save Easter would be a miracle-worthy endeavor. Apparently, Article C-37 says otherwise.”
“Come with me.” Crimson’s heels clicked on the hardwood as she strode from the coven office and headed to the kitchen. “What’s Article C-37? What did you put on the form?”
Destiny followed and sat on a stool at the island. “I told them the Easter Bunny has amnesia, and I would like permission to perform the miracle of restoring his memories and saving Easter. I don’t know what that article says. I’ll have to look it up.”
Crimson filled a copper bowl with water before sprinkling in dried herbs from the cabinet. “It sounds to me like you asked for two miracles. Restoring his memoryandsaving Easter. Maybe that’s why it got rejected.”
“You could be right. The whole reason he came to New Orleans was to get Gaston’s help. Easter was already in peril before he met me.” Destiny rolled her head from side to side, stretching the tension in her neck. “Crap. I did ask for two miracles. C-37 must mean only one request per form.”
“Revise the request and just ask to ‘save Easter’.” Crimson returned the herb jars to the cabinet. “He’ll get his memory back in the process. Two birds, one stone.Voila.Problem solved.”
“I can’t revise it. I have to start over from scratch, and I don’t even know if that’s the problem.”
