Page 1139 of One More Kiss
Endangered Passions
Raven de Hart
Chapter1
You know,as a kid, working at a pet store felt like the ultimate dream. All day surrounded by animals, getting to pet the fluffiest, freshest, cutest kittens in all the land, listening to birdsong, matching people up with their lifelong companions, seeing a kid get their first familiar with all that sparkle in their eyes.
Well now I work in a pet shop, serving the interests of Portland’s esoteric animal enthusiasts, and I’ve got to say, it’s lived up to the hype and then some. I won’t lay out a line of BS and say that every day is sunshine and fucking rainbows. Sometimes I find a cold, shivering box of triple-headed puppies somebody left in front of the door, or I have someone coming in looking for cheap pets for bait for a fighting ring. But spending all day with cute fluffies is basically the ultimate dream, at least for me.
All right, I liked the scaly ones, too. Rainbow boas and Alaskan frilled ice-geckos and dragons.
Well, I hadn’t actually had a dragon in since I bought the shop. Had some eggs come through once when I just started. They were questionably legal, but I didn’t ask those questions. Been on the up and up since then, and those questionably legal dragon eggs made sure I made my rent until I established myself.
A slow day at the shop meant a lot more of me taking care of the animals and getting my cuddle quota in. I just got half a dozen ravens with a bloodline going all the way back to Morgan Le Fay’s very own familiar, and if they weren’t the cutest god damn things in the world, then I don’t even know what would be. Most affectionate ravens I’d ever been around, so taking care of them had quickly become a major highlight in my day. Even if they did express their love with talons and beaks, and I’d recently had to invest in some high-end boutique healing balm from the alchemist working out of the back of that Ethiopian restaurant in Humboldt.
They could scratch my fucking eyes out and I’d still call them my shiny black precious princesses and handsome princes.
As I was grooming one of the boys, who I’d taken to calling Ganymede, the little bells on the door tinkled the arrival of a customer. Ganymede tightened his grip on my arm, and I winced as I led him back into the cage. “Just a minute, I’ll be right with you!” No response, but I was honestly pretty used to that. People liked to keep themselves to themselves around the magical community.
Once I had Ganymede secured with his brothers and sisters, and a good smear of that healing balm tingling over the fresh wounds, I made my way to the front desk. Well, I started to. I tried to.
The guy at the counter stopped me cold. I got a decent flow of clients in. Decent for any magical specialty shop, at any rate. Saw all sorts come through the door to buy their veterinary tinctures or pick up special sugar-free food for their fairy nests. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen anyone like him walk into the shop.
The first thing that caught my attention was the bomber jacket that seemed like it could barely contain all the…muscle. Taut over broad shoulders, framing the corded muscles of his neck. The red T-shirt underneath was stretched to the max, showing off the details of all that musculature. His dark curls washed across the top of his head, ending just below his earlobes and hiding the arms of the mirrored shades he was currently wearing.
I caught my breath. And then I caught it again because it gave me a chance to lecherously stare for a while longer. Then I finally walked over and made myself known, hoping that I wouldn’t immediately toss myself across the counter to be ravished.
Looking at this new customer? That was certainly not outside the realm of possibility.
“I’m sorry about that. Have to take care of the critters. What are you looking for?”
“Are you Titus Rhodes?” His voice came out rough and sharp and did some things to my insides that I always assumed you had to pay top-dollar for.
“I am. This is my shop. I guess my reputation precedes me?”
No response to my stunning charms, other than him taking off his sunglasses. Somehow, his eyes were brighter than the reflective shades, piercing shards of blue glass that seemed to reflect all the excess light in the shop right back at me, framed in by thick sheets of dark eyelashes. He laid the sunglasses on the counter and leaned slightly toward me. “I’m Officer Graham, Department of Esoteric Game and Wildlife.”
“Well, Officer Graham, what is it you need from my humble store? I don’t move a ton of interesting critters. Mostly familiars.” It was way too long after the fact for him to be coming after me for some dragon eggs.
“I’m curious if you know an Alan Fishbein. I’m looking for him to answer some questions, but can’t seem to track him down.”
“You must be from out of town?” Frankly, out of state would make more sense, but I didn’t want to piss him off. “Al’s been brokering wildlife trade from Australia and East Asia for, well, for longer than I’ve been alive, that’s for sure.”
“We’re aware of all that. But he doesn’t make himself too accessible, it seems.” He eyed me up and down before adding, “I’m born and raised from Portland. But I’m not part of this world, unless it’s time to check on licensing or contraband.”
“Well, I can imagine you’re not a welcome sight for most folks, huh?” A welcome sight for me personally, though, that was for damn sure. “I’m happy to help out. I’m sure Al and Peggy can assist you out with whatever this is. I’m sure I could too, if I knew what was going on. I’m pretty plugged in.” I wanted to know what the hell he needed with Al, sure, but I also wanted an excuse to keep Tall, Dark, and Hunky in my line of sight for a little bit longer. “You’re from EGW, so I’m guessing Al didn’t murder someone and hang their body up in the town square.”
“Not to my knowledge.” Completely deadpan. “I did want to talk to some of the purveyors, so thanks for offering. Don’t suppose you’ve heard of any scuttlebutt about some jeweled tortoises that have come through recently?”
“Jeez, I wish. I could pay my rent for a year off a couple of those.”
“I’m going to assume you don’t know, then. The ones I’m looking for are Wallsman’s jeweled tortoises.”
Shit. “Those are super endangered, aren’t they? Not anything I deal in, and I doubt Al and Peggy are dealing with that sort of stock, either.” I’d seen photos of Wallsman’s jeweled tortoise, but never in person. Absolutely gorgeous, but their breeding habits were bizarre. Over fifty percent of the time, they just abandoned their eggs without burying them, and when they did bury them, they needed a volcanic area in which to hold the clutch. If it cooled too much, the eggs died and petrified. Combine that with the overhunting of both the tortoises themselves—their shells were a strange, organic corundum with tons of uses in various magical pursuits, or just as decoration—and the eggs, which could be boring as hell, or utterly stunning, all depending on the diet and lineage of the parents, and the location of the clutch.
“We estimate about two-thousand left in total. And a dozen of them have apparently made an appearance here in Portland. Which puts them on my radar.” He glanced over at me, eyes still doing that whole “sucking all the light out of the room and shooting lasers at the poor shopkeep” thing. “I appreciate your cooperation.”
“Somebody smuggling those poor babies, of course I’m going to cooperate.” I glanced at the clock on the wall, then nodded. “I think the shop’ll be fine for a little bit. Let’s get over to Al’s place.”
