A Chip on Her Shoulder Read online

  I got out with my purse slung over my shoulder, my brother’s gun in one hand and my brother’s cage in the other. “You sent your invitation already, so you get the fuck off my lawn, or I’ll send you back to your family with a new hole. If you’re lucky, I’ll patch it before tossing you into the street so you don’t make a mess on my grass.”

  As I’d expected my brother to get me into shit one way or another, I stepped so I presented as small a target as possible, extended the firearm, and waited.

  The shock on his face amused me.

  Revenge would be far more fun if they offered me a little challenge while I destroyed them. After all, I needed to achieve my gold standard and make the Devil cringe.

  I smiled for my unwanted guest. “Did you really expect me to go unarmed after I had a gun held to my head once already today? Obviously, since you’re on my doorstep probably trying to deliver some new threat. Deliver it, then you get your ass the fuck off my property. You’ve finished your business with my brother, you’ve issued your threats, and while my brother may have broken the law, I haven’t, this is my house, and I will call the cops.”

  “You’ll call the cops?”

  “A bunch of men broke into my house, turned my brother into a chipmunk, and threatened me. Unlike my idiot brother here, I have a clean record and no association with you cockwombles. So, yes. I fully intend to call the cops, and if I have to shoot you first for being on my lawn and trespassing, well, that’s a pity, isn’t it?”

  “How does an ass like him have a sister like you?”

  “I’d say ask our ma, but she abandoned ship.” That was better than saying she’d died and left me the house since she hadn’t trusted my brother. The way I figured it, she’d been one hell of a smart woman, and I hoped she was taking over heaven along with our pa.

  Nobody believed our pa had been a well-respected pastor.

  He hadn’t taken the emergence well, growing up with his religious beliefs challenged by the strange and stranger. Some days, I wished the angel hadn’t come calling. My pa might’ve lived a little longer that way.

  Then again, maybe not. His heart would’ve given out on him eventually.

  While I usually practiced good trigger discipline, I eased my finger onto the trigger to make it clear I’d shoot if given a single excuse. “Well, what’ll it be? You going to leave peacefully, or will I be shooting you before I call the cops?”

  “We don’t need to bring the cops into this.”

  “You’re a lot dumber than you look. You used a transformative on him. That’s permanent. Law says I’ve gotta report his new status as a chipmunk. If you braindead morons wanted to keep the cops out of it, you should’ve done something else.”

  “You’re one of those law-abiding goody-goodies?”

  “I get a paycheck for becoming my brother’s caretaker, and they might be able to help me restore him back to human. If you didn’t want me calling the cops, you should have picked a different plan. Now get the fuck off my property. The safety is off, a round is chambered, and what’s one less of you thugs out to bother people?”

  “I have a message for you.”

  “Deliver it by mail, then, and don’t you even think about making me pay postage.”

  “But—”

  “I’m about three seconds from shooting you, and I really don’t give a fuck if I put the round through your forehead. You got me? If you haven’t figured out I mean business, look really carefully where my finger is resting.”

  He checked, and he had enough sense to blanch. “I’ll be telling the boss about this, little girl.”

  “Tell him if he wants any money out of my brother, well, you idiots should’ve left him in a form he’s capable of paying in. Leave. Now.”

  He did, and he got into a black car. I made a show of clearing the chamber, popping out the magazine, replacing the round, and restoring the firearm to working order before gesturing with the weapon for him to leave.

  While shooting out one of his tires would’ve appeased my temper, I let him go.

  I had enough troubles without doing more than informing the assholes I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  Two

  Rule one: angels did not like when people reacted to their lack of a head.

  Taking my brother to the police station earned me a lot of odd looks, and while I waited for my turn to speak with the lady behind the plexiglass shield, I wondered why the cops bothered with such flimsy protection. Ever since magic had come flooding into the world, guns had made way for fancier ways of killing people, and the shields they favored might stop a bullet, but it did little good against a practitioner with a grudge.

  The guy in front of me left with a slip of paper, and I went up to the counter, set my brother onto the ledge, and said, “Some mafia thugs turned my brother into this chipmunk, and they told me to pay them. I have a clean record, and I request an audience with a divine.”

  A divine might help. I’d get an angel; the police worked with angels all the time, and they tended to like humans to a certain degree. I’d also get the truth and nothing but the truth out of an angel. If an angel couldn’t help me, I could ask if they could put me in touch with another divine who might be able to undo what the mafia had done to my brother.

  “Name?”

  “His or mine?”

  “Start with his, then give me yours, please.”

  “Jonas Esmaranda. He has a record, mostly misdemeanors. I’m Darlene Esmaranda.” I pointed in the direction of our house and told her where I lived. Then, because I bet one of the scarred assholes had a record, I described each and every last one of the cockwombles who’d poisoned my brother with a transformative.

  The cop dutifully wrote down my report, and she pointed to one of the hard plastic and metal chairs bolted to the floor along the wall. “Sit there, and I’ll pass along your request for a divine to verify Mr. Esmaranda’s condition and listen to your statement.”

  “Thank you.” I sat down where directed, put my brother on my lap, and settled in to wait. I’d never made use of an angel before, but after running with my brother and his crowd, I’d heard stories about them.

  Rule one: angels did not like when people reacted to their lack of a head.

  Rule two: angels really didn’t like when people cursed too much, but a little cursing was okay as long as you didn’t commit some act of blasphemy.

  Rule three: definitely don’t mention anything about Jesus Christ doing anything on any crackers.

  I thought the rules were a little weird, but I could understand the first rule. Of course, the only frame of reference I had was watching people stuck in wheelchairs reacting to the thoughtless reactions of others.

  I’d learned early on the best way to handle those in wheelchairs was to smile, offer to help them with pesky doors, and push them up ramps as needed. Once, a little old lady stuck in her chair had needed to go up three steps, so I’d put down my bag and shoved her whole chair up the steps to get her in the store, and because I figured other humans were garbage, I’d waited for her to finish her shopping before helping her down the steps again.

  I’d been right about nobody else wanting to help her. Most folks averted their eyes, as though being old and unable to walk was somehow contagious.

  Fuckers.

  I’d learned early on if I couldn’t be bothered to do the right thing, I sure as hell couldn’t trust someone else to do it. That got me in trouble, although my kind of trouble tended to involve me losing friends and pissing my brother off because I tended to speak my opinion at precisely the wrong time.

  Too bad, so sad.

  Not.

  My brother sulked in his cage, and I cracked open the lid and slipped my hand inside. “Don’t you dare bite me again, you little shit.”

  Jonas kept his teeth to himself, and I pet his head. While rodents weren’t my thing unless I was hunting and wanted a crunchy snack, he had a decent coat, although he’d never match my pristine spots. If he’d been
a little more like me rather than like Mom and Dad, the transformative wouldn’t have been a big deal. I could shake them off through shifting to one of my other forms. My strange magic broke some of the CDC’s precious rules, just like they couldn’t figure out why I could shapeshift without the lycanthropy virus.

  The CDC really didn’t like when people broke their precious rules. I really didn’t like that an organization best known for questionable containment of infectious diseases had full reign over all things magical, including regulations on the one damned recreational drug I could use without wanting to kill somebody when the high wore off.

  Yeah, I’d have one hell of a record if the coppers ever figured out I wasn’t shy about experimenting with things I shouldn’t. Pixie dust would remain my favorite hit, as who didn’t like a great high with no downer?

  My wallet hated the price of pixie dust, so I went without more often than not. When I ran as a snow leopard, I went for my second-favorite substance, although I would never admit to anyone I liked catnip more than pixie dust.

  Pixie dust couldn’t beat a catnip-induced nap.

  A cop emerged through the steel door barring the station entry from the rest of place, and I sighed my resignation. As nobody else was in the waiting area, he was likely about to make more of a mess of my day. Old, tired men didn’t like dealing with crazy young chicks who lived in a questionable part of town, especially when they happened to have a sibling with a rap sheet.

  Jonas drove me nuts sometimes.

  “Miss Esmaranda?”

  I gave my brother a final pat and removed my hand from his container, secured the lid, and rose from my seat. “I’m Miss Esmaranda.”

  “Come with me.”

  Lovely. Not only did I have the old, grumpy white dude, he’d left his manners at home. Why did I always get the jerks?

  Then again, to be fair, my request for divine intervention led to a lot of expense and paperwork—and once the angel verified my brother had been forced to consume a transformative, I wouldn’t be the one saddled with the bill.

  Victims didn’t pay the bills for the angels. The bills became the problem of the guilty, something I wasn’t. My brother held responsibility for his fair share of crimes, but I’d had a gun held to my head and been forced to watch him pay the piper.

  Angels considered things like that when issuing their verdicts, or so I’d been told.

  Stirring the cop’s ire would land me into trouble, so I went along with him without a peep. A woman won wars by picking her battles, and if I wanted to tango with the cop, I’d have to bide my time, mince words, and otherwise avoid giving him a reason to give me a hard time.

  He led me through a maze of corridors, through a cubicle farm loaded with coppers, and into a small room with the kind of dinky chairs that would make my ass go numb within five minutes. He gestured to one, and aware they made the damned things as uncomfortable as possible to encourage people to tell them the truth faster, I checked it for thumb tacks or other painful things before easing my weight onto it.

  Yep, I gave it five minutes before I’d regret coming to the station at all.

  “I was told your brother has been transformed into a chipmunk?”

  I plunked my brother onto the steel table. He squeaked a protest and waved a furry little fist at me. “This is Jonas. He’s my brother, at least when he’s not a pint-sized pest out to chew up everything we own. He seems to still understand English. I don’t speak chipmunk, but if he bites the shit out of my hand again, I’m spanking the little fucker.” I showed the cop where he’d gotten a hold of me. “At least it stopped bleeding.”

  Well, for the most part.

  “Please start from the very beginning, ma’am. What happened, and why do you believe your brother is now a chipmunk?”

  “He took out a loan from a mafia shark, and I guess he didn’t pay it back. The sharks came over to the house, put a gun to my head, and shoved a vial of liquid down Jonas’s throat. He became a chipmunk. This chipmunk, to be specific. Those damned goons threw him at me, and that’s when I discovered he was able and willing to bite the shit out of me. I shoved him into a shoebox, took him to the nearby pet store, got him a cage, and then came here. One of the sharks came back to my property, but I’ve got a concealed carry permit, so I told him to get the hell off my lawn before I fed him to my grass. He wisely left.”

  “You pulled a gun on someone?”

  “After him and his buddies broke into my house and held a gun to my head, you better fucking believe I pulled a gun on someone. He was on my property, and his cockwomble, asshole friends just turned my brother into a fucking chipmunk. What was I supposed to do? Gasp, put my hand to my mouth, and bless their fucking hearts? Men like that don’t come to a house like mine without bringing more trouble. I’ve had enough trouble for one day.”

  “She speaks the truth,” a masculine voice announced from behind me.

  “Jesus fucking Christ on a goddamned cracker!” I screeched, jumping to my feet and whirling around. The angel’s lack of a head bothered me far less than his nudity, lack of clothes, and rather noticeable lack of genitalia of any sort. His wings, white banded with blue, added a splash of color to his otherwise pale countenance. “At least put some nipples on if you’re just going to leave your chest out like that!”

  Why did the angel have no nipples? What had happened to his head? What had happened to his poor dick?

  Over the years, I’d learned to recognize stunned silence when I heard it, and I realized I’d rendered an angel speechless right along with the cop.

  Oh, right. The rules.

  I reviewed each one in my head, determined I’d broken all three of them in one fell swoop, and shrugged. “Well, I guess that blows any chance of you helping my brother, doesn’t it?”

  Maybe I could carve nipples onto the angel, since I’d already gone straight over the line of decency into pure blasphemy.

  “Please do not carve nipples onto my chest, Miss Esmaranda. As for your other thoughts, it is not a matter of chance. It is not something we are permitted to do. Your brother is as he is, for he is paying a consequence for his actions. While there is power in prayer, this would be an unanswered prayer. I cannot help you with that request.”

  Well, shit. “Can you at least tell the cops I’m not lying about those assholes showing up at my house, putting a gun to my head, and forcing me to watch my brother get turned into a rodent?”

  “You speak the truth. The chipmunk in your possession is your brother, and you witnessed his transformation.”

  “Can you tell me what was used?”

  “You humans classify it as a top grade transformative. Unlike the lower grades, it will not reverse with time. It would take divine intervention to restore him to even a humanoid form.”

  “Can’t I just give him another dose of transformative? Won’t that change him back?”

  “I am afraid not, Miss Esmaranda. That is not how these substances work in humans. It would have no effect on him. That is as much of a blessing as it is a curse. You would need the assistance of a divine. He will not help you, and as such, His angelic host cannot help you. It is not that we do not feel for your plight, but that it is a rule which we must obey.”

  Well, shit. Since angelic help would be a bust, maybe I could recruit assistance from some other divine. “How about one of those Greek divines? Would one of them help?”

  “I fear not. They have no interest in mortal affairs, and many of them still slumber. The ones awake would have no desire to aide you, nor would you be able to pay the price they would ask of you, should they be willing to help.”

  Fuck. “Egyptians?”

  “They are busy with more important matters, although you might be able to do a favor for one for information. I am willing to broker such an agreement with you, to serve as a relay. The Egyptians are keeping their activities modest on the mortal coil for the moment.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Sir, if you might excuse
us for a few minutes? This is a matter that should be discussed in private. There will be no point in recording what I speak with her about. Your machines will not cooperate with your wishes.”

  The cop sighed. “How long do you need?”

  “No longer than an hour.”

  After the officer left the interrogation room, the angel sat on the edge of the metal table. “The work you would do is small now but significant later. You will be meddling on behalf of the Egyptian pantheon to ensure a future outcome, one with potentially dire consequences later. I was made aware of this situation before coming here.”

  “Who made you aware of this situation?”

  “He did.”

  The God Almighty, the head honcho of the Christian faith, involved himself with me? No, with my brother, who made a pretty good candidate for a long-term stay in hell? My mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

  “He works in mysterious ways. He asked me to take on this task. It is both simple and difficult.”

  “Okay. I’m listening. What do I need to do for the Egyptian pantheon? Who, I presume, has His permission, as you’re here negotiating with me to be the plaything of divines.”

  The angel’s laughter chimed, and something deep in my chest relaxed, as though I’d sipped sweet, cool water on a scalding hot day. “You are right in more ways than you can possibly know. This has been in motion for some time. Two months ago, a newborn infant was abandoned and placed upon a ship coming here. The ship docks this evening. There is no one to retrieve the child. You will take the baby to a government building, which I will give you the address for. You will apply for her citizenship and birth certificate. You will name her, for the one who will become her guardian will not be kind in the choosing of it, for she is a black mark upon her family. In their eyes, that is. She is anything but. Once you have named her and secured her citizenship and birth certificate, which will only be a matter of a few hours of your time, you will have her delivered to her guardian. This is where things will become difficult for you.”