Page 21 of A Shade of Myself
“Digging.”
“More work?” He turned around, kitchen-bound again. “I’m not a mindless slave.”
I tugged him back by his overall shorts. “You’re right.” He should have been a mindless slave like other golems, but sadly he had opinions. Many, many opinions. “Except this isn’t work. It’s training.”
Emmett notched his chin up. “Don’t try your Mr. Miyagi justifications. I’m Cobra Kai.” He balanced on one foot with his arms up, like Karate Kid Golem was about to launch a crane kick.
I poked him and he stumbled sideways. “What if we need to bury a body? Huh, smart guy? You’re stronger than I am so we need to time you and see how long it takes.” I grabbed a floppy sunhat from the coat closet. “But if you don’t want to be on those kinds of jobs, I can’t force you.”
He snatched the hat away and slapped it on his bald clay head. “Get me a shovel.”
Emmett was like a child in so many ways, bless him. He accepted my explanation that of course he’d have to clear out weeds and roots in a real gravesite and that the tiny arugula and pea plants I’d laid out for him were stand-ins for underbrush in the forest.
“This seems like overkill.” He dropped the last bag of fertilizer on the ground.
“You need to brush up on your mobster movies, partner. The plant cover?” I indicated the veggie starter plants. “Makes the ground look undisturbed. We then sprinkle the earth with salt, or in this case fertilizer, to keep animals away since it nulls the scent of putrefaction.”
“I knew that,” he grumbled.
I made a big production of opening the stopwatch on my phone. “Remember, speedy but not sloppy. Our lives depend on it.”
He struck the dirt with the tip of the shovel. “Tell me when.”
“Go.” I settled on a chaise longue in the shade, applying sunscreen and offering the occasional instructional comment. Confident he had the gist of things, I slid my sunglasses on and stretched out, turning my face to the sky. Between the cold shower, double espresso, and two Tylenol, my head felt much better.
The tchack of the shovel provided a steady rhythm to the melody of trilling birds and the faraway drone of a Weedwacker.
“Done!”
I fluttered my eyes open and hit stop. “Forty minutes. Way to go.” Should we actually require this service, we were fucked, but I’d gotten a nice nap.
I even felt well enough to check in with Ryann, but there was no progress on tracking down the stranger from the beach. She didn’t think he’d gone to ground in Vancouver. I hoped that was true and another encounter between us wasn’t likely before he was caught. Although it meant he was out there doing who knew what with the information about my magic.
Ryann promised to keep me looped in on all new developments.
This stranger remained the best and fastest way for me to get answers. The only other person who had been close to my parents who was still alive was my cousin Goldie, and she didn’t know they’d had magic.
I drummed my fingers on the arm of the lounger. Where else could I look? I’d gone through the box of birthday cards that my uncle Jake had sent a million times and never come up with anything to explain their murders. Maybe million and one was the charm?
I’d just turned the sprinkler on to wet the newly planted veggies—and for Emmett to run through—when my phone rang. I grabbed it, ready with one of the many impressive speeches I’d come up with last night to serve Laurent with, but it was Military Marsha, the self-appointed head of the book club that I was in.
Shit. Had I forgotten to prepare something for our next meeting? Let’s see. Depressing historical tale with an overabundance of navel gazing? Skimmed. Shitty rosé? Purchased. Confident I’d pass any checklist that Marsha threw at me, I caught the call on the last ring. “Hello?”
“It’s a nightmare!” Marsha screeched. “Kit and her husband went to Wreck Beach as some sort of spicy date for their thirteenth anniversary. What’s wrong with lace? That’s traditional.”
I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Is this nightmare because you loathe nude beaches, or do you feel that lace isn’t getting its due in the anniversary pantheon?” It was totally the first one.
There was a tick of impatient silence. “Kit is hosting book club this month.”
“So?”
“Let’s just say she did not sufficiently cover herself with sunscreen.”
“Reaallly?” I sat forward. “And what, pray tell, was the body part unprotected from the sun?”
There was a pause. “Her anus.”
I barked a laugh. “What a bummer.”
