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  Pretty Little Fliers

  A Cozy Witch Mystery

  Erin Johnson

  For Josefa,

  Te amo lady!

  Contents

  Prequel Novella

  1. The Reading

  2. Pet Psychic

  3. Back-Alley Vet

  4. Anger Issues

  5. Speak!

  6. Poisoned

  7. Dead

  8. The Dragon

  9. Eviction Notice

  10. The Victim

  11. Two Truths and a Lie

  12. The Parakeet

  13. The Feud

  14. The Botanist

  15. A Confession

  16. Brew

  17. Leftovers

  18. Snooping

  19. The Rendezvous

  20. Half-Truths

  21. Lady Amelie LeBec

  22. Liar Liar

  23. Boudoir by Bim

  24. Jake the Snake

  25. The Darkroom

  26. The Black Envelope

  27. Millie

  28. The Secretary

  29. The Tea

  30. The Arrest

  31. Extra Curricular

  32. Another Runner in the Night

  33. The Key

  34. Blinded

  35. Ironic

  36. Take the Money and Run

  37. Perks

  Prequel Novella

  Book 2 Sneak Peek

  Front Page News

  Ludolf's Goons

  The case

  The Spider

  The Sweatshop

  Untitled

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Want more Peter and Daisy?

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  Saved by the Spell

  A magical academy. A suspicious death. Can an inexperienced cop expose the deadly secrets lurking behind bewitched classroom doors?

  Rookie officer Peter Flint longs for something more serious than a coffee run. So he gladly accepts his first real case, even though it’s an embarrassingly easy undercover assignment to take down a high-school cheating ring. But his investigation takes a dark turn when a student runs screaming across campus and jumps off a cliff.

  Convinced the tragedy was supernaturally provoked, Flint vows to get justice for the boy at any cost. But with a popular clique stirring up trouble and a truth-sniffing German Shepherd threatening to blow his cover, he worries he’ll need to step up the hocus-pocus to unearth the facts.

  Can Flint disenchant the tragic sorcery before another pupil leaps to their demise?

  Saved by the Spell is the prequel to the Magic Market paranormal cozy mystery series. If you like gutsy underdogs, clever twists, and lighthearted humor, then you’ll love Erin Johnson’s charming whodunit.

  Download Saved by the Spell to solve a mystical murder today!

  1

  The Reading

  I’m throwing up on her bed because she dresses me in ugly sweaters. The white cat blinked at me, then returned to licking the long, wispy fur on its front paw.

  I brought a fist to my mouth to hide my grin.

  “Yes? What is it?” His owner, the prim older lady who sat across the table from me, leaned forward. “Do you know what’s wrong with my Mr. Floofy?” She lowered the flowery handkerchief she’d been holding to her nose.

  I tried not to roll my eyes. I mean, yeah my trash needed to be taken out (weeks ago) and the smells of sewer and street food wafting in from the noisy street below weren’t doing my apartment any favors. But it wasn’t that bad.

  I straightened and brought my fingers to my temples. “Hm, yes, I’m getting something.” I dipped my face close to the cat’s so the woman wouldn’t overhear me and muttered out of the corner of my mouth. “Meow?” Would you prefer different styles or…?

  The cat narrowed his lime green eyes at me and let out a low yowl. No sweaters at all, you dolt! No clothes! I’m a cat, for rat’s sake. Treat me with some dignity.

  I glared right back at him. Treat me with some dignity or I’ll tell her you despise tuna treats.

  He flattened his ears and hissed at me.

  I sat straighter and waved my hands over the crystal ball before me. Gold stars and moons covered the blue velvet tablecloth below it. It was all part of the act. A clump of white fur blew over the fabric like a tumbleweed. Great, now I’d have to do laundry.

  The woman’s wide eyes darted from the crystal to my face. “What do you see?”

  I abruptly stopped waving my hands and splayed my palms. “Yeah, Mr. Floofy’s not into wearing clothes.” I thumbed at the cat on the table beside me. He sported a mint green gingham bonnet and cape. “In my professional psychic opinion, if you stop dressing him up, the vomit will stop also.”

  The lady’s expression grew hard and closed. She huffed, rose to her feet, and snatched her cat up off the table. “Why, I never! I should have known you were a fraud.”

  She huffed again as she swept her scowl over my humble abode. “Me. In a dump like this. I don’t know how you ever fooled me.” She adjusted the cat in her arms and shrugged her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “Floofy loves those sweaters. I’m leaving!”

  I shoved back from the table and leapt to my feet. No. She couldn’t leave. I was way behind on my rent, and she was my first client in… snakes, I couldn’t even think of the last one I’d had. My apartment/business was located down a narrow side alley off the main drag of the Darkmoon Night Market. I didn’t get a lot of foot traffic.

  Even if I had though, I doubted business would be booming. On the magical island of Bijou Mer, just off the coast of human France, legit psychics and seers abounded—but somehow most folk didn’t believe a pet psychic was a real thing. Probably because it wasn’t. They assumed I was lying about my abilities—which made sense, because I was.

  The lady marched toward the beaded curtain that led to the stairs out. “Ugh!” She waved a fly away from her face.

  The little guy flew in swooping circles, humming to himself. Bizzy, buzzy, dizzy, fizzy, flying around is lots of fun.

  Sands, flies were so inane. I glanced past the woman to what passed for my living room. It was just a threadbare couch in the middle of the shabby room, with my Walkman resting on one of the torn cushions.

  I itched to put on my headphones and drown out the fly, the daddy longlegs catching gnats above the windows, the cockroaches chatting and laughing behind the wall, and the rats having a family reunion in the ceiling.

  That was the problem (well, one of them) with being able to speak with animals. I also had to listen to them. There was no white noise in my world, no silence.

  Seagulls didn’t caw anymore, they shouted at each other. Crickets didn’t chirp—they bragged. The world was a noisy, chatty place, and the only way I could cope was by drowning it all out with some sweet, sweet tunes. Well, mostly ambient rain sounds, but sometimes tunes.

  But relief would have to wait—rent and food money were top priority.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. From top defense lawyer to this. Ah, there was that familiar ache in my core. I sighed and swallowed what little was left of my dignity.

  “Wait! I’m getting something else. I was confused by Floofy’s strong feelings—”

  The woman shifted the big cat in the bonnet to her other arm and paused just in front of the beaded curtain. Her eyes remained hard, her lips a tight line. But at least she’d stopped.

  “Yes, it was my mistake.” I nodded and rubbed my temples. “Floofy’s got such strong feelings—not of hate—but of love for those luxurious and fashionable outfits you style him in.”

  The woman blinked a
nd took a few steps back toward me.

  “Mew?” The cat’s tail swished. What are you telling her?

  I ignored him.

  “Yes… yes, I see it now.” I sank back down into my chair, and the woman edged closer. “The vomit stems from a traumatic incident Mr. Floofy had as a kitten.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and she kept them on me as she slid her purse from her arm and sank back down into the wobbly chair across from me. “Go on.”

  I pressed my eyes shut tight to keep from rolling them. Every time. Man, people were suckers for sob stories about their pets. What should I go with this time? Past life expectations from when he was a pharaoh’s cat or confidence issues from being the runt of the litter and feeling unwanted?

  I peeled an eye open. Judging by the size of Mr. Floofy, I wasn’t sure the runt one would be believable.

  I opened my mouth, about to go with the Egypt thing, when the door banged open downstairs, the bell above it tinkling. I looked to my left, frowning, as heavy footsteps clomped quickly up the stairs.

  I lifted my chin and shouted, “Hey! I’m with a client, come back later!” What were the chances I’d get two in one night?

  “Ow!” a deep voice cried.

  I arched a brow. The narrow staircase had a surprisingly low ceiling—bet this guy hit his head.

  “Go away!” I called again.

  The footsteps started up again, and a moment later a man burst through the beaded curtain, carrying an enormous dog in his arms.

  The older woman screamed and jumped to her feet, clutching Mr. Floofy to her chest. The cat arched its back and hissed at the limp German shepherd in the man’s arms.

  Oh snakes. This wasn’t just a man. It was a man sporting the blue-and-gold uniform of the Bijou Mer police force.

  My stomach dropped and I shoved away from the table, toppling my chair backward. I raised my hands.

  “I didn’t do it!”

  “Huh?” The officer’s panicked face softened, and for the briefest moment he looked like he was about to laugh. He shook himself, and his thick brows pinched together again. The whites showed all around his blue eyes, which bored into me.

  “My dog’s dying!” His eyes flicked to the huge dog, foam dripping from its lips. “I need your help!”

  2

  Pet Psychic

  The officer stood in front of me and lifted his thick brows, the panting police dog in his arms. He watched me with wide eyes, expectant.

  I frowned and let my hands drop to my sides. “Uh… I’m not a vet.”

  He looked wild-eyed behind him toward the stairs that led to the street entrance. “It said pet something outside!”

  I lifted a brow. “Yeah. Pet psychic.”

  I pointed to the older lady, who clutched her hissing cat to her chest. She looked frantically from me to the police officer.

  “She’s my client—I’m giving her cat a reading.”

  The huge German shepherd let out a pitiful whine, and my chest tightened in sympathy, in spite of myself. Though the officer was tall, and judging by the muscles that his tight uniform hugged, in great shape, a vein in his neck bulged with the effort of carrying the massive canine.

  Twin red spots burned on the officer’s pale cheeks. “I’ve heard rumors of a back-alley vet here in the market—can you take me there?”

  I crossed my arms and shot him a flat look. “Really? You’re a cop—you think I’m going to take you to an illegal vet?” I scoffed and batted my lashes. “Sorry, Officer, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I mean, I did. My friend Will ran it. And if I brought a cop to his place, it’d be the last thing I ever did because Will would, without a doubt, kill me.

  The cop gritted his teeth. “Daisy’s fading fast.”

  I smirked. Daisy? For a police dog? I would’ve guessed Killer or Fang.

  “So take her to a vet.” I flashed my eyes at him. It wasn’t smart to sass a police officer under the best of circumstances, but was even dumber given my situation. Seeing as I was operating a semifraudulent business and all.

  Though I wasn’t really a pet psychic, I could speak to animals. Normally shifters like me could speak to other animals of their kind when in animal form. When I used to be able to change into an owl, for instance, I could communicate with other owls—though even then, a lot was lost in translation.

  But no shifter, and no psychic as far as I knew, had ever possessed the ability to speak to all animals. Woop de doo, how extra of me. This fantastic little gift came benefit of the curse that’d been leveled on me four and a half years ago by a jealous colleague who’d outed me as a shifter, cost me both my fiancé and career, and overall ruined my life.

  On top of it, I’d lost all my magical powers and the ability to shift. I itched, even now, to spread my wings and soar through the night. But no—I was stuck in this rathole, feet planted firmly on the stained carpet.

  My only compensation was the whole speaking to animals thing, which I figured was some unforeseen side effect of the curse. But in a city where shifters, while not technically illegal, were despised and shunned, it was best to keep my abilities to myself.

  Hence, my cover as a pet psychic.

  And double hence, why I had to get this officer and his dog out of my apartment as quickly as possible.

  The officer’s face crumpled. “My dog’s dying.” His voice cracked, and I looked away.

  Geez, he cared more about this pooch than probably anyone had ever cared about me. I grimaced at the sickly sweetness of it all.

  “She won’t make it to a vet on a higher tier.”

  I gulped and dared a glance at him.

  His earnest blue eyes searched my face. “Please.”

  My stomach twisted. Did he have to say it so quietly and with so much depth behind it?

  I rolled my eyes at myself. I was sure his square jaw and stupidly handsome face had nothing to do with my sudden urge to risk my friend and me going to prison to help a dog.

  The German shepherd’s labored breathing came quicker, foam gathering at her dark lips.

  We were down here on the lowest level of Bijou Mer—or at least the lowest level once the tide rose each evening, submerging the lower part of the island and cutting our magical mountain off from the human mainland of France.

  He’d have to race to one of the upper tiers to find another vet that’d be open at this time of night. And they likely wouldn’t be half as talented as my friend Will. I sighed. The officer was right. His dog wouldn’t make it.

  And at this point, if I refused to help, I’d not only be signing the dog’s death sentence, but incurring the wrath of a distraught policeman. And he’d probably march right back here once the sun was up and shut me down. And since he already knew of a black market vet, it wouldn’t be too hard to find Will and shut him down too, just for spite. And, in my dealings with policemen so far, they were full of spite.

  Great. A police officer around a couple of shifters running unlicensed businesses. What could go wrong?

  I threw my hands up. “Fine.”

  He blinked and flashed me the briefest of smiles. Of course it was white and dazzling and made him even more good-looking. But it quickly faded, replaced by a crease between his brows and a grim set to his jaw. “Thank you.”

  I waved a hand and shot him an exaggerated smile. “Don’t worry about it, my pleasure.” I shot the older lady, my first and only customer in forever, and her cat a flat look. “Alright, reading’s over. Out.” I thumbed toward the beaded curtain behind the officer.

  She blinked at me. “But….”

  “Out.”

  The woman huffed, shifted the cat in her arms, and practically ran past the officer. “You should be shut down,” she called over her shoulder.

  Oh, I’ll be folding up shop soon enough, lady. Her heels clicked all the way down the stairs. The bell on the door rang, signaling she’d left. Goodbye rent money, hello eviction notice.

  I edged past the cop an
d his panting dog, giving the teeth end of her a wide berth. I crinkled my nose at her sour breath and grabbed the iron key ring that hung on the hook beside the doorway.

  I jerked my head. “Follow me.” I started down the stairs.

  “Is it nearby?”

  “Around the corner.” I jogged down a few steps, the walls so narrow my upper arms brushed against them. How had this cop even made it up here with those wide shoulders of his, plus a dog in his arms? Which reminded me. I should probably warn him to watch his—

  “Ow!”

  I glanced back up at him and winced. “Er. Low ceiling. Watch your head.”

  He grimaced, but nodded and followed me down sideways, his chin now tucked toward his chest.

  A thumping bass beat from the bar below my apartment nearly drowned out Daisy’s whines, and soon we exited the tight, dark stairwell into the street below. I held the door for the officer, and after he’d stepped out into the muggy summer night, I shut the graffitied door and turned the lock.

  3

  Back-Alley Vet

  With quick steps, I led the way through the dark, narrow side street I lived on. We passed the lively bar, its loud music and flashing neon lights spilling into the street. A gust of steam shot up from a metal sewer grate beside me as I shoved my keys back into my jeans pocket.