Page 24 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)

TWENTY-FOUR

A s Warrick crossed the garage to inspect the setup, a movement near the equipment bay caught his eye. Gus Niles slipped through the side entrance, his expression darkening when he spotted Warrick.

“Niles.” Warrick kept his voice neutral despite his tiger’s instinctive bristle. “Something I can help you with?”

Gus’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just dropping off some paperwork for the Fireman’s Ball planning committee. Heard you’re taking charge this year.”

The subtle emphasis on “taking charge” didn’t escape Warrick’s notice. Everything was a territorial challenge with Gus.

“The entire department is involved,” Warrick replied evenly. “Every firefighter contributes.”

“How democratic of you.” Gus’s gaze swept the immaculate garage with poorly disguised contempt. “Though I hear you’re bringing in outside help. The baker witch? Interesting choice.”

The casual mention of Molly set Warrick’s protective instincts on high alert. His tiger snarled beneath his skin, reacting to the perceived threat in Gus’s tone.

“Ms. Hues has generously offered her expertise with the decorations and refreshments,” he said, the lie coming easily. “Her contributions to town events are well-regarded.”

“I’m sure they are.” Gus placed a folder on the nearby desk. “Just make sure she understands the... traditional aspects of the ball. Some things shouldn’t change, despite new leadership.”

Before Warrick could respond, excited voices echoed from the station entrance. The school tour had arrived.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Warrick said, his tone making it clear the conversation was over.

Gus’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “Of course, Chief . Enjoy your demonstration.”

As Gus slipped away, Warrick fought the urge to follow, to demand clarification of the veiled threat. But twenty children now filed into the garage, their teacher corralling them with practiced patience.

“Chief Shaw!” Ms. Marissa called, her smile bright. “We’re so excited for today’s tour.”

Warrick pushed thoughts of Gus aside, focusing on the children’s eager faces. “Welcome to Whispering Pines Fire Station. Who’s ready to learn about firefighting?”

A chorus of enthusiastic voices answered him. Within minutes, the children gathered around Peterson, who demonstrated how to properly inspect safety equipment. Their wide-eyed wonder reminded Warrick why he’d chosen this profession centuries ago—the fundamental desire to protect, to preserve life against destructive forces.

He was explaining the engine’s features when a piercing whistle cut through the air, followed by shouts from the equipment bay. Warrick’s head snapped up, his senses instantly alert. He exchanged a quick glance with David before instructing Ms. Marissa, “Keep the children here.”

The scene that greeted them stopped Warrick cold.

Pink foam—no, pink glittering foam—erupted from the main hose system, coating everything in sight with shimmering fluff. Firefighters scrambled around the central valve, shouting instructions while dodging jets of the sparkly substance.

“What in blazes—“ Warrick started.

“Chief!” Peterson yelled over the commotion. “The system engaged automatically! We can’t shut it down!”

The foam continued to spew, building into mountains that reflected the overhead lights like deranged disco balls. The pristine fire engines now wore a frosting of the stuff, transforming serious equipment into something from a child’s fantasy.

Movement near the garage entrance caught Warrick’s eye. The curious children had migrated toward the commotion, their expressions oscillating between shock and absolute delight.

“Wow!” A small boy with glasses pointed at the growing pink mountains. “It’s like magic sparkle snow!”

Warrick caught David’s eye, noting his friend’s suppressed smile. Three centuries had taught him one vital lesson: adaptation was survival. The sabotage was obvious—but he could salvage this.

“Well,” Warrick announced, pitching his voice to reach the children, “looks like someone’s given us a very special welcome today!”

He strode through the foam-covered floor, approaching the wide-eyed children. “Who wants to learn about firefighting and have the most colorful day ever?”

Twenty small hands shot up, accompanied by excited squeals.

“Is that real fire foam, Mr. Fireman?” The boy with glasses stepped forward.

Warrick crouched to eye level. “This is special foam today. Someone played a trick on us, but that’s okay.” He scooped a handful of the glittery substance. “It’s harmless. Look.”

He let the foam drip through his fingers, eliciting gasps as pink sparkles caught the light.

“Can we touch it?” A girl with braids bounced on her toes.

“Of course.” Warrick gestured them forward. “Carefully now.”

As the children cautiously approached the foam, David leaned in close. “This isn’t random, is it?”

“Not by a long shot,” Warrick murmured. “And Gus was just here.”

David’s expression hardened. “You think he?—“

“I think we need proof before making accusations.” Warrick watched the children now flicking foam at each other. “For now, let’s turn this into a win.”

He returned to the group, clapping his hands to gain their attention. “Who wants to see how firefighters handle unexpected situations?”

A chorus of “Me! Me!” rang through the garage.

“First rule of firefighting—always be prepared for anything.” Warrick guided them to a relatively foam-free area. “Even pink sparkly surprises.”

For the next forty minutes, Warrick and his team transformed disaster into adventure. He demonstrated safety techniques while ankle-deep in glittering foam. David helped children practice “stop, drop, and roll” on a cleared section of floor, though many ended up with pink-streaked clothing.

Despite the obvious sabotage, Warrick found himself enjoying the absurdity. The children’s laughter proved infectious, and even his most serious firefighters cracked smiles as they directed impromptu foam activities.

“And now,” Warrick announced, “we’re going to have a special foam parade! Everyone form a line behind Firefighter Peterson.”

As the children shuffled into position, each proudly holding a small scoop of glittery foam, the air around them rippled.

Warrick’s shifter instincts flared an instant before ghostly flames erupted along the garage walls. Unlike natural fire, these flames gave off no heat—but they danced with hypnotic menace, expanding and contracting like living things.

“What the—“ David started.

The sprinkler system engaged with a mechanical whine, drenching everyone below. Children screamed—some in fear, others in delight—as water cascaded down, mixing with the pink foam to create a pastel nightmare.

“Everyone stay calm!” Warrick commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “These aren’t real flames. They can’t hurt you.”

But the phantom fires continued their eerie dance, triggering more sprinklers as they spread. Water and foam created a slippery hazard across the garage floor.

“Ms. Marissa, please take the children to the break room,” Warrick directed. “Peterson, Jackson—escort them and make sure they’re comfortable.”

As the children were ushered away, Warrick surveyed the mess with narrowed eyes. These weren’t simple pranks. The phantom flames bore the unmistakable signature of magical interference—deliberate sabotage meant to disrupt and humiliate.

“Chief!” Ramirez called from across the garage. “You need to see this!”

Warrick made his way over, careful on the slick floor. Ramirez knelt beside the main fire engine, pointing underneath.

“I was doing a standard check before moving the engine for the kids to see.” Ramirez’s face had gone pale. “The brake lines have been cut.”