Page 2 of Holy Shift (New Orleans Nocturnes #8)

CHAPTER TWO

“Let’s hop to it, elfen . Easter is in March this year, so there’s no time to slack off.” Pete Hasen, aka Peter Rabbit, aka Peter Cottontail—though no one better call him that to his face—stood on a wooden platform overlooking his studio. Dozens upon dozens of elfen , the magical critters who helped him turn faery chicken eggs into works of art, scurried about, gathering paints and brushes before settling onto their stools, ready to decorate the shipment that would be arriving shortly.

The date of Easter was tied to the lunar cycle, always falling on the Sunday after the first full moon following the spring equinox. That meant it could land on any Sunday between March 22 nd and April 25 th .

The month-long window of possible Sundays would freak out any Type A fae, but it didn’t bother Pete. Rules, regulations, and order were never his strong suits, and how could they be? He was a fae rabbit shifter who used to be a robin. An anomaly.

Sure, he was an elfen robin, so he’d always been a magical being, but when the goddess Eostre decided she needed a right-hand man to bring Easter to the masses, she’d chosen Pete to do the honors.

She’d first turned him into a rabbit because it was her sacred animal, but she quickly realized a fae bunny couldn’t command an army of artistic elfen any better than a robin could . So, she turned him into a shifter, allowing him to keep his new rabbit form to honor her while also having a human form so he could lay down the laws.

He squeezed a blob of blush pink paint onto his palette and chuckled at the memory. Laws, indeed.

Artists needed freedom for their creative juices to flow. If he gave them a bunch of rules to follow, they’d freeze up and Easter would die along with their imaginations. No Easter meant no Easter Bunny, which meant Pete would lose his job and the fluff he’d come to love.

That was why he gave his elfen the freedom to do as they pleased…as long as they met their quotas. He might’ve been the captain of this operation, but he ran a very loose ship.

He added a puddle of teal and another of lemon yellow before swirling his brush in a cup of water. The eggs always arrived like clockwork , on March 7 th , giving him and his team anywhere from two to six weeks to paint, sort, and prepare them for distribution on Easter morning.

No, he did not lay the eggs himself.

Contrary to popular belief, Eostre did not give him the body parts required to attempt that feat. And thank the goddess for that. He couldn’t begin to imagine the pain women went through giving birth, whether passing a living being or an unfertilized egg through a passage that was way too narrow to make it easy. He shuddered at the thought.

As he swirled a second brush in the water cup, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The energy behind him shifted, vibrating and warming, and he rose to his feet, turning toward the disturbance.

Silver sparkles gathered in front of him, and a collective gasp sounded from the elfen below as Eostre appeared in the mist. Pete bowed, and his elfen followed his lead, lowering their heads but peeking up to take in the goddess’s beauty.

She had long, rose gold hair that fell in thick waves down to the small of her back, and a crown of daisies adorned her head. Her pale yellow dress shimmered as if reflecting sunlight, and her lavender eyes brightened with her smile.

“How are the egg preparations going, Peter?” She folded her hands over her stomach. “Is it safe to say there will be no scrambling this year?”

“In over sixteen hundred years, have I ever left you holding an omelet? The eggs will be painted and delivered on time, as always.”

“Without a second to spare…as always?” She winked. “If I were mortal, your methods would have given me gray hair and a heart attack by now.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not. Don’t worry.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll get it done.”

Her brows drew together. “You do remember what will happen if you don’t?”

He huffed out a laugh. “You remind me every year. I’ll lose everything and become a plain old mortal robin. No more rabbit. No more human form. I’ll grow old and die, et cetera. Believe me, Eostre, I love my job. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize it or my eternal life.”

“I won’t have the power to maintain your immortality.”

“I know. Everything will be fine.” They’d had the same conversation every year, and everything had always been fine.

She held his gaze for a beat too long, her eyes tightening before she turned toward his team. “Back to work, my children. Get ready. You’ll be painting more eggs than ever this year.”

A few chipmunk elfen chittered before scurrying back to their stations, and a possum named Merideth stretched her arms over her head, revealing two tiny hands protruding from her pouch. She offered a paintbrush, and a joey’s small head appeared.

Eostre laughed. “Do we have a new recruit?”

“She wanted to help,” Merideth said. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Absolutely.” The goddess turned to Pete and lowered her voice. “I think we’ll need all the help we can get this year.”

“How so?” He set his palette on the table next to his egg easel. “We have plenty of time.”

“I’ve had a foreboding feeling for the past three days.” She gestured to his office and floated down the steps toward it, giving him no option but to follow.

He stopped outside the door and turned to his head elfen . “Max, call the henhouse and see what’s taking so long. The eggs should’ve been delivered by now.”

He stepped into the office and found Eostre leaning against his desk, holding the intricately gilded egg she’d given him after he completed the first Easter. The concern in her eyes made his stomach sink, so he closed the door to keep his team from overhearing whatever she was about to say.

“I know you worry this time of year.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll try to keep the operation more organized.”

“It’s not the operation I’m most worried about. It’s you.” She set the egg on his desk and clasped her fingers.

“Me?” He tried to laugh off the sentiment, but the look on her face made his heart beat faster than Thumper’s right foot. “Why?”

She parted her lips as if to speak, but she closed them again, shaking her head before repeating the gesture two more times. “I received a warning from Frigg,” she finally said.

He waited for her to elaborate, but she just stared at him with pity in her eyes. No, not pity. She masked it well, but he felt a hint of fear rolling off her. “Okaaayy…” he said. “What was the warning?”

“Do you ever feel like becoming the Easter Bunny was a sacrifice?” She picked up the egg again, tracing her fingers over the golden pattern.

“It wasn’t a sacrifice at all. I love who I am.”

“You don’t miss your old life?”

“That was over sixteen hundred years ago.” He chuckled. “Honestly, I don’t remember much about that time.” Aside from one of Frigg’s geese making up a stupid song to taunt him when Eostre first turned him into a rabbit. The tune about his cottontail tried to wriggle its way into his mind to play on repeat every year, and it irked him to no end.

“That can’t be what she meant, then…” She tapped a finger to her lips but didn’t elaborate.

He clenched his jaw. For the sake of Odin’s empty eye socket, would she get to the point? If his pulse sprinted any faster, he’d shift against his will and hop right out the door. He couldn’t fight his rabbit when it went into flight mode. “What did Frigg tell you? Is something going to happen to me?”

“I don’t know.” She flicked her gaze to his. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought it up. You have so much work to do.”

“Perhaps not, but you did.” He crossed his arms. “Please tell me what she said.”

She nodded, a look of resolve smoothing her features. “I met Frigg for dinner in New Orleans a few days ago. I had a craving for Antoine’s Oysters Rockefeller. Have you tried them?”

“Can’t say that I have.” His left foot began tapping against his will, so he shifted his weight to stop the thumping.

“Something about the city, the atmosphere—and maybe the free-flowing wine—made her spout a prophecy right there in the restaurant.”

His pulse slowed to a manageable speed as he took a deep breath. Frigg, the goddess of fate and motherhood, had the gift of clairvoyance. She could see into anyone’s future and offer guidance if their current path in life would lead to a tragic end. It took an elaborate ceremony and tons of offerings for her to even consider a request, but when she did offer her services, the advice was clear and succinct.

Prophecies, though? Frigg never gave names, dates, or anything helpful at all when she went into her glazed-eyed, trance-like state and rattled off some obscure message she’d received from the ether.

“Ninety percent of the time, no one can figure out what she means until ‘the thing’ has already happened.” He made air quotes. “What makes you think it applies to me?”

Eostre straightened. “The prophecy is this…”

Balance dies when birds lie.

Forget the past. Destiny is awry.

An act of hubris is all it takes to bring about the end of days.

A goddess, nay, her right-hand man will leave this land to devise a plan.

A sacrifice, giving up one life, can stop the war and end our strife.

In Yggdrasil’s name, our sacred tree, as Fate has willed it, so mote it be.

“Well, that…” He scrunched his brow and tapped his right foot. Sure, he could see why Eostre might assume it applied to him in a way, but…

“You aren’t the only goddess with a ‘right-hand man’. It could be about anyone.”

“Yes, but most don’t leave our realm, lest the angels swoop in and try to bring about Ragnarok again. You leave every year.”

“Because it’s in my job description. Santa leaves his realm every year too. Maybe the prophecy is about him and Odin.”

“It specifically said ‘goddess.’”

“The Tooth Faery then.”

“She also works for Odin…and she’s not a man.”

He sighed. “‘Right-hand man’ is a generic term.”

She raised her hands in surrender. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I just…” She clamped her mouth shut.

“You just have a foreboding feeling. I get it.” He shrugged and let his arms fall to his sides. “But let’s remember not to take it literally. If she did mean me, I don’t know what act of hubris I could commit. I know I’m not perfect, and no one is giving up their life on my watch.”

She nodded. “Will you stay on high alert?”

“I always am.” His other form was a prey animal, after all. He couldn’t help but watch his back constantly.

“Mr. Hasen, sir?” Max frantically rapped on the office door. “We have a problem.”

Pete opened it and found the elfen raccoon wringing his tiny hands. Max bounced his gaze between Pete and Eostre, his jaw trembling.

“What’s the problem?” Pete squatted and rested a hand on his back.

“I called the henhouse like you asked, but…there won’t be any eggs this year.”

“No eggs?” Eostre tilted her head and glided toward them, unable to mask the alarm in her eyes. “Are the hens ill?”

“No, ma’am.” Max wrung his hands harder. “Six of them are dead…drained of all their blood.”

“How?” Pete shook his head. “Who…?”

“I don’t know.” Max scooted backward, out of the doorway. “What will we do?”

“Have you told anyone?” Pete asked.

“No. Not a soul.”

“Keep it that way for now.” He marched into the studio and climbed the steps to his platform before lifting his hands. “Attention, elfen . The egg delivery has been delayed. Please clean up your stations and return to your homes. I’ll let you know when it’s time to get started again.”

The chittering turned into a murmur as the elfen put away their paints. Pete hopped off the platform and made his way toward the exit, where Eostre already stood, waiting.

She took his hand, and, in a flash of magic, they appeared in front of the henhouse. Eostre didn’t say a word as she ascended the ramp and tapped lightly on the door. It swung open, and she disappeared inside.

Pete swallowed hard and steeled himself before following her in. At least two dozen hens perched in their nests, some trembling, while others let out mournful clucks. Another dozen or so paced circles around the center of the room.

Eostre cleared her throat, and they all stopped, their heads snapping toward her. “Our deepest condolences for your loss. Where are the sisters who have passed?”

“Out back in the yard,” a brown hen said. “Henrietta is keeping watch until Jord gets here.”

“Thank you.” Pete strode through the room, exiting through the back door, and Eostre followed him into the yard.

A large hen with blue-black feathers stood among the bodies, her head jerking this way and that. When her gaze landed on Eostre, she bowed. “No blood. What creature would do this?”

Pete shoved his hands into his pockets and peered at a rust-colored hen. Red marred the feathers around a tiny wound on her shoulder, but she was otherwise intact. If hungry coyotes or weasels had found their way into this realm, they’d have eaten the entire bird. He shuddered at the thought.

With just the blood missing from the bodies, it could only mean one thing.

“Vampire,” Eostre said as if reading his mind. “But that’s impossible. Vampires can’t enter this realm.”

“I don’t know what else it could be.” Pete stepped away from the bodies. “Someone got in somehow.”

“Vampire!” Henrietta clucked, her head darting around on her neck again.

“Remain calm,” Eostre said. “They cannot be out in the daylight. Your goddess, Jord, will be here soon to protect you. Peter, you must find out who did this and rid our realm of the terror.”

“Me?” He raised his hands. “I’m a painter, not a fighter.”

She stepped toward him and lowered her voice, gesturing to the poor hens. “‘Balance dies when birds lie.’ You have a vampire friend in the earthly realm, do you not?”

He ran a hand through his hair and opened his mouth to argue this was a job for the gods, but he couldn’t find the words. Fae deities were forbidden from taking lives, and the elfen lacked the strength to battle a creature of the night. If a vampire needed staking, he had to be the man to do it.

But how the hell did a vampire get into Eostre’s peaceful realm? And why go after the chickens? There were plenty of bigger elfen in the realm that would satiate a thirsty vamp faster than hen blood could. Nothing about this situation made any sense at all.

“My hens are too distraught to lay eggs,” Henrietta said. “Some are threatening to fly the coop. If you don’t help us, there’ll be no Easter this year or ever again.”

Nausea churned in Pete’s stomach. His rabbit wanted him to open a rabbit hole, tuck tail, and bounce, but he couldn’t. Not with the safety of his elfen and every other creature in the realm at stake. Not with his own life now hanging in the balance if Easter failed to happen.

“Peter?” Eostre rested a hand on his shoulder.

He had to be mad as a March hare to agree to this, but what else could he do? Think of the disappointment children would feel with no eggs to hunt. And Eostre… What would happen to her if she wasn’t celebrated? The gods needed offerings and celebrations in their honor to survive as much as…well, as much as vampires needed blood.

Easter had to happen. There was no way around it.

He straightened his spine, nodding with resolve. “I know a guy who can help.”