Page 5 of Holy Shift (New Orleans Nocturnes #8)

CHAPTER FIVE

What in Odin’s name? Pete hunkered down beneath a bush outside a two-story brick house with white columns and green shutters. A chill hung in the night air, making his fur stand on end, but the cold didn’t stop the mass of people from gathering along the street as a parade of lights, colors, and festive sounds rolled by.

A marching band stopped in front of him to break it down to a funky drum beat while masked women atop a double-decker float covered in flowers threw beads and plastic doubloons to the spectators below.

He’d somehow ended up in New Orleans. That much was obvious from the architecture and revelry. How he’d gotten there, he had no clue. Had he come with friends for a vacation? If so, where were they? Who were they?

Definitely not the vampires in the bakery. He’d never seen those two in his life. The angel, though…

His body had reacted to her in a way his mind couldn’t comprehend. It felt as if he knew her…or he was supposed to know her. More than that, though, it felt as if he were there in that bakery for her.

He wrinkled his nose, wiggling his whiskers and backing deeper into the bush. He didn’t know his head from his fuzzy ass at the moment, so how could he possibly believe he’d come all the way to New Orleans to meet an angel?

And all the way from where?

At the moment, it didn’t matter. His head throbbed, his eyes watered, and if his stomach didn’t stop lurching, he was sure to hack up whatever he’d eaten in the angel’s bakery. What had she called it? Demon cake?

No, it was probably devil’s food cake.

He closed his eyes and wiped away the moisture with his paw. With the way things were going, it would be his luck to wake up with them crusted shut.

A rustling in the bushes made his ears twitch. He flared his nostrils, breathing deeply and nearly choking on the stench of cat pee. A tomcat lurked somewhere in the row of hedges where Pete was hiding, and it had just sprayed a fence seconds before he decided to take a big breath. Gross.

He flattened his ears against his body and froze to assess his choices. If the cat caught him in his current state, he’d become a gourmet dinner for the feline. He could turn tail and run before it found him, but he had no idea how fast the creature could sprint. His other option would be to shift into his human form and walk away.

A low growl emanated from the third bush to his left, and his heart took off in a sprint. His legs should have followed suit, but he remained frozen to the spot, his gaze darting back and forth as the cat prowled closer.

The house had cameras covering the entire front porch and yard. If he shifted right there in the bushes, they’d have his face on film and an arrest warrant issued before sunrise. He’d never recover his memory sitting in a jail cell, and that meant flight was the only viable option.

Now if he could just get his feet to move.

The cat made a deep mewling sound, and as a spotlight from a parade float flashed toward them, its eyes glowed green. Pete’s foot thumped twice before his muscles obeyed the command from his brain.

He shot out of the bush faster than a greased pig at a livestock auction and high-tailed it across the yard. The cat gave chase, darting after him as he hung a right on the next street. The frigging houses had cameras on every corner, making it impossible for him to shift, so he hopped as fast as he could toward the cemetery in the distance.

He dared a peek over his shoulder, but the cat had vanished. Slowing his pace, he clung to the shadows, listening, breathing, searching for signs of his would-be attacker.

“Aw! A kitty!” A woman stumbled down the street, and Pete scooted closer to the building. “Here kitty, kitty.”

She stepped into the side yard, but her friend grabbed her wrist. “You can’t go into people’s gardens, Sam.”

Pete glanced at where the woman gestured and found the cat perched on a windowsill. It narrowed its eyes, its fur standing in a ridge along its back as it hissed and darted away.

Relief made Pete’s breath come out in a rush, and he continued his trek toward the cemetery. He made it inside the gates and found an empty flower urn to hide in. Snuggling inside, he closed his eyes and willed the pounding in his head to stop.

He had nowhere to go and no money to rent a room, so he stayed in rabbit form and settled in for the night. Maybe tomorrow his headache would ease and he could think straight. Maybe he’d wake up and remember who he was.

The Easter Bunny, my fluffy, brown ass. He blew out a hard breath and closed his eyes.

Soft morning sunlight painted the back of his eyelids red, and he blinked them open, peeking his head out of the urn. Rows and rows of above-ground tombs extended from the foggy earth. Some of them sported white stucco with urns filled with fake flowers while others stood crumbling, years of neglect washing away the paint, revealing the brick and mortar beneath.

He shivered, the chilly air making his fur stand on end, and he stood on his hind legs, resting his front paws on the rim of the urn. His ears twitched, turning this way and that, as he listened for signs of predators.

Eerie stillness greeted his senses as he hopped from his makeshift bed and ducked behind a tomb. With no cameras in sight, he shifted, stretching his arms over his head. A splotch of pink paint marred the sleeve of his dark green sweater.

Odd. He couldn’t remember painting anything.

He sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Of course he didn’t remember painting anything. He couldn’t remember any anything.

Maybe a walk around town would jog his memory. He made his way to the cemetery gates, but they were locked. A quick glance at his watch told him it was only seven A.M. No one would be around to open the gates for another three hours.

He tilted his head, studying the padlock on the chain, and the strange notion that locks could never keep him out made his brow furrow. Cradling the culpable object in his palm, he rested his other hand atop it. Without so much as a twitch of his nose, the lock disengaged, and the gate swung open.

“How about that?” He stepped through and locked it behind him. Shifters didn’t normally possess extra powers beyond their animals’ instincts, so his newfound ability had him pondering. Could he be part witch? Or maybe he had some kind of magical lock-picking artifact? Possibly his watch or something in his pocket?

He patted the front and back of his pants but found them empty. His watch had to be magical. It was the only explanation. He felt his rabbit in his soul. If he had witch blood pumping through his veins, he surely would’ve felt that too.

The rising sun tamed the chill in the morning air, and he tipped his head back, letting it warm his cheeks for a moment before hanging a right and making his way toward the French Quarter. He would find some shifters—preferably rabbits—and hope to hell someone could tell him who the fluff he really was.

* * *

“We searched half the night. Where could he be?” Destiny wrung her hands and rocked back and forth in the chair across from the high priestess’s desk.

Crimson’s dark brown hair hung in ringlets down to her shoulders, and lines formed on her forehead as she frowned. “You lost the Easter Bunny?”

“Yes!” Destiny flung her arms into the air. “I mean, technically, he hopped away, but he doesn’t know who he is, he’s in a strange city, he’s helpless.”

Crimson drummed her manicured nails on the desk. “Strange city, I’ll give you, but I highly doubt a hundreds-of-years-old fae is helpless.”

“He doesn’t know he’s a fae. He didn’t even know his name. Can you do a scrying spell or something?” Before she could answer, Destiny’s phone pinged with a notification from Divine Grace. “Oh, thank heaven. If my miracle got approved, I can just…”

Her shoulders slumped with her sinking heart. “Auto-rejected. You have got to be kidding me. What the heck is Article C-37?”

“Talk to me, hon.” Crimson rose and walked around her desk before leaning her backside against the edge. “What happened?”

Destiny laughed dryly. “I’m a fuck up. That’s what happened.”

Crimson raised her brows. “I think that might be the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss.”

“I can’t seem to do anything else right, so why not?” She pressed her hands together and inhaled deeply, attempting to connect with the collective consciousness for guidance. Relaxing her body, she focused inward, letting the world slip away before she turned her attention to the ether.

Normally, a warm light and a soft vibration would greet her, allowing her to sift through the sands of wisdom to find the answers she needed. Now, no ethereal luminescence warmed her soul, and not even a quick buzz danced through her psyche. It was as if someone had unplugged her.

She sighed heavily and opened her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you.” Crimson sank into the chair next to her and rested a hand atop hers. “Believe me, I’m the queen of fuck ups, and you don’t belong anywhere in my queendom. No one expects you to be perfect.”

“Gabriela does.” She dragged a hand down her face. “Then there’s Michelle.”

She explained her predicament, how she missed the deadline to perform a miracle, and the ridiculous timeline Gabriela had given her. “I thought, surely, restoring Pete’s memories so he can save Easter would be a miracle-worthy endeavor. Apparently, Article C-37 says otherwise.”

“Come with me.” Crimson’s heels clicked on the hardwood as she strode from the coven office and headed to the kitchen. “What’s Article C-37? What did you put on the form?”

Destiny followed and sat on a stool at the island. “I told them the Easter Bunny has amnesia, and I would like permission to perform the miracle of restoring his memories and saving Easter. I don’t know what that article says. I’ll have to look it up.”

Crimson filled a copper bowl with water before sprinkling in dried herbs from the cabinet. “It sounds to me like you asked for two miracles. Restoring his memory and saving Easter. Maybe that’s why it got rejected.”

“You could be right. The whole reason he came to New Orleans was to get Gaston’s help. Easter was already in peril before he met me.” Destiny rolled her head from side to side, stretching the tension in her neck. “Crap. I did ask for two miracles. C-37 must mean only one request per form.”

“Revise the request and just ask to ‘save Easter’.” Crimson returned the herb jars to the cabinet. “He’ll get his memory back in the process. Two birds, one stone. Voila. Problem solved.”

“I can’t revise it. I have to start over from scratch, and I don’t even know if that’s the problem.”

“Then start over. Doing nothing gets you nowhere.” She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out two candles, one pink, one baby blue. “To channel Easter vibes.” She lit the wicks and set them on either side of the bowl before holding a crystal pendulum above it.

Destiny’s phone pinged again, and she closed her eyes. “I can’t handle any more bad news.”

“You better check it,” Crimson said. “Maybe someone found him.”

She swiped open the screen to find an email from Gabriela. The subject line read A few things you should know.

“Oh, dear lord. What else?” She opened the email and read the message aloud, “‘Dearest Destiny. In light of your recent debacle and your ridiculous miracle request, we have placed a new stipulation on your redemption. You may no longer use your magic until your miracle is approved.’”

Crimson stopped scrying and lowered the pendulum to the counter. “What’s ridiculous about saving Easter?”

“There’s more. ‘Your wings and halo have been bound. Whether it’s temporary or permanent is up to you. From this point forward, all your powers have been stripped. If you had read the angel handbook, you would know Article C-37 states that no angel may request a miracle to remedy their own mistake. I’m disappointed in you, Destiny. Fix it and do better or suffer the consequences. Warm regards, Gabriela.’”

“Warm regards, my tush.” She laid her phone face-down on the counter and pressed her fingers to her temples. “I knew that. I knew I couldn’t fix my own mistake with a miracle, but for a moment, I thought perhaps it wasn’t my fault. I’m not the one who gave him the cake, but it’s my fault, nonetheless. I left it out.”

Crimson pursed her lips, giving Destiny a look that said she wasn’t buying it. “It was a mistake. Your boss admitted that in the email. Intention is everything, and your intent was not for him to eat it.”

“Intention doesn’t matter. I’m basically mortal now, Pete still has amnesia, and who knows what will happen to him if Easter is ruined. I am an epic failure.”

“No, you’re not, and I don’t want to hear that cross your lips again.” She held the pendulum over the bowl again, swinging it in circles around the edge. “You might not be able to use your magic, but your friends can. We’re going to help you.”

The pendulum swung in tighter and tighter circles before it stopped in the center, buzzing like a vibrator with brand-new batteries. Plunk. It dropped into the water, and Crimson’s eyes widened.

“What does that mean?” Destiny asked.

Crimson rested her hands on the counter. “It means he’s here.”