Page 10

Chapter 10

Just Call Me a Sniffer Dog

R eady to pick up on the slightest hint of a curse, I ground myself as if meditating, checking in with all my senses. The thrift store buffets me with a kaleidoscope of household items and clothes, the smell of old books and dust, and a radio ad playing over the PA.

This is my chance. If this goes well, Natalie will have to accept my help—and the possibility of her needing me sends a thrill through my veins from head to toe.

Behind the till, a guy and a girl about my age pause mid-conversation, their gazes locking onto Natalie.

“H-hi,” the girl stammers, a hand shooting up to smooth her curls. “Welcome.”

The guy wears the same starstruck expression. “Our—um—New Year sale is on now.”

Natalie nods politely. “Thank you.”

I smile at the floor. Good to know I’m not the only one who forgets how to use words around her .

We start at a section of dishes. I scan them, waiting for that sense of anticipation to overcome me like before. But nothing remotely close happens, especially not with Natalie at my side. My pulse is racing for an entirely different reason, a warm, exhilarating rush tingling through my body.

Focus. We’re here to prove my ability.

“Did you celebrate the holidays?” I ask, hoping it’s okay to talk about other things while I search.

She nods. “My sister and I went to a Christmas thing with some friends.”

“That’s nice.” Interesting she didn’t mention parents. “Just the two of you?”

“My dad’s in Turkey right now. He travels a lot.”

No mention of her mom. I don’t pry.

Nothing in the dishes section catches my attention, so we move on to lamps and furniture. I freeze as a chill sweeps over me—only to realize I’m standing under a vent. Dammit.

I keep moving, studying an oil painting of a meadow.

“How old is your sister?” I ask.

She paces half a step behind, hands in pockets, as if to avoid distracting me. “Eighteen. Three years younger.”

“Same age as me,” I say. “That makes you twenty-one, which is definitely too young to have a doctorate.”

Her mouth tightens as if she’s fighting a smile. “Not necessarily.”

“Does your sister also do what you do?”

“No. I mean, it’s a similar line of work, but no.” Before I can ask her to elaborate, she says, “Did you have a good Christmas with your family?”

“I did.”

“That jacket looks nice on you.”

The compliment makes me want to skip, but I stay calm. “Thanks.”

“Tell me about your holiday traditions. ”

It’s a specific, pointed request. Maybe she and her sister don’t have much in the way of traditions.

I meander through the furniture, grazing my fingers along the wood and upholstery in the hopes that touching a curse will help me sense it. “We have a feast on Christmas Eve, usually a roast and lumpia—they’re like spring rolls. We open one present each, which is always pajamas. In the morning, we do the whole stocking and tree thing, and my dad makes crepes. We ordinarily have another feast with my extended family in the evening, but this year, we went to a restaurant since it was just us.”

She watches me closely, hanging on each word. “Sounds perfect,” she murmurs.

I nod. “Holidays have always been fun… ever since we were little kids staying up late in our unicorn nightgowns, watching for Santa’s sleigh out the living room window. Our poor parents had to put up with a lot of screaming.”

When I meet her eye, she’s smiling. It catches me off-guard, tingling all the way to my toes. It’s the first time I’ve seen a real smile on her—and it’s as stunning as the rest of her. It crinkles her eyes and dimples her cheeks, brightening her whole face.

“What about y—”

“Does this shelf have anything suspicious?” She motions to a miscellany of decor and appliances.

I narrow my eyes. Master of topic changes.

Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about her family. That’s fine. I can save those questions for another day.

I bend to examine the shelf she’s pointing to. Trinkets, a toaster, a mustard-yellow rotary phone. “I feel like a sniffer dog searching for drugs.”

She huffs out a laugh and pats my hair. “Good girl.”

I freeze. So does she.

Oh. My. God. The effect of those words is embarrassing .

She steps back and clears her throat. “Sorry. I meant—the dog thing—that wasn’t—”

She’s so awkward and mortified that I can’t help bursting into laughter. “Stop it, Natalie.”

At my reaction, she relaxes into a bashful smile.

But I can’t unhear it. My head tingles where her hand touched me, and the fluttering in my chest is traveling lower, intensifying.

I reach for the rotary phone and dial a couple of numbers, watching it spin back with a whirr. “Do you have a vague idea of what kind of object I’m looking for?”

I can’t meet her eyes. My face is hot. I’m tingling in places I shouldn’t be tingling.

“It can be anything,” she says. “Like you saw, it can range from a kitten to a doll.”

“If you can’t tell me why these things are cursed, can you tell me who is cursing them?”

“That’s not something you need to know.”

I shoot her a glare. “You promised you’d answer my questions.”

“Some, not all.”

“Why?”

Her brow pinches. “Some are too dangerous to be answered. Others would get me in trouble.”

“Intriguing.” I peek inside a slow cooker, pick it up, and examine it from all angles. Only minor blemishes.

Natalie checks over her shoulder and steps closer. “Do you feel something?”

“I might buy it. I’ve been thinking I should get one of these so I can come home to comfort food after class.”

She sighs and keeps walking.

I grin. “So if we find something cursed, will you destroy it again by unleashing a vial of goo on it?”

“More smoothly than last time, I hope.”

“You’re carrying a vial now?”

“Yes.”

I leave the slow cooker, intending to come back for it, and keep walking. We move onto used books, the scent of old paper wafting at us from four overflowing bookcases. Their colorful spines, worn and cracked, span a range of genres. Still, no sense of anticipation creeps in, and worry settles over me. What if I can’t find one? Will she drop me off at home and that’s it?

“How does a person end up in the business of destroying curses?” I ask.

“The word you’re looking for is neutralize. I neutralize curses.”

“Cool.” I drag a hand along the books, feeling for anything weird. My fingers bump from spine to spine. “Are the staff at the vet clinics in on it?”

She shakes her head. “All they know is to call me if something inexplicable comes up.”

At least there’s that. I’d be furious if the random employees at Helping Paws knew the secrets I’ve been agonizing over. “So how did you get into this line of work?”

“That’s also something I can’t tell you.”

I round on her, annoyed. “Natalie!”

She steps in close. Really close. I lean back against the bookshelf, the wooden edges pressing into my back. Looking up at her, every fiber in my body is begging her to keep going.

“Katie.” Her breath hits my cheeks, cool and fresh. She reaches up to tug one of my curls, studying it, and heat ripples through my scalp and down my neck. “Stop trying to understand all this. I’m protecting you from something you don’t want to understand.”

She meets my gaze with her intense, dark eyes, pausing for long enough for me to dip my chin in the smallest of nods .

“This life comes with a price,” she murmurs. Then she turns away, leaving me breathless against the bookshelf.

My lips tingle, my body aching. I’ve never wanted to lean in and close the distance more. Does she realize how hot that was? Was that supposed to be threatening?

I shake my head and force my legs to move, hurrying to catch up. Something life-changing is dangling just out of reach, and I’m not ready to drop the subject. “What if I do want to understand, despite whatever cost? What if I can be helpful? Let me be your penguin.”

She faces me. “My what?”

“Penguin. Like the way penguins bring pebbles to each other. I can bring you curses. I can help you do your job.” It’s hard to keep the desperation out of my tone. This strange and unique ability feels like a calling, a purpose. I can’t ignore it.

She scans me up and down, a flicker of something in her eyes. Regret? Whatever it is, she seems to consider my offer, and my heart jumps.

But she frowns and walks toward the door. “Buy the slow cooker if you want it, and let’s try another thrift shop.”

I scowl after her.

She waits outside while I take my purchase to the cash register in a huff. The more time I spend with her, the more frustrated I get, both with her lack of answers and in other—um—biological ways.

As I pay, something snags my attention in a vintage mirror behind the till. Someone is looking at me—a man in his twenties with fair skin and blond hair. His gaze is intentional, like he’s studying me or waiting for me.

I look over my shoulder, but he’s focused on the rack of clothes in front of him. Hangers squeak as he riffles through shirts.

Weird. His stare lingers on the back of my neck like a physical touch.

“Do you want a receipt?” the girl at the till asks.

I face her again. “No, thanks. ”

I cradle the slow cooker in my arms and head for the door, ready to persevere. I have to find a curse for Natalie.

But an hour later, after scouring two more shops, defeat weighs heavy in the air. Either I failed or there were no curses to be found. The possibility of failing stings—an intense, burning disappointment in myself, like when I get anything less than an A on an exam. But even worse is the thought of this being the end of our time together… that she’s going to drop me off and say a last goodbye soon.

We drive back, and as Natalie turns down my street, I lean against the headrest and break the long silence. “Sorry that was a waste of time.”

She parks out front and angles her body to face me. “Katie. That was not a waste of time. If anything, I wasted your time by taking you on a goose chase.”

“It was a fun goose chase. I liked it.” I liked being with you.

The unspoken words hang between us.

Her expression softens, her eyebrows pulling down. I want her to say something like “same,” but she says nothing.

My pulse speeds up. The way we’re facing each other in her car, sitting outside my place, feels like the end of a date.

Headlights illuminate the street from behind us, casting moving shadows over her face before the car parks and plunges us back into darkness.

Natalie breaks our gaze and takes off her seatbelt. She gets out, and by the time I’m done fumbling with my own seatbelt, she’s opening the passenger door and extending a hand to help me.

I take it, sparks shooting up my arm at her gentle grip. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about curses and mysteries and everything but the way her touch makes me feel.

She takes the slow cooker from my arms. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

“It’s okay. I can manage the ten steps.” I motion to the blue house on the other side of the picket fence. The stone walkway leads around back to the basement suite .

She strides ahead and opens the gate, letting me through. “I’ll walk you to here, then.”

“Thanks.” I slip past her into the yard.

As she passes me my purchase, our hands brush, and I swear she lingers for longer than she has to. I let her warmth tingle through me as her slender fingers fit between mine… and then the moment is over, and we step apart. Is the air thick, or am I just hopelessly crushing?

“Thank you for coming with me. I’m sorry we didn’t have any luck today.” Her words are disappointingly formal considering the amount of time we just spent together.

Dipping her chin, she steps toward her car.

A sudden panic overcomes me, my breath hitching. My last seconds with her are slipping away. After all we’ve faced, all our conversations, and the swoop in my belly every time she looks at me… This can’t be it.

“Natalie?” I blurt.

She turns, a perfect vision in the dark street.

My mouth goes dry, my nerves twisting, but I have to ask. I can’t let her leave without knowing. “Did you only want to spend time with me today because you wanted to know if I have some kind of curse-finding ability, or…?”

Her lips twist, teasing me with a shadow of the smile I got to see earlier. “It’s complicated. I admit I find you intriguing.”

“Oh.” A balloon inflates inside me, making me light.

“I like how persistent you were about a kitten you’d only had for four days. You have…” She squints into the distance as if interested in something down the street. “You have the ability to love deeply. It’s an admirable quality.”

“So…” I shift, my heart beating so hard it’s like I’m sprinting. If she doesn’t want me to pry into who she is and what all this is about, fine—but I think there’s chemistry between us, and maybe we can still get to know each other. I draw a breath and summon every ounce of bravery I possess. My next words come out in a rush. “Do you want to come to a New Year’s thing with me?”

Natalie freezes. After an excruciating pause, she combs her fingers through her hair, not meeting my eye. “I don’t think we should spend time together, Katie.”

Her words puncture the balloon inside me, taking all the air out of my body. “Why not?”

She turns toward her car. Hesitates. “Because you don’t want to be involved with someone who deals with exploding dolls.”

She walks away, each footstep a nail in my heart.

And yet…

I can’t help noticing she didn’t say “because I’m not interested in you” or any iteration of that. Her rejection is about the curses—and when it comes to that, who is she to tell me what I want?

I mean, sure, curses seem dangerous, but that doesn’t make me want to back away and pretend none of this happened. Apart from solving a mystery, I like her. In the span of today, I graduated from having a giddy crush to a deep, aching desire.

“What if I’m meant to be involved?” I step closer, my hips pressed against the picket fence. “ I stumbled on Lucy. We met because I found a curse.”

Natalie opens her car door and pauses. I bite my lip, waiting.

But she shakes her head firmly. “I’m putting you in danger just by being around you.”

“I don’t care!” For the first time since arriving in Vancouver, I’ve found somewhere I want to be—a person I want to know. “Natalie, I’m not afraid of curses.”

Her brow furrows. She studies me, one leg in her car. “Well, you should be. ”

She gets in before I can argue, the sound of the slamming door carrying down the quiet street. Her words hang in the chilly night air—a final warning.

It feels like someone stomped on my chest. It’s over, then. A brief, exciting spell of curse-hunting with Natalie, done in the span of an afternoon.

But why? What’s so dangerous, and who is she afraid of?

As she drives away, I’m left standing in the fading glow of her tail lights, the slow cooker’s cold metal pressed between my hands, my mind swirling with more questions than when she picked me up.