[M__M 03] Misery Loves Company by Tracey Martin

exactly what I had been assuming.
    Contracts for black-market deals—the ones that bought you things like curses, unlicensed disguise charms and other illegal activities—well, those were usually not written down for obvious reasons. But massive success or luck? Totally legit and probably signed in triplicate. After all, a contract like that protected not just the stupid human, but also the pred should the human decide to renege on the deal and try to break the contract once they got what they wanted.
    The cabinet then? I tried the door, but it was locked. Unfortunate because I didn’t see a key anywhere. Perhaps Steph had a bobby pin. I wasn’t bad at picking cheap locks, but I needed something to work with, and Eric didn’t have so much as a paperclip in his desk.
    Next, I scanned Eric’s planner for the name of anyone who might be a lawyer, but the thing was empty. Clearly, whatever Eric used to keep track of his calendar, it wasn’t this fancy leather volume. No, he probably used his phone, like I did. Speaking of which, I’d bet that was where I’d find the name of his lawyer.
    Brilliant.
    With a sigh of longing and frustration, I left the library and joined Steph in the kitchen where she was eating a cookie from the bag I’d seen in Eric’s cabinet. At the table, her cousin was feeding himself a sandwich with a sadly comical lack of coordination.
    Steph held out the bag for me. “He had a bunch of cold cuts in the fridge, but I didn’t find much to cook. I can’t believe he hasn’t eaten all day. Is that normal?”
    “Wish I knew.”
    “Will his coordination improve? He knew what to do when I handed him the sandwich.”
    I watched Eric struggle to take a bite. He got it, but not on the first attempt. “Same answer. So long as he is eating though…”
    Then what? I didn’t know how to finish my own sentence.
    All these depressing thoughts convinced me to grab a cookie. “I can’t find a contract in the library, but this house is huge. I need to do a lot more searching. In the meantime, did you find his phone? His lawyer’s number is probably in there.”
    “Phone’s in his bedroom,” Steph said, clipping the bag shut. “I found his charger in there last night and plugged it in. There’s also another small room upstairs that’s got filing cabinets in it. You might try that. It’s at the end of the hall, after his bedroom.”
    “Excellent. I’ll go to it.”
    Eric’s bedroom was huge, and it took a minute to find the phone. It also smelled, kind of like Eric had been sitting in it all day, in the heat. Since I hadn’t noticed the odor downstairs, I assumed Steph had covered him in deodorant. Thank you, Steph. Poor Eric. If he did get his soul back, I could only imagine how he’d feel about the ordeal, assuming he remembered it.
    I grabbed the phone and was halfway down the hall when I heard a door slam on the first floor. Mid-stride, I switched direction and darted down the stairs in case Steph needed help.
    But it wasn’t Steph making the noise. An unfamiliar man, who nevertheless bore a passing resemblance to Eric, stood in the foyer. If I’d been paying attention a moment ago, I’d have noticed his foul combination of butterscotch confusion and curry-flavored annoyance.
    He glowered at me, annoyance turning to alarm. “Who are you?”
    “Tim?” I shook my head. “I mean, are you Tim?”
    “How do you—?”
    Saved by Steph, who charged into the room. “What are you doing here?”
    Tim blinked at her. “Stephen?”
    Steph’s hands balled into fists at her side. Though her shot of rage wasn’t directed at me, the intensity of her anger almost bowled me over because I wasn’t braced for it. Hot, smoky energy flooded my mouth and veins. Head rush.
    “It’s Steph. And what are you doing here?”
    “Taking care of my brother, as is my right and responsibility. Now get out. You don’t have my permission to be here.”
    Steph stepped forward, her hands still clenched. “Taking