The Fast and the Furriest, page 1
part #1 of Girl's Guide to Voodoo Bounty Hunting Series
GIRL’S GUIDE TO VOODOO BOUNTY HUNTING
Book 1: The Fast and the Furriest
By Eden Crowne
Copyright 2021 by Eden Crowne. All rights reserved
Cover Art by Miblart.com
Visit Eden Crowne at: http://www.edencrowne.com
More Occult Thrillers from Eden Crowne:
Girl’s Guide to Voodoo Bounty Hunting Series
Fast and the Furriest
Shifty Business
Royal Pain (coming soon!)
Dust to Dust series
Fangs for the Memories
Witch You Were Here
Ghost of a Chance
Avenging Angel Series
Fall from Grace
Perilous Grace
Deadly Grace
Fear Club Series
Cruel and Unusual Magic
Masquerade
The Summoning
Knights Divinus Mortem Series
Knight Shift
Coming soon: Bureau of Infernal Affairs
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Sneak Preview: Girl’s Guide 2: Shifty Business
CHAPTER ONE
A toothy ten-foot electronic fish flashed fitfully in the hot morning sun. The green neon crackled as the fish opened and closed its electronic jaws. Yellow dollar signs in the fish’s eyes blinked on and off in sync to some rhythm all their own. Below the fish, a billboard announced ‘Barracuda Bail Bonds’ in bold black letters.
Nessa looked at the address scrawled across a torn scrap of paper, then the map app on her phone, and back to the note.
Yep, this was the place.
She took off her helmet, set the kickstand on her scooter, and flipped open the top of an oversized wire basket attached to the scooter’s front. A gray-striped head popped out, peering up at the blinking sign. The cat, a stocky British Shorthair, hopped to the ground.
Pim, full name Pim’s Cup Whiskers Rampant, Grand Champion at the 1871 Crystal Palace Cat Show was invisible due to a rather unfortunate curse. On the Atlantic crossing from England with Nessa’s Great-Grandmother, he’d fallen for a saucy short-tailed Calico. The Calico’s mistress, a Gypsy witch, had taken exception to the union and poor Pim hadn’t been seen since. Except, of course, by Nessa. As her Familiar, she could see him just fine.
Looking up at the sign, he arched his back and hissed.
“I know,” sighed Nessa. “What the hell, Dad?”
Dead-beat dad had skipped town leaving Barracuda Bail Bonds holding a large bond. The fact Dad owed bail money came as no surprise. That he had skipped town was also not hot news. Finding out in a phone call at seven a.m. this morning he had left her, his one and only daughter, as collateral to a supernatural Bail Bondsman a couple of blocks on the wrong side of the 91 Freeway had been a bit of a shock.
Barracuda Bail Bonds was well-known among the SoCal supernatural substrata for financial aid on a swiftly tilting scale of crimes not necessarily against the great State of California.
It quickly became apparent Dad owed a supernatural debt rather than the more mundane cash sort. After the call, Nessa had thrown some clothes and cash into a backpack, scribbled a note for her Aunt Emerald, grabbed Pim, and headed north on the Pacific Coast Highway as fast as the orange 50cc scooter could rev. They hadn’t gotten very far before Dad’s debt yanked her back, nearly bringing them to grief at a busy intersection in El Segundo.
The contract’s supernatural tether made it clear she had no choice but to turn the scooter in the direction of Compton and the Honorable Mr. Roman Barracuda.
Nessa pulled a heavy lock and chain out of the basket and fastened the scooter to the base of the blinking neon sign. The chain had shock charms painted on each link. It was going to need them in this neighborhood.
She stood back, hands on hips, and looked at the neat one-story bungalow painted pale, sherbet yellow with white trim. Pim sat on his haunches, his long tail wrapped neatly around his front paws, and looked with her.
It was one of only a few houses left on the street. Zoning laws must have shifted seismically over the years. A used-car lot flanked the bail bonds office on one side. On the other, a furniture store that looked like it specialized in furniture that fell off trucks onto the shoulder of the 405.
She grabbed her duffel bag from the running board and slung it over her shoulder where it knocked against the faded black Old Navy backpack she always carried.
They walked up the three steps to the front porch and hesitated. A painted wooden sign was nailed at eye-level.
‘Beware. Secrets will be revealed of those who cross this threshold.’
And beneath this warning, painted in a script only the magically inclined could see was added, ‘Dark Spirit or Light, Betray My Trust at Your Peril.’
Pim turned right around and headed back to the scooter. Nessa considered how she could do the same. She had secrets built right into her DNA. Ones she could hardly bear the burden of knowing herself some days.
A shout of, “That door is not going to open itself!” made her jump. “Get in here young lady and bring your damn cat!”
The tether gave another yank and she gagged.
Waving Pim ahead, she tugged her sleeves over the bracelets circling both wrists and they stepped inside together.
A big black man with big black hair sat behind an oversized dark wooden desk directly opposite the door. He was wearing a lime green and gray geometric print shirt with an oversized collar. It was shiny. Seventies K.C. And the Sunshine Band shiny. He had a pair of violet-tinted granny glasses pushed halfway down his broad nose and he peered over them at her, his wide mouth turned down in a frown.
Nessa swallowed drily and looked around. The inside of the office was painted the same creamy yellow as the outside. Long rows of bleached-blond wooden blinds softened the view on the barred windows facing the street. The wooden floors were the same color as the blinds. Old-style travel posters for the Caribbean brightened the walls with splashes of pink, yellow, green, and blue. The office opened onto another room with a circular dining table, a handful of chairs, and a curtained alcove.
“You took your sweet time, Miss Scott,” he said gruffly.
“Um,” replied Nessa with typical articulateness.
“What’s your Familiar’s name?”
She was startled and didn’t try to hide it. “Most people can’t see him.”
He looked at her over his glasses. “I am not most people.”
Obviously not.
“His name is Pim, Pim’s Cup Whiskers Rampant.”
“Fine. So, Miss Vanessa and Mister Pim, your daddy owes me a debt which he seems to think he can run from. He cannot. You were left as collateral. As I explained on the phone several hours ago,” he said the last few words with heavy emphasis.
Okay, yeah, she tried to run and then when that was denied her, stopped for gas and maybe a leisurely coffee at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf with a fat butter croissant to share with Pim.
“Slavery is illegal,” she protested.
“Not in magic,” replied Barracuda clearly unimpressed. “I am collecting on your father’s Bond. Do you know what I do here?”
“Kind of…” she mumbled.
Boy, she was just sparkling with conversation this morning.
“I am licensed to chase and capture those who think they are above the laws of God and man and choose to turn aside from the path of honesty. In other words, they take my money and run.” He turned his head calling, “Ladies, could you join us please?”
There was a shuffle of sound from a connecting room. Nessa could see a couple of desks and rows of metal filing cabinets in what must be the back office.
Quite the largest women Nessa had ever seen emerged through the connecting doorway. They were identical twins and well over six feet tall. They looked to out-weigh their boss by a dozen pounds. Not that they were fat. Far from it.
The women were squeezed into identical black leather jumpsuits that hugged every bulging muscle and feminine curve. And their hair! Red as a tropical sunset. Tossed and teased into an up-do that added several more inches to their already impressive intimidation factor.
They were also, Nessa was certain, only marginally human.
Barracuda gestured at the women. “Meet Pansy and Rose Marie La Rue, my Bond Enforcement agents and valued partners.”
They gave her surprisingly charming smiles.
Nessa automatically tried to smile back but her mouth muscles refused to respond. Gravity had inexplicably increased around her as the reality of Barracuda Bail Bonds sank in. Breathing was an effort. Her heart thudded against her chest.
One of them — Pansy or Rose Marie, she didn’t know who was who — walked over and held out a hand for Pim to sniff.
Well, well. They could see him too.
“Hello there, young man,” she said, her voice deep and musical with a bit of a Caribbean lilt, “aren't you just the handsomest Tom around. Yes, you are!”
Pim preened and gave the woman’s hand a head butt before turning to the side and letting her stroke him.
He was a whore for a compliment.
Were these women going to chase her dad? And if they caught him, would she still be collateral?
Those were important questions. If only her tongue wasn’t stuck to the roof o
“Skip Tracer, Bounty Hunter, or as we say here in California, Bail Recovery Enforcement Agent, whatever you choose to call it,” Barracuda continued, “bond enforcement is a big part of this business. California recently made some changes in their Bail Bonds laws.” He waved a hand in the air. “Not saying they weren’t justified but it cut into my human bail bond business. We’re focusing more on the supernatural criminal element. Since that pandemic nonsense, Infernal Courts been busier than ever. Like every day was a damn full moon.”
He looked at Nessa for confirmation and she nodded automatically.
The only part she understood was the Infernal Courts. The supernatural world was not closely policed but there were rules designed to keep a lid on exactly how pervasive magic was in modern society. Extremism was the norm instead of the exception these days. Nobody wanted a return to witch hunters and bonfires.
“I keep supernatural bonds for a variety of magical tribunals and demonic agencies on the books. Pansy and Rose Marie can handle the sorry asses of the shapeshifting, bloodsucking murderers, rapists, and bank robbers who leave slime trails across my door. However, and this is a big however, we have many smaller bond clients, both human and supernatural. Recently one of my agents had an unfortunate encounter with a machete.” He paused and sighed deeply. “May Raoul rest in peace.”
The two large women sighed as well.
“His death left me short-handed.” Smiling brightly, he gave her an expectant look. “Your daddy’s bond came due just in time. Looks like your it.”
“I’m it what?” Nessa had lost track of the conversation somewhere around the words murderers and rapists.
He grimaced. “Keep up! You, young lady, are my new supernatural skip tracer. For those low-end bond runners. Every penny counts.”
“Every penny counts,” echoed the twins.
“Me?” she said in one strangled word for what had to be obvious to the very large Mr. Roman Barracuda.
Nessa was a scrappy five-feet-two inches tall. A hundred and ten pounds on a good week when there were regular meals. She had dark brown bra-length hair and what could best be described as regular features. Few people had a chance to see the brilliant smile and deep dimples that transformed her face.
He gave her a dispassionate up and down.
“Bond Enforcement is not based on brawn alone. You have brains, or so your father says, as well as other gifts. Powerful ones.”
She was going to protest but shut her mouth. He wasn’t wrong. She was an Elemental, a Blood Witch with control over the air. She’d inherited it from her mother’s side of the family. Among other less desirable things.
Barracuda pulled open a drawer and tossed a pair of metal handcuffs over.
“You’ll need these.”
She stared at the cuffs.
“And this.”
He slid over a set of keys on a metal ring.
Pim jumped up onto the desk and batted the cuffs with his paw knocking them to the floor. He gave Barracuda a feline sneer, laying his ears flat.
Barracuda read the expression correctly and frowned at the cat.
Pim spun around, tail high, showing the man his butt hole. A cat version of ‘Up yours!’
Barracuda rolled his eyes, “Don’t you give me attitude Mr. Pim. You’re what, Miss Scott? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
“Nineteen.”
Barracuda tilted his chair away from his desk and adjusted his glasses.
One of the enormous women snorted.
Barracuda’s eyes shifted to them. They suddenly got busy looking around the room like they’d never noticed those colorful travel posters before.
Their boss cleared his throat noisily and shifted through the papers on his desk. He pulled out one sheet with something paper-clipped to it and frowned.
“Never mind. In the great state of California, you can get your Bounty Hunters license at eighteen.”
“No way,” Nessa protested.
“I assure you, it’s true.”
“I can’t buy alcohol but I can chase down and capture felons?”
“It's a wonderful world,” he said with a grin.
“Isn’t there...like...a test or something?”
He nodded. “You are absolutely right. Two separate State-administered exams. I am happy to report you did wonderfully and will have copies of the certificates to prove it.”
“What about a license?”
“In California, a license is technically not necessary if you have written permission from me. Which you will. A Private Investigator’s license though goes a long way.”
Pulling at the paper clip, he tossed a driver’s license-sized card to the woman nearest him.
“Pansy, please date that appropriately. Rose Marie, a photo if you will.”
Rose Marie tugged a cellphone from her back pocket.
“Smile!” she said before clicking a picture.
“What?” said Nessa, startled.
The two women gave their boss a snappy salute and stepped into the back office.
“We will adjust it to match your Driver’s License.”
He held out his big hand and wriggled his fingers.
Nessa scrounged in her backpack for her wallet. She pulled the license out and handed it over. The license did indeed say Vanessa Scott, though Scott was not her real last name. She’d lost count of how many names her larcenous father had given her over the years. She used to write the new name on the underside of her wrist in Sharpie to keep up.
Since Dad had dumped her with his older sister Emerald a year ago, she’d been able to keep to Vanessa Scott. Vanessa was actually one of her names. Just not her True Name. Names had power in her world.
Barracuda got up from the desk, stepping over to the back office to hand the license to his assistants.
He returned and scooted his big chair back into place. “You also successfully completed the forty-hour police training course. And a twenty-hour insurance-approved pre-licensing class. Very diligent of you.”
Nessa felt the whole situation was spiraling into farce.
“Wait, wait,” her voice cracked. “I can’t do this. A forty-hour class? Twenty-hours for insurance? That means there are rules. Lots and lots of rules. And procedures. Legal ones. I don’t know any of them. I don’t know! Please.” Her voice had taken on a pleading tone, but she didn’t care.
“As a supernatural Skip Tracer, there are no rules.”
“What about as a human bounty hunter?” she persisted. “Cops are always around when you don’t want them.”
Growing up with a magical scam artist for a father, Nessa knew that only too well. The police seemed to have a sixth sense for magical mischief.
“By working for me, you are legally in pursuit of felons. There is paperwork and I will supply you with that before you leave here today. You must keep these papers on you at all times in case the police become involved.” He gave her a squinty-eyed stare over his glasses. “Which they had better not. With the paperwork I mentioned, slightly adjusted for the magical sort, you have every right to apprehend them, even entering their home without a search warrant. The use of deadly force is frowned upon.”
There was a bark of laughter from the other room.
He shifted his eyes in the direction of the laugh, “Though sometimes warranted.”
There was another raucous laugh.
Pim tugged at Nessa’s sleeve. He looked as puzzled as she felt.
“I’m not a detective.”
Pim meowed.
“We are not detectives.”
“No. Mr. Pim is a werecat under a rather unfortunate invisibility curse but with his own defensive arsenal. You, too, can be lethal, Miss Scott.”
Nessa squirmed inwardly. How did he know all this? Pim was a werecat. A rare and deadly magical beast able to transform at will. Then she realized Dad must have told him quite a bit to convince the Bail Bondsman on the value of his daughter and Pim as collateral.
Or had Pim and her secrets revealed themselves when she crossed the threshold? She had rather a lot of secrets for someone her age.
“Do you have a car?” he said changing the subject abruptly.
“What?” The interview was going too fast; she couldn’t keep up.
“An au-to-mo-bile.” He paused on each syllable like she was ESL or something. “A mechanical mode of transportation.”
