CHAPTER 3
I’m going to be honest—Farrowville, West Virginia, is not my idea of a good time. Not that I expect investigations to take me to amazing places. But…
Look, it would be amazing if more witches and magical creatures did their crimes in nicer locales. That’s all I’m saying. Like, Hawaii. Are there no witches who want to commit evil acts on the beach in Hawaii? Because that would be awesome.
Although I guess I’m lucky that I’ve been given this chance at all. Cressida would really have preferred to fire me, but instead I get to be a part of this incredibly important operation.
And not justapart. Pretty muchthepart.
I’m on my own in Farrowville.
Except, of course, for the pig.
Or rather, the pig shifter I’ll be partnering with for the next few days. The one I’m meeting for lunch at what appears to be the only place to get prepared food in town.
Farrowville seems to be mostly a collection of strip malls thrown wherever developers managed to talk farmers out of their land. So I drive past a handful of fields—for corn? cows? I have no idea—and then past a strip mall with a smoke shop, sad-looking nail salon, and a title attorney’s office, and I do thatpretty much over and over again until I reach what passes for a downtown. It comprises a diner, a hotel, a rundown bar named Marcy’s, a gift shop that looks like it sells exclusively pig-related merch, a teeny-tiny jail, and a park, over the entrance of which hangs a sign that reads, “North Mountain Pig Show: July 1-3.” In the distance, behind a sputtering fountain that’s clearly seen better days, is a massive white show barn.
Well, at least the show is close to my hotel.
I pull into a parking spot along Main Street and climb out of the car, stretching my back to get rid of the kinks I’ve developed on the five-hour drive and to give myself a chance to surreptitiously get the lay of the land. It would be phenomenal if The Witch just happened to be strolling down the sidewalk right now and I saw her and despite having no idea what she looks like, some instinct inside me just knew it was her and I managed to take her by surprise and arrest her without incident five minutes after arriving in town, and she’s all, “Drat! If only the MBI had sent a less skilled, less awesome agent,” and Cressida would be like, “OMG, Jensen! You have saved the day and probably should get a promotion,” and?—
Jensen! Get your head in the game!
Right. I pull my purse from the car—for this operation, I went with a big khaki canvas bag with a little silver horseshoe dangling from the strap—and slip off my sunglasses. From now on, I’m no longer Olive Jensen, MBI agent.
I’m Sally Conway, pig enthusiast and first-time pig handler.
I make my way down the sidewalk and push open the door to the diner with as much excitement as I can muster. I’m here for the pig show! I can’t wait to…um…something-something-something with my pig!
I’m here early, and I’m about to ask the hostess for a table for two when I hear someone snapping their fingers. “Hey! Over here!”
Glancing around, I see a man with messy dark hair and piercing blue eyes waving at me from a corner booth.
Oh. Wow. I don’t know why I was expecting him to look more…piggish.
“I’m meeting someone,” I say to the hostess.
“Lucky you,” she says, her eyes fixed on the man in the booth.
Lucky me indeed.
I walk over to the booth and slide in, although it takes me three tries before I’m able to wedge my giant bag into the seat beside me. The man—Grayson—watches me with one raised eyebrow.
“Nice bag,” he says once I finish getting settled and turn to him. “Very practical.”
“It holds a lot,” I say, feeling a touch defensive. “Plus, it’s what my character would carry.”
His other eyebrow lifts now. “Your character?”
“You know. My cover story? I’m Sally Conway. I’m from Chincoteague, Virginia, and pigs were my favorite animal growing up despite all the pony stuff in town. I majored in marketing at Virginia Commonwealth University and lived in Richmond for a few years before I moved out to the country with a guy I was engaged to with plans to start a hobby farm and show pigs. We broke things off after a few months, but just because the relationship didn’t work out didn’t mean the dream died and?—”
Grayson holds up one hand. “You made all of that stuff up for this assignment?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” he says slowly.
Well, this is off to a great start. I’m pretty sure my temporary partner thinks I’m crazy. Which, maybe I am a little invested in the details, but it’s the details that sell the story.
