The Burning Bush by Kenya Wright Read Free Book Online

sleeve. He waved it away frantically looking behind him, no doubt wondering where the fire had come from.
    “What’s wrong, partner?” I raised my eyebrows, mock concern spread across my face.
    “Nothing.” He patted the tiny flames away before they licked up his arm. “And don’t call me partner.”

I walked in on Angel sticking her tongue down Quinn’s throat. Quinn had been appointed by Zulu as head artist and business manager of his tattoo shop, the Inked Guerilla. Quinn was also a Were-hyena and Rebel who, to everyone’s utter disgust, enjoyed bragging about her humongous clitoris. Apparently female Were-hyenas had big clitorises, called pseudo-penises.
    In any case, Quinn did an excellent job of managing the shop, which was mainly a front operation for Mixbreeds for Equality’s headquarters. To hide MFE’s base even more, Zulu paid a security group to cover the whole shop in Fairy glamour. The only way someone could get to the Inked Guerilla was if they had a business card with a location spell.
    “Hey, you two,” I said, as Angel and Quinn continued to make out. Holding in a laugh, I slammed the Inked Guerilla’s front door, hoping to interrupt them. Nothing.
    In the right corner, sage burned in a bronze pot. Swirls of bright blue and yellow paint decorated the walls. Green speakers hung in the air, but the usual reggae music had been turned off. Slurping sounds were the only noise that filled the lobby.
    “Hello!” I clapped my hands.
    Angel pressed Quinn into the lobby’s front counter, running her pale fingers through the Were-hyena’s pink spirals. How Angel was able to make out with a partially shifted Were-hyena I did not know. The jaw and fur alone would have given me pause.
    “Angel!” I yelled. They stopped and both came up for air.
    “Have you got whatever was stuck in Quinn’s tonsils, or should I get pliers?” I strolled toward them, taking out one of the Pristine jars from my pocket and placing it in front of Quinn. “This is for babysitting Ben and my Pixies.”
    Quinn squealed with delight, clapped her hands, and wiggled her tan furry ears as they poked through her curls.
    “This is a two-hundred-dollar jar,” Quinn said in her squeaky baby voice, which sounded like a three-year-old’s instead of a grown woman’s. I never made fun of her voice. The few times people had teased her, they had lost limbs.
    Quinn shifted her face to Human form. Her pores sucked in the tan fur. Her hairy jaw reshaped into a white chin and plump lips. Her black eyes lightened to brown. As usual, she kept her ears shifted and furry just like other Rebels.
    “The jar is more than two hundred dollars since it’s one of the last,” I added. “I just wanted to thank you for all the past nights you’ve been babysitting Ben and taking care of my Pixies. It was really a big help and—”
    Tiny shrieking noises came from above my head. I glanced up and froze. Usually only a copper sculpture of a screaming body in chains hovered over the lobby desk. Tonight, a big plastic cage hung next to the sculpture. Tiny multicolored Pixie hands and legs stuck out from the cage bars, wagging around and trying to escape.
    “Those better not be my Pixies,” I said through clenched teeth.
    “Lanore, please let me explain.” Quinn’s furry ears pressed into her curls.
    “Why would you pack my babies into a cage?” I scanned the lobby for a chair so I could get up there to release them. The Pixies screeched louder, as if they recognized my voice.
    “I told you she would be pissed.” Angel giggled, hopped up on the counter in a blur, and began messing with the cage’s latch.
    How did Angel jump up there so fast? I scowled at Angel’s new agility and speed. Yesterday, she had tripped over her own feet twice, and she could barely keep up with me as we jogged to the Fire Bean Café.
    “Have you absorbed any powers?” I asked her.
    “Of course not,” Angel mumbled, not looking at me. “I told you I wouldn’t