Flint Lock (Witches of Karma #10) Read Online Free PDF

figure. I bit back a yelp.
    He shifted uneasily, his shoulders bunching under the fabric of what I assumed was his undershirt—though it appeared to just be a plain, white t-shirt. He’d obviously made an effort to wash out any blood that had soaked through the long-sleeved shirt he had been wearing. The shirt was slightly damp and wrinkled in places.
    “Is there anything I can do to help around here?” His voice was tentative and awkward.
    I hesitated. I wasn’t in the habit of leaving my clients in the hands of a perfect stranger I had literally picked up off of the street. But, I didn’t love the idea of the same stranger hanging out in my house all day, doing who the hell knew what.
    The door rang again, echoed by the pealing ring of the phone in the waiting room.
    “Can you take calls, while I’m in with my patient?” I asked. I wouldn’t normally have asked anyone, but I was desperate. My entire day would flow better, if I didn’t have to depend on my decrepit answering service. It wasn’t really that much to ask, I told myself. And it would help a lot.
    Hopefully, he wasn’t going to ask to be paid, like my other secretaries had. There wasn’t enough in my accounts to pay myself, let alone anyone else. I’d already used up good supplies for stitching up his head. Supplies that I couldn’t really afford to replace.
    If I looked at it that way, he owed me.
    He answered the phone with a deep, professional-sounding voice. Not his first rodeo, I figured. I tried to let that thought comfort me, as I yanked the door open and smiled at my first patient. He was a beautiful miniature horse colt, Mad Dash, who I’d actually helped come into the world. At thirty-inches tall at the shoulders, he was a smoky buckskin in color, and full of attitude. Now nearly two years old, I was going to help make sure we didn’t bring anymore of him into the world. Dash was scheduled to be gelded. Hopefully, that would keep him on the right side of the law. Stallions, particularly miniature horse stallions, could be, and usually were, bastards. The only truly vicious stallion I’d ever met had been about Dash’s size.
    His owner, Ms. Abel, smiled at me, her face turning into a complex mass of soft crepe-y wrinkles, like an old apple-headed doll, which was somehow still charming. Her black eyes glistened with good humor as I greeted her. She stroked Dash’s neck. He snorted and shot me a jaded look.
    “Are you ready for us?” she asked. She leaned forward and whispered, rather loudly, “I didn’t tell him he was getting gelded today. He thinks this is just a little check-up visit.”
    She winked at me, her thin lips curling up in a conspiratorial grin.
    I winked back. “He won’t know what hit him,” I said. “He won’t even miss them.”
    Ms. Abel chuckled rather evilly.
    I stuck my head back through the door of the clinic. “Hey,” I said, taking in the size of the man behind the desk. Ms. Abel was old, and I was short. I didn’t think Dash was going to pull any funny business, but I’d learned early on not to make assumptions of safety around animals. He’d offered to help me out, right? “I could use an extra pair of hands, if you’re up for it. Meet me outside, okay?”
    He nodded. I guessed he was fine with it. His face gave nothing away. His expression was still flat, like someone had poked him too hard and deflated his soul. It was like looking at the emotional equivalent of a zombie. It was unsettling, but it wasn’t the first time I’d seen something like that.
    I shivered. The last time I’d seen that, I’d been too late.
    *~*~*
    APPARENTLY, CLAMPING OFF the testicles of anything—even a happily drugged and sleeping miniature horse—was nothing short of a horror show for the average male who hadn’t attended vet school. It had been so long since I’d been around a ‘normal’ guy that I hadn’t even taken it into consideration.
    The stranger turned ghostly white as I made the first incision