by Ani Gonzalez
"I bet that's useful in her line of work," Gavin noted.
"I guess," Sean replied, not willing to admit he did not quite see the distinction between those two arcane arts even though his fortune-teller girlfriend, Luanne, had explained it several times. "Mary-Louise is also doing a separate presentation on enforcement of laws applicable to paranormal businesses and I'm planning to attend. It should be fun. Their town has a lot of interesting regulations."
Gavin raised a brow. "You have a very strange idea of what fun is."
Sean shrugged. "Maybe, but it's always interesting to see how other villages are doing it."
Gavin groaned. "We're not going to require more permits are we? I personally love them, but my staff has had it up to here," he held his fingers salute-style to his forehead, "with the paperwork."
Sean laughed. "Mine too."
But he made a mental note to look into it. Luanne had looked worried lately, and he wasn't sure why. It could be because of the convention, but it could also be because of a rumor, or it could be something else. Luanne's concerns were sometimes esoteric.
"And mine," a familiar voice added behind them.
Sean turned to greet Caine Magnusson, the leader of Banshee Creek's paranormal investigations crew, PRoVE. He was dressed in his usual jeans and biker's vest. His demeanor, however, was unusual. Caine's normal air of cheerful bonhomie had disappeared. His brows were furrowed and his face was stern.
"If you two are thinking about new permits," Caine growled. "I'll text my guys to get their pitchforks. We can meet you in front in twenty minutes."
"First you'd need a permit to gather a mob," Sean replied with a laugh. "What's up, Caine? To what do we owe this honor?"
Caine pulled up a chair and made himself at home. The chains dangling from his vest tinkled as he sat down. "I heard you were going to Mystic Bay for the fortune-tellers convention."
That wasn't surprising. Gossip traveled fast in Banshee Creek. The question was, why did Caine care?
"We have a bit of a rivalry with that town," the biker drawled.
Ah. That explained it.
"What does that mean?" Gavin asked.
That was a good question. The paranormal group rivalries were not laughing matter, as Sean had found out during his tenure in Banshee Creek. They took this stuff seriously.
Caine shrugged. "It's not bad, as long as they stick to their fortune-telling shtick."
Sean frowned. "I thought that was what they were known for."
Caine crossed his arms. "Well, lately they've been straying into monster hunting, which they know nothing about."
Gavin laughed. "You mean Chessie? I thought that was just a lark. They can't possibly think they have a dinosaur in the bay."
"They don't," Caine said. "It's not a dinosaur." He gave a dramatic sigh. "It's a type of prehistoric whale."
"A whale?" Sean asked, now thoroughly confused.
"No way," Gavin replied. "It's supposed to be a water snake with fangs and everything."
"It's a Basilosaurus," Caine explained. "A fossil that was first identified as a reptile. It was subsequently found to be a mammal and should be renamed. For some reason they can't do it, so it still has a reptile name. It's a long, snake-like whale."
"With toothy jaws," Gavin added.
Caine nodded. "Big ones."
Sean sighed. He had developed some tolerance for surreal conversations in Banshee Creek, but he couldn't believe he was discussing prehistoric whales in the Sheriff's Department's conference room.
Gavin smiled. "The pictures they use all look like Nessie, though."
"And that," Caine slammed his hand on the table, "is the problem. They are misleading the public."
About a creature that doesn't exist. Sean didn't say this out loud though. He knew better than to start an argument about cryptids with Caine.
"They have plesiosaur logos and t-shits and even paddle boats," Caine hissed. "With cartoon dinosaur heads."
"The boats are really fun," Gavin said, gleefully taunting Caine. "They even built a playground with a long-necked brachiosaurus slide. It's very popular."
"They don't have a dinosaur," Caine retorted. "That's the problem. They have a freaking whale."
Sean tried not to smile. "You seem to feel strongly about this."
"I wanted to stage a protest," Caine said. "But Cassie said it would just give them more publicity."
Cassie Jones was Caine's second-in-command and she was usually the voice of reason. Caine, however, didn't always listen to her, particularly where publicity was concerned.
Caine pointed toward the screen. "Their sheriff is the worst in the lot. She keeps defending their advertising even though it's clearly wrong."
"Mary-Louise is a consummate professional," Sean said, offended on behalf of his presentation partner. "She's a very ethical person and would never—wait, defended? You took them to court?"
"Of course not." Caine stared at the floor. "But someone may have sent an anonymous complaint to the Federal Trade Commission that resulted in a hearing."
Oh, yes. These paranormal rivalries were serious business. He would have to speak to Caine. He couldn't go around filing complaints and harassing hard-working professionals like Mary-Louise Reynard.
"Oh, Caine," Gavin sighed.
"Is that why you're here?" Sean asked. "Cassie wouldn't let you do the protest?"
"Yes, she was right about it giving them more publicity," Caine muttered. "They are already kicking our butts with their stupidly cute dinosaur. I don't need to help them out."
Sean frowned. Kicking our butts? Oh, so that was why the Banshee Creek paranormal team was getting rowdy. PRoVE was comprised of bikers, veterans, academics, entrepreneurs and other type-A personalities committed to researching the paranormal. Sean was not surprised that they were fiercely competitive. But what did this have to do with him?
"Not to get side-tracked," Caine said. "The point is we have to make sure Banshee Creek keeps its position as the preeminent paranormal town in this country. We can't let a little whale—"
"I still think it's a dinosaur," Gavin interrupted, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"It's a mammal," Caine huffed, glaring at the firefighter. "We are the number one paranormal destination in the country. We can't let a group of dilettante fortune-tellers with a geriatric whale take it away from us."
Sean covered his mouth, trying not to laugh. This was serious. He couldn't let Caine go wild and start a war with Mystic Bay. He had to figure out a way to defuse the situation.
"Look," he said. "Whale or no whale, we can't be jerks. We have to help out these guys because being mean won't reflect well on the town."
Caine grinned. "Exactly." He placed his hands on his hips and puffed out he's chest. That's why I'm here."
Sean and Gave stared at him.
"I'm afraid to ask what you mean," Sean said, rubbing his temple.
He felt the start of a migraine. Even with good intentions, PRoVE could leave catastrophe in its wake.
"What sort of help?" Sean asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice.
Caine raised his hands, palms out. "Don't worry. We'll make you look good."
"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Sean muttered.
Caine pretended not to hear.
"For starters," the biker stepped back, chin in hand and inspected Sean through narrowed eyes. "Is that what you're wearing?"
CHAPTER THREE
LUANNE STARED at the cards on her Queen Anne coffee table. She shouldn't do this. Trying to read her own future was always a bad idea. It caused more problems than it solved.
But the lingering worry wouldn't go away, and there was only one way of dealing with it, at least for her.
She leaned back, sinking on the plush sofa pillows. Fiona and Kat were already on their way to Mystic Bay with Kat's little hatchback filled to the brim with luggage.
Luanne, however, was waiting for Sean to return from the police station so th
ey could be on their way. Her resident ghost Honoria, was not manifesting, so it was just Luanne and the cards right now.
She glanced at the pricey-looking bag next to the sofa and sighed. That wasn't completely accurate. It was her, the cards, and the bag with Kat's present. She rather hoped her future wouldn't involve wearing the dress Kat had given her, but it probably would. She couldn't disappoint her friend.
She ran her finger around the worn edges of the cards. She couldn't read her own future, but there would be no harm in checking out the conference as a whole. If she was careful maybe she could triangulate—
No, nothing about her own fate. She had to focus on the convention. If she was lucky, the worse thing that would happen is she would end up wearing Kat's present.
She shuffled the cards. She'd been using them for months and they were getting too soft. She should get a new deck. Luckily, she was going to the right place for that. The convention would be packed with card designers. She could splurge and buy one of the artsy Magda Delani designs with the Art Nouveau stylings. That would be a treat. She definitely wouldn't get the garish Walter Farsight designs with the gleaming gold backs and holographic images, however. They were bestsellers, but that was a bridge too far, even for her.
Her wrinkled deck would do for now. She did a simple three-card spread: past, present, and future. A sunbeam struck the back of the cards as they lay on the table, making the gold design gleam.
It was time to start.
She turned the first card. This would be the past of the convention, its history and background and likely its planning stages.
It was the Five of Swords. A woebegone man picking up weaponry after a fight. A sly glance at the disheartened combatants. Jagged dark clouds in the sky. Tension and resentment.
This was the opposite of good. However, she could see where the cards were coming from. She had already seen plenty of hostility bubbling. Fortune-tellers, as a rule, did not play well with others and this event was no exception. She had already seen that when she'd allocated the exhibition spaces for the convention. There were plenty of vendettas and a lot of jealousy toward the more successful members of the group.
Luanne's lips curve into a self-deprecating smile. She didn't have to worry about that. Her income was solid, but her earning power was meager compared to the group's heavy hitters. Morgana Shaw made a solid six figures. Walter Farsight made at least ten times that.
Little Luanne LaRue would not be a target.
She turned the second card. That would be the present of the convention.
It was a Two of Swords. A blindfolded woman holding two swords in front of a turbulent ocean. A crescent moon hanging over her head like a Sword of Damocles. Confusion, choice, difficult decisions.
Not a fun card, but it wasn't necessarily a bad one. It was a card of avoidance. Someone was procrastinating on a decision. There was a stalemate. The card, however, emphasized reason and balanced judgment. Hopefully the right call would be made.
She stared at the card, brow furrowed. Usually her readings gave rise to mental images that helped her decipher the meaning behind the cards. This time, however, she was drawing a blank.
All decisions regarding the convention had already been made. Several members had dragged their feet at the beginning, but it was too late for anyone to be procrastinating at this point. What could this card possibly mean?
She tried again, focusing intensely, but to no avail. She still drew a blank.
She turned the third card.
Ten of Swords. A dark sky, a man lying in the ground with ten blades sticking out of his back. Backstabbing, betrayal, crisis, loss.
Her shoulders slumped. This was going downhill in a hurry. Of course, the Tarot cards weren't all negative, even the scary ones, but the Ten of Swords was one of the ones with very thin silver linings. Something bad was going to happen. That was clear.
She assessed the cards with a sinking heart. There were so many swords. That particular suit could mean action and change, but also conflict and anger. She had to admit these attributes all sounded like the Diviners' Association, which was fertile ground for strife.
Swords, however, also stood for intellect, planning and diligence, and that did not sound like the Diviners' Association at all. From what she'd seen during her tenure as a member, reason was not their strong point.
Luanne picked up her cards and put them back in her handbag. This, it seemed, would not be a restful working vacation. She could add that to her list of misgivings, though at least forewarned was forearmed.
A car turned into her driveway, indicating that she had finished her reading just in time. Her muscles loosened in relief. Sean had arrived to pick her up. She was suddenly very glad he was tagging along.
She ran through her mental packing list, making sure she had everything she would need for the convention. Her computer and handouts were all in her trusty Madame Esmeralda tote bag. Her clothes were in the duffle bag as were her toiletries and jewelry. Her cards were in her handbag.
She was ready.
The door opened and Sean stepped in. Luanne turned to greet him, then stiffened
"Why are you wearing a Banshee Creek is #1 t-shirt?" she asked in as neutral a tone of voice as she could manage.
Her boyfriend was handsome, but PRoVE purple was not his color. The neon yellow letters didn't help either. Sean was a small town cop, not a fashion plate, but this was low, even by his standards.
He raised his hands in a pleading gesture. "Don't ask. You don't want to know."
Luanne laughed, guessing it had something to do with Caine. There was no need for clairvoyance in this instance. "Are you driving to Mystic Bay looking like that?"
He gave her a resigned nod. "If we want to avoid the rush hour traffic in DC, we need to leave now. I'll change at a rest stop along the way."
Luanne grinned. "Mini donuts?"
Sean smiled. "You bet. I'll put the bags in the car. You close up the house." He glanced down at her bag. "Is this all you are taking?"
"Don't you start," Luanne said, heading to the back of the house to check the kitchen door. "I have more than enough clothes. It's only a weekend and you are only taking a few pants and shirts."
She, however, was taking a bit more than that. Kat's present had turned out to be a slinky evening gown in a shiny green fabric. Luanne wasn't sure she could wear such a thing, but Kat and Fiona would no doubt make her put it on.
Sean was going to get the surprise of his life.
"Don't forget my new t-shirt." Sean carried her bag out the front door. "It's going to make me the most popular guy in town."
Luanne shook her head and tried the kitchen door. It was locked. The walked through the house making sure the windows were closed and the lights were turned off.
Her precautions were probably unnecessary. She lived in one of Banshee Creek's most notorious haunted houses and the spectral Victorian teenager who shared the house with them would not let anyone come in. The ghost was a fan of the television series Supernatural and she had learned a few tricks from the show. A few months before a drunk college student tried to break in and ended up tangled up in a homemade demon trap in the yard. Luanne had had a hard time trying to explain that to the local law enforcement authority.
Luckily, the local law enforcement authority happened to be her boyfriend.
Once she was sure everything was locked up, she grabbed two water bottles from the fridge and headed out with her handbag.
Ready or not, here we come.
Sean's black Mustang stood in the driveway, ready to go. Sean was putting the last bag in the trunk. He slammed the door shut and smiled. "Everything fit."
He didn't bother disguising his relief. The Mustang was not known for its cargo capacity.
"See?" Luanne opened the passenger door. "Aren't you glad I'm a light packer?"
Sean smiled as he walked to the driver's side. "It has its upside, yes."
Luanne got into the car, feeling a little re
lieved herself. It seemed the ominous card reading would not affect her and Sean.
At least so far.
She pushed the dark thought out of her mind. She was going on a road trip with her boyfriend. The sun was shining, and she'd be traveling in a nifty sports car. There would be mini donuts along the way and a beach at the end of the journey. She was heading to a gorgeous small town with her favorite person in the universe. She would hang out with her best friends, eat crab cakes and drink margaritas. The sun was shinning and she'd be traveling in a nifty sports car. It didn't get any better than this. She should be ecstatic.
But she still couldn't shake a dreadful feeling of unease.
CHAPTER FOUR
"I BLAME Caine," Sean muttered, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the Mustang. "If it hadn't been for his impromptu fashion makeover, we would have avoided this traffic."
They were stuck in highway 495, surrounded by BMWs and luxury SUVs as Washington DC's lawyers and lobbyists struggled to get out of town for the weekend. Was there anything worse than sitting in a traffic jam while driving a stick shift? His leg was already cramping.
And they would face even more congestion once they reached the Bay Bridge. This was motorist hell.
"I think the rest stop is coming up," Luanne said. "Get on the right lane."
Sean smiled. "Are you using your powers for that?"
"Of course," she answered, with a mischievous grin. "Also, there's a road sign right there."
That response made him laugh. There was, indeed, a sign, and, most importantly, it had a Maryland Mini Donuts logo on it. "We can stop, have dinner, and wait out the traffic jam."
"Perfect," she replied, settling back in the passenger seat. "I don't mean to offend you, but if I have to hear Black Magic Woman one more time, I may do something drastic."
"You don't like my road trip play list?" he asked, feigning disappointment. "I thought you loved Wheel in the Sky."
If she didn't, she did a good job faking it. She knew the lyrics by heart.
"You call three songs a play list?" she asked.