by Anne Bishop
Apparently a Crow’s beak could do what human fingers couldn’t. Aggie had worked out the knots on four of the necklaces and had laid them out on the dresser.
“Thanks.” Maybe Pops Davies would have a jewelry box that would allow me to hang up some of these pieces. Just because I hadn’t noticed something like that at the general store didn’t mean Pops didn’t carry it.
Barely awake and I was already tired and crabby and achy. The to-do list never seemed to get shorter, and if I didn’t get into a routine to handle the day-to-day I would never be able to handle having more than one lodger and provide them with amenities in the main house, to say nothing of providing some kind of cleaning service in the cabins.
But I didn’t have any other lodgers besides Aggie. I didn’t count Conan and Cougar because they weren’t paying me anything to use the primitive cabins. Of course, I wasn’t paying them for whatever they were doing around The Jumble as a trade for the lodgings.
Maybe I should ask what they were doing besides blocking the access road so that people couldn’t just drive up to the main house. Cougar had been around every morning to watch me breathe and decide if I was still alive or now qualified as a snack, but I hadn’t seen Conan except for the story-time evenings. The Bear showed up then in human form, but I had the impression that was the only time he wasn’t seriously furry.
Tired of working, tired of worrying, tired of thinking about why someone who might or might not be Yorick wanted The Jumble enough to cause so much trouble, I grabbed my bathing suit and went into the bathroom to change. Sure, Aggie was a girl, and she was so engrossed in discovering what else might be tangled in my jewelry box it wasn’t likely she would even notice if I changed out of my nightie, but I had a full load of body image issues, so being seen by someone else did matter to me.
I put on the bathing suit, a little surprised that it fit a wee bit better than it had a couple of weeks ago. Pulling on a beach cover-up, I returned to the bedroom and found my sandals next to the bed. I studied the golden-haired pirate on the cover of the romance novel I’d been reading last night. Yep. Could have been Grimshaw’s less trustworthy brother.
So not something I was going to mention to the large police officer who had a gun and handcuffs and already thought I was a pain in his ass. Teasing Grimshaw would be like rolling up a newspaper and whacking Cougar over the head. I would expect the results to be pretty similar.
I packed two beach towels into my big woven bag, along with a bottle of water and a smaller bottle of juice. I also stuffed one of the Alan Wolfgard novels into the bag’s pocket. Then Aggie and I left the house. She flew off and I went down to my private beach.
Some of the shoreline that was part of The Jumble was stony, but a long stretch nearest to the house was sand. I had been meaning to ask if that was typical of the Finger Lakes, but in the end I didn’t care. It was a pleasant place to walk even when the water was too cold for swimming, and I had a feeling someone had done some work to make this beach as nice as it was.
I spread one towel, anchoring it with the woven bag. I put the cover-up in the bag and used the sandals as a second anchor. Then I walked down to the water, letting it wash over my ankles. It was still early enough in summer for the water to be cold, but you could go out a few yards before the gradual slope turned into a steep dropoff, and the shallow water felt more like a refreshingly cool shower. So I waded in up to my knees, then my thighs. Finally I lifted my legs and tipped back into the water, spreading my arms as the water covered everything but my face and my hair floated around my head.
The water felt delicious. Every so often, I kicked my feet and used my hands to steer. Every so often, I righted myself and touched bottom to confirm I hadn’t slipped into deep water. Finally starting to let go of all the various worries, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the water.
Then a hand touched my shoulder, gently pushing it down.
My body turned with the push and I went under. I came up sputtering and scared because I hadn’t heard anyone enter the lake. Planting my feet in the sand, I shoved my hair away from my face and got ready to blast the person who had no business being there. Then I got a good look at her.
From the hips up, she was water, shaped like a human female. I knew she was water because I watched minnows leaping out of her torso, creating little splashes as they returned to the lake. She had a delicate build, slender and sinuous. She had webbing between her fingers. She had dark eyes, but I couldn’t tell if the eyes came from another terra indigene form she could assume or were formed from shadows. Even her hair was water, but it was the color of shale.
“Don’t you like my lake?” If the sound of water murmuring over sand could be shaped into words, that was her voice.
“Yes, I do,” I replied. “It’s a lovely lake.”
“But you remain anchored to the land.” She didn’t seem upset; more curious about my behavior.
“I know how to swim, but I’m not a strong swimmer. Not yet, anyway. So I feel more comfortable swimming the length of the beach and being able to touch bottom rather than swimming into deep water.” I didn’t mention the potential danger of being struck by a rowboat or canoe, or that the deeper water was still too cold for a human to be in for any length of time. She might understand the danger of being struck, but I didn’t think water temperature would mean much to her.
“I’m Vicki.”
“I know. You are the land’s caretaker now.”
I waited but she didn’t offer a name. Maybe she didn’t have one humans could pronounce. Maybe she assumed her identity was obvious.
“Ineke—do you know Ineke?—and I were talking about doing some trail ride beach parties for her boarders and my lodgers. Would it be okay with you if other humans came swimming at this beach?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well . . .” I waved an arm toward the center of the lake, my fingertips trailing in the water. “This is your home. We’re guests.”
She smiled, clearly pleased that I understood. “Your guests will be my guests.” Then she raised a hand and looked stern. “But no motor-things.”
“No motor-things.” Since we were chatting, it was my chance to ask. “Why no motors? Do they spoil the water?”
“Some Elders live in the northern end of the lake, but they hunt the length and breadth of my home. The sound of the motor-things is the sound of both prey and challenger—and the sound annoys them, so they will attack even if they are not hungry.”
Oh golly. “What about the way humans splash around when they’re swimming? Sharks are attracted to that sound because it sounds like a fish in distress. At least, that’s what I’ve read.”
She laughed. “There are no sharks, or Sharkgard, in the Feather Lakes.” She thought for a moment before adding, “The Elders in the lake are smaller than many of the old forms of terra indigene, but they are fast and fierce. However, they do not attack humans who behave as guests—unless those humans enter their home water at the northern end of the lake.”
The Elders in the lake might be smaller, but there was at least one form of terra indigene living in The Jumble that was big enough to pick up a grown man and twist him. How big was the biggest Elder living in the lake? And what were we talking about? Something that looked like an alligator but was big enough that it could ram a motorboat? And what about the smaller ones? Were they dog size? People size? And if they did get hungry, just how fast could a human be consumed?
My brain stuttered. Was that a minnow trying to nibble on my ankle or something else?
I focused on my companion. It was like watching water ebb and flow in a human-shaped container. She watched me as if I was the most entertaining thing she’d seen in quite a while. I wondered if that was true.
“Vicki? Vicki!”
I turned toward the shore. “That’s my friend Ineke. Would you like to meet her?”
“Not tod
ay.” She sank to the waist. Then the human shape rose on a column of water, like one of those leaping game fish. As she reached the apex of the leap and headed down, her shape dissolved until only a spray of sun-sparkled water met the rest of the lake.
I stumbled out of the water, stopping where the wet sand changed to dry—and hot—sand.
“Vicki?” Ineke’s voice sounded worried.
“Here!”
She appeared a minute later. “I thought you might be cooling off. It’s a good day for it, and . . . Gods! What happened?” She led me to the towel, dug in my bag, and opened the bottle of juice. “Drink some of this. You’re white as a sheet.”
“I just met the Lady of the Lake.”
Ineke stared at me. “What’s she like?”
“Watery. And quite nice.” I drank some of the juice. “She has no objections to our beach days as long as we give her home the same care and respect as our own.”
Ineke took the juice and drank some before giving the bottle back to me. “Sounds fair.”
I leaned toward her. “She said Elders live in the lake. Their home is the northern end of Lake Silence, but they hunt in and along the whole of the lake, and they’re the ones who don’t like things with motors.”
“Then we should be safe enough.” She eyed me. “Right?”
“Right.” But the next time I went to Lettuce Reed, I was going to see what books Julian had about alligators and ancient freshwater predators. Just in case.
CHAPTER 34
Grimshaw
Sunsday, Juin 20
Pulling into the truck stop, Grimshaw parked next to the other police car and sat for a minute. He still worked for Captain Hargreaves, was still on the Bristol payroll as a highway patrol officer since his stint in Sproing was a temporary assignment. So he had to wonder why he wasn’t being asked to report to the Bristol Police Station instead of his captain going off the clock to meet him here—because he was sure Hargreaves had taken personal time instead of officially meeting one of his officers.
Grimshaw slid into one side of the booth and set his hat and a manila envelope on the seat. “Captain.”
“This . . .”
Hargreaves broke off and smiled at the waitress who hustled up to their table. He ordered the steak sandwich special and iced coffee. Grimshaw ordered the same to save time.
“This should have been an easy assignment,” Hargreaves said. “A human killed by one of the terra indigene? It’s unfortunate, but everything points to the man being seen as an intruder.”
“Should have been easy, but that death turned over a rock and a lot of nastiness has crawled out.” Grimshaw picked up the envelope and slid it across the table. “My report. Didn’t want to send it by e-mail.”
While Hargreaves read the report, Grimshaw stared out the window. Vicki DeVine should be safe in The Jumble. A sharpshooter might set up across the lake or on the water and try for her when she went for a swim, but it would be a suicide mission because he didn’t think anyone could get away fast enough once the shot was fired. But Julian? Someone could walk into Lettuce Reed and open fire. If the attack was timed right, he and Osgood wouldn’t be nearby, and no one else would take on an armed man.
No one human, anyway.
Hargreaves tucked the report back in the envelope and set the envelope under his own hat. “I heard that Swinn is taking personal time. So is Reynolds.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they can spend time in Sproing without having to explain themselves to their own captain.”
“If they break the law, I’ll toss their asses in a cell until you can arrange for them to be transferred to the Bristol lockup.”
Hargreaves smiled again when the waitress brought their meals. The smile faded as soon as she walked away. “It was easy enough to request Swinn’s and Reynolds’s transcripts from the police academy. Both men attended the academy in Hubbney, but not at the same time; there is almost a decade between them in age. Finding out about the other men . . .” Shrugging, he picked up his sandwich and took a big bite.
“If this does have its roots in some kind of club or organization that these men joined while they were at school, there’s no way to tell if you’re asking for help from someone who might be part of the scheme,” Grimshaw said. The steak sandwich looked good, but he didn’t have much appetite.
“I made a roundabout inquiry into the other men—where they went to school, that sort of thing,” Hargreaves said. “The request will reach an agent in the governor’s Investigative Task Force.”
“Who might have a special tie clip.”
“Doubt it. The agent is Governor Hannigan’s nephew and is trusted by the terra indigene. If anyone can make inquiries without sounding any alarms, it’s him. In the meantime . . .”
“I’ll maintain order in a town that is so small its main street doesn’t have a single stoplight and yet has been as much trouble as a tavern brawl on a Watersday night.” Grimshaw bit into his sandwich. Which would be worse: being responsible for a friend’s survival and possibly failing or someday picking up a newspaper and reading about Julian Farrow’s murder?
No contest. Being nearby was the only way to succeed.
Hargreaves drank half his iced coffee. “I’ll apologize for sticking you with this assignment if that makes you feel better. But, Wayne? Consider what might be happening in Sproing right now if someone connected to Swinn and the rest of them had answered that call for assistance instead of you.”
CHAPTER 35
Them
Sunsday, Juin 20
Useless, incompetent dickheads. How could so many of them screw up something so easy and get killed on top of it?
“The bitch is still there, still in control of our asset,” he told the other three men. He didn’t look at the dick his cousin had married—the fool who had tossed the property away in the first place. Once they had control of the property, he would find a way to cut the asshole out of the deal. And wouldn’t his cousin bust the fool’s balls over that?
Served her right for not choosing someone who was top tier.
“What are we going to do?” the oldest man asked.
“What we should have done in the first place.” He smiled. “Take care of it ourselves.”
CHAPTER 36
Vicki
Watersday, Juin 24
It rained for two days. All the green things needed the rain, and even the rain barrels that collected water from the downspouts had been close to empty. So while I didn’t complain—not out loud, anyway—the initial storm taught me how isolated I would have been at the main house if I’d been on my own. Which I wasn’t, but I can’t say with any honesty that wet Panther or wet Bear smells any better than wet dog.
When the storm rolled in across the lake on Thaisday evening, I’d been at the renovated cabins, giving the two unoccupied ones a quick dust and vacuum and helping Aggie change the sheets on her bed. We gathered up the sheets and towels and stuffed them into large carry sacks. Then I saw the flash of lightning and heard the boom of thunder.
We went out on Aggie’s porch.
“The Elementals are playing,” Aggie said. She stepped closer to me. “Or they’re angry about something.”
Flash. Boom.
“What makes you think the Elementals are doing this? It’s just a storm.”
“Thunder and Lightning are running together.”
Flash. Boom!
Aggie looked toward Silence Lodge, which was hidden behind a wall of rain making its way across the mile-wide lake. “And Ilya Sanguinati says if you don’t leave for your house now, you should plan to stay in the cabins here until the storm quiets.”
“How long will that take?”
She shrugged.
There wasn’t any food in the unoccupied cabins, and I wasn’t sure if Aggie had anything stored—or if
what she had was something I, being human, would want to eat for any reason short of desperation.
Flash. Boom. That spear of lightning struck the lake.
“I’m going to make a run for it.” I looked at Aggie, who carefully didn’t look at me. Where were her kin? Would they join her here to huddle on the porch, somewhat protected from the weather? Or did they already have their own shelters? “If you want to come with me, stuff a couple of changes of clothes in a bag, and do it fast. And remember to bring your toothbrush,” I shouted when she dashed into the cabin.
The storm seemed to stall over the lake for a few minutes—long enough for Aggie to pack and make sure the cabin’s windows were closed. She didn’t lock the door, and I didn’t comment. After all, if she wanted to let her kin have use of the cabin during the storm, I wasn’t going to be mean about it.
I had left the door of the screened porch unlatched, and I was glad because someone had kept the storm on a tight rein just long enough for us to reach the porch. Then it came thundering over The Jumble.
I unlocked the kitchen door and dumped the carry sacks. “Close the windows,” I said as I ran around the house doing exactly that. Not fast enough in some cases—the wind scattered papers in my office, knocked over a lamp in another room, and soaked the curtains in a couple of rooms.
Breathless, I ran back to the kitchen and pulled out the sheets and towels, handing the hand towel and facecloth to Aggie. “These need to be washed anyway, so let’s use them to wipe up any water on the windowsills and floor.”
She didn’t ask questions, didn’t indicate if this was a familiar human behavior or a new experience.
Flash! BOOM!
The weatherman on the TV news had talked about a storm coming in from the west that could be fierce enough to cause some flooding and close roads. Viewers had been warned to have emergency lanterns and food for a couple of days in case they were cut off from nearby towns. I had assumed the warning was for the farmers and vintners, but I suddenly realized the warning was also meant for someone like me. And I was glad that Aggie had chosen to join me at the main house.