Box Set: The Fearless 1-3

by Terry Maggert

  “Dieter, brother, how are you?” said a warm feminine voice. He felt his fear allay, but only slightly.

  “Fine, Stacia. I thought you had gone into hiding after the unpleasant interlude of the past year.” He kept his tone as neutral as possible, not knowing what her intention might be.

  “That is not entirely incorrect. I spent time at that dreadful fishing village after carrying out a task for our mother, but found it simply intolerable after the second winter storm blew through. I’ve made my way elsewhere,” she said, pointedly revealing nothing, “and it comes to mind that we might begin our official post mortem of mother’s things. Especially given the aggressive nature of her competitors, you might say.” Stacia finished with a ringing laugh, knowing that Dieter was well aware of the target upon him from being the steward for so much wealth.

  He cleared his throat. “There is that to consider. I frankly want nothing to do with her belongings, save a single piece of jewelry, for my part. You may have whatever you wish, as long as I am not associated with the items or property in any way.”

  “The horse necklace? You’ve treasured that since boyhood. Yes, I can see how that would catch your eye. I agree that a discrete approach is best, but I’m more concerned with her holdings in the Americas. The houses in New Orleans, the Argentine land, things of that nature. Those are a bit more difficult to separate from their provenance,” Stacia said, her statement marking her as an astute judge of risk.

  “There are nearly three hundred pieces of jewelry here. You may have all, save the one,” he began tersely, “but the property is something you will have to sort on your own. I will provide you with any documentation necessary to prove your ownership, but I’ll not step foot near them, nor will I allow our holdings company to be involved in the transfer or monetization of anything whatsoever.” He wouldn’t so much as breathe in the vicinity of those places, aware that powerful beings might take a sudden interest in a mere human who dared to interfere in the business of the Undying.

  “Fine.” Stacia pouted. “Will you at least forward what I need to the Fort Lauderdale property? I have something in mind, and I’m going to use that as my base until I can formulate a plan on where to spend the next decade or two.”

  “You know of that home?” Shock registered in his otherwise complacent voice. He had purchased a small, unremarkable house for potential use in the event that Elizabeth deemed New Orleans too visible for her work. Apparently, Elizabeth’s mistakes were more numerous than he imagined. Not that it mattered. She was beyond reaching him now.

  “I will, but not the jewelry. That is not to be shipped. You may pick it up here at your convenience, but do not delay very long. Should it be more than one week, I will forward the documents to New Orleans.” He wished to be free of his past, and could not wait on the whims of Stacia, who would doubtless take her time feeding and cavorting in Florida. “Oh, and Stacia?”

  “Yes?” Her voice was sweet and light. She was pleased with her victory.

  “If you approach my business or home before announcing your arrival, I’ll spike your heart.” With that, he hung up the phone.

  34

  From Risa’s Files

  To: Chanticleers@REDACTED

  Sender: RRW@HardiganCenter.net

  Hi Boots and Ella,

  Don’t be alarmed, it was really only a matter of time before we discovered your identities.

  Before we continue, rest assured that we aren’t interested in exposing your past, or your location. In point of fact, we won’t do anything that might assist Undying in harming you. With that in mind, there are some concerns to address regarding your contact with us.

  1) You believe that a dangerous immortal has some reason to seek us out. What’s the source of your information?

  2) Why won’t you confront this being on your own?

  3) Why did you consider us to be in danger if you are aware of our history? If you have knowledge of Elizabeth’s end, does that mean that you have a benchmark to compare the two creatures?

  4) Are you willing to meet with us? If so, is one week from today acceptable?

  These are the most basic questions that we will ask for now, but there are numerous issues to be discussed, and when dealing with humans, we prefer to know our “partners”. It’s a dangerous place out there, as we are sure you know.

  One more thing. If you two are so concerned with secrecy, how did you allow a non-human to gain access to your business, your computer files, and most importantly, your family? If the two of you are on your own, so to speak, it doesn’t look good that someone could easily pierce your so-called defenses without more effort than red lipstick and a smile.

  Why would we want help from family that do not speak to each other?

  35

  Virginia

  “You fucked an immortal? You brought an immortal in here, and gave her the password to the secret shit we know could get us killed? You are the biggest asshole on the planet, Boots!” Ella screamed, hurling a life vest at her brother, who stood, blinking and silent. He remained immovable for a long beat, and then quietly went to his desk and sat down.

  “Are you done?” He grated. This was an entirely new tone for Boots, who had largely chosen not to fight with Ella since the day their parents died. It was his trick, his code, his key to survival, and it had withstood her blackest moods and most toxic outbursts. Until now.

  She stared at him, open mouthed, and before she could speak, he held up a finger of warning. He stood up from his chair with a violent jerk, and it crashed over behind him. He didn’t twitch, and the peaceable, mild brother Ella had known vanished in a fleeting instant.

  “I did not bring an immortal in here. If you’ll recall, you hired her. Not me. You hired her to do work that we were both tired of. Hired her just like the twenty other kids who blow through here every year on their way to something bigger and better. You did. Understand?” His eyes bored into her and she recoiled. “So don’t you ever speak to me that way again, because I’m all you have left. You’ve run off everyone who has ever cared enough to punch through that bullshit exterior of yours, and you’ll continue to do so because you like having our house feel like a fucking tomb. You revel in it, and you want everyone to know just how miserable you are, and if it wasn’t for me glad-handing everyone you piss off, then we’d be starving to death from lack of business. I’m the nice guy, the one that people ask for, the one who makes sure that we don’t look like a fucking tourist trap and sell people a bad day on the water just because you didn’t feel like opening your mouth to say ‘thank you’ once in an entire week.”

  He opened a can of soda, stared at it blankly, then placed it carefully on the counter. He licked his lips and pushed the lock of hair from his forehead, a gesture he’d done since childhood that meant he was getting ready to deliver bad news.

  Ella stood her ground but internally wondered how much worse the conversation could get. “They were my parents first. I’m older. You came along last, got it? I welcomed you, we all did, and for years it was okay, but then you got it in your head that the river was beneath you and you started acting like your were a fucking empress surveying land that she hated, even though it kept her in silk gowns. Were we ever hungry? Were we ever unloved?” He waited, but she said nothing.

  “No, we had a life to envy. But at some point, you made your mind up that we were all hicks and only you could see the truth of our lives, only you could see that we were too stupid to know we were trash. But you were wrong. You were dead wrong then, and you’re dead wrong now. Their death didn’t happen to you, Ella, it happened to all of us. You don’t own it. It’s ours. And now, you tell me that I’m a traitor without even asking me a single question? Screaming at me, that’s your solution?”

  Ella looked away, her eyes bright. She didn’t know what to say, but every dart Boots threw was landing, and they drew blood that had never before seen the light of truth. The tears fell freely now, and her shoulders collapsed with the weight of
her own catharsis.

  Boots went on, but softer. He wasn’t interested in a pound of flesh.

  “Do you know the last time I had a date? Not a girlfriend, but a date?” he asked, gently.

  She shook her head, but she knew where he was leading her, and a flash of anger danced across her eyes. “That’s not my fault, Boots.”

  “No, it isn’t,” he admitted, “but it is your fault to condemn me for wanting to have a life.”

  That hung in the space between them, and he went to her, leaning back on the counter worn smooth with the years of so many people doing the same thing. “I didn’t give her the password, Ella. She guessed it. I’m sure, because we’re complacent. We used the same words, over and over, and we don’t take good care of the space around us. We’re sloppy. That’s why I don’t think Kasey was a—well, a bad immortal, or a killer. I think there was something else, I don’t know what, but if she could get that close to us, why didn’t she just kill us? She could’ve killed me easily, you know.”

  “Gross.” Ella pushed him in mock anger. “I don’t want to think about you being naked and vulnerable.”

  Boots laughed, but corrected her. “I wasn’t naked. I was vulnerable, though. She was the first pretty girl I’d talked to in three years. I felt like I stopped being a person when I mom and dad died. I’ve been lonely. I miss my family, and I miss being normal, not some weirdo half-assed hunter who rents canoes for a living. I just wanted to feel like I was something other than . . . this, I guess.” His wave encompassed the entire store, and she nodded sympathetically. She felt the same way, but buried it under so much vitriol, that her sadness couldn’t get free. That suppression almost cost her everything, but that didn’t discount the fact that there was actual danger from dealing with immortals.

  “What do you think she wanted, then?” Ella wondered.

  That wasn’t apparent. Boots recalled the early days after they first ventured to the river with the long, fine monofilament gillnets, and the unreal sensation of pulling something, flopping and cursing, from the river. Seeing it was a human, naked and wild—that didn’t mean it hadn’t felt like murder when he’d emptied the clip of his father’s Browning 1911 into the naked chest and let them drift from the net. Dead, it looked exactly like a person, and he shuddered, thinking of the five times since that he’d pulled the trigger again, Ella urging him on, hate in her eyes as she rolled the corpse downriver, never to be seen again.

  Six kills, and never a question. No corpses were ever found, no newspaper headlines screaming about a serial killer. Silence. That was the part of their life that wore on him, an albatross that never stopped pulling him down to the river bank to look, and wonder, and fear anew with each high rain that roiled the waters and brought secrets to the surface. All the things that wanted to stay hidden would be brought to light, except theirs. How had that happened? What became of the bodies? His questions would continue to linger. The river kept some secrets well.

  “She must be in Florida,” Ella stated, flatly. Her anger had cooled and as the adrenaline left her body, she became subdued, even reasonable.

  “Yes, that seems likely, but we don’t know why. We also have a week to think, or plan for something, although I don’t really see what our options are. We’re exposed, but this . . . revelation, about Kasey; it just means that we’ve been exposed for a lot longer than one week,” he reasoned.

  Ella nodded. “What’s next?” There wasn’t much else to think about. The business could run itself as long as they did their jobs, and it wasn’t high water season, so there wouldn’t be anything hectic to deal with.

  Boots exhaled, long and slow. “I guess we get ready for company, and hope that it’s nothing we can’t handle.” He shrugged and put a forgiving arm around his sister to bring closure to the fight. She frowned, but didn’t remove his arm. And for a moment, it seemed like they were okay, and that was good enough for both of them.

  36

  Florida

  Seeing Scarlett vault out of the water to sit on our dock was one of the more unusual things that I had come to consider normal, but over the next two days, she did just that, coming and going while she explored, napped in her hotel room, or swam to relieve boredom. She really was an extraordinary woman, almost childlike in her enthusiasm for the water, and utterly relentless when she actually dove in and began moving her limbs.

  “Are you sure you’re not an immortal?” I asked, handing her a glass of orange juice. I’d learned she was absolutely enchanted with deli food, so we were heading for lunch. Her method of arrival was surreal, but after the her body exploded out of the water yet again, I realized I was more or less inured to the general weirdness of her existence. Who was I to deem anyone less than normal?

  “Nope.” She took a massive gulp of the juice and smacked her mouth appreciatively. Her vivid red lips broke into a wide smile. “I might be aging a bit slowly, but it could also be all the cardio.” She had a point.

  We walked inside and Risa was already sorting clothing for her, holding up a small hand to forestall any protest. They were getting good at pretending that Scarlett didn’t need dry clothes, and Risa didn’t want to loan them. I think secretly Risa was thrilled to have a female around who could wear her size without mocking every pair of pants as being too short. They were size sisters, and it seemed to make Scarlett’s acceptance into our household a much smoother transition than I had anticipated. Her time here was, in effect, one long debriefing about what she knew, where she’d been, and what she had learned from Boots and Ella. As it turned out, simple question and answer methods made Scarlett shy and reticent, so we decided the soft sell was in order. If that involved my springing for a few pastrami sandwiches, so be it.

  Wally jangled her way down the hall, keys in hand, and gave Scarlett a warm hello. “We are going to the deli today? I must have an entire bowl of pickles.”

  Risa rolled her eyes, but Scarlett seemed genuinely alarmed.

  “What’s the matter? She’ll share, if you really want pickles,” I reassured her with a laugh.

  Scarlett hesitantly said, “I’m not worried about the pickles. It’s the car keys. Sorry, Wally.” She grimaced in apology and Risa whooped with laughter. Scarlett was a fast learner; it had only taken one ride in traffic with Wally to become truly afraid of her explosive temper, wild lane changes and never-ending variety of threatening gestures. I took my keys from their hook near the door and put the matter to rest.

  Wally smiled. “They have it coming to them when they get in my way. They drive like babies, wondering if they should change lanes or slow down or speed up. It is enough that they make me late to the movies.”

  “That was once, six years ago,” Risa added, drily.

  “Well I do not care. But if Ring is driving, then I am putting my foot out the window, and you cannot say no,” Wally announced, as we said goodbye to Gyro and locked the door.

  “Fine. Just keep it out the way of tree limbs. Unlike being late to the movie, hitting something with your foot sticking out of a moving vehicle has happened more than once,” I warned, but she was too busy in the back seat, hatching some conspiracy with Scarlett.

  They were both rather devious in their own unique way, and made craftier by addition. Risa rode up front with me and smirked. I felt vaguely outnumbered.

  Wally sulked. “I cannot help it if I have wonderful long legs. You certainly don’t seem to mind them. Nor does Risa.” Addressing Scarlett, Wally gloated, “She rubs my legs and sighs like a baby. She really wishes to be taller, you know.”

  Risa moved the rear view mirror and delivered a stink eye, which Wally cheerfully ignored, wiggling her toes instead.

  Scarlett sighed in commiseration with Risa. “I’ve been this height since eighth grade. It doesn’t look like I’ll be wearing Wally’s pants anytime soon.”

  “Of course not, silly,” Wally said in a laugh. “But truthfully, you do not wear pants at all, fish girl.” She punctuated her comment by flapping her hands like
fins, and Scarlett grimaced.

  “I don’t swim like that. For a short girl, I’m quite graceful. And fast, too!” she boasted, but it had to be true. For all we knew, she swam the length of the Mississippi without much trouble.

  “Do you ever fly?” I asked, distracted by our arrival at the deli. I turned the wheel and parked.

  Scarlett looked at me oddly. “I won’t bore you with a joke about me not having wings, but I understand what you’re asking. I fly, take trains, things like that. I travel quite normally when I feel like it. It’s just a matter of preference.” She shrugged as if incapable of making me understand her passion, but I think we all did. It was discomforting to know a human with so many immortal qualities, but then I reminded myself yet again of the pot and the kettle and we slid into our booth without further discussion of Scarlett’s mobility preferences.

  Our waitress approached and glowered at us momentarily, until she reached in her apron and withdrew a pair of incredibly thick glasses. They belonged in the stained glass window of a gothic church, and magnified her eyes so that she looked perpetually shocked. Her name tag read, “Toot Toot”, and her flame red hair was pulled into a bun so tight it could deflect a bullet.

  She smiled widely and said, “Who’s first?”

  We ordered efficiently, having an innate respect for the service industry, since we had all, at one time or another, worked in it. I was pleased to find that Scarlett matched our style and pitch perfectly, as she jumped right in and said, “Roast beef on white with the sharpest cheese you’ve got, and enough mayo to kill a horse.” Toot nodded sagely and moved on.

  “Reuben,” I said, to be echoed by Risa, who violated all table decorum by duplicating my order, which negated the possibility of sharing, but after further examination was found acceptable due to the cuisine—sandwiches aren’t conducive to bite sharing, after all—and then we arrived at Wally.