Storm Crazy

by Livia Quinn

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot at the community college and saw the SOAPs standing outside waiting for me. We met formally once a month, and February’s activity had been selected by Bailey, a two-night workshop on social media at the local community college. I promised Montana I’d pretend enthusiasm even though learning how to Squawk or use Snapchat was way down on my list. Like holding up the bottom.

  I felt better after a group hug and warm smiles from Aurora, Montana, Mariah, Shannon and Bailey, five of my six Paramortal sisters. SOAP stands for Sisters of the Astral Plane. We let the mere-mortals think we’re daytime TV fans.

  I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a class when my world was nuts. Montana slipped in beside me and turned her computer on.

  The florescent lights apparently did nothing for my complexion because Montana remarked on it, “Tempe, you should take tomorrow off. You look like you were the corpse instead of finding one.”

  “I’m starting to feel like it, too. I got a sub for tomorrow, which is just going to give my boss more ammunition against me.” Six computers were set up around each of two large tables, but we had pulled some chairs close together taking advantage of the minutes before class started.

  Montana said, “I filled the girls in yesterday evening about River, and Six Packs.” She winked. “Anything new?”

  “Now that you ask…is it my imagination or am I not having more trouble with the opposite sex?”

  Montana held up her index finger and thumb an inch apart. “It did seem as if Mr. Jackson and Dick Randall were focused on you more than usual.”

  Bailey said, “Billy Huber was in the DMV today and he said he heard you were stealing the contents of your packages and selling them on eBay.”

  Bailey Duplessis sat on the other side of me. She was a petite blonde with green eyes who worked at the DMV during the day and after hours at Bons Amis as a waitress. If you met her on her night job you probably wouldn’t realize you were talking to the same person you got your tag from. She’s a chameleon. No, she’s actually a chameleon. It’s her supernatural nature. People describe her as quirky, but I think what they’re really seeing is her dual personality.

  Mariah said, “And I heard you broke into the golf club to get some of those expensive clubs to pawn because you’re running short of money for the Voracious Monster.”

  I just stared. “Where do people get this stuff?”

  Montana said, “Well, here’s some good news. The guy with the coroner’s office told me he stuck the body—”

  “What?” Three voices sounded simultaneously.

  Montana explained, “This is not for public consumption: SOAPs only. The sheriff called the coroner and asked him to get a body temperature on the victim so he could get an idea of TOD. That’s ‘time of death’,” she clarified.

  Aurora asked, “Why wouldn’t he just wait for the autopsy?”

  I sat back, thinking about that. “The sheriff was probably trying to get an idea if he should let me go, or arrest me.”

  “For what?” Bailey’s eyes widened. “Killing that man?”

  Montana tapped Bailey’s hand. “Shush, Bailey.” She turned back to me. “Well, if what Bobby, the coroner’s man told me is correct, he was killed around noon. You were delivering the mail right?”

  I nodded and couldn’t help but smile. “If that’s true, Sheriff Lang can’t arrest me. He’s my alibi.”

  We all laughed except Aurora, who just eye smiled.

  “But I forgot to tell you that I had two visits from Marty yesterday.”

  “What!” Montana exclaimed. “How could you forget that? That Imp never shows up unless something’s fixin’ to go down.”

  “See what I mean about crazy males? And that’s not all. I, uh—” As close as I was to these women, I still hesitated, and maybe I shouldn’t go there. The group scooted their chairs closer. I exhaled, shaking my head and felt Bailey’s hand patting my knee.

  “Goddess, Tempe.” Montana’s finger quit its impatient tapping. “Class is about to start. Spill it.”

  “It seems silly to mention, but every time I turn around, half a dozen times yesterday, I’m either crying, mad or thinking about zapping somebody. It’s like the Grandmother of PMSs.”

  Shannon said, “You poor thing. You’ve been under a lot of stress.”

  Bailey squealed, “Oh my God, you’re pregnant.”

  The rest of the SOAPs gave a collective, “Ssshhhh” and after an inquisitive stare or two, the other students resumed their conversations.

  I rolled my eyes and they landed on Montana. She gave me a cynical smile, “Happens to the best of ‘em.”

  “Well, in my case there’d have to be a Star in the East.”

  Everyone laughed, everyone but Aurora whose expression was pensive. Her gaze centered on mine. “It’s the quickening,” she said quietly.

  No one spoke, just looked from her to me and back. Did that mean they agreed, they felt sorry for me, or they were thinking, “She told you so.”

  Montana said, “It’s time, Tempe. I never have understood why you—”

  Aurora stopped her with a raised hand. “We’ll talk about this later, Montana. Tempe, can you drop by the shop tomorrow?”

  “I’ll try. I have to go by the Sheriff’s Office and fill out a missing person’s report on River.” I swallowed. “And after I’m done, I want to drop in on Mr. Jackson.”

  Montana swept her long black hair away from her face. “He’ll be back at home harassing you in no time.”

  “Oh, good.” They chuckled.

  “Isn’t he that retired mail carrier? What was his problem this time?” Bailey asked.

  Aurora said matter of factly, “It’s the approaching Chaos…What did the sheriff think?”

  “He’s dovelo; he just thinks I’m a kook magnet.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say you’re a magnet,” came the familiar baritone voice. I heard the sighs of the women in the room as we turned to see the broad shouldered form of Jack Lang.

  “Ladies,” he nodded his head at each of them, hat in his hand. The face that had stopped me in my tracks thirty-six hours ago covered in shaving cream, was now covered with a layer of bronze beard stubble, giving him a rakish, uncivilized look. Adventurous. Dangerous. “What’s a ‘da velo?’” His gaze focused on me, as the teacher announced the start of class. Five sets of eyes turned toward him and five sets of feet kicked me in the shins in an under-the-table high five.

  “So that’s Six Packs,” Shannon waggled her eyebrows.

  Mariah muttered, “Come to mama.”

  Chapter 19

  She had her own version of The Eye.

  * * *

  Jack

  The women in the class stared at me, the room going as quiet as the desert at midnight. I looked down at my shirt to see if I’d spilled my coffee, or left my fly open. The tall one, Montana, the EMT, looked like the warrior princess from the TV series, her squinty-eyed focus projecting a warning, “You mess with my friends, you answer to me.” It was unsettling.

  I did a double take when Tempe introduced me to Bailey. At the DMV, she’d looked like a young Amish girl in her sedate boxy grey top and long jeans skirt, her hair in a tight knot. The young woman in front of me, with her artfully mussed hair, tight black jeans and a hot pink off the shoulder shirt showing a good bit of cleavage, could have been her party twin.

  “Sheriff Lang, you may take any of the available computer stations,” the teacher said. “I’ll just be a few more minutes getting the video presentation set up.”

  “Call me Jack,” I said, nodding to each of the students in the class. Suddenly, there was a seat available next to Tempe, and I gravitated to it. The woman who’d vacated the seat held out her hand to me.

  “I’m Aurora Boreal, I own the boutique downtown. We met at the civic association meeting.”

  “I remember, Ms. Boreal,” I said, returning her firm handshake and getting the urge to tug
my hand back when she held it just a tad longer than most people while she studied my face. She had her own version of The Eye. For the first time since boot camp I felt like squirming in my seat.

  Tempe said, “Aurora is the. . . President of our group.”

  “I’ve heard of your uh, group—the SOAPs, right?” I studied Aurora Boreal. She was dressed in a gypsy-looking outfit of grays and pinks, and looked like the leader of an artists’ community. Her hair was streaked black and silver, and dangling from a braid above one ear was a buzzard feather, glinting like a rainbow in the harsh florescent lighting. Around her neck hung an amulet in some kind of studded Celtic design. She didn’t strike me as a soap opera lover. “I appreciate your help with my campaign and the voter registration drive.”

  Aurora nodded, “We were happy to lend our support, Sheriff. It was time for a change. Do you have any leads on the murder at the clubhouse?”

  Straight to the point, with a little reminder about who gets things accomplished in the parish? “It’s early yet. We’re still investigating and interviewing suspects.”

  Aurora looked at Tempe, then at me. “Tempe had nothing to do with it.”

  From someone else that comment might have elicited my investigative instincts, but despite their eccentricities, I didn’t get the feeling these women were involved. Did they know what Tempe was holding back? I looked at their savvy interested faces. Definitely.

  I looked at Tempe and said, “She hasn’t been charged with anything.”

  “Yet,” Tempe said under her breath. “Aurora, let the—Jack sit down, we’re holding up class.”

  With a look that said she wasn’t finished with me yet, Aurora slipped into a chair at the other table, and I sat down on the chair next to Tempe.

  “Heard anything from your brother?” I whispered.

  “No. Did you get Peggy to make inquiries like you promised?”

  “Yes. Nothing yet.” I opened my booklet to the first page. “Your friends are quite—”

  “Supportive,” she supplied before I could choose any other adjectives.

  “That wasn’t what I was going for. Eclectic? Offbeat?”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Her smile gave me that edgy feeling for the third time since I’d arrived.

  My cell phone rang with the ME’s number on the ID. I excused myself to walk out into the hallway. The only class in session was the social media class, the rest of the rooms dark. I walked around the corner to the rest rooms so I couldn’t be overheard and dialed the Medical Examiner.

  Less than two minutes later, I ducked my head back into the classroom and made my apologies. Tempe leaped from her chair and came after me as I walked down the corridor to the double doors leading to the parking lot. I heard her running after me down the sidewalk but ignored her until she called out, “Jack, wait.”

  I turned at my vehicle, shaking my keys impatiently. “I have to go, Tempe.” I unlocked the SUV.

  “What is it? Is it River?” She grabbed my arm halting my progress, “Jack, please.” Her voice rose in fear, making me feel like a hard-hearted bastard.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t discuss it with you.”

  She stood there under the lamplight as I drove away. I wanted to tell her about the call, but I hadn’t officially cleared her of any involvement.

  The call was from the coroner saying I should get to his office immediately. He sounded shaken.

  Tempe

  SOAPs night was always followed by drinks at Bons Amis. Aurora had begged off, however.

  I arrived first. The dark haired bartender delivered a drink to a customer a few feet to my right and said, “Tempe, what’s shakin’, Lass? Was the newspaper right then? You found that body?” The Ireland in his voice was soft but distinct.

  “I did, Liam.”

  Without asking he placed a frosty mug with my favorite tonic water and lime in front of me. If it’s news, there are two places you can find it first, Bons Amis and Jane Fortune.

  I started to ask him if he’d seen River, but then the customer next to me turned around and smirked at me. It was Fritz.

  “Well, if it isn’t Tempest,” he spat.

  Sounded like somebody had received a reprimand from his supervisor.

  Fritz is about as unappealing physically as his personality is offensive. His belly overflows his belt to the point that he can barely reach the pedal in his mail truck—or so I’ve been told. And even in the dimly lit bar you could see the broken veins on his nose and blotches across his cheeks from his excesses. Then there was the mean expression always visible in his beady black eyes. Sometimes I wondered if he was a variant, but menori says no. Just the worst kind of human.

  “Liam, who let the Toad in? You should cut him off before he makes a bigger fool of himself, or tries to harass one of your customers and gets his ass kicked.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Fritz’ squinty eyes flared as he rose from his stool, “and who’s going to kick it? You, little Miss tattle-tale? Couldn’t handle me on your own, so you went running to the boss.”

  “Oh, I can handle it, Fritz, but I wouldn’t want to hurt you, so think of it as taking your well being into consideration. If you keep on the way you’re going, harassing the women in this town, you’re going to wind up hurt.” I probably sounded calm—I was working hard at it—but menori was stirring the syntaxes of my nervous system and it was taking everything I had to tamp them down.

  “You all heard that. She threatened me,” he called out to the crowd.

  A few of the patrons rolled their eyes, most just ignored him. Liam responded by pulling Fritz’s beer out of his hand, upending it over the sink and pouring out the remainder. “Since ye’re finished with yer ale, you should leave. That one, ’twas on the house.” Liam’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his hand rested on the baseball bat at the end of the counter. Though I didn’t think Liam needed a bat.

  “You can’t throw me out.” Fritz turned toward Liam and pointed his thumb at me over his shoulder. “She threatened me.”

  “That’s not what I heard, me boyo,” Liam said as his fingers tapped the bat. “Now, are you fer leavin’ on your own two feet or bein’ carried?”

  Fritz looked at me, his lip curled in a snarl. “You haven’t heard the last of this, bitch—“

  “Now that sounded like a threat, Fritz.” I looked at Liam. “Didn’t that sound like a threat, Liam?”

  “It did, lass. Out, Fritz, and stay out. The Wasted Turtle down by the levee is more your style.”

  The Wasted Turtle was the dive where the less civilized rednecks went; shootings and knife fights were regular occurrences. A coworker told me she’d been offered a gig singing with the band there, but her husband nixed it. He said there were too many brawls. When she asked one of the band members about it, he’d shrugged it off saying, the fights were “only in the audience.”

  Coincidentally, it was also the bar where River had been seen leaving on Sunday night and that I couldn’t reconcile with my brother’s lifestyle.

  “Better watch it over there, Fritz, turtles are crazy for toads,” I said.

  This man never listened to reason, thinking himself above the merest rules of conduct, so I wasn’t surprised when he turned his back on Liam and grabbed my breast as he got down from his stool.

  Pain and rage splintered my control as I saw red. No, I actually saw red. An unfamiliar burgeoning force inside me zinged from my core, through my blood vessels, exploding from each nerve, ending in a shatter of bright red sparks. They shimmered around me. The Toad stiffened as the charge connected. I planted my knee in his groin to cover the real cause of his distress.

  With an indelicate wheeze he went to his knees. Liam grabbed him by the elbow and helped him up. “It’s no more than you deserve, Fritz.” He pushed him through the front door and warned, “Don’t come back in m’ bar or ye’ll be sorry.”

  Chapter 20

  Ah’ve seen my share of the odd, I have. Fashioned some of me own, if ya’
ken.

  * * *

  Tempe

  The mist of red was dissipating by the time Liam returned, concern on his face. “Did he hurt ‘ya, dearling?” When he tried to put his hand on my shoulder, I felt the coalescence of energy just before it shot across the bar and latched onto his hand. He jumped back. “What the hel—”

  “Shoo—I’m so sorry, Liam. It’s this static electricity.”

  “There’s no need ta’ lie, Tempe. Ah’ve seen my share of the odd, I have. Fashioned some of me own, if ya’ ken,” he said, a reminder to me of his own nature.

  Churichauns are distant cousins to the Leprechaun. They are the introverts of the clan, with one distinguishing trait—they’re the gatekeepers of the spirits—alcoholic spirits. In the old country, they guarded the wine cellars and casks of whiskey, while their more progressive descendants of the twenty-first century prefer tending bar or working in a wealthy man’s wine cellar.

  Liam is a Churichaun vampire, bitten back in the eighteenth century by his employer after sampling some of the vamp’s rare wine and falling asleep on the job. It’s one of the reasons he tends bar. It’s a test of his control. And then there’s the need to work nights. He doesn’t go around after the bar closes and suck neck or anything. The blood thing apparently isn’t an issue for him, but light is.

  Electricity was the closest I could come to explaining what had just happened. “I wasn’t exactly lying, Liam. My frustration toward Fritz put a little extra zip in my zap. Did you…see anything?” Maybe the shimmering red cloud that had obscured my vision hadn’t been invisible.

  “Like…?” he tilted his head wiggling his fingers in an “out with it” gesture. I recognized Montana’s throaty laugh as she and Bailey came through the front door. Liam called, “Bailey, get your flighty arse into an apron. I’ve been snowed under, waitin’ on ya,” he winked at Tempe.