“Sorry to hear that, but the answer is no.”
“Tarnation, she said you’d be like this!”
“Who said what?”
Clearly annoyed, Sgt. Dunbar pulled out a notebook. “A Miss ... Clarissa Harmond was seriously hurt at a downtown fire,” he said. “She’s at Our Sister of Mercy Hospital in critical condition, and is requesting to see you.” He paused, then dramatically added, “Something about a ring?”
“Oh, nice try. Well done!” Melissa exclaimed, and there came the sound of applause. “A very good read, sergeant! But you should have squeezed out a few tears for a bit of realism. Aim for the moon! Who knows? It might work ... next time.”
“Ma’am, this is not a goddamn prank!” Sgt. Dunbar raged. “Your friend is dying!”
“Kiss my ass!” Melissa sang out musically, then broke into laughter.
Waving both hands in dismissal, Sgt. Dunbar turned on a heel and walked away with slumped shoulders. But the moment Dunbar was out of sight of the security cameras, the man straightened and strode back to the police car. Climbing inside, he slammed the door.
“As I had suspected,” Dominic muttered, metamorphosing back into his normal self. “She’s not going to leave the mansion under any circumstances.”
“Let’s burn it down,” Laura suggested eagerly, making a small fire appear in the palm of her open hand.
“Don’t be a fool, woman!” Dominic snarled. “If that were possible, I would have done it years ago. A thermonuclear bomb wouldn’t harm that building!”
“Oh,” Laura said simply, closing her hand to extinguish the flame. “All right, let me have a crack at the circus freak.”
“Go right ahead,” Dominic said with a grand gesture. “Just don’t enter the grounds, even with permission. I would hate to lose you.”
Hate to lose the ring is more like it, Laura noted privately, concentrating on changing her outward appearance. When it was done, she climbed out of the police car, then charged breathlessly to the iron gate.
“Okay, it’s clear!” John Danvers panted, pressing the button. “Lord, I thought that fake cop would never leave!”
“John?” Melissa asked excitedly.
“It’s me, kitten!” Danvers replied brusquely. “Now you wanna come on out and give me a hand? I’ve got a mighty large package that needs delivering.”
She laughed. “Oh, I know you do!”
“Lord almighty, you’re insatiable!” he chided, glancing about to make sure nobody else was nearby. “What I mean to say is, this here package contains those two volumes on the Civil War you requested ... you know, both the North and the South.” He put a lot of emphasis on those two words.
Melissa gasped. “Do you mean ...?”
“Yes, both of them,” Danvers whispered urgently. “Now, get your beautiful ass down here and lend a hand. I can’t let them out in the open, and the sooner they’re inside the mansion the better!”
“Sorry, lover, but that simply is not going to happen,” Melissa sighed regretfully. “Better call a local moving company and hire some muscle. Or ask a passing stranger. This is the deep south, you know, where courtesy is a way of life.”
“But—”
“Stud, I would not leave this mansion if my mother was on fire in the street and I was holding a bucket of water. Savvy?”
“Mel, please!”
“Sorry, John, the matter is closed.”
“Well, shitfire, guess I can’t really blame ya for being scared,” he grumbled, brushing back his hair. “Okay, do my best. Back in a tick!”
“Good luck!”
Going back the car, Danvers got inside and slammed the door shut. “That fat bitch is smarter than she looks,” Laura growled in annoyance, lightly scratching at the healed bullet wounds under her new blouse.
“Aren’t we all?” Dominic snorted, shifting into gear and pulling away into the traffic. “All right, we tried and failed. Now we concentrate exclusively on capturing those two lovebirds and permanently clipping their wings.”
“Looking forward to it, lover,” Laura growled, her nails extending inches from her fingertips, the edges shining razor bright ...
***
Yawning and stretching, Rissa awoke to discover that twilight was starting to claim the world. The torpid heat of the day was gone and the air was unexpectedly chilly, every breath briefly visible. She was starving, but all of her dragon rings were bright and shiny once more, even the big one.
Hugging the jacket tighter, she looked around at the purple mountains and shadowy jungle, then down at Colt sitting on the ground nearby. His teeth were audibly chattering, but the shivering man still kept a tight grip on the shotgun. My dear sweet Lochinvar stood guard in the cold while I slept. If that wasn’t love, then Webster had changed the definition.
Gesturing with both hands, Rissa warmed the grassy berm the same way she had the beach. Soon a white mist rose from the dark soil and the chill departed from the evening air.
“You’re awake, I see,” Colt said, the tension leaving his shoulders.
“Yep. Catch any sleep yourself?” Rissa asked, kicking out both legs to make the recliner go upright.
“Not really,” Colt shrugged. “But I’m a night owl. This is my time of day.”
“Good to know.”
“Banana?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Would you like a banana?” Colt asked, offering a bunch.
“Yes, please!” Eagerly taking one, Rissa disintegrated the skin and wolfed down the fruit without tasting it. “Goddess, I needed that.”
“Another?”
“No, I’m good. Kill for a cup of coffee, though.”
“Sorry, all out,” Colt said, slowly standing. “If you need to use the bushes, those with broad green leaves are just fine. But avoid the fuzzy ones at all costs.”
“Not exactly squeezably soft?”
“More like lemon-scented sandpaper.”
“Ouch! Good safety tip. Thank you, Egon.”
“Always glad to help.” Stroking her tousled hair, Colt leaned in for a kiss, and she meet him halfway. It lasted for an unknown length of time, and when they finally parted both were slightly breathless.
“Better than coffee,” she whispered, nuzzling his cheek.
“Pretty damn near,” Colt agreed, hugging her tight.
“What say we blow this popsicle stand?”
Colt released her. “After you, milady.”
Checking over her rings, Rissa took hold of his hand; Colt closed his eyes. She did the same, and when the image of a country gas station clearly formed in her mind, Rissa commanded a Jump.
The magic flowed strong and swiftly; there was the usual bright flash, and as the rippling glow dissipated Rissa and Colt found themselves standing on the gravel berm of a wide paved road. Nearby was a large sign marked Highway 177 South. A few yards away was a rustic gas station with an attached garage and a battered wooden dock that stretched over the black water of a fetid swamp.
“Where are we again?” Rissa asked, nervously glancing around.
The sounds of a baseball game playing on a radio were coming from the garage, accompanied by the irregular stuttering of an air hammer. Nobody was in sight, except for an old hound dog sleeping near a rusty gas pump. On the highway, a sleek electric car contemptuously hummed past the gas station, soon followed by a rumbling convoy of Mack trucks heading in the opposite direction.
“At the junction of Route 1 and Highway 177,” Colt replied. “That’s about a hundred and fifty miles away from the shack. We’re barely in Georgia anymore! Dominic and Laura couldn’t find us again without radar and a Ouija board.”
Knowing Melissa’s opinion on the latter, Rissa diplomatically said nothing.
“Hey, Edgar!” Colt said, raising cupped hands to his mouth.
The ballgame continued, but the air hammer stopped.
“Edgar, get your lazy ass out here!”
Suddenly a monstrous figure lurched out of the shadows ne
ar the garage and started coming their way.
Quickly raising both hands with palms out, Rissa prepared to detonate a fuel pump and destroy the zombie when Colt stepped in the way.
“Edgar!” he yelled, spreading his arms wide. “Good to see you, buddy!”
“Colt? By thunder, it is you!” Waving hello, an old man stepped into the sunlight.
Vastly relieved, Rissa could now see that Edgar was wearing a stained leather apron tied over a patched union jumpsuit, a bedraggled canvas tool belt filled with assorted wrenches, and ridiculously oversized work shoes. In the shadows, the combination had distorted his outline into something frighteningly inhuman.
Which just goes to show that you should never judge anything by appearances, Rissa noted privately, feeling terribly embarrassed about almost blowing up the car mechanic.
“What y’all doing down here?” Edgar drawled, removing a canvas glove.
“Visiting you.”
“Okay by me!” Edgar grinned, glancing about. “Funny, I didn’t hear you roll up... ”
“We didn’t exactly drive,” Colt said as they shook hands.
“You walking along 177? I always knew those antique cars you keep buying ’tweren’t reliable,” Edgar chuckled, then stole a glance at Rissa. “Who’s this, another one of them French supermodels you always bragging about?”
Instantly Rissa felt herself warming to the charming gentleman. “Clarissa Harmond,” she said, also offering a hand. “Rissa to my friends.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Edgar said, wiping his hand clean before shaking.
“We’re engaged,” Colt said, sliding an arm around her waist.
Clearly startled, Edgar looked at the two of them in frank disbelief. “No kidding, ma’am?”
“No kidding,” Rissa said, crossing her heart.
“Hot dang, that’s great!” Edgar grinned widely. “I was starting to fear Colt might marry that ...” He stopped to awkwardly glance at Rissa, and tactfully coughed.
“Go ahead, you can say it,” Rissa said. “She’s a total bitch.”
Slowly, Edgar smiled. “Actually, my momma would have called her a fucking cunt, but she was more Christian than most folks.”
Trying not to laugh, Rissa choked and broke into a ragged cough.
“I fired Laura, and now she’s on the warpath,” Colt said truthfully, leaving out a few pertinent details. “Look, Ed, I have some cash on me, and this ...” He displayed the nugget. “I don’t have a scale, but the gold is real, and ...” He stopped as Edgar slowly raised a disapproving eyebrow.
“Sorry, no offense meant,” Colt said, tucking away the gold and cash.
“Can’t be offended by a friend,” Edgar drawled, hitching up his pants by tugging on the suspenders. “What ch’all need?”
“Betty Lou.”
“You shitting me, son?”
“Nope.”
“Mind letting me see that gold again?”
“Betty Lou, a dozen cans of gas, sandwiches, coffee, your cell phone, rope, fuses, detonator caps, and a couple sticks of seventy-proof.”
“Dynamite?”
“Plus some ammunition,” Rissa said, pulling out Lady Magenta.
“Hell’s bells, what kinda trouble you folks in?” Edgar asked, lowering his voice in a clandestine manner. “You running away, or going after?”
“Have I ever lied to you before?” Colt asked.
“Nosawr.”
“Then I’m not going to start today.”
“Fair enough, hos!” Edgar chuckled, tossing over the cell phone. “You get the cans, I’ll get the food and the brass. Keys are under the seat. Best let her warm up some before going anywhere; Betty Lou always gets twitchy the month before a solstice.”
“Have you tried cleansing the engine by burning sage?” Rissa asked. “That might help.”
He scowled. “You some kind of a witch, ma’am?”
“Rissa, please, and yes, I am.”
“W iccan?”
She displayed the rings. “Mechanic.”
“Okay then,” Edgar said, starting for the garage once more. “I don’t hold for all that Wiccan nonsense. Being skyclad just ’tain’t proper!”
“Skyclad?” Colt asked puzzled.
“Naked,” Rissa whispered.
“By the way, Edgar, if anybody should ask about us ...” Colt began.
“Haven’t e-mailed you in weeks,” Edgar replied with a tolerant wave. “This ain’t my first time at the rodeo!”
“I keep meeting the most interesting people when we’re together,” Rissa said with a smile.
“God bless the South,” Colt replied, grabbing an empty gas can from a stack and heading for a fuel pump.
When it was full, Rissa took the can from him. But it was incredibly heavy and she needed both hands to haul the sloshing container toward the dock. By the time she got there, Colt arrived carrying four of the fuel cans. Good lord, the man was strong!
Following him around the garage, Rissa paused at the sight of what might have once been an airboat, but now resembled a pile of loose parts held together mostly by dried mud and bird excrement. However, the name Betty Lou was clearly painted across the front in a bold flowing script.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Colt asked, tromping on board.
“Not even vaguely. Will this thing actually float?” Rissa asked skeptically, staying safely on the dock.
“Are you joking?” Colt asked, removing the cap from the main fuel tank. “This is the fastest airboat in the county! Not even a state police hovercraft can keep up with her!”
“And exactly how would you know that, Emile?”
“Oh, rumors. Just rumors.”
Pursing her lips, Rissa said nothing, radiating doubt and disapproval.
“Honestly, she’ll do the Kessel run in twelve parsecs,” Colt declared, starting to empty the gas can into the tank.
“Are you playing me, Mr. Coltier?”
“Maybe. Is it working?”
“This time,” Rissa laughed, using a ring to float the other cans on board.
Then, purely on impulse, she filled herself with power and had the other rings change the oil in the engine, charge the battery, check the timing, gap the plugs, tighten the belts, and thoroughly clean the entire airboat from bow to stern until the galvanized aluminum shone mirror bright. Rissa even added the scandalous figure of herself in a bikini under the name on the bow. She would have used Melissa, but there simply hadn’t been enough room to do the busty BBW justice.
“My God, what have you done?” Colt gasped in horror, dropping the empty can with a clatter. “That was years of accumulated camouflage designed to help Edgar hide among the reeds! Now, a blind meter maid in downtown Tallahassee could spot him in the heart of Smugglers’ Quay!”
Mortified, Rissa quickly gestured, and a swirling hurricane of assorted debris replaced the mud, sludge, twigs, leaves, crud and general filth to precisely the exact same locations as before. Even the painting of herself vanished, replaced with a medium-size dent. However, she did nothing to alter subtle repairs to the battered hull, or the unseen engine modifications.
“Better, captain?” Rissa asked hopefully, as the winds died away.
“Yes, much better,” Colt sighed, retrieving the gas can. “We wouldn’t have been able to sneak anywhere looking shinier than a gay pride parade in Paris.”
She nodded. “Too true. Where are we going?”
“Back to Savannah,” Colt said with a wink. “Then the hunting lodge.”
“The one you’re rebuilding for my grandmother?”
“Yep.”
“Ah, dear heart, wouldn’t Dominic and Laura be hoping we’re stupid enough to go there?”
“I’m counting on it,” Colt muttered, sliding the shotgun off his shoulder and placing it under the open driver’s seat of the craft.
Understanding arrived like an IRS audit, unwanted and without warning. “We’re going to attack them?” Rissa gasped, a hand instinctivel
y going to her throat where the amber necklace used to be located.
“Is there any other choice?” Colt asked, dusting off his hands. “They’re never going to stop coming after us until we’re dead and they ... what is it they want, anyway?”
“Harmond House,” Rissa stated. “My grandfather has a workshop where he makes these rings!”
Colt gave a low whistle. “He made those?”
“Yes.”
“My God, anybody on the planet would kill for those things,” he said, openly staring at them.
“Want one?” Rissa asked, sliding a ring off her finger. “I have plenty.”
Gingerly accepting it, Colt hefted the amber-colored ring in his palm like the skull of a long-dead friend. Then he frowned and gave it back. “Maybe later. But right now there’s no time for me to learn how to use it properly,” Colt stated gruffly. “In a fight, it’s smarter for me to stick with something familiar, like the shotgun. I already know how to shoot.”
“Too many weapons are often worse than none,” Rissa said unexpectedly.
“Correct! Were you in the military?”
“Hardly. MGM, Kelly’s Heroes, 1970, director’s cut,” she said, slipping the ring back on. “But if you change your mind ...”
Just then Edgar arrived with a wicker picnic basket and a plastic cooler dripping condensation.
“Here you go!” he announced, placing them both on the deck. “Aside from what you asked for, I added a few items that might be ...” His voice trailed away as the man looked around the filthy airboat, his expression darkening.
“Something happen to my Betty Lou?” Edgar demanded.
“She seems the same to me,” Rissa said in a neat evasion. “Why do you ask?”
Thoughtfully rubbing his jaw, Edgar didn’t say anything for a few moments, then shrugged in dismissal. “Anyway, I added a flashlight, bug spray, matches, candles, sage for the lady, and a bag of quicklime. You know, just in case.”
“In case I plan to build a brick wall?” Colt asked with a puzzled frown.
Stepping closer, Rissa gratefully kissed the man on a grizzled cheek. “Is there a shovel?”
“In the tool locker.”
“Excellent! I have no idea how to ever thank you properly.”
“Shoot, always glad to help a friend,” Edgar drawled, then added, “Out of curiosity, what was all that commotion before?”
Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta Page 22