And the Creek Don't Rise

by R. M. Gilmore

  “Safe? What’re you gonna do, kill me?” I threw my head back. “I’m pretty certain I can take care of myself.”

  His lips pushed out and he clicked his tongue. “No. Actually, I’m going to kiss you and I probably won’t stop.”

  My heart snagged on a memory, dropping my grin. I loved Rusty. That I could be sure would never stop. Just like Nana never stopped loving Percy. But she married. He was a good man, my granddaddy, and loved her proper. I could love Rusty, but I couldn’t have him. Stuck on earth for generations, trapped in a love I’d never know, a ghost of Lynnie’s past. That certainly wasn’t fair.

  “I don’t see the problem.” I shoved a shot into his hand and clinked.

  A charming, bright grin cut lines down his cheeks. “You really are something else, Carolynn Russell.”

  “Lynnie.” Hot, spicy liquid slid easily down my throat. “You better believe it.”

  Lights flickered, washing the room from pink to green. Lime, olive, shamrock, crinkly, crackly shades touched everything, everyone. As if on cue, the front door swung open. Bathed in lilac, a long-legged man in heavy boots strolled in. Fiery soul ignited in my shared space.

  “Hold on, girl, not here,” I whispered, steadying my breath.

  I looked back at Puck, a shimmering glitter of colors—turquoise among the brightest. His eyes shot to the man and back to me. “You know what to do,” he assured me. “I’ll be right here.”

  Daddy-long-legs slid onto a stool at the bar, tugged a leather wallet from his pocket. He reminded me of my daddy. Aging poorly, weathered, lonely. One of those trucks out front would be his. What atrocious things did he do in that truck? Out on the road alone.

  Fae magic crackled over my skin. I shook it free from my fingertips, fearful someone would notice, and shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. Black Sentry warmed against my chest. Don’t glow. Please, don’t glow.

  Puck’s energy swirled between us, gently nudging my back, a constant reminder I wasn’t alone.

  I slid onto the stool beside Legs, the target, and leaned on an elbow. “What’s your drink?” He stunk like cheap cigarettes—Checkers or USA Gold, lights. I tucked my head close to him, looking up under lashes.

  Tar-stained lips curled into a sneering grin. “Well, I’ll be. Aren’t you just a little thing.”

  I laughed, deep, throaty. Deadly. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, old man.”

  “I’ll bet.” He looked over, focusing on my lips too long. Zaps poked the barrier between the beast and me. “You on the job, darlin’?” He wasn’t from around those parts. Georgia maybe.

  I sat up, feigning offence. “You know any hookers buying drinks? ’Cause I sure don’t.” Weeks with Puck I’d learned a lot. More about how to get by, use my wiles, trick to survive. Not those kind of tricks.

  “Guess not.” He watched my face, still, quiet, figuring me out.

  I held two fingers to Captain Longbeard at the other end of the bar. “Remind me of my daddy is all.” I nudged him with my shoulder. “You like whiskey?”

  Two shots sat waiting, he squinted at me. “What’s your game, girl?”

  Slow down. You’ve got him. Let him come to you. I snatched my shot from the bar. “I like to call it livin’. What’s yours?”

  A low groaning chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re trouble.” He tilted his shot toward me.

  Puck pushed out the front door, shimmering waves of color surrounding him. I slammed my shot and clapped it back to the bar. “You gotta smoke?” I grinned, forcing innocence to my expression.

  He looked around the bar at all the people not paying any attention to us. “I do.”

  “Let’s get outta here.” I pointed my chin at the door. “Unless you’re not up for a little moonlight?”

  “Oh, sweetie, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” His sneer was back and he draped his arm around my neck.

  I shrugged his arm off my shoulder and wiggled ahead of him. His stench was too much. Not the smoke so much, the death. He reeked of it.

  Darkness spread, thick and heavy over the trees and brush that surrounded Ray’s Tavern. A slivered moon peeked through billowing clouds. Wet air clung to my hair.

  The man followed as I made my way to the dark space—his death bed. “Where you headed?” He stopped at the back of a truck with Georgia plates. “I gotta nice warm place right here.”

  There was nothing on earth, or anywhere else for that matter, that could have gotten me willingly into that cab. “That’s no fun.” I turned to face him, walking backward, coaxing his demons to come out and play.

  He looked at the truck and back to me, the blackness at my back. “Gimme a minute, girlie. Hold on right there.” He slipped his top half into the truck cab, gathered a few things, and shoved them into jacket pockets.

  “Come on now, old man,” I teased, “I don’t got all night,” leaving him at the truck.

  “Slow down, girl,” he demanded.

  “Better catch up.” I pulled my long-sleeve shirt off over my head, dropped it to the ground, and sauntered into the woods until darkness took me over.

  “You’re a long way from home,” he called, trotting into the depths behind me.

  “A bit.”

  I’d need to slip out of my boots and jeans before letting my girl free. I didn’t have time to break in another pair of boots. Or jeans.

  Glowing, a fiery amethyst in a sea of emerald, the man—the sinner—a beacon for the beast. I watched him stalk through the trees, vainly attempting to hunt for me.

  I kicked a boot off with a toe at each heel. Jeans unbuttoned, I caught sight of glowing yellow eyes. Puck watched, waited. A wily grin curved my mouth. I wiggled my pants over round hips, piling them on top of my boots.

  Ancient fire raged inside me. Vengeful flames licked bits of my soul, catching even the purest places ablaze. She’d come. In such fiery glory, my beast would break free and claim what was hers.

  “Where’d you get on to, baby girl?” Puck stalked yards behind the blissfully ignorant target. “Best be careful, animals hunt these woods.”

  I slinked around behind him. “Aren’t we animals too?” I said, ignoring the misty cold air stinging my skin.

  He spun, hands wide, ready. “Oh, yes we are.” Heartbeats thudded, a clanging obnoxious sound. Lips curled, his eyes touched every inch he could see in the shadows, worming over my skin, a serpent in man’s clothing. Excitement, thrill dragged heavy, smoky breaths through grinning teeth. “You made this moment so very easy. I should be upset.” Vengeful rage bubbled, threatening to boil over. “I typically live in that chase.” He pulled a long blade from his pocket. “But I will certainly never forget you.”

  Fingers splayed wide, ready. My girl clawed just under the surface. Now. The man lunged, knocking me to the ground. She was there, right there, waiting. I needed her, but she wouldn’t come. Not strong enough to fight him off myself, I’d surely die—or come close—in those dark woods.

  His weight held me down, straddled over my hips. “You go on and fight, little thing. I like it when they wriggle.”

  He pressed the dull edge of his knife against the soft mound of breast not contained in my bra. “You certainly are a pretty one.” Dragging the blade under the center, he cut it open, spilling boobs out.

  Where the fuck are you? I punched and scratched and kicked, bucking with every ounce of my hundred and twenty pounds. After all that restless anticipation…

  Filthy, tar-stained fingers tightened around my neck. “Pretty girls have no place out in the woods with old men.” His grip tightened.

  Not. Like. This. Teeth clenched, my eyes blazed, amber reflected in his dead black pupils. He let go, falling back against my legs. “What in the fuck is that?” he screeched.

  “That’s better.” I sat up, snatched him by the collar. “I am vengeance. Your sins are mine,”
I growled, low and menacing.

  Back arched, eyes flamed on, a surge of energy rushed through me. Magic sizzled, dancing across even the tiniest hairs on my skin. Come on, old girl. You remember how to do this.

  Erupting in a slop of skin and pieces of my human, she arrived, fashionably late, but oh so striking. I shook dense, shaggy fur, sending plops of goo to the ground, spattering his face.

  My lilac sinner scurried away like a crab—if that crab were a scared little bitch. Hands clutching the dirt, desperate for escape. He threw a handful at me.

  Snort. Huff. Snarling growl. Tail whipped, twapping him across the face with its girth.

  She remembered. Our first go round had been clunky, rushed, a virgin in the back seat on prom night. We’d grown familiar in our time together. No more groping aimlessly in the dark. We knew what we wanted and every clever move to get it.

  Magenta dripped from his nose. Dense, heavy braids had surely broken it. A rough tongue swiped across sharp fangs—memories of sweet, decadent vengeance hot on our tongue.

  Three sharp barks whined high, ringing death’s call. He cried out once, screamed, eyes full lavender moons on his face. A single swipe, four long gashes sliced down his shirt. Blood dumped from the wounds.

  I clomped forward, following his body as it fell. On his back, he looked up at me. Heart slowly chugging, losing steam.

  “God help me,” he gurgled, color fading as his heart slowed.

  God ain’t got nothing to do with the likes of us.

  Swarming, stinging shiny black hornets squeezed from his eyes, slick with a layer of oily sin. Drool fell from my curled lips, plopping in rivets across his cheeks. Black ooze strung from his teeth, water dripping backward. Upward. Toward me.

  I stepped back, standing at his feet. From his ears, out his nose, buzzing, winged things fought to break free from their greasy prison. They schooled, drawing strays into their dripping pool, floating over top of him.

  His breaths slowed, shallow, rattling. Blood oozed, a darkening eggplant puddle. Heart hammered one last rally. Pop. The universe sucked that black cloud of sin right out of existence.

  Death had come for him, retribution for his murdering ways. I’d come. Eventually.

  A rainbow on an oil slick, Puck shimmered in the dark, through the trees. His black wolf warbled, a shift in reality. Pale minty skin glowed in shadow. His wolf, the bear, my steed didn’t live in a shared space inside him. The change was simple, just a suggestion, a shift.

  I’d practiced, found my beast where she lived. Coaxed her free and home again. Letting her loose was like unbuttoning your pants on Thanksgiving, necessary and almost satisfying. Reeling her back in was like trying to zip them back up again.

  She’d missed the hunt, the kill. Her one true reason for existing. If I’d let her, we’d have run off the excitement out in those woods. As it stood, someone would come looking. And finding. And that certainly was not on my agenda for the evening.

  Puck shoved through bushes, barefoot, pants on but left to hang open, arms full of fallen clothing. “We don’t have time for beastly games. Let’s get going.” He pulled a fitted gray shirt on and shoved his feet into boots.

  Come on, girl. We’re gonna get caught. I focused, searching my clouded memory for Mama Lee’s humming, or Nana’s smile. The pilot just would not light. We had to change, had to hide. Someone would come. I’d never fit in the back of Puck’s car in my beast skin.

  My turn now. Let me on out. The beast licked blood from her paw. We don’t have time for this. A motorcycle roared to life. Ears perked. She lifted her head to scope the lighted lot in the distance. Through the trees, two men stumbled toward the woods. Toward us.

  “Man, I wouldn’t piss in that shitter with your dick,” one laughed.

  Unless they were really lucky and stepped right on top of him, they’d never see the body out in the dark. They’d certainly spot a giant green monster with fire in her eyes.

  See?

  Quakes trembled under thick skin. Jolts shocked just under the surface. A slopping sneeze of a thing and out plopped a girl. Me. The quicker the change got, the more remnants were left behind. Tickling magic and changling goo clung to my toes.

  Puck held my jeans open, I slid fresh legs into the holes, whipping the shirt over my head. Boots in hand, we moved quickly toward the light. No beastly eyes to light the way, I tripped over roots and stepped on sharp sticks. I stopped, shaking hands pulled on boots.

  The men pushed through the brush, just far enough out to piss in the shadows. A yard from where we stood. Panicked, Puck swung me by the hand, wrapping an arm around my waist, and pressed his lips to mine. Shocks of fairy magic still coursed through my veins, tingling places I’d been ignoring.

  “Oh, well, don’t let us stop you.” The other laughed and clapped Mr. Funny on the back.

  Puck pulled back and looked at them as if they’d caught us in the throes. “Shit. Sorry. We’ll uh…” He pulled me by the hand. Face flushed red, I followed. “Just be going,” he breathed.

  My heart galloped long after we merged onto the main highway. I’d found her. Not my beast, me. The girl I’d left behind in Havana was dead; I’d mourn her until my true and righteous demise. But the woman who’d slapped the devil in the face was alive and just getting started.

  Ogham and whiskey

  Fresh from the shower, bare feet slapped kitchen tile. Puck lounged on the couch, feet kicked up on the arm.

  Two empty bottles of top-shelf Irish whiskey stuck out of the top of the garbage can, I opened a fresh one. Quick in. Quick out.

  “Feeling human again?” Puck asked, soft, slurred words clung together.

  An old record player in the corner by the fireplace crackled another song. Blue button-down nightshirt tickled my knees while I danced through the kitchen. For the first time in what seemed like a century, I was happy, right down to my almost drunk toes.

  I picked at the wrapper around the cap with my teeth, ripping it free. “I feel clean, if that’s what you’re asking.” Even in the euphoria of the kill, I’d still felt those filthy hands on my skin. What alcohol hadn’t washed away I scrubbed raw.

  “Close enough.” Puck watched me dance through the kitchen to him in the living room, that stupid permanent grin curled on his face. “You’re happy.”

  I knew who I was and more importantly, what I was. My family hadn’t shunned me like I thought they had. I had a purpose in the universe, and while it wasn’t entirely obvious sometimes, I knew where I stood in the world—for the most part—and that was more than most people could say.

  I sat on the floor in front of the couch and took a draw from the bottle. “I’m drunk,” I snorted. “Sort of. But yes, I am happy. Or whatever that looks like now.”

  Puck rolled over onto his stomach, breath hot on my ear. “Whatever it is, it looks good on you.” He took the bottle from my hands and slung it back.

  “Why am I with you?”

  He slid our bottle into the crook of my bent leg. “Because I can’t find a reason for you to be elsewhere.”

  Cheeks flushed, I looked down at my hands. “You know what I mean. You’ve been around for… a long time. So many opportunities for so many things. Why’d you seek me out?”

  Slow, even breaths flittered tiny hairs around my face. “I want you, Lynn, like any man wants a woman. I need you like fire needs oxygen. You fuel my need to live. After centuries of a lone existence, I finally have you.”

  Nervous chuckles bubbled up my throat. “Jesus, Puck, you act like you’ve been waiting on me.”

  “What’s to say I haven’t?”

  I turned to meet deep brown eyes, searched them for lies. “Puck, I have to be honest with you. I gave my heart to Rusty Kemp long before I knew you existed. I can’t—won’t take that back.”

  Black fanned lashes framed dark eyes. “The funny thing about
love… there’s more than enough to go around.” One of his signature all-teeth smiles carved a line down a cheek and he kissed the tip of my nose. “We have decades to work out the kinks. You’re not bound to human laws and emotions anymore. You’re higher on the food chain, babe.” He laid his head on the couch, twisting a bit of my hair with sure fingers. “Years will flow into each other. Time—hours and minutes—will fade, becoming something measured by events and moments. Your life will become more than a day-to-day grind. You will become more. I want to be here for that.”

  The spicy tang of whiskey caressed my throat in warmth on its way down. “What’s in it for you?” I’d thought it for weeks. Why me? Why this life? Not just Puck’s allegiance, but all of it. Rusty. Nana. The vengeful beast squatting inside me.

  Puck slinked off the couch, soft cotton pants loose around his hips. If I’d been more comfortable with it, he’d have worn nothing at all most days. He snatched the bottle from me, guzzling half in one gulp. Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he grinned. “You, stupid.”

  He smelled like soap and summertime, and whiskey. Scads of little brown freckles dotted toned shoulders. Floppy hair, badly in need of a trim, curled over his forehead. So many human imperfections for a mythological creature. No twinkling fairy skin, or wings, or pointy ears. Just a man, with many tricks.

  I slung a leg over his lap, stealing the whiskey back. “Promise me something.” Eyes wide, I’d surprised him. Something I wasn’t sure possible.

  Steady, his fairy heart thumped even and strong. “Anything.” Warm hands hovered, tickling the tiniest hairs on my thighs, waiting for the green light.

  “Don’t break my heart.”

  Dark eyes looked up at me, brows pulled high, wrinkling his forehead. “Never,” he breathed.

  “Good enough.” Static zapped my lips when I pressed them to his. Rusty Kemp had my heart, but I’ll be damned if Padraic O’Kain didn’t have everything else.

  Confident, careful hands gripped my thighs, pulling me closer. Working up my hips, under my shirt, fingers pressed into my back. “Is this okay?” he mumbled, still connected to my face. I rolled my eyes under closed lids and moved his hands to my boobs. The light’s green.