Fierce

by C. C. Hunter

  She swung around, but nothing was there.

  Nothing but a dead cold that had her catching her breath.

  * * *

  “What does a ghost feel like?” Fredericka blurted out when she first walked into Holiday’s office. Fredericka hadn’t been able to shake the eerie feeling she got standing outside Brandon’s house.

  Holiday looked up, surprised, as if she hadn’t heard Fredericka walk in. “What happened?”

  Fredericka set the keys down on the camp leader’s desk and dropped down into a chair. “I met Brandon Hart’s sister the first day I went to be interviewed. She … was quiet and disappeared and then … it happened again today.”

  “Are you talking about this woman?” Holiday slid the Sunday newspaper across her desk.

  The picture of a woman, blond, her hair hanging down around her shoulders and a smile on her face, stared up at Fredericka. “Yes, that’s her.” Fredericka read the first line.

  Missing Fallen resident feared dead.

  She gasped.

  Holiday frowned and reached over and put her hand on Fredericka’s, still resting on the paper. “You’ve seen her?”

  Fredericka nodded and glanced up. Calm flowed into her from Holiday’s touch and yet the realization that she had seen a ghost, actually seen her, spoke to her, brought on a fresh wave of panic. “So she’s really…?”

  Holiday nodded.

  “Damn!” Fredericka closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing and not freaking out. But how could she not freak out? She’d seen a ghost. Not just once but three times.

  Holiday must have sensed her rising panic, because she put her other hand on top of Fredericka’s. “It’s okay.”

  Fredericka opened her eyes. “What’s okay about this? Name one thing that’s okay about this.”

  “I know it’s scary, Fredericka, but just think, you will be able to help her and her brother.”

  “How?” Fredericka asked.

  “Linda Hart needs to cross over. Usually they stay here for a reason. And her brother needs answers.” The fae lifted one brow. “Everyone needs answers.”

  Even in her panicked state, Fredericka knew Holiday was referencing back to the envelope containing letters from her dad. As if Fredericka didn’t already have enough crap to worry about at this moment.

  Holiday sighed. “Does she know she’s dead?”

  “How would I know? I didn’t know she was a ghost so it’s not as if it came up in conversation.”

  Holiday just smiled as if she had patience to spare. Something Fredericka completely lacked right now.

  “Does she show signs of being injured?” the camp leader asked. “Does she have wounds?”

  “No. She … looked fine.” Fredericka thought a minute. “She did look dressed for summer and not winter.”

  Holiday nodded. “According to the paper she went missing six months ago. So that would make sense.”

  Suddenly, Fredericka recalled seeing the police come to Brandon’s door. “They don’t think her brother did it, do they?”

  “No.” Holiday looked down at the paper. “It says here that he didn’t come into town until a few months ago.” She leaned back, moving her hands from Fredericka’s. “Have you gotten a look at his pattern?”

  Fredericka nodded and remembered that before she’d seen Linda again, it had been a subject she’d longed to discuss with the fae. “He’s around seventy-five percent human. He has were and then a smaller amount of fae.”

  “Is he aware of this?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you. I mean, he’s never said anything about being anything. But he has some of the were abilities. He has the sensitive hearing and is fast and strong. And I know it came from his grandmother because he mentioned she liked wolves. Is it possible that he still doesn’t know?”

  “Very possible. Were blood is one of the most likely to go unnoticed. Anything less than half were and they usually don’t turn with the moon and their abilities ebb and flow with lunar cycles. A lot of humans who believe in the full-moon craziness are actually part were and don’t know it. Other than slightly elevated body temperatures, for some there are no obvious outward signs.”

  Fredericka took a gulp of air and remembered how warm it felt to be close to him.

  Holiday leaned in a bit. “You don’t think his grandmother told him anything?”

  Fredericka shrugged. “He called her an odd duck.”

  Holiday picked up a pen. “So maybe she told the family, but no one really believed her.”

  Fredericka just nodded. “So I shouldn’t tell him?”

  “No.” Holiday frowned. “However, it’s believed that just being around someone who shares the same type heritage will trigger a mixed breed into awareness. And if he was told by his grandmother, it’s very possible that he may see some truth in it.”

  “Would that be so bad?” she asked.

  Holiday hesitated. “It could be.” She rolled the pen in her hand as her frown deepened. “Which basically means that your working for him could bring about some complications. I know this means a lot to you, but are you sure that this is worth it?”

  “Of course it is!” Fredericka answered quickly. “This is my dream. Please.”

  “I…” Holiday set the pen down and hesitated as if contemplating. “I don’t want to rob you of your dream, Fredericka. But Mr. Cannon came by earlier and said he was concerned about you.”

  Fredericka stiffened. So she’d been right. Cary had already started initiating her punishment. Her first impulse was to tell Holiday of Cary’s threat. But why? She’d believe him over the word of a rogue’s daughter every time.

  “He explained that you just haven’t been yourself and your studies are slacking. I know hearing about your dad has probably upset you. I just don’t want you taking on more than you can handle.”

  “I can handle it,” Fredericka snapped, and she would, just as soon as she figured out how to handle Cary. “And I told Brandon I would help him paint after school tomorrow.”

  The concerned look didn’t fade from Holiday’s eyes. Had Cary told her that he thought Fredericka was interested in Brandon?

  Holiday nodded. “I wouldn’t recommend getting too friendly with him.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Even with the spirit?” Holiday asked.

  “Yeah,” Fredericka said, but the thought sent another shot of panic to her gut. “But that problem will go away, right? They cross over.”

  “With your help,” Holiday said.

  Oh, crap. “What … exactly do I have to do?”

  Chapter Ten

  Fredericka spent the rest of the afternoon working on her new pieces of jewelry and trying not to panic about getting information from Brandon’s sister on how she died. Then after she had that information, she’d have to figure out how to share it without informing anyone that she was talking to dead people.

  How the hell did Holiday and the others who had this so-called gift manage to do this without completely losing it? If Fredericka was a little closer to Kylie, she’d go to her and ask some questions and maybe even for some advice. But Fredericka didn’t know her that well. She wasn’t close to anyone. Not really.

  Right then she recalled how close she’d felt to Brandon.

  I wouldn’t recommend getting too friendly with him. Holiday’s warning played in her head.

  Fredericka would bet that meant no kissing. It was too late for that, wasn’t it?

  And if he tried again…? Oh, hell. She knew she didn’t want to stop it.

  She’d just finished putting away her tools, when her phone rang. Frowning, she snatched it up, thinking it might be Cary.

  But the number wasn’t his. Or at least not his cell phone. Oh, hell, had he bought a burner phone so she couldn’t prove he was blackmailing her?

  “Hello,” she said, ready to give Cary hell.

  “Ricka?”

  She recognized Brandon’s voice immediately but wasn’t expecting it. “
Hi.”

  “You busy?” he asked.

  “No.” She remembered she’d left her number on the contract. “Just putting away my tools. I’m almost finished with the next pair of earrings.”

  “I just finished working, too.” A beat of silence hung long before he continued. “I … was concerned about that teacher. He’s not going to cause you any trouble, is he? If you need me to talk to someone, I will.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she lied. Other than a warning, there hadn’t been any consequences. And she’d be extra careful from here on out to record all her homework, so he couldn’t claim she wasn’t doing it.

  “That’s not the only reason I called,” he said.

  “It isn’t?” she asked, and prayed it wasn’t to tell her he’d decided she and he weren’t going to work.

  “No, I … just wanted to say that I had a great time today and I already wish it was tomorrow.”

  “Me, too.” She smiled, and for the first time, all the negative feelings about dealing with the dead faded and she felt … happy. Fredericka Lakota was happy. And considering how long it had been since she’d really felt this, it was kind of amazing. She dropped down into the chair and pulled her knees up to her chest.

  “I tried telling myself that we needed to put a stop to it. And it might be the smart thing to do, but I don’t want to do the smart thing right now.”

  “What could be so bad?” she asked and ran her finger over a threadbare spot on her knee.

  “Well, we could break up and then you wouldn’t want to work here.”

  “First I’d like to think we’re both mature enough to handle anything, and second … you should never go into something thinking it will end.”

  “That’s almost exactly what I told myself,” he said and she could swear she heard a mattress sigh. Was he in bed? While it shouldn’t matter where he was, in a silly way she liked thinking of him in bed.

  Maybe even shirtless.

  “It’s crazy, I feel this strange kind of connection with you. And it’s not just our…”

  “Scars,” she finished for him and she recalled what Holiday had said about a mixed blood recognizing themselves in another of their kind.

  “Yes. I mean, there’s the fact that we’re both artists, but it seems even more than that.”

  “I feel it, too,” she said and she was surprised at how her voice sounded wispy.

  “Good, I feel a little less crazy.” There was a pause. “Tell me something about yourself.” His voice sounded a little lazy.

  “You already know a lot,” she said, instantly worrying that when he knew everything about her, he’d decide she was too … damaged.

  “Tell me more,” he said.

  “I’d rather not.” She leaned her forehead down onto her knee. The happiness living and breathing in her chest felt vulnerable.

  “It can’t all be bad,” he said.

  “Yeah, it can,” she said.

  A silence filled the line. “Where’s your dad now?”

  She swallowed. “He’s dead.”

  “How old were you?”

  She felt that ache she’d been fighting the last few days swell up in her chest. “It happened a little more than a week ago.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry. That has to be tough.”

  “I hadn’t seen him in eight years.” Her throat tightened. “He wasn’t what you would call a great dad.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He was still your dad.” He inhaled and she heard him roll over again. Definitely on a mattress. “It took me a long time to realize that. I mean, my mom wouldn’t have ever won a mother-of-the-year award, but I still loved her, even when I hated her. And I grieved for her. At first it pissed me off. I felt as if by grieving I was allowing her another way of hurting me. It’s not so. You have to grieve.”

  Fredericka heard his words and she wondered how he could know just what to say.

  Right then she recalled Cary’s callous remarks about her father’s death and tears filled her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “Saying the right thing.” She brushed a few tears from her eyes.

  “You okay?” he asked, as if he could tell she was crying.

  “Yeah.” She took in a shaky breath. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You want to hear me bitch about something? Maybe it will make you feel better.”

  “Go for it,” she said and chuckled just a bit.

  He laughed, but something about the sound said he was serious. “My sister.”

  Fredericka glanced down at the newspaper still on the workbench. She’d brought it with her from Holiday’s office. She’d read the whole thing before she’d gotten to work.

  When he didn’t say anything else, she spoke up. “I read about it this afternoon.” She paused. “What do you think happened to her?”

  “What do I think happened? I think that asshole of a boyfriend happened. But I can’t prove it. I can’t even prove she’s dead, but I know she is. If they could just find her body then … then maybe they could hang that guy high.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Me, too.” There was a long pause. “She was only my half-sister. My dad was married to someone else before he knocked up my mom. Linda was ten years older than me. She used to tell me, ‘Don’t you sass me, I changed your diaper.’ We never lived together but we saw each other three or four times a year. But when I was in the hospital after the accident, she came to see me every day.”

  Tears filled Fredericka’s eyes. And just like that she wasn’t afraid of seeing a ghost. She wanted to see her. Wanted to find a way to help both his sister and Brandon.

  “I’d come to see her when she’d just moved here,” Brandon continued. “We were looking for a place for her to buy and we found this house. It was more money than she had. I’d just gotten paid for two big pieces I’d done, so I agreed to help her with the idea that when I got four or five pieces to show, she could open the front two rooms into a gallery.

  “You want to hear something crazy?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “I sometimes feel her. It’s as if she’s here.” She heard him inhale. “Have you seen the chimes hanging up in the front room?”

  “Yeah.” Chills ran down Fredericka’s spine, remembering the ghostly sound of those chimes. And then she recalled going into the house to the absence of that sound when Brandon had gone to speak to … Oh, shit. Brandon had said the guy waiting in the car had been one of Linda’s old boyfriends. Was it the same boyfriend Brandon suspected of killing her? Was that why they had gone dead silent? Was Linda trying to tell her something?

  “They were hers.” Grief sounded in Brandon’s voice and she ached for him. “She made them. She used to say she wasn’t really an artist, but she was. She needed to believe in herself. I hung them right after I got that room finished. Not to sell, but … because I just wanted some of her in the shop. But sometimes when they ring, there’s not a bit of air flowing in the house.”

  * * *

  The next day, Fredericka walked into history class, her last for the day. Afterward, she was heading to the gallery. When she saw Cary standing by his desk, offering her a slight smirk, she pushed back her fury. She didn’t do it because it was the right thing to do; she did it because if she was going to outfox and stop the jerk from causing her trouble, she was going to have to have all her wits. And when livid, one was often witless.

  Cary met her gaze again, briefly, and she saw it. He wasn’t finished punishing her.

  Game on, Fredericka thought. All she had to do was figure out what he planned on doing and put up a roadblock. It wasn’t even all that hard to do—just start thinking like an asshole, because that’s exactly what he was.

  He moved in front of the class. As he did she wondered how she could have ever thought he was someone she wanted in her life.

  “Okay, everyone, pass up the twenty questions you were to answer. And I’m not going t
o lie to you. These will count for a big part of your grade.” Something about the way he said it sent a warning bell through her.

  Fredericka looked down at her paper. She’d spent two hours last night on her homework, making sure she hadn’t missed one question. No way in hell was she going to let him accuse her of not doing her work.

  “Here.” Della—a vampire and one of Kylie’s roommates—who sat behind her, handed up her homework along with the other three students’ behind her. Fredericka hesitated and then she purposely didn’t put hers in the stack when she passed them up.

  Only after Cary had collected all the papers in the front row and set them on his desk, did Fredericka raise her hand. “I’m sorry, I forgot to put mine in the stack.”

  She stood up, and then turned to Miranda, the student sitting in the next row. She held out her paper to the witch. “Oh, did I complete them all?” she asked as if worried.

  The witch leaned in.

  “Weren’t there twenty questions?” Fredericka asked.

  “Yeah,” Miranda nodded and glanced up from the paper.

  “Good,” Fredericka said and then moved up and in front of the entire class, she put her paper on top of the others.

  Cary stared at her, another flicker of anger bright in his eyes. His face even got a little red. He knew exactly what she was doing. Covering her ass. But she’d let him know. She didn’t give a damn what he knew, or how much it pissed him off, as long as he wasn’t able to tell any more lies about her.

  Forty minutes later, a bell rang announcing the end of class. Fredericka, her books already stacked, was the first to stand up.

  “Fredericka,” Cary said, over the bell. “I need to speak with you a second.”

  The temptation to just walk out hit her, and hit hard. But she knew he’d use it against her. Standing there, listening to the shuffle of students leaving, she was left to face him.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Where were you running off to?” Cary asked Fredericka, as soon as the classroom door closed.

  She wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business, but that might add fuel to his fire. So instead she just lied. “Nowhere in particular.”