by Lyle, Dixie
Tiny looked thoughtful. Some breeds of dog can pull that off better than others, and apparently a rottweiler is one of them. [Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot. That’s the NATO phonetic alphabet used for radio messages. It stands for the letters W, T, and F.]
“Right. And WTF is now Internet slang.”
[For?]
“Let’s just say it’s an expression of surprise and leave it at that, okay?”
[And you weren’t bothered by the deception?]
I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t like that. You had to know my father, I guess. He had a pretty raunchy sense of humor, but his heart was as big as a house. He was always there for me—I never felt safer than when he was around. I still miss him.”
[How long has he been gone?]
“He died three years ago. Heart attack.”
Tiny came over and rested his big head on my knee. [I’m sure he misses you, too.]
I blinked back an unexpected surge of tears. “Thank you.” I put my hand on Tiny’s head, which felt solid, muscular, and warm—not like a ghost’s at all. “I guess you would know, wouldn’t you?”
I looked over at ZZ, at the steady rise and fall of her chest. I wondered if being in a coma was sort of halfway between life and death, and what she was experiencing right now if that were true. Was she talking to her own parents, both of them now dead? And if she was, would she remember any of it when she woke up?
If she woke up.
I got to my feet. “I have to get back to work,” I told Tiny. “Oscar and Kenny Gant are my two main suspects now, and only one of them has a clear motive. I need to find out if the other one does, too.”
[Good luck. I’ll be here.]
I slipped out of the room, nodded at the guard, and went downstairs. Kenny Gant had said he was going to talk to Caroline, and it was possible he was still there. If I hurried, I could catch him before lunch.
* * *
I found them in the menagerie, feeding the animals. When I walked up to them Caroline was laughing at something Kenny had said, and Kenny himself was illustrating his point with one hand while using the other to lean against a railing. His arm was almost, but not quite, touching Caroline’s back.
“Hey, you two,” I said as I approached. “Once again, I show up too late to catch the punch line.”
Caroline gasped, then got herself under control. “Oh, Kenny was just telling me a story about a commercial he shot using an alpaca. Seems he didn’t know about the spit problem.”
“Spit problem?”
“Yeah,” Kenny said. “I knew that llamas—and even camels—spit at people when they get really upset, but its handler told me that didn’t happen with alpacas. Boy, was he wrong.”
“Well, it is rare,” Caroline said. “Generally they only spit at each other, as a display of dominance. But it can happen if they’re really upset.”
“Then somebody must have crapped in his alpaca chow that morning, because he sure did unload on me.” Kenny shook his head, smiling. “You know that scene in The Exorcist, with Linda Blair spewing pea soup? It was like that, only right in my face. I kept expecting the thing’s head to spin around.”
“And on that note,” I said, “lunch is almost ready. Pretty sure we’re not having pea soup.”
“I’m so hungry I might eat it anyway,” Kenny said. “Guess I better get a move on. Nice talking to you, Caroline.”
“You too,” Caroline said.
“I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” I told him. “Just have a few details to discuss with Caroline.”
Kenny nodded and strolled off in the direction of the house. I waited until he was gone before saying, “You two seem to have hit it off.”
Caroline shrugged, but she was still smiling. “We have a lot in common. And he’s funny.”
“Funny is good. Funny is nice.”
“Yeah, it is. So … what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Um.” Well, I was wondering if you were aware your new romantic interest might be a murderer. “I was wondering if … the night Gant’s monkey was tranquilized. Did he come by to check on him?”
She looked a little embarrassed, and a little pleased. “Uh, yeah. As a matter of fact, he did.”
I knew that look. “Oh. I’m guessing he stayed for a while?”
Now she looked flustered. She thought she was about to get in trouble for becoming involved with a guest. I quickly added, “That’s absolutely fine. In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“About me and Kenny?”
“Yes. I recently realized that our policy on how staff are supposed to interact with guests is unclear, and I thought I should clarify things. If you and Kenny want to date, that’s perfectly all right. Really. Sooo … did he spend the night?”
It was an awkward segue—and not very professional—but I needed to know if Gant had an alibi.
Caroline hesitated, then gave me a shy smile. “He did. Said he was just there to make sure Amos was okay, but other things happened.” She paused. “Several times.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Um, congratulations. So he was with you all night?”
“Yes. He got there at eleven and left a little before six.”
“I see. Well, I hope things keep … uh, happening.” No, that wasn’t lame or awkward at all.
I covered up with a professional smile and then excused myself, citing work. She nodded good-bye, but I could see that she was still a little puzzled. Hey, if my supervisor had shown up just to tell me it was okay to boff my new boyfriend, I’d look puzzled, too.
I trusted Caroline. If she said Gant was with her all night, then that eliminated him as a suspect. Which left only one person.
ZZ’s son, Oscar.
* * *
I went to lunch. Kenny Gant was in a good mood; Hana Kim seemed depressed; Mr. Kwok was impassive. Keene was his usual cheerful, irreverent self, and Oscar didn’t show. We mostly ate in silence.
Afterward, I went to check on ZZ and brought Tiny some food. No change in ZZ’s condition. Tango checked in with me and had nothing to report. Neither did Shondra.
Then it began to rain.
It was light at first, the kind of drizzle you sometimes got in late autumn. That increased to a steady rainfall, then to an actual downpour. It was as if Mother Nature were turning on a faucet at a very deliberate, measured rate. When it reached its peak, it immediately began to decrease at exactly the same speed. I might not have noticed this if I hadn’t been sitting at my desk and staring out the window, trying to figure out how to approach Oscar. I wondered idly if the rain was going to go all the way back down to zero and start over.
That didn’t happen. Instead, things got crazy.
The precipitation abruptly jumped back up the dial to torrential. The intensity of it was a little unnerving, but at least it was back to behaving the way weather usually did: unpredictably.
Then it got worse.
Water poured from the sky like a hole in God’s bucket. The hammering of the rain on the roof was deafening, and the visibility outside the windows was close to zero. This must what it was like when it rained in the desert and the sheer volume of liquid turned gullies into rivers within minutes. I’d never seen anything like it.
A brilliant flash lit up the sheets of rain outside my window, though I didn’t see the bolt of lightning that caused it—and at the very same second, a tremendous CRACK! split my ears and made me jump to my feet.
That was close, I thought, my heart pounding. Had it hit the house? It couldn’t have—the power was still on. I quickly unplugged my computer in case the next one did strike us.
It happened again—the blinding flash and simultaneous BOOM! And again, I didn’t see a bolt, just a bright light outside the window as if someone had turned on a thousand-watt lightbulb on the roof.
Which was when Eli showed up.
The white crow flew out of the storm and through the window without breaking the glass, then swooped down to land on the edg
e of my screen.
“Um,” I said to the spirit. “This isn’t good, is it?”
Strangely, he seemed to be wet. I didn’t have time to remark on it, though, because Eli immediately blurted out, “You gotta get him to calm down!”
“What? Who?”
“The Thunderbird!”
“Slow down. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He bobbed up and down in agitation. “And I don’t have time to explain! Just go up on the roof and talk to him!”
There was another ear-splitting strike and flash. This time, the lights flickered.
“He’s gonna completely lose control, and soon,” Eli rasped. “Just go! I’ll talk you through it!”
And suddenly I knew who he was talking about.
I ran for the door, then down the hall and toward the broom closet at the end of it. There was a ladder inside the closet, bolted to the wall, that led up to a hatch in the roof. Going up there during an electrical storm was complete idiocy, of course—but at least I wouldn’t be alone. I’d have Eli with me.
And the person causing the storm.
I yanked the closet door open, nearly stumbled over a bucket, and started to climb. I knew who I’d find on the roof; he told me once he liked to come up here to look at the stars and think.
I threw open the hatch and stuck my head out, getting completely drenched in the process. There he was, just like I thought.
Ben.
He stood on the peak of the roof, one foot to either side. He wore only jeans, his feet and chest bare. He was holding on to the lightning rod that jutted from the roof with one hand, and seemed oblivious to my arrival.
“Ben!” I called over the rain. “Ben!”
He turned his head toward me slowly. The look on his face was dreamy, unfocused. He had a slight smile on his lips.
And lightning dancing in his eyes.
Or more accurately, between them—a tiny jagged bolt crackled from one iris to the other, as if he had a Taser implanted in his brain and his eyes were the electrodes. “Foxtrot?” he said. He sounded more asleep than awake.
Then the next bolt hit. It smashed down on top of his head like the blue-white hammer of a furious god, and I screamed. I was sure that the next thing I saw would be his blackened, smoking body pitching off the roof.
But that didn’t happen. His hair stood on end, and sparks skittered around the lightning rod like nervous fireflies, but it didn’t even change the expression on his face.
Eli swooped out of the rain and landed on the roof. “Talk to him. He needs to hear a human voice.”
“Talk to him? What am I supposed to say?”
“Tell him the truth about what he is.”
“I don’t know what he is!”
Eli’s voice was now as calm as Ben’s face. “I do. Just listen to me…”
So I did. Oddly enough, I think it was my experience as a professional assistant that let me deal with the situation without panicking. When things really hit the fan, it was people like me who often wound up saving the day—not because we had the solution, but because we could efficiently convey the pertinent information from the person in charge to the people on the ground. And in this particular situation, Eli was definitely the person in charge.
“Ben,” I called out in a firm voice. His gaze had wandered back toward the sky, but now he blinked slowly and focused on me again. “Listen to me. You created this storm. And now you have to stop it.”
“Foxtrot,” he said again. “No, that’s … I can’t do that. How could I do that?”
“Because you’re a Thunderbird. You aren’t just descended from the Cowichan Indians, you’re descended from a supernatural tribe of beings that could take on human form. They assimilated into human society a long time ago, but their powers and abilities live on in their bloodline.”
The slight smile on his face had turned into a frown of consternation. “I’m not … human?”
“You’re still you, Ben. You’re not going to sprout feathers and a beak. Thunderbirds were ancient and powerful spirits that could cause and control storms, but when they transformed they were indistinguishable from mortals—so much so that they interbred with us. You’re still a member of the human race, Ben. Think of this as just getting an inheritance from a distant relative.”
I sounded like I knew what I was talking about, right? So did every newscaster with a tiny speaker plugged into his ear and an expert on the other end. The trick was to project confidence and sincerity, think on your feet, and try not to let your pauses get too obvious.
“How do you know all this?” Ben asked. He sounded a little more alert, but still not fully there. “I don’t. I don’t know anything. I just know what Anna told me, and that didn’t make any sense.”
Anna? How was she involved? “What did she tell you, Ben?”
“That it was time to … wake up. She told me to look at the sky. That was all—just to look at the sky. So I did. I’ve looked at the sky before, you know.” He sounded faintly resentful. “Nothing like this ever happened. But this time, it felt different … it felt like something inside me was coming to life. I think … I think Anna did this to me, somehow.”
Great. Not only had an ex-flame entered Ben’s life, apparently she was some kind of sorceress, too. “That’s not important right now, Ben. Right now, you have to concentrate on the storm. On shutting it down.”
The smile came back. “That’s not so easy. Calling it up, that felt natural. Felt right. But now that it’s here … it’s kinda like giving birth, I guess. One way only.”
Terrific.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“He’s just nervous,” Eli said. “It’s his first time. Just talk him through it.”
Oh, yeah, fine. Reassure a newly minted Thunder God that this was natural, nothing to worry about. You can do it, honey. You just need to practice your self-control; why, you should have seen what happened the first time Thor whipped up a storm. I know it’s embarrassing, but it’s just because you’re so excited. Try thinking about baseball.
“Ben,” I said. “You have to trust me, okay? I trusted you when you tied that blindfold on me, and now it’s your turn. All right?”
He gave me a slow, dreamy nod.
“Remember who you are. What you do. When you’re cooking, who’s in control?”
“I am.” His voice was slow, hesitant.
“You sure? Pretend you’re cooking right now. Who’s the boss in your kitchen?”
“Me.” Better, but not perfect.
“The sky is your kitchen, Ben. All that wind, all that rain and thunder and lightning, those are your ingredients. Can you feel that?”
“I … I can. I can.”
“The storm isn’t an infant, Ben—it’s an entrée. And it’s done. Time to switch off the oven. Time to let everything cool down.”
“Yeah. I think … I think I can do that.” He frowned, and turned his attention from me to the storm itself. He reached up with one hand, his fingers spread, and the rain began to slow. “Turn it down,” Ben muttered. “Turn it down.”
The downpour gradually eased off. Lightning stopped flickering above us. I held my breath.
“Damn storm,” Ben growled. “You listen to me. I’m in charge here. My kitchen, my rules. And you … are … done!” He clenched his outstretched hand into a fist, and the rain came to a stop. The clouds swirled, then parted. I could see blue sky again.
“Thank God for control-freak chefs,” I whispered.
Ben looked back at me. Both of us were dripping wet, and I was starting to shiver.
“Okay,” he said. “I have clearly lost my mind. Thank you for humoring me. Now, could you kindly call the nice men in the white coats to take me away?”
“How about we go downstairs, dry off, and talk over a cup of something hot, instead?”
“How about hot and alcoholic?”
“I think I can arrange that.”
Eli chuckled. “Nicely handled, kid. I think I�
�m starting to like you.” And then he hopped off the edge of the roof and swooped away.
Ben carefully climbed down to the hatch, and I went down the ladder to make room for him. He closed the hatch behind him.
I took him to an unoccupied room and let him inside. “Towels and a robe are in the bathroom,” I said. “Get yourself dry and comfortable. I’m going to change my clothes, then grab us some coffee and something to spike it with. Don’t whip up a tornado or anything while I’m gone, all right?”
“I—can I do that?”
“I don’t know. Just stay put.”
My cell phone was trying to get my attention, so I answered it while striding briskly down the hall. By the time I’d gotten back to my office I’d reassured two guests, given Carl Jeffrey the okay to rent a pump, and been told that lightning had destroyed two trees. I changed quickly—I always kept two changes of clothes at the office—and went downstairs, grabbing two mugs of coffee from the carafe in the kitchen and a decanter of something amber from the sitting room.
I returned, knocked on the door with the side of my foot, and heard him say, “Come on in, unless you’re a blizzard.”
“Can you get the door? My hands are kind of full.”
He opened it. ZZ liked her guests to feel stylish as well as comfortable, so the robe he was wearing was not only warm and fluffy, it was styled like a mandarin’s coat: Golden dragons chased themselves against a deep purple background, and intricately embroidered vines climbed his lapels. Considering what I’d just seen him do, the overall impression he gave was that of a wizard who had lost his hat. And shoes.
I came in, shut the door with my foot, and set down the mugs of coffee. I poured a generous shot into each, then handed one to him. “Here.”
We sat on the edge of the bed, him near the head, me near the foot. We drank some coffee, discovered the amber liquid was brandy, and glanced at each other nervously.
“I’m not crazy, am I?” he said at last.
“Afraid not.”
“I’m a Thunderbird.”