Melee

by Kristy Tate

  “You’ve seen him, right?” Matias once again followed. “He’s hard to miss—or at least his mustache is. And the eyebrows. A grown person could get lost in the thickness of those eyebrows. That’s probably where he hides the communication device.”

  Lizbet spotted the walrus-man and tried not to laugh. His eyebrows really did look like they could hide small animals.

  “Of course, the scariest are the most ordinary.”

  “So that man in beige...” Lizbet whispered.

  Matias nodded slowly. “Probably a Russian terrorist.”

  “And that woman in the white dress?”

  “Definitely a member of the Mexican Mafia.”

  “But she’s blond and blue-eyed!”

  “Good disguise, huh? I heard she paid a fortune for plastic surgery.”

  A tall redhead tapped her finger on Matias’s arm. “I hope you’re not gossiping about my guests!”

  Matias had the grace to flush. “Uh, no. We’re talking about my Aunt Freda.”

  The woman sniffed and melted a little beneath Matias’s friendly smile. After she’d moved away, Lizbet whispered, “You don’t have an Aunt Freda.”

  Matias let out a long sigh. “Poor Aunt Freda. She’s always been invisible. No one ever notices her.”

  The redhead reached into her beaded bag as a phone began to buzz. She slipped outside to take the call. She stood on the balcony on the other side of the wall-length window, her back to the room. Beyond her, the gray Puget Sound stretched to a pink horizon while gulls circled overhead.

  Matias and Lizbet circled the room, offering their trays to the guests. Moments later, the redhead returned, looking shaken. She took a drink off Matias’s tray and went to whisper to a man in beige pants and a dark blue dinner jacket.

  “See, they’re conspiring,” Matias whispered.

  Lizbet watched them. Something about their furtive exchange sent a chill down her spine. The couple moved outside to the deck and the woman tapped her phone again. Lizbet tried to watch them without being obvious. She sensed that something had happened to worry them. For her mom’s sake, she hoped it had nothing to do with the catering. She glanced around the room at the guests and tried to eavesdrop on their conversations. A man with a distended belly was unhappy with the city mayor. A woman in a pink pantsuit had a daughter who wanted to quit a prestigious music school to join a rock band. Two men in dinner jackets were arguing about the state of the social security system. No one seemed unhappy with the food or the servers, and that was all Lizbet cared about.

  When the couple who had taken the phone call disappeared from view, Lizbet kept an eye out for them. They didn’t return, even after dinner was served. As they cleaned up, Lizbet had a chance to ask her mom about them.

  “The Derringers?” Daugherty asked, her hands in a sink full of soapy water. “What do you want to know?”

  “They disappeared before dinner was served. Weren’t they the hosts? Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “Oh, maybe. They’re busy people and own a number of businesses.” Daugherty scrubbed a pan with a scouring pad. “Anything could have called them away.”

  Lizbet waited until the van was packed and the kitchen had been cleaned before she went to the deck where she’d seen the Derringers place their call. The sun had long since faded from view, and the moon left a streak of white on the silent Sound. The birds too had disappeared and she hoped they weren’t already sleeping for the night. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a dinner roll. As soon as she started tearing it into small pieces, she had the attention of several gulls.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked.

  The gulls squawked at her in response.

  She laughed. “I know you’d rather eat than sleep.” She watched them gobble up the breadcrumbs for a moment before asking, “Did you hear or see anything strange tonight?”

  “What do you mean?” a gull asked.

  “I don’t know.” Lizbet really didn’t know why she should care so much about one couple’s telephone call. “Just anything off.”

  “Yes,” one gull said.

  “They didn’t serve fish,” another said. “The yacht club almost always serve fish.”

  “My mom told me Mrs. Derringer is allergic,” Lizbet said. If the absence of a fish entre was as extraordinary as the evening got, Lizbet had nothing to worry about. Still, the knot of anxiety in her back refused to unwind.

  “That telephone call,” another gull said.

  “What about it?” Lizbet asked.

  “It ended suddenly,” the gull said.

  “So, someone hung up without saying goodbye?” That wasn’t so odd. Her aunt Josie almost never said goodbye and ended most phone conversations with a click.

  “The person on the other end screamed,” the gull said.

  “Screamed?” Goosebumps rose on Lizbet’s arms. “What did they say?”

  The gull let out a loud squawk.

  “So, they didn’t say a word?”

  SQUAWK!

  Lizbet turned around to see Matias watching her with a funny look on his face.

  “You look like you’re holding court with these birds,” he said.

  “They like me because I give them leftovers.” She showed him the partially eaten dinner roll in her hand.

  “Everyone likes you,” Matias said as he dropped a sweater around Lizbet’s shoulders. “Ready to go?”

  Lizbet really wanted to continue her discussion with the birds, but decided a telephone hang-up wasn’t something she needed to worry about. Or was it?

  “WHAT’S ALL THIS?” GLORIA stood at the top of the basement stairs and frowned at the collection of boxes, weights, and pulleys gathered around Declan’s feet.

  “It’s a Rock Solid 1500X weight machine,” Declan said, glancing up from the instruction booklet. “It’s mostly for me, but I thought it would be good for you, too.”

  “Mmm.” Gloria frowned at him. “I lift weights at the physical therapist’s office. I don’t like it.”

  Declan smiled. “I don’t think anyone does.”

  “So, why buy the machine?”

  So that I can see how much I can bench press in the privacy of my basement, was what he thought. What he said was, “For the same reason I eat oatmeal.”

  Gloria laughed. “Okay, I get it. Just don’t expect me to use it.” She turned to leave. “And don’t hurt yourself,” she said over her shoulder.

  SILENCE HAD ITS OWN music. Amplified, a void sucking in all the sounds that should have been: chattering squirrels, calling birds, the buzz of insects. Still. Dark. Silence as heavy as water.

  Hunger burned the back of his throat and tightened his gut. He padded across the forest floor. A carpeting of pine needles and soft soil muffled his footfalls. Above the trees’ canopy, a smattering of stars glistened, pale against a cloud-filled night. Mist shrouded the round, full strawberry moon.

  He sat back on his haunches and lifted his head toward the moon. Snatches of conversations drifted by. The girl must die... He’s young, unskilled...not used to our ways.

  His ears twitched. The voices...they belonged to the wind. Or did they? Who was the girl spoken of? Could it be Lizbet?

  Her name sent ripples of apprehension through his blood. He gazed at his paw...so foreign. How had he transformed into this creature? Standing on all fours, he loped through the woods aimlessly, fighting the hunger that zinged through his veins. He came to a clearing at the top of a hill and shuddered to a stop in a circle of stones. This place... Lizbet had told him of this place.

  Again, her name sent a shiver of dread down his spine. Those voices on the wind...they meant Lizbet. She couldn’t be dead. He would know. He would feel her death as certainly as he would feel his own. He turned and ran.

  His speed amazed him. He tore through the woods at lightning speed, the trees flashing by, his paws barely touching the ground. Power surged through his flanks. A feeling of invincibility coursed through him. Moments later he paused ben
eath the tree beside the farmhouse and gazed up at Lizbet’s window, willing her to join him in the moonlight. He called her name, but all that came out was a whimper.

  To die, to sleep – to sleep – perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.

  William Shakespeare

  From Lizbet’s Studies

  CHAPTER 3

  He woke as before—shivering in the cold morning light. The brand new sun didn’t have warmth to spare. The remains of his pants clung to a branch of a cedar tree, strips of his shirt littered the ferns on the forest floor, and one sandal hung near a robin’s nest high in a birch...the other...he couldn’t see the other one.

  He really liked those sandals.

  He needed help. And not just because he didn’t want to replace his wardrobe every month...every month? When was his last nightmare? As he gathered up the remains of his clothes, his jumbled thoughts skittered over the past few days and weeks. Had there been a full moon last night?

  He couldn’t think this way. This line of thought had to stop. He didn’t believe in werewolves.

  And yet, he had seen one with his own eyes.

  And he was in love with the girl who could talk to animals.

  LIZBET CAME DOWN THE next morning to find her mother fidgeting in the kitchen. Lizbet could tell from the crease between her mom’s eyebrows that something bothered her. Slight, fair, and pink-cheeked, Daugherty was opposite in nearly every way to Lizbet. Which made more sense now that she knew she wasn’t her mother’s biological daughter. But it took more than blood to make a family, and Lizbet could read her mother’s moods like a magazine.

  She wrapped her arms around Daugherty’s waist and laid her head on her mom’s shoulder. “Something wrong?”

  Daugherty took her time before answering as if weighing her words to measure the pain they could deliver. “The Derringer girl didn’t come home last night.”

  The anxious knot in Lizbet’s spine tightened. “How come?”

  “No one knows. Elsa got a call from Courtney in the middle of the party. Courtney screamed and dropped the phone and that’s the last anyone has heard from her.”

  “Strange.” Lizbet pulled away from her mom, plucked the coffee mug from Daugherty’s fingers, and refilled it before filling a mug for herself.

  “So strange.” Daugherty plopped into a kitchen chair and began to drum her fingers on the table.

  Lizbet placed the loaded coffee mug in front of her mom. “So many weird things are happening around here...” She sat on a chair on the opposite side of the table and took a sip of coffee while watching her mom over the rim of her mug.

  “Declan’s grandfather and those wolves...” Daugherty sipped her own coffee.

  Lizbet nodded, knowing her mom only knew a fraction of the weirdness blowing around East End. “And then that attorney just disappeared. Leo Cabriolet.”

  Daugherty slammed her mug onto the table causing the coffee to slosh over the rim. “Yes! What was that about?”

  Lizbet shrugged even though she knew that werewolf was dead. “According to Declan’s mom, the police think he’s in cahoots with Godwin.”

  “And they still can’t find him. I can’t believe a man can just go off the grid in today’s technological world.”

  But Lizbet knew it would be really hard to find a wolf if you thought you were looking for a man.

  Daugherty shook her head as if trying to clear it of all the puzzles. “What do you have going on today?”

  “Remember? Declan and I are going to Blackstone Island to see if we can find anything more about Rose.”

  “That’s right. You told me you were going to do that.” Daugherty blew out a sigh. “I really wish I had more I could tell you. That whole episode still feels unreal. I’m so sorry I’m such a blank slate. Memories from those twenty years are like TV reruns of a show I didn’t even particularly like.”

  Lizbet patted her mom’s hand. “You had amnesia. You shouldn’t apologize for that.”

  “I know, but still...”

  “It must be so strange to have lost almost half of your life.”

  “I’d rather lose twenty years than a daughter.” The worry wrinkle between Daugherty’s brows returned. “I’m just sick for the Derringers. They must be out of their minds with worry.”

  A knocking at the door interrupted them. Lizbet turned to wave Declan inside. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked...off, but she couldn’t say why. Also, his shirt strained against his chest as if he’d gained weight. Not just weight, but muscles...lots of them. He looked healthy, but tired. Her thoughts went back to the book on sleep he’d picked up at the bookstore. She’d have to ask him about that. But not in front of her mom. “Ready to go?” she asked.

  He tried to smile back, but his expression, like his shirt, looked strained. “Yeah.”

  Daugherty twisted in her chair and pushed a weary hand through her hair. “Do you know Courtney Derringer?”

  Caution flickered in his eyes. “She was a year behind me in school. Why?”

  “She’s missing,” Lizbet said.

  Declan paled. “Missing? How?”

  “She didn’t come home last night,” Daugherty told him.

  The tension in Declan’s eyes softened. “That could mean anything.”

  “There’s more to it than that. Her parents are frantic.” Daugherty told him the same thing she’d told Lizbet. “If you hear anything, let me know.”

  “Sure.” Declan flipped the keys in his hands. “But she’s probably just bunked out at someone’s house.” His words sounded casual and relaxed, but the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows didn’t fade away until they were out on the water, the sea breeze blowing them westward.

  The birds and dolphins sent greetings as Declan powered his boat into the small harbor of the island where Lizbet had spent the first seventeen years of her life. Lizbet waved in return, calling the animals by name.

  Her heart lifted as it always did whenever she returned to Blackstone Island, even though her expectations were low. “Remember how we found very little about Rose the last time we were here,” she said as she helped Declan tie the boat up to the tiny dock.

  “We’re looking for different things this time.” Declan straightened and gazed up the path leading to the house that Lizbet had called home. “I still can’t believe you lived here like hermits. This place looks like it could belong to rabbits.”

  “It does, sort of.” Ivy had overrun the house, making it look more like a bush than a structure. “I think the foliage was part of the camouflage. Poor Rose. Imagine trying to hide for so many years.”

  Declan elbowed her. “Come on. Let’s go see what we can find.”

  Lizbet’s feet faltered as they climbed through the gorse and tall grass. A smattering of clouds filled the mid-morning sky and the cool wind carried a hint of rain. “It seems fruitless.”

  “Not necessarily,” Declan said. “Last time, you were just looking for anything about your mom. This time, we want not only that, but also recipes and any hint of her ancestry, especially your father—including her dealings with werewolves.”

  “Werewolves?” She paused at the low stone wall that surrounded the house. “I don’t think Rose was a werewolf.”

  “Why not?” Declan placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her up the walkway. “Leo Cabriolet was and we think Godwin could be. Why not Rose?”

  Lizbet slid Declan a quick glance. His voice had that casual overstressed tone again. “Are there such things as female werewolves?”

  “Why not? Every other species has both sexes. It would be weird if there weren’t.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s what’s weird.”

  He grinned. “Okay, so there’s plenty of weirdness to go around...”

  “You betcha.”

  Declan bit his lip as if he wanted to say something.

  Lizbet climbed the steps leading to
the front porch and pulled a string of keys from her pocket. “A lock on this door is just one of the weird-oddities.”

  “You didn’t ever lock the door when you lived here?”

  “Why would we? No one ever came here.”

  “That’s not true. My dad came here. Godwin came here.”

  “Well, your dad was definitely invited, although Godwin wasn’t.” Lizbet scrunched her forehead in thought. “Maybe Rose figured that if someone was already on the island it would be pointless to try and lock them out. Although, it’s possible that if she were like me and could communicate with the animals she probably felt she didn’t need one. The animals are a better security system than money can buy or man can make.”

  “That’s for sure,” Declan said.

  “You’re thinking about Leroy, aren’t you?”

  “Who?”

  “Leroy, the bear?”

  “It’s so weird you’re on a first-name basis with bears.”

  “But handy.”

  Lizbet pushed open the door and a wave of wistful longing swept over her. Of course, she’d never trade her earlier lonely life for the one she had now—the boy next to her being the most important reason—but in many ways life on the island had been easier, less complicated, and sweeter. Her gaze swept over the stacks of books. “We’re looking for cookbooks and anything relating to legends and myths.”

  “There’s like a thousand books in this room.”

  Lizbet sighed and settled down cross-legged in front of the bookcase. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  DECLAN LEFT LIZBET in the living room and went to inspect the office.

  “There’s just gardening books in there,” Lizbet called after him.

  “It won’t hurt to double check,” he told her. The office held a desk, a chair, and a massive bookshelf. After scanning the agricultural books, Composting 101, Living Off the Land and Loving It, Dirt Farming for Dummies, he realized that Lizbet had been right. He sat in the chair and looked around the room. Something told him he was missing something.