With a precision stemming from years of training that had nothing to do with caffeinated beverages, Jacquelyn managed to catch Bree’s orders up and restore harmony to the morning. Making a Mexican mocha was nothing compared to killing a demon or beheading the undead.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look bored,” Wes Maxwell remarked, approaching the counter. One of Grind’s many regulars, he never missed a day without an iced soy macchiato. Nature-boy to a tee, and her ex’s best friend, he stopped by even on the days he wasn’t on shift at the fire station.
“Never a boring moment in the glamorous world of caffeine,” Jacquelyn replied, already pouring the soy milk and caramel syrup into his cup.
“Haven’t seen you around much,” Wes pointed out as he slid a five dollar bill across the counter. “Hiding out? Or hiding from someone?”
“Oh, you know, just livin’ the dream.” She topped his drink off with a shot of espresso and popped the lid on the cup, jamming a straw down the center. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her break-up with Finn.
Wes smiled and took the cup from her, swirling the contents while she counted out his change. “We’re planning a hiking trip later this month. Gonna climb to the top of the cornice where there’s a sweet cliff to rappel from. Won’t be the same without you kicking our asses up the mountain. You should think about going.”
With Finn? No way. “For some reason, Wes, that sounds less than appealing. But thanks for the offer.”
“Ah, gotcha,” Wes said conspiratorially as he leaned in toward the counter. “From the looks of your face, you’re pretty busy. Need any help?”
Jacquelyn suppressed a groan and looked around just to make sure no one—especially Bree—was listening. This was the last thing she wanted to talk about. As Finn’s best friend since childhood, there wasn’t much about him that Wes didn’t know. And that included Finn’s and Jacquelyn’s job as the territory’s resident evil extractors. It was a huge no-no and a violation of about fifty Sentry rules, but Finn didn’t care. Wes was the only local “in the know” and besides being a certified adrenaline junkie, he considered himself a sidekick of sorts. Not that they’d ever taken him out on any hunts. But Wes was still hopeful, and offered up assistance at every opportunity.
“I would never steal you away from the station, Wes,” Jacquelyn whispered in a scandalized tone. “What if there was a fire and you were busy taking down a ghoul while someone’s house burned to the ground?”
Wes rolled his eyes. “Excuses, excuses. I’ll wear you guys down eventually and you’ll take me along.”
She smiled. Don’t count on it, buddy.
“I bet the rush of doing what you do beats the hell out of B.A.S.E. jumping.” He stuffed a dollar and a few coins into the tip jar. “If you change your mind about the hiking trip, just let me know,” he said, giving her a playful wink as he headed for the door. “See ya around.”
“Later.” One of the worst parts of a breakup: the division of everyone’s friends.
After the excitement of the morning rush, the rest of Jacquelyn’s day dragged by on broken legs. Exhausted and fueled by less than a few hours’ sleep, she fought to keep an alert—not to mention pleasant—expression. McCall seemed to be the epicenter of paranormal activity lately, and a good night’s rest just didn’t jive.
“Mild-mannered barista by day…” she murmured as she gathered up a discarded mug and wiped down the table. Problem with having a secret identity—all the secrecy. Though it was a huge violation of protocol, one that would get Finn’s ass in a serious sling, it was sort of nice not having to hide anything from Wes. She’d known him so long, he felt like the brother she’d never had. You know, the one who wants to hang out with you and your girlfriends and then tattles to mom when you don’t let him. Maybe if she’d been able to share her secret life with Libby, Jacquelyn wouldn’t have lost herself so completely to Finn. But growing up as a ward of the Sentry, she’d been taught to share her secrets with no one but her Bearer and the governing authority in her territory. And since Waerds and Bearers were almost always assigned in male/female pairs, they had a tendency to naturally fall into less than professional relationships. The Sentry sort of set them up for relationship failures with their strict rules and regulations. Knowing how the Sentry loved their protocols, Jacquelyn didn’t expect anything to change any time soon.
“How can anyone stomach a pumpkin latté?” she asked as she finished up the seasonal-flavor order sheet.
“Don’t know and don’t fucking care,” Bree replied. “We just get paid to make ‘em.”
When the clock finally made it to three, Jacquelyn sighed in relief.
“I’m outta here,” she announced to the room at large. “See ya tomorrow, Bree.”
“Hey!” Jacquelyn stopped and turned to face Bree. “Can you try to wake up on time and come in a little fuckin’ earlier tomorrow?”
How did Bree even still have a job with that filthy mouth? She shrugged, giving a wan smile in response and crept out the back door. With her mountain bike in tow, she crossed the alley and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The epicenter of downtown McCall happened to be nothing more than a single street lined with businesses, but it had a quaint small town charm. Weeping crab apple and birch trees were planted every few feet, jutting up out of holes cut in the concrete. In a week or so, the leaves would start to turn, but for now they remained green and supple. During the winter months, they’d be adorned with twinkling white lights wound all the way down the trunk, transforming downtown into a glistening frost-like wonderland.
She’d been transferred to McCall after a three year stint in Portland, Oregon. Jacquelyn liked the small town charm, the familiar faces, and the quiet pace. It was a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of the bigger city. But now that she and Finn weren’t exactly working well together, she wondered if the life she’d carved out for herself here would come to an end. The Sentry wasn’t forgiving of hunters who couldn’t effectively do their jobs. The inquiry into Ryan’s death and her subsequent probation had been proof enough of that. They’d transferred her before she even had an opportunity to pack what meager belongings she possessed. Jacquelyn just had to hope that she could pick up the shattered pieces of her love life before anyone got wind of it.
Chapter 5
“JACK-LYN! JACK-LYN!” A voice called out from behind her.
The rhythmic way he pronounced her name was like a drum beat tapping against her skull. Jacquelyn couldn’t help the groan that made its way up her throat. She was tired, beat up, and ready for a nap. After eight hours of forced conversation and pleasant customer service smiles, all she wanted was to zone out and be anti-social. She stopped and waited for him to catch up. If she didn’t, he’d chase her all the way down the street and she didn’t feel like making a scene.
“Hey Pete,” she said in greeting. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” he said through panting breaths. “I tried to catch you at work, but you’d already left.”
“Oh,” she remarked, not sure what else to say. Overeager had nothing on Pete Koskella. Possessing all the intensity of a teenage boy, you’d never guess he was well into his late-twenties. But he was sweet, harmless really. And since Jacquelyn was one of only a few people in town who treated the awkward loner with kindness, he’d sort of appointed himself as her honorary helpful hand. He was always offering her a ride home, help with getting firewood, he’d even brought a Christmas tree to her house one year when she’d mentioned she wasn’t going to get one. She felt bad for him, really. Pete got teased a lot. People could be such assholes.
Jacquelyn tried not to seem overly observant as he chatted her up about nothing in particular. As always, his clothes were a little on the worn and dirty side. Just like him. Not filthy or anything, but maybe like he’d missed a couple of showers. His dull gray eyes did little for his equally dull brown hair and sallow skin. And though he wasn’t soft, his body lacked the filled-out appearance of
men his age. The only thing that stood out about him was a smile just a notch below game-show-host flashy.
“I noticed you didn’t have your car again and I wanted to know if I could give you a ride home?” His tone mirrored the expectant expression on his face.
Seriously, as often as he offered to give her a ride, Pete might as well start his own taxi service. Was she that pathetic, though? Riding her bike or walking to work every day. People all over the world did the same thing, what made Jacquelyn’s green commute so unfathomable? To be honest, though, September was getting colder by the day and she wasn’t looking forward to pedaling to work once winter hit. Riding her bike on a frosty morning was one thing, trudging through two feet of snow was another. Maybe this was the motivation she needed to finally buckle and get her car fixed. “Thanks, Pete.” She hoped she sounded appreciative and not embarrassed. “But I’m just headed over to the Gas ‘n Go. I appreciate the offer, though.”
Pete’s gaze dropped and Jacquelyn looked around, uncomfortable with his sudden broodiness and desperate for an excuse to run. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she didn’t want to give him any mixed signals, either. She had a feeling that if she gave Pete an inch, it would feel like twenty miles. Being hit by a bus would be a nice alternative to standing on the sidewalk right about now and Jacquelyn wondered idly when one might pass by.
Pete looked up, and his lips thinned as his gaze settled on her face as if seeing it for the first time. His hands balled up into fists at his side. “What happened to your face?”
Jacquelyn couldn’t help but cringe. God, she knew she looked like shit. It spoke volumes about Bree’s utter disinterest that she hadn’t noticed it. If she had, everyone in town would be spreading wild stories by now. Would it have killed her to put on a little make-up this morning? “It’s nothing,” Jacquelyn said, her voice sounding heavier than she intended. “I tripped on a stump last night and fell. It looks a lot worse than it actually is.” She managed a smile for him.
Pete relaxed. “I’d really like to give you a ride,” he said, almost too low to hear.
Jacquelyn tried to quell the sudden burst of adrenaline seeping into her bloodstream. She was tougher than Pete was crazy or dangerous. He just didn’t have much experience with women. But his attention made her uncomfortable and the slight shiver that raced up her spine lingered at the top of her head. Must have been a little left over creepiness from the encounter with the Changeling last night.
“Some other time, maybe,” she answered in apology. “Like I said, I’m just headed down the street. I’ve got some errands to run, and I’m meeting Libby and Evan for dinner later. But thanks anyway. I’ll see you around.” Without giving him a chance to rebut, Jacquelyn took off down the sidewalk, fighting the urge to look back. Turning around wouldn’t confirm anything she didn’t already know. He was staring at her.
Rushing down the sidewalk as quickly as she could with her bike in tow, Jacquelyn walked for a good thirty yards and took a left. Dashed past a car pulling out from the pump, parked her bike, and ducked into the Lakeside Gas ‘n Go, leaning against the counter. After a moment of composure, she turned to face Libby.
“What the hell happened to your face?” Libby’s voice boomed to the back of the convenience store.
“Nice Libs, I don’t think the guys out in the garage heard you. Quick, start talking,” she said, looking past her friend and out the window.
“I thought I was,” Libby replied. “What are we supposed to be talking about besides the fact that you look like you slid down a hill face first? Did you trip on your porch last night? I didn’t think you were that drunk, Jax. Shit, I wasn’t that drunk, and I had twice as much as you did.”
Jacquelyn laughed a little too loud and watched as Pete sulked past the gas station, his eyes lingering on her through the window as he went. “I tripped,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “And I don’t think you can get that drunk. You’re immune to alcohol or something. I’m ducking Pete, and I don’t want to look bored or unoccupied. Humor me.”
“I’m not immune, just well-practiced. Poor Pete,” Libby said with a sigh. “He’s in way over his head chasing after a cranky-ass like you. And oh my god, can you imagine what Finn would do to him?” Her voice once again escalated to megaphone proportions and Jacquelyn shot her a caustic glare. “All right clumsy, if you want to look busy, go stock these for me.” Libby handed over a large box full of snack-sized tortilla chip bags as she took off toward the office at the back of the store. “If you want to look occupied, you might as well be occupied.”
Libby and her husband owned the gas station/mechanic shop/convenience store and Jacquelyn did her best to impede their day-to-day business by loitering in her free time. She placed the bags of chips on the appropriate rack without arguing or complaining. Digging a thirty-foot ditch would be better than trying to find the right words to spare Pete’s feelings.
“Hey, Jax.” Libby poked her head out of the office door. “I need to run to the bank. Think you can hold down the fort until I get back?”
Leave it to Libby to give her an excuse to hang around. Jacquelyn had to assume her friend liked the way she loitered. “You rock my world, you know that, Libs?” It wasn’t like she was anxious to ride her bike home and despite the fact that he meant well, she really didn’t feel like hitching a ride with Pete.
From the back room, Libby called out, “What did you say? Hang on, I have to pee! Last night’s margaritas are still sloshing around in my bladder!”
The clatter as some tool dropped to the concrete floor in the shop was followed by a splutter of Evan’s soft laughter. Libby’s voice had a tendency to carry. No doubt the tellers at the bank two blocks down the street heard that particular proclamation.
Once Libby took care of her bladder issues, she loaded up a zipper bag with the day’s deposit and headed for the bank. Jacquelyn manned the pumps, well… she stood at the counter and pretended to man the pumps while she flipped through a magazine Libby had stashed beneath the counter. Cosmo. She was particularly interested in the article titled, Maintaining a Friendly Relationship with Your Ex: A Breakup Guide. It was like Cosmo had read her mind or something. She wondered if they had any advice specific to supernatural hunters and their empath counterparts. Jacquelyn sighed. Probably not. Surely Buffy dealt with similar problems?
Micah hated waking up, becoming one with the living once again. He swam from the bottom of the blackest ocean, kicking and paddling toward the blue-gold water glistening with sunlight. But he wanted to sleep; give himself up to the nothing, and sink to the empty black. Dreams did not exist at the bottom of this dark ocean.
He could take another Ativan—or better yet, a couple of Trazadone. He could sleep another eight hours if he wanted. Eight dreamless hours. But he already felt hung-over and taking another half of a pill would leave him feeling even worse. Eyes sticky with sleep, he pried them open to the harsh afternoon light and groaned. A headache was the least of his troubles. His gut twisted into knots from taking too many pills on an empty stomach. What a great way to start the day.
Breakfast—was it still breakfast when you ate it after noon?—helped, at least he didn’t feel like throwing up anymore. The crisp fall air cleared his head when he stepped outside to find he was closer to town than he’d thought the previous night. Further up the grade the trees thinned and he could just make out the roofs of a few houses. He had to assume that as the highway continued up the grade, it would deposit him into the small town marked with a dot on his GPS.
As he took in his surroundings and filled his lungs with the cool morning air, Micah realized the small campground wasn’t at all as eerie as it looked through the veil of darkness and moonlight. Sun filtered down through the branches and needles of pine trees. And the brush that had appeared dark and menacing the night before quivered in the breeze, bright green and dotted with purple berries. A forested area like any other he’d parked beside over past couple of weeks. And no amoun
t of mysterious shrieks could convince him otherwise.
He’d be glad to put this place behind him, though. More than several hundred miles stretched out between him and Wyoming. An internet search of the country’s least populated towns had directed him to a place called Lost Springs. Even the name hinted that the town was tucked away from civilization. He had no idea what he’d find when he got there, but the thought of living somewhere with a population of less than a couple hundred people was too appealing to pass up. Micah pulled the red plastic wedges from behind the tires and stowed them in the RV’s outside compartment. What a way to travel, he thought as he secured the door behind him and took a seat in the comfy leather captain’s chair.
Micah squirmed and reached beneath him, grabbing the crumpled wad of paper bearing the sketch of the dream-woman’s face. He held it in his hand, a suddenly heavy burden. She’d looked so afraid. For a moment, he considered opening the tangled mass of paper. Just to see her face one more time. But he’d be damned if he got sucked out of reality and into prophecies and superstitious nonsense. She was just a face in a dream.
He threw the drawing somewhere behind him and the engine roared to life. The RV maneuvered pretty well despite its size, but Micah still had to make a thirty-seven point turn just to get it facing the right way so he could pull out onto the highway. He drove for five minutes or so, up the canyon, past a marker indicating, Brundage Mountain Ski Area and further up the highway past a tiny ski hill all but abandoned until winter. Two ski hills and he wasn’t even to town yet. He could only assume this mountain area would soon see a ton of snow. The trees thinned, houses jutted up here and there but there was little else to mark the town’s existence save a large carved sign that read Welcome to McCall.
“McCall, huh?” He checked his fuel gauge, dangerously close to empty. “I hope you have a gas station.”
A fancy-ass motor home pulled up to pump number five and Jacquelyn watched as the driver maneuvered the vehicle toward the appropriate nozzle. It looked as though he’d never driven anything larger than a Passat before he hopped behind the wheel of the motor home that took up the length of the gas pumps and she wondered as she watched him ease to a stop how the driver had managed such a sharp turn. She’d expected the front end to hit the post that supported the awning, but luckily, he missed it by about a quarter of an inch. If he’d done any damage, you can bet Libby would have burst a blood vessel.
Vengeance Borne Page 4