by Livia Quinn
Everything else was not.
“River, I—” I moved, intending to throw my arms around him but his cold eyes and the way he crossed his muscular forearms over his chest threw up an instant barrier. River’s eyes simmered in a kind of neutral power mode, not copper or the beautiful verdigris color of vibrant life I was used to, but a pale bluish gray. “Are you okay? I’ve been worried about—”
“I’m fine,” he grated. “You can stop wishing me up now and let me get on with my life.”
I felt like I’d been slapped. Wait. I wished him up? My eyes narrowed as I took in the full measure of the change in him. I barely recognized him. There’d been no dark corners in his personality or his background before. People trusted him with their money and their dreams. The man before me was…darkness personified… I shivered, realizing even I wouldn’t trust him.
“Something’s wrong. What is it?”
He sighed, a heavy exaggerated sound meant to make me feel like a worrisome female. But I’d raised him and he must have forgotten, grown djinni or not, I knew him. “Are you here to get back to work?” I asked, holding out a very faint hope.
“No, I just came to let you know you can stop asking father about me. Stop acting like my mother and get on with your life.” He spread his massive arms and cocked his head. “As you can see, I’m healthy and whole, there’s no reason for you to be concerned anymore.”
Okay, right, I was so not going to worry now. “Where have you been?”
He shrugged. “Around.” His eyes glittered but not with good energy.
“Where are you planning to stay? What about the business?” I asked, thinking surely the business was important to him.
“I’ve turned the jobs over to Max and I’m… rethinking my future.” I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as he finished, “I just wanted you to know I won’t be back to the house; you can have your space.”
He was edgy, ready, but for what? Did he expect me to react physically? Surely not. Sorrow hit me like a sledgehammer, for while Dutch was scary and dangerous and could be, well… abrupt, he’d never looked at me like this, as if I were a stranger and not the sister he’d loved for the last twenty-four years.
“Where did you go? I mean, where did Dutch take you?”
“I was with a healer until about a month ago but I’m whole now.”
Not well…whole. Maybe it was just semantics but djinn can’t lie so it might be a clue.
I got the sense from the rigid muscles in his arms, his clenched jaw and the stirring fire in his coppery eyes that he was barely holding onto control, as if… he wanted revenge and couldn’t take it. But revenge on whom?
His aura went from gray to a pluming red and black like the dark edges of a volcanic storm. He growled, “I’m outta here. I’m done with your manipulations.” He pushed past me, his shoulder thrusting me back against the door of his room and when I regained my balance and got to the hallway, he was gone.
Reeling from his accusation…manipulations?…I stumbled down the stairs. If the house had felt wrong before—after River’s visit, the air took on a heavy quality. It fairly reeked with sinister intent.
For the next several hours I cleaned every surface, every nook and cranny, burned white scented candles and sage but by five-thirty I was anxious to leave for work, even though I’d be too early to enter the mail facility. When I walked out of Harmony, I felt like I’d been kicked out of my own home.
Twenty minutes after leaving the mail center, I turned down the little cul-de-sac near the fairgrounds and pulled to a stop at the curb in front of a tiny white frame house set on concrete pillars. As usual I honked the horn in case there was a dog nearby, and the curtain at the front window moved. “Here we go again.”
I took the large package from the bed of the pickup, propped it on the frame and shaded the barcode with my hand, glancing out of the corner of my eye while I scanned it. Maybe I could leave it on the doorstep. The sun broke through the clouds as I hefted the box. He was there all right. Timothy J. Wiley, Timmie, a melancholy little fairy whose moods were mirrored by the weather, more so than mine. He was some kind of distant, far distant cousin. I really, really didn’t want to think about that as I trudged up the sidewalk. Stepping over the muddy tracks on the path, I rapped on his smallish red door.
The door remained closed. “Mr. Wiley, I know you’re in there. Come on.”
Nothing. “Okay, look, I’m going to leave the package on the chair here by the doo—” He was very fast, the door flying open before I could close my eyes. I got a glimpse of his shiny black top hat and the little red bowtie around his neck before I was flashed by his very pale, pink posterior. Timmie is a lunaetic fairie, and he loves to flash his cheeks, which could never be described as buff.
“Tempest, my favorite cousin. See what I have for you?”
I shoved the box into his arms. “Forget about signing, Tim. Have a nice day.”
“But Tempest,” he whined sincerely. “I have something special…”
“I’m sure but I really can’t stop. Busy day, you know.” I ran to the truck and still, he beat me to it, standing by my front bumper, a slight drizzle dimming the shine on his top hat. “I don’t want to hurt you, Timmie,” I warned but he kept coming. Whatever he was planning, and it couldn’t have been much, ran amok the second he felt the charge I sent to his privates.
He doubled over, whining. “Sorry, but we’ve talked about this. You need a job, or counseling. You can’t just go around flashing people. It’s against the rules. Now, go on inside or I’ll have to file charges.”
I should report him again but Dylan usually handled these things and he wasn’t available. He didn’t mean any harm and his flashing didn’t expose him as a supernatural so it wasn’t a supernatural no-no. He was just lonely and depressed and his lunaetic nature ran counter to society’s standard for public behavior. Now, if he ever shifted into his other form in front of a mere-mortal, that would be a problem.
“What’s this about filing charges? Is this person bothering you?” Jack had pulled to the curb behind my truck while I was entangled in my chat with Wiley. And he didn’t seem to be overly focused on the fact that he was naked. Well, this was different. I guess his own issues were desensitizing him to the experience.
“I was just threatening him. He’s not really a danger to anybody.” I turned to Timothy who was gazing up at Jack with fascination. Did he recognize his dragon nature or just the fact that Jack was a big handsome authoritative presence? He was that. I found my own hormones jumping a bit.
Jack eyed Timothy up and down then said, “You’ve got two choices, buddy, cover yourself, or I’ll have to arrest you for public nudity.”
Timothy smiled and disappeared. Jack spun around looking for him. “Where’d he—” I pointed at his feet.
A black furry spider was propped on Jack’s boot and the only thing that gave him away was the slowly fading image of a top hat wobbling on his tiny head. Jack shook his foot and the creature went flying. He hit the ground and scampered back to his house, shifting back just in time to grab his box and push through his door.
Jack looked at me. “What was that?”
“Timmie’s a lunaetic faerie, not like crazy though, it’s a species. I’ll admit he’s odd especially with his erratic weather casting but mostly he’s into wearing formalwear, and flashing. I think he’s just got too much time on his hands. He doesn’t mean any harm.” Jack studied the house. “What are you doing over this way?” I asked.
Some emotion moved across his face, uncertainty, indecision? Then his voice was all business again. “I’m investigating the victim we found and interviewing one of your fans, Mrs. Karrakas. One of our missing persons worked for her.”
“Ugh, bad day then. How did it go with Jordie?” I hadn’t heard from her so I figured they’d talked.
He smiled, “She knew something was different about me before I said anything. Apparently, she can tell when someone is supernatural.” Hi
s smile disappeared. “I…she wanted me to give her a ride.”
“Hmm, well, it went better than you thought so maybe everything else will, too. Don’t give up.” Before he could react I reached up and gave him a firm kiss on the lips. I felt his hand move to my back for just a second before it fell away. I froze. It was awkward but he didn’t look irritated with the public display while he was on the job.
Instead, he said, “We should talk sometime soon.” My heart started pounding again. What? Was he planning to end our relationship now that things were starting to go his way? “But now’s not a good time. I’ll try to call you this afternoon.”
“Sure, and don’t worry,” I adopted a carefree posture, “If you lose your temper and claw Mrs. K into tiny pieces no one would miss her.”
He smiled and tipped his hat, a gesture I loved. It seemed to say, At your service, Ma’am.
If only.
Chapter 25
“Oh, it’s temporary all right, ‘cause you’re gonna fix it.”
Tempe
Jack’s unit was in the Karrakas’ driveway when I arrived at the first mailbox on Clubhouse Way. I hated that woman. She’d caused me a lot of headaches and almost cost me my job. The woman was a witch, well, not literally but then I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had warts on her ass. It’s against the rules to wish a wart on someone for your own enjoyment. Still, just thinking about how uncomfortable that would make her made me feel better.
The long line of boxes stretched out before me. This street could make or break my schedule on any given day, but today should be easy since I had only a few small packages. A rarity I assure you.
I slowed in front of the Karrakas box, though I had no mail for them, and tried to catch a glimpse of Jack. I was pathetic, like a lovesick, moon-eyed schoolgirl. I spotted Lancelot, Enchanted Glen’s unofficial caretaker plodding toward Mrs. K’s backyard. Good, he’d keep a wary eye on any shenanigans there.
The truck shot forward as I pushed the pedal a bit too hard and rounded the corner to the clubhouse where my life and River’s, and Jack’s, had changed forever. The dead body I’d found in the pro shop had put me squarely at the top of the new sheriff’s suspect list but my concern had been merely to find my missing brother’s djinni bottle.
After I found it damaged, I turned to the owner of the Tricked Out Tarot for a new one and the bargain we’d made probably saved River’s life. But that was the beginning of a series of events that toppled like dominoes right up to the Chaos and where we were today.
Hmm, maybe I could get Elvis to help me with my house. After all, he’d warned me about the spirits in River’s new amphora and he’d been right. I made a mental note to swing by the Tricked Out Tarot on the way home.
But as luck would have it, the object of my thoughts was standing at the end of the Wilson’s driveway, next to a sign that said, Garage Sale. Get an autograph from the one and only, Elvis. Right. I slid to a stop at the mailbox. The flag was up but there was nothing in it. Sitting on a concrete statue of the LSU tiger was the Elvis impersonator, in one of his summer weight jumpsuits. Still, sweat poured off his forehead, beneath the famous black curl and sunglasses.
As soon as I got out, he leaned over and pushed a button on a cassette recorder, thrust it into my hands then jumped back. As the music began to play, he windmilled his arms in sync with his swiveling hips and knees. I stepped back not wanting to get hit.
Then he let loose, “Return to sender,” three knee pumps, “address unknown.” More knee jerks. “No such number, no such name.” The flailing stopped, his hand shot out and I found myself nose to envelope tip with a piece of mail stamped, Return to sender.
I shook my head, “Did you get this out of the Wilsons’ box, Elvis? I could report you for mail tampering, you know.”
“Come on, Tempest, would you deprive me of an opportunity to perform?” He reminded me of an erratic tornado as everything from his head to his feet suddenly twisted, wiggled and bowed then froze again. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
He spun with masterful flair—I had to admit, he was good at this Elvis thing—and strode toward the house, rhinestones flashing.
“Elvis, wait.” He turned, cocking one hip to the side. Totally in character, he deliberately lowered the dark glasses and tilted his head so the gelled curl flopped down onto his forehead. That must take a lot of practice. “Are you going to be at your shop later this evening?”
He stood straight and frowned. “I sold that shop and moved to a new place where I could marry my most passionate pursuits with my performing.” His emotions were a hot pink for passionate. Which pursuit was his passion, music or magic?
“I didn’t know. Do you still do the same kind of stuff you did before? You know…”
He waved his hand impatiently. “Yes, yes… you need another amphora? I heard River was back and—”
“Where’d you hear that?” I asked, taken aback at this news. Why would he have been privy to information I’d just found out about my own brother?
“I-I don’t remember. I thought all that stuff with his kidnapping was settled. So… tell me, how can I help you? Need some tarot cards, a special spell?”
Actually, I did need cards, for class. I studied him for a minute then decided to take a chance. “I’m on the job, but I’d like to come by and talk to you about a situation.”
“Hmm…mm-mm-hmm-m!” Elvis’ arms and hips swung wildly in counterpoint to some beat only he recognized. “Youuu’ve got some trouble. Mmm…mm-mm-hmm-m! You’ve commm to the right place—”
“Right, I’ll see you later. What’s your new address?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of it—the House of Blues south of town.” One more body jerk and he pointed at my nose, “Goooogle it.” Right then he looked like a full-sized bobble-head doll of the King. He clapped his hands, “This is perfect. I’ve got a new gig and I need someone to give me some feedback. We’ll call it a trade.”
I’d heard of the famous blues landmark. It had quite a history. Vacant for years, somehow Elvis had pulled off an extraordinary upgrade from his tiny shotgun house. I agreed to watch his practice performance in return for his advice and hurried back to my truck.
I was just getting into a rhythm again—slide to box, flip it open, fill and close, rinse and repeat—when I spotted a familiar figure sitting on her porch. I coasted to a stop.
Eighty-five year old Inez Messer sat on her porch in a fuzzy sweater buttoned up to her thin pale neck. Even the pink of her garment couldn’t put a rosy glow in her cheeks. Her presence surprised me since Inez’ house had been empty and I’d been delivering her mail to her boyfriend’s house.
Much to everyone’s shock, not the least mine, that old curmudgeon, Phineas Jackson, had fallen hard for Inez and become a pussycat. Even after a painful relationship in her early twenties Inez never gave up hope of finding true love, and after a lifetime of waiting, I believed she’d found it. So, what had happened?
My steps slowed as I neared the porch. Inez looked older than her eighty-five years with red-rimmed eyes and sagging shoulders.
“Ms. Inez? How are you?”
She patted the chair beside her and said, “Come and sit, Tempe. We need to talk.”
My brows rose but I sat. I could always spare some time out of my schedule for Inez and I was curious about what had transpired between her and her new love. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. Are you still staying over in Newcastle with Mr. Jackson?”
“Yes, dear, but Mr. Jackson is very energetic and quite… attentive. I’m just taking a little break. “
What was wrong with attentive? I could do with some attention from my guy. “That’s a good thing, right?”
She sighed and the sorrowful sound worried me. “It would be if I could keep up.”
Really? Mr. Jackson was only a couple years younger than Inez, which she said made her a cougar. Since his retirement as he’d been a crotchety, crippled, cigarette-smoking stroke waiting-to-hap
pen, which he’d had during one of our confrontations.
Though my power had only been emerging, I’d saved him with the use of my zapper. He’d recovered and the last time I’d seen him at the Mardi Gras Ball he looked like he’d gotten a second lease on life. But, still, he was in his eighties.
“Are we talking about the same person—ex-postal carrier whose favorite pastime was reading me the riot act every day over some minor infraction of the mail code?”
“Well, he’s changed since you zapped the life back into him.”
“Um, I—”
“There’s no question in my mind, Tempest Pomeroy.” Her eyes narrowed as her voice rose, “That little tattoo of a redhead on his chest is proof that you rejuvenated him. He’s like a alpha rabbit on Viagra; he’s going to send me across that mortal bridge before my time if something isn’t done.”
I was horrified. “Please don’t say that, Ms. Inez. Maybe this is just temporary.”
“Oh, it’s temporary all right, ‘cause you’re gonna fix it.”
Huh? “How?” What did she expect me to do? I certainly didn’t have any influence on what that old man did.
“I want you to put that index finger of yours right here,” she pointed to her heart. “Zap me! Give me what you gave Phineas. Please, Tempe. Please?”
“Uhh, Inez, it doesn’t work like that, exactly.” Truth be told, I hadn’t known this problem was even a possibility. “I mean, I didn’t…” A change of subject was called for. “Maybe what you need is something to take your mind off this problem for a day or two. I have an idea. Why don’t you go with me to the extension class over at the community college this week?”