by R. J. Blain
“It’s early to rule out humans, but let’s do it for a moment and think through who would want a light pole so bad they’d steal it in the middle of a storm,” she said.
“All right. Any of the gods could be behind it.”
“They can’t use their powers.”
“Sure, but there’s still magic, and any one of them can use magic.”
“You think one of the gods, here in town, on vacation, is going to be dumb enough to steal traffic lights just for kicks?”
“Well, Crow, maybe.”
She grinned. “Did you stop by his garage sale?”
“That tent,” I said. “You?”
“Yeah. Didn’t see traffic lights.”
“Was anything else…strange about his sale?” I asked. “Other than the lurid pink whale?”
“Spill it,” she said. “Whatever you just thought of.”
“There was an old record player and records. I thought I saw a shine of magic on them. Maybe.”
“Shine?”
“Just a soft gold glow. Might not be anything.”
“Might be a dragon,” she said.
“Or a spell? There was more than one shiny moment.”
“Why would a record player need a spell?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Too many possibilities. Crow got the stuff from abandoned storage units. I should pull records to find out who owned them. Maybe that would give us an idea about the record player. If it’s magic.”
“Did someone buy it?”
“Couple of the ladies from the knitting club.”
“This is important?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Okay, so let me get this straight.” She tucked one bare foot up under her on the couch. “You are going to pull storage records, track down the knitting club members to see if a record player is magic, and tell the dragon pig to search the town for other dragons. You are also, simultaneously going to solve the thefts and transfer god powers to Death, who hasn’t ever looked after the powers in Ordinary.”
“Yes?”
She stared at me for an extended moment. “LaPine is beautiful this time of year.”
I frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ve talked to Ryder.”
Everything in me stilled. “Okay?”
“He said you’ve shot down every idea he’s come up with.”
“That’s not true.”
She tipped her head down, eyebrow raised.
“Some of the ideas I haven’t said yes or no to yet. I like them, I just keep getting called away by things and don’t want him paying cancellation fees.”
“You’re avoiding leaving town.”
“Hey, so here’s a fun question,” I said brightly. “How’s it going with your boyfriend? Has the demon earned the right to come inside the secret library?”
She rolled her eyes. “Bathin and I are doing just fine, thank you. I am perfectly comfortable with not letting him into the library yet, and you know what? So is he. Because this is a place full of old magics, and I’m the one keeping them safe and secure. Also, that’s not what we should be talking about.”
“Well, neither is my relationship.”
She blew air through her lips. “For someone who has been in love with a person for most of her life, you are the slowest person to commit to anything new.”
“Slow? The moment he proposed to me, I said yes.”
“After the demon showed up.”
“Yeah, there was that.”
“After we talked you out of going after said demon to take care of business while poor Ryder was still on his knees.”
“He wasn’t on his knees,” I mumbled into my cup. “He tackled me.”
She settled back, waiting for more. Waiting for the truth.
“We have a string of thefts, a god power exchange, and a Valkyrie on the hunt for fresh volunteer blood, and you think I should just drop all that and leave town?”
“Dad was like that.”
“I know.
“Never wanted to leave.”
“I know.”
“Workaholic.”
“I’m not Dad.”
“But you’re making the same choices he made.”
“Maybe it’s a Bridge thing?” I mused.
“I think it’s a you-don’t-trust-us thing.”
“Whoa. Not true.”
“You don’t trust us to look after ourselves and each other while you’re gone.”
“I trust you. Most of you. Not Crow…”
“You think something bad is going to happen, something terrible, and you won’t make it back in time to save us.”
That was so close to the heart, I choked on coffee, my throat too tight to work correctly.
“You know Jean will tell us if something really bad is going to happen,” Myra went on unflappably. “She’s been practicing being more sensitive to her gift, to give us longer warning times before doom hits.”
“I know.”
“You know if something terrible happened, all the gods in this town would rise up and kick ass, even though that means they’d have to pack up their powers and leave town for at least a year. They’ve done it before.”
“And they loved it so much last time. We didn’t suffer for that at all.”
“They took it pretty well.”
“Thor was so bitchy it rained all summer.”
“Thor’s always bitchy.”
I hummed in agreement and took another sip. “Jean got hit by a car.”
“I remember.”
“You started dating a demon.”
“Which was nothing like getting hit by a car.”
“He broke your heart.”
“And my heart mended, just like Jean’s bones mended. But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Have you mended from all those hits? All the things that have happened to us? To Ben, Old Rossi, Ryder? All the things that have happened to you?”
“I’m fine.” It came out stiff, stilted. It came out hard, because all those memories crowded in, all those failures, all those fears.
All the times I’d failed the people in my town were still back there, somewhere in my mind, screaming warnings that it could happen again. That I could fail again.
“Delaney,” she said, soft but determined, knowing me too well, knowing me as only a sister could. “None of those things would have turned out any differently. We made our choices with the best information we had at the time.
“We’ve won, and we’ve lost. But we’re here, together. Even if it were legal to turn back time for a do-over, would you really want to make different choices?”
I cleared my throat. “I might.”
She gave me a level stare. “And if you did, do you think the outcome would be any better?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe Ryder wouldn’t be the vassal to a petty god. Maybe I wouldn’t have lost my soul for a year. Maybe you wouldn’t have had your heart broken, and Jean wouldn’t feel like she had to get better at her gift just because she almost didn’t know the big troubles were coming until they hit.”
“Or maybe we would be right here, you and I, drinking coffee in a winter storm, trying to figure out who’s developed an industrial light fetish, and arguing over your inability to let go for a few days. Also,” she added, “eating really good cookies.”
I inhaled, exhaled. “They are really good.” I plucked another off the plate and popped the whole thing in my mouth. “How about this? I promise if I get the powers safely in Than’s hands, I will pack my bags and flee tomorrow. Before the next problem hits.”
She tipped her head to one side, then shrugged. “Will you promise me you will let go and have fun?”
“Yes?”
“Will Ryder?”
“I think he’s more than willing to let go. Have you seen him after a few beers?”
“The dancing,” she breathed.
“So white guy,” I agreed.
She grinned. “He knows how to have fun. I think he needs time away from this town too. You both need time away from your job and his job, and family and friends, and just… everything. He saw you get shot, Delaney. He saw you lose your soul. He saw you die. Was right here for all of it.”
“I was only dead for a minute.”
“Try telling Ryder it wasn’t a lifetime.”
I wasn’t dumb enough to tell Ryder that. We didn’t talk much about all the bad stuff. Not because we didn’t have time to rehash everything, but because we both understood that those things were a part of being the Bridge to Ordinary, a part of being the police chief.
I was going to take some hits.
It was my honor to make sure everyone was safe, to make Ordinary welcoming for people and beings of all manner of existence. I was proud of our little town. Proud of the people and supernaturals and others who made it their home.
Ryder knew my job was a part of me, as vital as the breath in my lungs.
But yeah. Getting away from this place was beginning to take the top slot in my genie-three-wish fantasies.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “I’m on vacation.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and groaned.
“What?” Myra asked. “Ryder?”
“No. Bertie.”
“The planning meeting?”
I tucked my phone in my pocket and leaned my head back against the soft cushion of the chair. “Do you think she’d miss me if I weren’t there? Or maybe if I were just dead?”
“Yes. Also if you were on vacation right now, she’d excuse your absence. But look where you are. Here. In the Valkyrie’s reach. Stupid.”
I groaned again and rubbed my forehead.
Myra stood. “Come on. I’ll go with you. You know she’ll want all of us to attend.”
“Have I told you I love you lately?” I pushed up onto my feet.
“Nope,” she said. “And that’s not going to change my mind about your vacation avoidance.”
“Oh my gods,” I said, “I’m not avoiding it. I’m trying to get out of town.”
“I’ve never seen a Reed woman not get something she sets her sights on.”
“Meaning?”
“For someone who says she wants to leave town, you’re still right here.”
“Don’t you have a demon to torment?”
She grinned, and it was wicked. “Yes, but he’s not here eating all my cookies.”
Just for that, I stole the last three on the plate and stuffed them all in my mouth in one go.
She laughed and strode out the door. “Get going, Chief,” she said. “We’re burning daylight.”
Chapter Five
“What’s with the mallet?” I asked Jean.
My youngest sister shifted the comically huge hammer over her shoulder and gave me wide eyes like she had no idea what I was talking about. “This old thing?”
We were inside the cavernous hall of the community center, which had once been the grade school and was now the office and seat of power for our local Valkyrie. The neatly printed sign on the brick wall stated Meeting with a blocky arrow pointing toward what was once a gymnasium.
Myra ignored us both and strolled off to the meeting.
“Is it a collectable? Like from a movie or something?” I asked.
“Nope. I got it from Crow’s sale. Went back after the call to Mom’s, and it was there and… I had to have it.”
“Like the hippo.”
“House hippo,” she corrected.
“Which you had to have because…”
“They bring luck.”
“And the hammer?”
She started off toward the main room. “I just felt like having it.” She paused. “I’m trying to listen to my gut more. Like Myra, you know?”
“Uh-huh. And it was totally your gut that wanted you to have a Harley Quinn mallet?”
“So much gut,” she said.
I shook my head but couldn’t hide my smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
She waggled her eyebrows and followed me into the gym.
“Delaney Reed,” Bertie snapped as soon as I stepped through the door. “Jean. We’ve been waiting.” Her tone of voice made it sound like she’d been waiting for hours, but I knew the meeting didn’t even start for another five minutes.
Still, one does not piss off a Valkyrie if one does not want to be made the tasting judge of every weird cooking contest said Valkyrie dreams up.
Images of the time I’d been roped into judging the Rhubarb Rally flickered behind my eyes, and I shuddered.
Never again.
I scanned the room. Bertie was behind the podium at the front. Folding chairs spread out in an arc before her. She looked like a spry, business-savvy octogenarian, her short white hair choppy and her suit jacket a deep, rich plum.
Her gold fingernails were set off by the hoop earrings, chunky bracelets, and cascade of jeweled necklaces she wore. Her eyes were sharp, her make up on point. She posed there, as if perched atop a mountain, scanning the cliffs below for things to kill.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said easily. I strolled to the left where Myra already sat, saving three seats, which seemed odd since there was only Jean and me, but I figured someone would be joining us.
She did these sorts of things automatically. All part of her gift. Right place, right time.
Jean eased down to the chair next to Myra, dropped the mallet into the row in front of her, and sat. I took the seat next to her.
The conversations in the room picked up again. I took a little time cataloging who had come out into the teeth of a storm to listen to Bertie list all the festivals and events she was going to drag us through this year.
The line up didn’t change all that often. The people in attendance were humans, gods, and supernaturals—shop keepers, bed and breakfast owners, restaurant managers, the bowling alley guy, and putt-putt golf owner—who all benefited from the tourist traffic the events brought in.
Mixed in with the business owners were folks who headed up local charities, and hobbyists who were also funded by T-shirt, souvenir, and craft sales at their booths. Then there were the usual handful of volunteers who showed up no matter what the event.
Bertie sorted through sheets of paper, then tapped a stack to line up the edges, and walked out from behind the podium.
“Let’s pass these out,” she said, handing half the stack to a guy named Curt in the first row. He took a sheet and passed the stack to his right. Bertie stalked in front of the gathering, moving to some sort of internal pendulum of her own.
At exactly the top of the hour, she turned and clapped her hands.
“Welcome everyone. I’m pleased to see you’ve come out today despite the rain, as this is one of the most important meetings I’ll be holding this year.”
I settled back. This was the same script I’d heard every January meeting for at least a decade.
“Ordinary is renowned for our delightful, entertaining, and charitable community events,” she said. “This year, I’d like to mix it up a bit.”
Myra leaned toward me and Jean. “Her sister Valkyrie in Boring, Oregon, just announced her list of festivals,” Myra whispered. She thumbed through her phone screen, then handed it to me.
I read through them. “They’re all Bertie’s festivals,” I whispered back.
Myra nodded.
“Oh, gods,” I said. “She stole her festivals. This is going to be a train wreck, isn’t it?”
“Chief Reed,” Bertie called out. “Did you have a comment you’d like to share?”
“No. Nope.” I said. “Just exchanging information on a case. About trains. Uh, wrecking.” It was a lie, but luckily no one in the room had the ability to read minds.
Or at least I hoped they didn’t.
“When I say mix it up,” Bertie said, back on track, “what I intend is to invigorate Ordinary’s offerings. To
really create something exciting and new that no one can easily copy or steal.
“The paper you have lists last year’s most successful events. To the right of those are my suggested changes. You will note that many of the seasonal events will remain the same structurally but may change in detail or focus. For example, the Rhubarb Rally will now be the Strawberry Jamboree. Many of the same events will be held—the pie contests, canning contests, and, of course, art, but instead of basing the event on rhubarb, we will base it on strawberries. Any questions?”
Curt’s hand shot up. “What about all the people who look forward to the Rhubarb Rally? Won’t we disappoint them?”
“A very good question. Which is why I’m proposing we run a simultaneous secondary event. An event within an event, if you will. The Rhubarb Rally within the Strawberry Jamboree will feature our traditional rhubarb offerings.
“That is my plan for all of our seasonal events. If we want to keep Ordinary fresh, and keep the tourists coming, we need to reimagine our offerings. Take what works and add a dash of something new to it.”
I glanced at Myra and Jean. They both sat there wide-eyed. Shell shocked.
Yep. Making every event a two-in-one was going to be a royal headache for logistics. Not to mention manpower and getting the advertising and marketing correct. I glanced to my right to see how the audience was taking it.
Mixed, but definitely intrigued.
The door opened, and a man paused on the threshold before spotting me. He held my gaze with laser-like focus as he walked down the aisle toward me.
Ryder Bailey was a handsome man. With his light brown hair, mossy eyes, and wide shoulders, he looked every inch a man who worked with his hands and worked hard. I loved the look of him, the strength of his body. But it was that mind of his, clever and thoughtful and curious that really did me in.
And right now, I could almost hear what he was thinking: Why had I’d been avoiding him? Why weren’t we on our vacation right now?
I gave him a small smile and pointed at the open chair next to me—thanks, Myra—then turned my attention back to Bertie before she called me out in class again.
Ryder settled into the chair. The scent of rain mixed with the sweet, foresty smell that was all him.