Dirty Deeds

by R. J. Blain

  From the tone of his voice, he really, really wanted to watch the Bigfoots at least a moment more before we left them to their privacy.

  “Yes. But not yet.”

  He threw me a glance.

  “We need to make sure that screaming was celebratory and no one is hurt.” I turned off my flashlight because it wasn’t doing any good, and I didn’t want to distract the creatures below.

  Ryder switched his off too.

  “Right,” he said, nodding quickly. “Right. Come here.” He tugged on me. I didn’t fight it. I liked him pulling me to him, as if he had to have more contact, as if his heart was still racing with some of the fear I’d felt.

  I was soon smooshed up against him, my back to his front, his arms locked tightly around me as we leaned shoulders into the tree.

  The celebration below seemed to be just getting started. As we counted the moments with our breaths, our heartbeats aligning to the rhythm of this ancient song, we saw more Bigfoots enter the glade from the opposite side of the grove.

  “Ten bucks that stuff is stolen,” Ryder said, and I had to muffle a laugh, because, yeah, I thought it might be.

  These Bigfoots were each lit up in various manners. One seemed to have tied hundreds of glow sticks into its hair, so its entire body was dripping with a curtain of glowing orange, pink, and green. Another was covered in round, battery-operated touch lights that it was touching and tapping to the rhythm of the beat.

  Another wore what I could only assume was a miner’s helmet with band upon band of lights strapped on the helmet, on wrists, arms, and on a very clever crisscross harness that wobbled and shook as the Bigfoots walked.

  No, not walked.

  “They’re dancing,” Ryder said.

  I nodded, tucking my face down deeper into the neck of my coat. They were indeed dancing. And from the sway and bobbing of the Bigfoots near the stream, it looked like they were enjoying the show.

  A whistle, off key and loud, cut through the music. A hush fell over the glade.

  Then one voice sang out, deep and warbling like a dung chen, the Tibetan horn, melancholy, yet powerful.

  The hush turned into a murmur. It looked like everyone down there was excited by this turn of events.

  At the northwest edge of the clearing, came a Bigfoot. This one was resplendent in light bulbs, all of them glowing and flickering in a wide, high-collared cape that swooshed and flowed as he strode into the glade like a knight returned.

  I knew this Bigfoot was a he for three reasons: one: the light bulb cape; two: the traffic light winking red, yellow, green that he wore on his chest like plate armor; and three: the fricking light post he stabbed into the ground with each step like a lighted scepter.

  “Holy shit,” Ryder murmured. “It’s Flip.”

  It was indeed Flip, and I was getting a big ol’ eye full of Ordinary’s stolen property.

  “He told me he didn’t steal that stuff,” I said.

  “Well, good thing your finely honed bullshit meter caught right on to him.”

  I tried to elbow the man, but he just chuckled and held me tighter.

  The murmur in the glade tapered off, and the music began again, changing rhythm so the dancers, Flip now among them, could make their way like electric models strutting a catwalk toward the audience.

  Once they reached the edge of the stream, they stopped and stood very still, winking and blinking in the glittery snow-diamond field.

  The music halted. The world was silent in the muffled darkness for one, two, three, and then a hum, soft and sweet, drifted up and up. The melody echoed; the harmonies shifted in layers.

  At the peak of the octave, the song went back to hums and growls and grunts, a vocal rhythm section. One of the watchers on the bank of the stream stepped forward, wove between the electric ’Foots, and stopped in front of Glow Stick.

  There was a very human “awww…” and a soft clapping as the couple wandered off, hand in hand toward the woods.

  Another figure by the stream stepped away from the rest. This time Miner Helmet was chosen to stroll into the woods among gentle applause.

  A third watcher sashayed away from the river and hopped into the arms of Round Lights, who hooted a little victory warble. There was chuckling, then applause as they trundled into the trees.

  “Are we watching the Bigfoot Bachelor?” Ryder asked. “Because it really looks like Bigfoot Bachelor.”

  “Why isn’t anyone picking Flip?” I asked. “He said his heart was here, right? Where are they?”

  We weren’t the only ones who seemed worried about this. At first, I thought the song was starting up again. But the murmur and voices that rose were not a song. They were questions and whispers and little sounds of concern.

  “Eeee-oooo!” a voice called out so loud, I jumped.

  “You okay there, Chief?” Ryder chuckled.

  “That sounded close.”

  He nodded. “Look to our left. Careful.”

  I slowly turned my head.

  If not for the small, lit-up heart necklace they wore, I wouldn’t have even seen the Bigfoot pushing silently—and I mean absolutely silently—through the snow and trees about twenty feet away.

  Heart was moving fast. The absence of light made it hard to tell, but I’d say this Bigfoot was lighter haired than Flip and maybe just a little shorter.

  The murmur from below shifted. This time it was a song again, the rhythm matching Heart’s supernaturally speedy approach.

  Flip stood taller, posed like a king, lamppost scepter straight in front of him, traffic light refinements flickering red, yellow, green, and cape of light bulbs shifting with little glass-bulb clatters.

  I had no idea how he was powering that getup, but obviously Bigfoots knew their way around a light bulb.

  Then Heart was there, on the opposite side of the stream. The music changed, switching to just the rhythm again, just a beat. But Heart didn’t wait for the song to become more. Heart hopped across the stones in the stream and was on the other side almost instantly.

  Flip held still. So very still.

  “Come on,” Ryder whispered. “You got this.”

  I was holding my breath.

  Then Heart pressed a palm to the lamp post, walked around Flip, one finger trailing over glass and filament, and stopped in front of him again.

  Heart’s palm rested against the traffic light, right over Flip’s heart.

  Flip made a very small questioning sound. Heart answered in a sweet warble, touched Flip’s cheek, then scooped up Flip’s free hand.

  The Bigfoots clapped, louder this time. There was laughter and relief in the voices as they left the clearing, walking arm in arm to disappear into the trees.

  I exhaled. “Aw, he got his Heart. Lucky guy.”

  Ryder’s arms tightened around me. “Yeah. I know how he feels.”

  “Ryder Bailey, are you going romantic on me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I approve. Let’s go back to the cabin.”

  “But they’re still doing stuff down there.” He sounded like a little kid who wanted an extra scoop of ice cream. “Bigfoot stuff.”

  They were still doing Bigfoot stuff. As a matter of fact, it looked like the reunion was just getting started. There was a lot of hooting and hollering. It was loud and was probably only going to get louder.

  “Well, you go ahead and stay here. I’m going back to the cabin, the fireplace, and the wine. Also, I plan to be naked.”

  Ryder let go of me so quickly, I laughed. “Get moving, Mrs. Hyphen.” He held his hand out for me, and I took it. “We’ve got a vacation to get to.”

  The Bigfoots shouted and howled. Loud. They were really loud.

  Something moved in the brush near the house, and a steaming Bigfoot dashed away through the trees.

  “Was that guy in our hot tub?” Ryder clicked on his flashlight and sent the beam after the disappearing interloper. “He was in our hot tub!”

  I laughed.

 
The chorus of voices only increased as we trudged uphill through the snow.

  Another Bigfoot appeared several yards to our left, rolling a huge boulder. He gave it a push, sending it down the hill. But his aim was off. It smashed into a tree, cracking the trunk and sending great globs of snow to thunk to the ground.

  “Just the two of us,” Ryder said, as the Bigfoot made a sound like swearing, then pushed the boulder to one side to send it rolling down the hill again.

  The Bigfoot held still, watching. We held still, watching.

  Finally a huge splash sounded as the boulder plowed into the stream. A cheer rose up from the glade below.

  There was another rumble, another splash, and more cheering.

  “Is this a thing?” Ryder asked. “Boulder bowling?”

  “In bowling you try to hit the pins. I think they’re trying to miss them.”

  A solid crack of rock hitting tree broke through the rest of the growing noise.

  “So much solitude,” I said, following our previous footsteps back to the cabin.

  We made it to the door, and yep, there were huge footprints left on the deck by the hot tub, but it seemed like most of the commotion was out in the trees and down in the glade.

  I opened the door, and Ryder followed me into the warm, cozy space.

  Even though the Bigfoots were making a hullabaloo below us, even though we’d need to lock the door and secure the hot tub and maybe the truck, even though this middle of nowhere somehow meant we weren’t alone, or really, monster free, it was amazing.

  This was amazing.

  “If I’d known they were meeting here,” Ryder peeled off gloves and coat, and secured his firearm and flashlight, “I would have picked one of the other half-a-dozen cabins I was looking at.”

  He threw little glances my way, worried, as I stripped off my outer gear.

  “So, um…” he started. “I don’t think we can get back over the pass. But I can drive out and find cell reception and maybe see if another—”

  I took the few steps that separated us and kissed him.

  His response was instant and hot, his hands clutching at the long sweater I still wore, tugging it away from my back slightly, then smoothing it against my back, my hip.

  I took extra time with his lips, not trying to bruise, but not being overly careful. He pressed for me to open my mouth, which I did, letting him in willingly.

  The kiss went from hot and passionate, to soft and drugging, to slow and languid as we pulled apart and drew back together again, once, twice, three times.

  When I finally pulled away, his eyes were glassy and unfocused, his lips swollen, his cheeks and neck flushed. “Um… What?” he said, blinking slowly.

  “Solitude,” I said, walking backward. I caught his hand.

  “Just the two of us.” He wove our fingers together, moving with me now.

  “Heaven.” I guided us back and back, past the heat of the fireplace, through the warm glowing hall, and finally, finally, to the private, cozy bedroom.

  “Let the perfect vacation begin,” I said.

  Ryder gave me a wicked smile and locked the door behind him.

  At Death’s Door

  An Ordinary Magic Story

  Devon Monk

  Than never dreaded opening doors. He was, after all, the god of death. There was nothing behind any door that could cause him lasting concern. However, he had just brewed the potentially perfect cup of hot cocoa and had yet to taste it.

  Therefore, the knock upon his door was inconvenient and opening said door, a terrible annoyance.

  The door handle was smooth and cool in his palm, cooler than he would have expected before he had lain his powers down to vacation as a mortal. But then, his days spent in the town for vacationing gods had been peppered with numerous surprises.

  Even some delights.

  The knocked paused. He knew who was on the other side of the door: a woman who owed him a favor.

  Excellent.

  He turned the handle and pulled.

  Delaney Reed was smiling. She did that a lot around him. If pressed, he might admit he enjoyed that aspect of the woman who allowed and disallowed gods to vacation in this town.

  However, if pressed by Delaney Reed on the subject he would undoubtedly find a way to avoid answering her.

  It was more entertaining that way.

  “Reed Daughter,” he said.

  “Just Delaney,” she corrected for the six-hundred and forty-fourth time.

  Yes, he had been counting.

  “So, are you still on for this?” she asked.

  The weather was barbarically rough, wind and rain determined to commit destruction and flood. The radio stations, television, and other broadcast services were warning that this winter storm could generate hurricane force. Knock out electrical power. Tear down trees.

  Tomorrow, Than would be required to assist with clean up. He was looking forward to it. Being a part of constructive change, instead of his rather natural state of chaotic change, pleased him.

  “The pet-sitting? Remember?” Delaney lifted a bright orange leash that was attached to the very good boy, Spud, who was Ryder and Delaney’s dog of questionable breeding. Certainly border collie and chow chow were involved.

  Spud sat, face tipped up and tongue hanging out, being the well-trained dog he was.

  Next to him was a less desirable creature.

  The dragon.

  Than sniffed in disapproval.

  The dragon had taken a moderately clever disguise. No one would expect a little pink piglet to actually be a massive, powerful, fire-breathing dragon.

  Mortals and most supernaturals saw only the outside of a thing. The dragon’s outside was, according to several sources, adorable.

  Than did not hold the same opinion.

  The dragon tipped its head up, eyes burning red, smoke curling from its nostrils and ears.

  It growled.

  “Unless you’ve changed your mind?” Delaney asked.

  Than narrowed his eyes at the dragon and considered growling back.

  “I have not.” He held his hand out for the leash. “You will owe me a favor, as we agreed.”

  “Worth it,” she said with a fast grin. “Let me get their food and other stuff. It will only take a sec.” She jogged off into the rain and wind toward her vehicle. In a hurry, as most mortals were.

  “Spud,” Than greeted the dog. The dog wagged its tail but remained sitting. “Come into my home.” Than stepped to the side so the dog could pass.

  The dog hopped up and trotted into the house, nails clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

  The dragon remained.

  Than stared at the dragon. The dragon stared back.

  Delaney jogged up to the porch. Something bright bounced away from the stack of things she carried, but she didn’t appear to notice.

  “Spud gets two scoops, one in the morning, one at night. He likes a little wet food with it, and treats are in the bag. I packed his favorite toys and some chew bones and his bed. He’ll try to get up on your bed with you. If you let him sleep with you, be ready to get your ears licked at four o’clock in the morning.

  “Dragon pig only needs to eat once a day, but it needs to be something big. Little snacks won’t hold it over. I made a list of sheds and fences and old vehicles we’ve gotten the okay for it to eat. If you don’t want to take it all over town for meals, you can just go to the junkyard. We have an account with them. No more than one car-sized item a day.”

  The dragon grunted, apparently displeased with that rule.

  “I shall be diligent in my application of your requests.”

  The dragon growled, and the wet air filled with the smell of campfire.

  Than ignored it.

  Delaney hustled into the house without asking, he supposed because she had been there twice before. Than remained by the open door. The dragon remained on the front step. Both watched as the Bridge of god power—the only being who could allow a god to v
acation in this clever little beach town called Ordinary—settled items for the dog and dragon onto Than’s dining table.

  “Okay, that’s it. Oh, and Spud’s favorite thing is fetching the tennis ball for dragon pig to push around with its nose.” She put hands on her hips and chewed her lower lip. “I think that’s all. I’ll want a full report. Especially on dragon pig. Don’t let it act like a dragon out in public. No flames. No flying. Okay?”

  “Reed Daughter,” he said.

  “Delaney.”

  Six-hundred and forty-five.

  “Is there some other reason you remain here?” Than asked.

  “No,” she said, the word carried by a strong breath. “No, this is great. Really great of you to help.” She bent and gave Spud a scratch, a pet, and cupped his face between her palms. “You be a really good boy, Spuddo. We’ll be back soon.”

  Spud wagged his tail and tried to lick her fingers. She scrubbed behind his ears one more time, then turned.

  “Are you going to let dragon pig into your house?”

  Than considered the value of truth and lies and leaving the beast out in the rain. It was a dragon. It had no actual need to spend time inside a small timber structure. It was far sturdier than timber or siding or roofing ever could be.

  “Than?” she asked.

  The dragon pig squealed with convincing baby pig distress.

  “It usually stays inside,” she said, her gaze taking in Than’s expression. “Spud really likes it inside with him. They’re buddies. They do best if they’re together most of the time.”

  Spud heard his name and walked over to Than, stopping to lean against his leg while sniffing at his shoe. His tail swished and swished.

  “I see,” Than said, then to the dragon, “You may enter my home.”

  The dragon grunted in satisfaction and trotted into the house like it owned the place. Spud yipped once and galloped happily after it.

  Than’s gaze tracked the dragon’s progress while it investigated the room, the furniture, and each of Than’s precious potted plants.

  It stopped in front of the fiddle leaf tree fig, opened its mouth, and leaned toward the plant.