by P. G. Forte
* * *
Sam thought about the mouse later that evening, as he navigated the short cut Marsha suggested he take, on his way back to her shop to pick up his bike. He smiled. Who would have guessed it would be the topic of such a lively conversation?
“Well, of course I’ve been trying to get rid of it!” Marsha had insisted.
He shook his head at the memory. Apparently she’d been trying to find a peaceful, non-violent solution to her rodent problem. Like any good follower of the Goddess would, he supposed. “Well, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’ve got a serial mouse problem,” he had teased her.
“Would that be a hot cereal mouse or a cold cereal mouse?” Jesse had joked, eliciting a predictable chorus of groans. His puns were almost as bad as Sam’s sister’s. “Too bad we can’t get a few ghosts in here, Mom. Aren’t mice supposed to be afraid of ghosts? Or is that just rats?”
“Actually, hon, I think that was just a movie,” Marsha answered, smiling at her son. She had her elbow propped up on the table, her cheek resting on her fist, while in her other hand she idly twirled her nearly empty wineglass.
She looked peaceful and relaxed, and watching her, Sam felt an unusual feeling of warmth steal over him.
“Last week she tried contacting the Mouse Deva for help.” Frank offered.
“Who or what is that?” Sam asked, his eyes still on Marsha’s face, which had turned a very becoming shade of pink.
“It’s kind of like an over-soul spirit for the entire species I think,” Frank replied.
As usual, Jesse disagreed. “Nah, I think it’s more like a guardian angel or something.”
“Interesting.” Sam smiled at Marsha. “So what advice did this exalted presence give you?”
She looked sheepish and a little embarrassed, he wasn’t sure she’d answer. But then she smiled, too. “Well, actually, I’m afraid the Mouse Deva was not particularly amenable to suggestion. He – or, I don’t know, maybe it was she – had a typically rodent-like perspective on the situation.”
“Which was?”
“That warm, cozy spaces and abundant food sources exist to be taken advantage of,” she answered with a shrug.
“Hmm,” he hadn’t been able to resist responding. “I guess I can see his point.”
“You can?”
“Well, yeah. Sure. It’s kind of how I feel about the cabin.”
“You feel like you’re taking advantage…of the cabin?” she asked, an odd, almost startled look on her face. He’d waited until she’d been just about to take another drink of Sangria before answering.
“Well, not the cabin itself, per se. And nowhere near as much as I want to yet, but yeah, taking advantage is exactly what I feel like doing tonight. It’s almost a matter of desperation.”
She laughed at that, as he thought she might, nearly choking on her wine, her cheeks growing flushed once again. And shortly afterwards, both boys had fled the table, clearly disgusted with the adults’ behavior. Which was probably just as well, he thought, and smiled again. They really didn’t do well in front of an audience.
The air tonight was surprisingly cool. It missed being sultry by only a few degrees. It smelled of earth. It smelled of wood smoke drifting out of chimneys. And it smelled of that same elusive, green fragrance he still could not identify. Sam breathed it in deeply, eagerly as he walked. If he were still in New York, the days would be cooler, the nights warmer than here, and the air would be dry. Dry and crisp. And crackling with an energy that was almost electric. Everything was so different here, it was like being on another planet. A damp, dark, quiet planet.
He watched the ghostly fog as it slid between the trees that lined the path, and he smiled again, fingering the amulet in his pocket.
“You want me to walk through the park?” he’d asked, when she’d told him about this route. “This late at night? Are you trying to get rid of me permanently, or what?” Where he came from it was axiomatic, you stayed out of parks after nightfall, unless you were looking to get yourself killed.
She frowned uncertainly. “Of course not. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Yeah, well, maybe for someone who’s not finding sharks in his teacup, it’s safe. But I thought I was supposed to be extra careful?”
She looked so alarmed he almost regretted the impulse that had led him to tease her. But on the other hand, it felt kind of nice knowing she cared enough to worry about him. “Marsha, I’m only kidding, you know.”
“No, you have a good point,” she said. “Listen... why don’t you wait a minute, and I’ll go fix something up for you, okay?”
He watched as she hurried out of the room. He had no idea what she was planning. What was she going to fix him up with? A can of pepper spray, perhaps? Or a pit bull? Maybe she’d just gone to call him a cab. They had to have cabs here, didn’t they? That at least would make sense.
“Now you’ve done it.” Jesse shook his head at him sadly, looking up from his homework. Sam gazed at him questioningly. “She’s gone for the magic potions. You might want to get out of here while you still can. You know, while you’re still human.”
Sam chuckled. “Magic potions, huh? Does she do a lot of that stuff?”
“No.” Frank, buried behind the computer answered; his voice even colder than it had been when he’d answered the door. “Of course, she doesn’t. Don’t listen to him.”
Jesse rolled his eyes. “All the time. Potions, spells, séances. All sorts of voodoo.”
Sam smiled at them both. “Well, that’s okay. I guess I can handle a few spells. What is it you think she’s fixing for me, anyway?”
Frank studied him for a moment, and then shrugged. “Protection amulet, I guess.”
For once, Jesse agreed with his brother. “Definitely an amulet. Probably something to do with garlic.”
“Garlic?”
“Sure.” Jesse’s smile held more than a hint of mischief. “It’s not just for vampires, anymore, you know. In fact—” he broke off as Frank let out a yelp.
“You lousy piece of crap!” Frank slammed his fist down on the computer in frustration.
“Problems?” Sam inquired.
“Computer virus,” Jesse said. He shook his head at his brother. “I told you that’s why they got rid of it. What’d you expect, anyway?”
“I’d expect them to fix something like that before they go and sell this piece of shit to anyone, that’s what.”
“Sell?” Jesse shook his head again. “You thought he gave us something he paid actual money for? Get real. You oughta know better.”
“Jess, shut the fuck up!”
“You know,” Sam interjected mildly. “I have some anti-virus software that would probably fix that for you.” Both boys turned to stare at him. “I have to come into town tomorrow, anyway. Why don’t I drop it off with your mother? You can probably figure out how to install it, right?” he asked Frank.
“Uh, yeah. Sure I could.”
“Good.” Sam turned to Jesse. “So. How long do these spells and potions usually take to make up, anyway? Can I expect to get out of here sometime tonight, or what?” But they could already hear Marsha returning.
He read challenge, and a hint of something else in her eyes, as she extended a small drawstring bag made of some kind of shiny black fabric toward him. Something wistful, he thought. “Here you go, Sam.”
“Thanks,” he said as he took the bag. “Mind if I take a look inside?”
She shrugged. “If you want. Just be careful, there’s maidenhair fern spores in there. They’re kind of powdery, you don’t want to get them all over the place.”
He opened the bag and carefully poured most of the contents into his hand. “So, what is all this, anyway?” he asked picking up a small piece of obsidian, roughly chipped into the shape of a bird with spread wings.
“Oh, that’s just a little protection stone,” she told him, “You see this?” she asked, picking up a small piece of root, “This is hellebore root. It’s al
so good for protection, as well as invisibility. But legend has it that you have to be careful of eagles when you’re dealing with it, so I figured an eagle totem was a good hedge.”
“Invisibility?” He stared at her, dismayed. Surely she wasn’t serious? He could handle eccentric, but it would be disappointing as hell to find out she was completely nuts.
She shrugged again. “Well, you know, magic invisibility is mostly a matter of not being noticed by anyone who might want to harm you.”
“And this stuff does that?”
“No, you do it. It has a lot to do with how you carry yourself, the choices you make as to where you go and when. The hellebore just helps focus your abilities.”
He considered the idea. Magic invisibility sounded a whole lot like using your wits and keeping a low profile. Something he was already doing. He could live with that. “What’s this?” he’d asked, “It’s not garlic, is it?”
“Uh, no. It’s a piece of a daffodil bulb.” She’d looked surprised, and just a little embarrassed by the idea. “I mean, sure garlic is great for protection. But I thought... no, not a good idea for you.”
He thought about that now, as the fog closed in around him. Garlic. It was going to drive him crazy, if he didn’t find out why she’d looked so uncomfortable. Or what made it such a bad idea. He wondered how he’d go about finding out? Maybe when he got back to the cabin, he’d check and see if any of the books that filled the shelves in the dining room had any answers.
He reached the point where the path intersected one of the broad, tree-lined roads that ran through the park. Just as he was about to cross, he was hit by a shattering wave of dizziness. Unable to move forward, he stumbled backward a couple of steps, coming to a halt between two trees. His senses were disoriented, his equilibrium a muddle.
He wondered if it could have something to do with the fog, which had shifted suddenly, rising up out of the hollow behind him to block his view of the road. It had to be difficult to keep your balance with the fog was so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Or when you couldn’t see your hand at all.
As he’d noticed Saturday, in the absence of sight, his other senses seemed magnified. Earthy, green scents rose out of the ground to envelop him. His breathing merged with the sighing of the wind. He could hear the unsteady drip of moisture condensing in the air, and, although he couldn’t see the road, he could tell where it lay by the sound of the car that passed by, just few feet in front of him. The dizzy feeling left as soon as the car was gone. His breathing and balance readjusted themselves. His vision returned to normal.
The wind shifted once again, and the fog rolled back into the trees behind him. He resumed his trek. He fingered the amulet in his pocket and pondered the look in her eyes when she gave it to him. As though there was something she wanted him to see, or believe in. But honestly, magic invisibility? He wondered if she’d expect him to believe in fairies, too.
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Nineteen
* * * *
Darcy hated everything about the fog. She hated the sinister creeping motion of it. She hated the touch of it against her skin. And the smell of it – like something lifeless, damp, decayed. But most of all, she hated driving in it.
Maneuvering her Miata blindly through streets she barely remembered, she picked French fries from the bag that held her dinner, and thought about the fog, and all the other reasons she hated being back in Oberon. She hated the weather. She hated the narrow, winding streets. She hated the pace. She hated the small-town intimacy of the place. And, most especially, she hated the attitude of the cops she’d been forced into contact with, thanks to Nick.
The looks they gave her – as though she were something that had crawled out from under a rock – left her with no doubts about their feelings. They didn’t want her here almost as much as she didn’t want to be here. And although she didn’t quite hate Nick – not yet, at any rate – she supposed, if she stayed here long enough, even that would become inevitable.
She should never have accepted this assignment. That much was clear. After three days, she’d concluded that the entire trip had been a waste of time. A ghastly, huge mistake she’d probably end up having to pay for somewhere down the line.
She wished she knew what Nick was up to. She knew he was anxious to get into Paige’s computer files. Hell, so was she for that matter. But would they really find the information there that either of them hoped to find? And what then? But Nick had always been one to keep his own counsel. Even when they’d been partners, he had been reluctant to share his thoughts about whatever cases they were working on.
Even on those few occasions when they’d slept together, she hadn’t been sure what he thought about it.
This afternoon, she’d walked in on him leaving cryptic messages for his cousin and his ex-wife. Anyone else would have offered some kind of explanation after hanging up the phone, but not Nick.
The fog had grown thicker, and she had to slow down as she crossed the bridge over Alder Creek. She thought once more about her conversation last Friday night with Paige. Was Nick the guy Paige thought she’d been in love with? More fool her, if he was.
Falling in love with Nick Greco was not a smart move for any woman. Certainly it was a mistake she’d never make again. And that fiancée of his had better watch her back, as well.
“Lauren, it’s Nick,” Darcy had heard him say on the phone that afternoon. “Call me at work as soon as you get this message. I know you want this as much as I do, sweetheart. So let’s quit playing around and do it, okay? Just tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.”
Darcy had never had any use for Nick’s ex-wife; a whining, manipulative, self-righteous bitch, if ever there was one. But surely even someone like Lauren couldn’t be stupid enough to fall for him a second time.
* * *
Ryan Henderson searched through the boxes that lined the kitchen of his new apartment looking for a clean fork. It had been three weeks since he’d moved in, and he still hadn’t gotten a chance to unpack more than a few things. And now, with the way this crazy case was going, he didn’t imagine he’d be getting to it anytime soon.
He finally gave up the search, and rinsed off one of the forks already in the sink. He glanced at the chaos around him. It was a good thing he didn’t have plans to invite any one over. One look at this place would surely send any right-minded female running as fast as her legs would take her. Although, on the other hand, if he did have a girlfriend who was at all domestically inclined, perhaps she’d have had him unpacked by now. That would have been nice.
Unfortunately, he didn’t know any women like that.
He liked Oberon, though. He liked his job. And he thought he would like this apartment, if he ever got settled into it. But so far he couldn’t say as much for most of the women he’d met here. They were all so... frantic.
Like that redhead who’d been running the Cleanup Saturday. She’d seemed nice enough, for all of five minutes, and he did admire women who could take charge of large operations without breaking a sweat, but he could surely do without all the shit she’d given him about those damn waivers. He’d just been doing his job, after all. And if she couldn’t understand that a homicide investigation was maybe a little more important than collecting trash, well then, the hell with her.
But at least her beef with him was personal. Unlike that idiot Camille. When he thought about it, Camille wasn’t a whole lot different than Paige. She hadn’t seen him as a person, either. The only thing Camille saw was the uniform. And the only thing Paige had seen was what she thought he could do for her, because of the uniform.
And man, hadn’t she turned cold in a hurry, when he wouldn’t give her what she wanted. It really wasn’t that much of a shock when Paige turned up dead. The woman could make almost anyone think of murder. Of course, the same could be said of Camille, and she was still gracing the planet with her presence. More’s the pity.
G
od save him from any more complicated women with their hidden agendas.
What he needed was someone warm, supportive, undemanding. Someone who’d be happy to see him when he walked through the door at night. Someone who wouldn’t pressure him to be something he wasn’t. Who’d accept him as he was. But oh hell, that didn’t sound like any woman he’d ever met. In fact, the more he thought about it, maybe what he really wanted was a dog.
The timer on the microwave sounded, and he took his dinner and his newly washed fork and went out on his balcony to eat. He’d paid extra for this apartment because of the bay view. And, even at night, the view was worth every penny. He could see the stars, and the moon shining on the water of the bay. And the lights of the marina twinkling below him. If he listened real hard, he could just make out the sound of the surf. The only thing missing was someone to share it with. Someone with maybe a little more intelligence than a golden retriever.
Maybe an Irish setter...
* * *
Siobhan Quinn walked slowly through the infirmary, checking the pens that held the sick and injured animals. Most of the pens were empty now – which was always nice – but that could change at any time.
An oil spill would fill them in a hurry. And whenever any of the various breeding seasons rolled around she’d have her hands full caring for all the seal pups and baby birds that well-meaning idiots would decide had been abandoned – usually while the parent animals had simply been off collecting food.
Still, busy as she would be then, and much as she really hated those two a.m. feedings, at least they were mostly healthy animals. All they required was food and care and they would survive to be released back into the wild. With the animals she had here now, the chances for survival were not as good. Some would recover, some would not, and some would have to be put to sleep. And in every case, she was the one who would make the decision, and she was the one who would carry out the final act.
It was an awesome responsibility, this meting out of life and death. And the only way she had come to terms with it was to develop an almost blind faith in her ability to diagnose a situation and make an objective, dispassionate judgment as to what was the best course of action to take.