by Jasmine Walt
She wandered in the house, casting a wary eye at the assorted remnants from last night—beer bottles, a joint—both courtesy of Dillon, tequila—her drink of choice, her socks and bra, his underwear. She started to pick up the beer bottles, then thought better of it. “Later,” she said, and sauntered down the hall. She banged her clenched fist on the hall door. “I could open this thing and fry your ass,” she yelled.
“You’d burn in hell for murder,” came his muffled response.
“You’re already dead, jackass.” She placed her back against the door and slid to her rump, landing on the red, gray and black wool runner her grandma left with the house when she bequeathed it to her. Everything, from the sturdy sofa, its fabric covered with bold, chunky red, black and aqua designs from the Tlingit tribe, to the massive timber bed, had been her grandparents. She’d replaced the mattress, of course, but couldn’t bear to part with anything else. She’d loved her grandparents.
“You’re not crying are you?”
“No, I’m not crying. Merely angry. And disappointed.”
“Puh-lease, child. There are plenty of fish.”
“He was fun.”
“There are plenty of fun fish. Trust me.”
“Not in this town. Only a seasonal now and then.” She picked at a drop of dried blood, no doubt from the fangs of her roomie.
“Feeling sorry for yourself?”
“Maybe. I have a problem—a huge problem, from the sound of it.”
“Can it wait? I’m exhausted. I had quite the night with a delightful little vamp named Sultana. Lives a village away. I plan on spending some serious time getting to know her.” His low chuckle seeped from the closet.
“Spare me the deets, D. Yeah, it can wait. Dark will be here soon enough.” Sunrise still came late these days and darkness resumed early, even though spring was around the corner. Vamps loved Alaska for its abundant winter nightlife. Many migrated south for the summer, since the daylight consumed most of the twenty-four hour cycle the farther north you went.
“Care to tell me the topic? I can ruminate on it.”
“My job. Red Mountainbear wants it.”
“Isn’t he the one always on the news? What’s that network? Lemming News?”
“That’s the one. He’s broadcasting stuff that was news to me until I saw it. It’s like watching a version of my life I didn’t agree to and don’t even know about. Talk about a spin.”
“You’re good at your job. The townsfolk won’t have it.”
“They might. He’s going to try to prove my incompetence and my supposed loss of grip on reality.”
“By doing what?”
“By doing what I should be doing. That’s the reason I had to leave suddenly. I forgot I’d locked your coffin.”
“What’s the reason? You haven’t told me anything.”
She blushed, feeling sheepish. “It’s…it’s Hung Durand.”
“Not the bounty hunter you talk about like a chattering magpie. Tell me it isn’t so.” Several loud thumps whacked the door behind her, as if D’Raynged were banging his head against the door in frustration. “I could make short work of him, you know. One bite, and…”
“And you know you can’t. It’s in the town constitution. He’s as much a protected species as you are. Only a qualified town leader, of which I am one of two, can kill a bounty hunter, and only with extremely good cause.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She smiled. “Nice try but….you know I can’t allow that.”
“I know. You don’t like to break the rules. I however, adhere to no such rules as your little town holds dear.”
“No, D’Raynged. The answer is no.” She thought she heard a sigh.
“So what do you need from me?”
“A plan. I can’t let him elude me this time. And I can’t let Red kill him and parade his head around town on a platter.”
“Yum, sounds delicious.”
“Stop it. If I lose this job, you lose your place of residence. I can’t afford to live here by myself. I’ll have to sell.” Her grandparents had mortgaged and re-mortgaged this property during their lifetime, leaving her with a ton of debt. Several seconds of silence fell around her. She let her head fall back, glancing at the ghosts, still circling overhead. Maybe I should quit my job. Work at the crab factory. Assume defeat rather than give it away. Then, maybe I’d have time to deal with the ghosts of my emotions.
“Tell me you’re not thinking of quitting again.”
“Only if you tell me you’re not reading my mind again.” She sat up and let out a breath. “So. Will you help me come up with a plan before you head off for the evening?”
“Yes, child, I’ll be at your service. But you still owe me.”
“I’m sure I do. What are your terms this time?”
“I haven’t fleshed them out yet.”
“Fleshed? Ew.”
“Stop it, it’s merely a term. Let me get some rest and I’ll get back to you.”
“Fine,” she huffed, getting to her feet.
“Fine,” he said amicably from his dark closet.
“Thank you,” she called, as she headed toward the kitchen. “And now I have just enough time to clean up this mess and get back to town for work.” She glanced around at the disarray, reliving last night. They’d had sex everywhere, on nearly every surface. Living room lamps were knocked over, spices spread on the kitchen floor, kitchen towels strewn everywhere… D’Raynged would hate to see this mess. Feeling deliciously passive aggressive—not that it would help matters—she shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat and strode out the front door.
3
“Hurry,” Socyone Williams, Chia’s trusted advisor called to her as soon as Chia pulled into the parking lot of the downtown administrative offices, a wood and brick death trap. A tall, slender woman, with golden eyes, golden-brown hair sticking out in tufted dreadlock clumps all over her head, golden everything, Socyone shifted into a giraffe when the mood struck. It seldom struck since there were no savannahs here and giraffes didn’t do well in the snow. It came in handy, though, when something needed to be reached way up high. Chia had clung perilously to Socyone’s long neck to rescue a few cats from trees when the fire department had been out on a job.
Chia hopped from the truck. Decrepit building is still standing, Chia thought darkly, glancing at the two hundred year old structure. Every day she came here, she wondered if it would be her last, fleeing from the flaming building or ducking as the bricks tumbled down. She glanced at the whitecaps dotting the Bering Sea in her line of sight, as if making an escape plan.
“Let me grab my stuff. What’s the hurry? Where’s the fire?” Chia reached across the front seat of her truck, grabbed her pink fake-furry purse, and hustled toward the circa 1700s building. Her jaw length hair blew in her face, as gusts of frigid wind picked up, heading straight from the coastline. Her ghosts clung to her shoulders, ethereal hands and fingers digging into her. She experienced their ghostly touch as bristling buzzing. She shook her shoulders, trying to dislodge them.
“Are you okay?” her assistant asked.
“I’m fine.” Stupid ghosts.
“The fire is going to be your ass if you don’t get it in here. An emergency meeting has been declared.”
“I’m the only one who gets to declare emergency meetings,” Chia spluttered.
“Not today. Not since Hung Durand rolled into town.”
“What, so he called it?” she scoffed.
“Hardly,” Socyone said, holding the door open to her boss. “It was our regional leader, Joseph Ashoroc, summoned by none other than Red Mountainbear.”
“Holy crap, this day has gone from worse to horrible, and it’s not yet lunchtime. Didn’t I recently return from a blissful vacation in Tahiti?”
“A couple weeks ago, yeah,” her assistant said, literally breathing down Chia’s neck as they raced to the conference room.
“After today, I can barely remem
ber what I did there or who I went with, if I went with anyone at all.” She burst through the double doors to the conference room. The same room served as the local theater for plays and music events, thanks to the large stage at the front.
The space hummed with a mixture of common townsfolk, local leaders, Joseph, and several elders and their kin from neighboring territories. People shouted, yelled, and pushed against one another to be heard. Statements like “it’s her and her goddamned preference for their kind,” and “she’s given them better rights than the lot of us,” could be overheard, giving her pause.
I thought I was a local favorite. I thought they loved me.
Another protest rang out. “Damn shifters brought this on. She should know this.”
Everyone deserves a fair shot at life, she thought. Before she’d been elected manager, the townsfolk had been at war with the shifters. Shifters came out of hiding, making themselves known to the neurotypicals, the so-called “normal” people, with supposedly “normal” nervous systems. The neurotypicals thought the shifters were freaks, abhorrent creatures not to be trusted. Fear abounded. Casualties had been a daily occurrence. Once she took office, she got to work erecting iron clad rules and ordinances, her specialty, thanks to her practical-minded parents.
Chia shook her head. She suspected they came for the excitement alone. Winter was often an inward time of year in these parts, where people closed doors, kept warm and socialized when they could. It made for bad moods, short tempers, and a craving for new experiences like this one provided.
The room felt stifling, far too warm, lending to a choking sensation. Chia fanned her face with her hand. Unable to organize her thoughts, she tugged at her collar, taking gulps of air, then scanned the crowd, looking for allies.
There were a few friendly faces and she smiled at each and every one. Only a couple shifters showed. They glanced at her with wary expressions. Shifters tended to shy away from public office and meetings such as this, finding the grandstanding of mere mortals beneath them.
They had their own governing bodies, which usually consisted of pack leaders—alpha males or females—or they kept to themselves. Most of them bowed to their shifter species instincts. Some of the supes were members of organizations known as arcane clans, loosely bound collectives that served as more of a social club, as far as Chia could tell. And the vamps?
No one ruled the vamps, not even other vamps. They were an unruly, largely uncooperative lot. In any case, since she didn’t recognize some of the people from outlying areas, she hoped the shifters would mind their manners.
Chia put her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. “Quiet!”
The entire room shut up and turned to stare at her.
“What’s the meaning of calling an emergency meeting without my knowledge?” She marched to the front of the room, Socyone on her heels as close as the border collie had been this morning. Once at the front, she climbed the steps to the stage, stepped onto the undignified wooden crate she stood on and glared at each person. “Well?”
Joseph pushed through the crowd, appearing somewhat sheepish. A big, gentle man with long, curly brown locks any girl would die for, Joseph lived in the closest town to Charming, a bustling mountain municipality named Bewilderment, about a hundred miles east. He usually kept peace and order through reason and listening, putting his foot down only when necessary. “Good morning, Chia. I’m afraid Red’s the culprit.”
“And is he here?” Chia put her hands on her hips in bitch wing fashion.
“He’s here by proxy,” someone in the back of the room shouted.
“Is that you, Dick Nighthawk?”
The male said nothing and she couldn’t see his face through the crowd. “Proxy isn’t allowed in an emergency meeting,” Chia said. “If you’re here, whoever you are, you’re here as Red’s spy.”
The crowd erupted in protest and agreement.
“Quiet,” she called again. “Quiet!” When the din only increased, she searched the room for Walt, a howler monkey shifter. Howler monkeys had one of the loudest vocalizations on the planet. Finding him, she nodded and he slipped discretely onto the stage, ducking behind a curtain.
Out of the corner of her eye, Chia caught the burst of golden light behind the curtains, heralding his transformation, and a few seconds later, ear splitting, ninety-decibel calls came from backstage. She pressed her palms to her ears, almost laughing as all her ghosts followed suit. Why we have so many jungle shifter species in Alaska is beyond me. It’s not like they can blend in.
The shouting immediately stilled, yet Walt continued to screech, no doubt enjoying himself. He’d have to sleep for hours to recharge, but he never seemed to mind using his voice where needed.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Chia yelled over the new din. She pumped her hand up and down to get Walt to stop the sound effects.
“What the hell is that?” one of the villagers asked.
“New audio system we’re trying out. It got your attention. So tell me…what did Hung do this time that has you all in a twist?”
The answers blurred together in a roar.
“One at a time,” Chia yelled, signaling Walt with a finger gesture.
Walt silenced them once more with his monkey howl.
“One at a time,” Chia repeated. “You,” she pointed.
“He stole my best coat off the back porch,” a male answered.
“How do you know Hung did it?” Chia asked, wiping sweat from her brow.
“I smelled him. He’s got a distinct odor.”
She whispered to Socyone to take notes, adding quietly, “Is it hot in here or is it me?”
“It’s hot, boss. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Chia nodded, her suspicions confirmed. As far as she knew, she didn’t have a supernatural bone in her body, unless you could call her ghosts some sort of weird power, but she could sense when something felt off or under the influence. “And you there. What did he do to you?”
“Stole one of my prize calves.”
“And you saw him do it?”
“Nope. Dude’s too wily. Smelled him.”
One by one, people recounted Hung’s dastardly deeds, all giving the same signpost of how they knew it was him—the smell. Sure, he had a distinct smell. Most bounty hunters did. And they sure sounded like things the rat bastard would do, but so many? And in such a short period?
In less than two hours, if the group could be trusted, he’d managed to take coats, calves, a sheep, a minx, two rabbits, screw the barber’s wife—she had to bridle her immediate jealous response to this bit of information—and take a few knives from the smithy? This sounds like trickery and foul play. It sounds like Hung has been framed. As much as she despised the guy, she hated dishonesty and flimflam even more. She made a mental note of her growing shit pile: A) Save my job. B) Find Hung Durand. C) Find who framed Hung Durand. D) Take pleasure with HD. E) Kill the bastard, in order to, A) Save my job.
“You do realize, even for Hung Durand, he would have had to be a busy guy to get all that done in such a short period of time, right?”
No one said a word, shifting back and forth on their legs like musk oxen on the tundra, looking uneasily at one another.
“You’re telling us we’re not speaking the truth? Now you’re accusing us of being liars?” the proxy male shouted from the back.
A few people from the back murmured in assent.
“Get him out of here,” Chia said softly to Socyone.
Socyone nodded and slipped from view, snagging two burly looking males who worked security at one of the local bars. “So what are you all hoping to do by calling this emergency meeting?” She directed this question to Joseph.
Standing at the front of the stage, Joseph cleared his throat. He rubbed his bearded jaw, tugging the trim, reddish bush over and over, seeming to gather his thoughts.
Shouts of protest came from the back as the proxy male was escorted from the room in an undignified mann
er, one huge male on either side. After he’d gone, several of his “friends” slunk from the room as well, no doubt fearing repercussion.
As soon as they were out of the room, Chia felt the room expand, as if a strange strangulation spell had been released. Magic? Was this some sort of spell? Admittedly, Chia knew little of magic and its uses. She spent too much time doing her job, creating rules and ordinances, to worry about magic.
In that way, she took after her mom and dad, practical people if ever there were some. Her dad practiced clinical research in New York City. Her mom held a position as a biochemist at a pharmaceutical company. She hadn’t spoken to either in years, but still, their influence had been strong. “And?” she asked Joseph, prompting his answer to her question. She climbed off her box and crouched next to him from her perch onstage. “Your purpose?” She spoke softly, attempting to keep this from the onlookers.
Joseph let out a sigh. “Thank goodness someone adjusted the heat. It was pretty warm in here.”
“Yes, thank goodness. Your answer?”
“Chia,” the older man said, loudly and indulgently. “You know I think you’re doing a great job in Charming. I think most of the townsfolk would agree.” He gave an expectant nod to the group.
A murmur of assent spread throughout the crowd.
“But politics is politics.” He spread his hands wide, as if nothing could be done about it, speaking in a lower tone.
“Yeah, but…” Chia spluttered.
“And Red’s pouring a lot of money into this community.”
“Yeah, but…”
“And you’ve had plenty of opportunities to rid this area of Hung Durand. The man’s a nuisance, a trouble maker and a rule breaker.”
“Yeah, but…”
“I’ve always been on your side.”
“If you interrupt me one more time, Joseph…” Chia felt her rage growing like a stoked furnace.
“Things always change, you know that. I’ll do what I can, but…”
“But nothing! Red’s nothing but a bully, a cheat, and a liar. You know that.” Chia stomped her foot in frustration. “Charming is a safe place. It’s an amazing place. I do a great job keeping the peace and order here. All of us, the typical, ordinary, neurotypical people and…” She scanned her brain for a word other than supernatural, not wanting to alarm any of the outsiders. “Ordinary and unique types of individuals. We do our thing, and cohabitate nicely in these parts. Charming, Alaska is our Switzerland. It’s a safe space. Neutral, more or less.”