by DM Fike
Instead, I came face-to-face with the intense dark eyes of Vincent Garcia. I’d never seen him without his ranger uniform on. He looked unfairly cute in a loose T-shirt and blue jeans. A dimple hovered on one cheek. He released my shoulder to push back a strand of ebony hair that had fallen in his face.
“What happened to your normal duds?” I asked.
“I’m off duty.” He shrugged. “But seriously, you’re at least twenty-one, right?”
“Yes, of course,” I bristled. “I just don’t have a driver’s license because I don’t drive.”
Vincent glanced over at the busy bartender. “Maybe we should lie low and avoid alcohol. Let me order some food while you take a seat. What do you want?”
I asked for fish and chips with a soft drink before hunkering down in a booth. Vincent dutifully waited his turn at the bar, a contrast to his fellow rude patrons. Once he got to the front of the queue, he chatted with the bartender—a 50-something guy with graying temples and a chipped front tooth. The bikers eyed him suspiciously, but Vincent did not seem to care as the short order cook, another black-shirted man who looked like the adult son of the bartender, brought out baskets for him.
Vincent carried the heavenly scent of greasy food back to the table. We separated our orders, and Vincent settled into his veggie-laden burger with a glass of tap water.
“Who doesn’t order fries?” I asked him.
“Me, when I’m trying to stay healthy.”
“Freak,” I muttered as I grabbed one of the sticky condiment bottles off to the side. After I struggled to coax anything out of it, I dipped a fry in ketchup and let the taste swirl in my mouth. “Mmm. These fries are good.”
Vincent executed an impressive mouthful of burger. He swallowed before asking, “How do you know about this place?”
“I’ve seen it traveling around the area,” I said, dipping a piece of cod in tartar sauce. “Been meaning to try it out.”
“So you’re a local?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you fishing for my personal details?”
He held up a hand in surrender. “Just curious. I have to admit, I’ve never met anyone quite like you before.”
“Ditto for you,” I volleyed back. “’Bout the only other cop I’ve ever met was a state trooper for a speeding ticket, back in the day. I had no idea there were wildlife cops.”
“It’s a quirk of Oregon. I thought about just becoming a normal forest service ranger, but I like the added authority I have as a game warden. The extra training comes in handy when you run into the type of people who squat on federal land.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered in between bites. “I’ve run across some very strange survivalist types in the woods before. Let me guess, they wear military fatigues and rant about ‘Big Government’ ruining their lives.”
Vincent downed his burger in record time and nursed his water. “It’s generally either that or the people who tie themselves to trees.”
“Ah, yes, the ‘Back-to-Nature’ people.” I paused to inhale more fries. “They’re pretty good at trampling over everything they’ve sworn to ‘protect.’ You can usually scare them off with a good conspiracy theory. I personally enjoy telling them chemtrails are controlling their minds.”
Vincent chuckled. “That’s a good tip. I’ll have to try it sometime.”
I studied him as he took a measured drink from his glass. “Are you ever going to tell me why you wanted to talk?”
Vincent finished his gulp. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said back at the hospital.” He pushed his glass over to the side, studying me with his full attention.
I forced myself not to squirm under his gaze. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I say a lot of things. It’s one of my most charming features.”
That brought a smile to his lips, breaking the intensity. “The part about you and me being on the same side. We both protect the forest.”
“We do,” I agreed. “I just do it with more flair.”
“That’s one way to put it.” His grin broadened. “The more I think about it, we might be able to help each other.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes I investigate things that don’t have a concrete explanation. Here, let me show you a recent example.” Vincent pulled out his phone and flicked around it a bit. “You know what a Humboldt marten is?”
“The red weasel-like furballs that live in the dunes? Sure, I’ve run across them, although their numbers are pretty small.”
“Right,” Vincent never looked up from his phone, still searching. “Fish and Wildlife has been hemming and hawing over marking them as critically imperiled for a while, but finally pulled the trigger this year.”
“That’s good, right? I’ve seen a lot of traps for them out in the forests.” I did not mention I broke any device I ran across. While shepherds don’t necessarily begrudge human hunting, I’d nursed enough half-broken, starving martens left in traps for days. I’d always spare any creature that sort of suffering. “A new law should at least help curb that.”
“It should,” Vincent agreed. “Which is exactly why this is so alarming.”
He showed me a picture of a marten on his phone. She lay slumped over on her side, tiny eyelids shut. A naïve kid might assume she was just taking a nap, but I knew better. A creature that low on the food chain wouldn’t just chillax out in the open with her belly exposed like that. She had to be dead.
A hardness edged into Vincent’s voice. “I can’t figure out what’s killing the little guys. Sometimes there’s minor trauma, but nothing that indicates they should have died. I’ve found almost a half dozen of them dead in the past month alone, and with a population as small as theirs, it won’t take much to wipe them out.”
I realized where this conversation was going. “You’re asking if there are vaetturs involved.”
“Yes,” he said. “The ‘monsters’ I don’t see.”
I hadn’t told Vincent about what a vaettur was or where they came from, but I’d given him a general idea that they existed.
“If it is a vaettur,” I said. “There’s not much you can do about it.”
He frowned. “I’ve heard one before.”
“That’s true, but we don’t know if that was a one-time deal or not. And you definitely can’t attack one. You don’t have magic.”
He gestured toward his phone. “Then I guess I asked the right person to check this out.”
I stared hard at that poor marten. I couldn’t rule out the possibility of a vaettur attack here. Vaetturs loved weak animal populations. The kappa had preyed on the octopi precisely because there wasn’t a dryant, or spirit animal of Nasci, to protect that particular species. The Humboldt martens were in the same boat, but a shepherd named Zibel practically lived in that area, making it even less likely a vaettur would attack unnoticed. “Maybe they were poisoned?” I suggested.
“It’s possible,” Vincent said slowly. “Although I should detect other signs if that were true.”
“Can’t you do an autopsy or something?”
Vincent laughed with no humor. “I never know when the state’s going to cut me loose due to budget constraints. And Fish and Wildlife believe passing the law will stop the environmentalists from complaining. So, there’s neither the money nor interest for that kind of thing.”
I ran through all the possible scenarios in my head. “I really don’t think it’s a vaettur. Sorry I can’t help you more.”
“Ah, well.” Vincent lowered his chin in resignation. “It was worth a shot I suppose.”
“Look on the bright side.” I gestured toward my second fish strip. “You bought me dinner.”
Vincent leaned forward in a way that made me swallow despite not having food in my mouth. “That I did. And I wouldn’t mind doing it again, if you’d let me.”
He might have said more, but a commotion at the bar interrupted us.
A red-faced biker with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth sl
apped a palm on the counter. “Whaddya mean my card’s been denied?”
The bartender kept his face professionally neutral. “Do you have another card on you?” He slid the previous credit card back to its owner, then turned on the faucet closest to him to clean some dirty glasses.
The biker threw it back at the bartender, who caught it against his chest where it struck him. “Run it again!”
“I’ve run it several times. It just isn’t working.”
The biker flexed his burly bare arms, a semi-circle of his buddies flanking him in support. He pulled a handful of napkins from behind the bar and crumbled them up in a heap in front of the bartender. “You know what’s not working around here? Your head. Run the card again.”
You had to hand it to the bartender. He did not waver as he said, “No.”
Vincent’s eyes had lost all their sparkle. He got to his feet. “Stay here,” he told me before stalking over to the crowd.
The biker poured a shot glass full of whiskey over the napkins. He then withdrew a lighter from his pocket and flicked it so the flame danced menacingly over the alcohol-soaked paper. “Do it or I’ll burn this place down.”
Vincent stopped a few feet shy of the biker cluster. “Something wrong here, guys?” he asked loudly.
All heads slowly twisted to him, seething in anger, not the least of which was the red-faced leader. “Mind your own business!” he snarled.
“Threats are my business,” Vincent declared, pulling a badge from his back pocket and flashing it. “I’m a police officer.”
An unarmed one, I realized in a panic. How did Vincent expect to take on six bikers all on his own?
The biker leader must have had the same thoughts because a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “A cop without a Glock. How do you plan on stopping me, Officer? With kind feelings and hugs?”
Vincent said nothing, holding a staring competition with his main rival. Or so I assumed. It took me a minute to notice the short order cook, hidden partially by paper tickets in the window, waving behind the bikers’ backs. The cook nodded at Vincent and flashed a smart phone. Vincent blinked at him and then turned slightly to the bartender, who was reaching slowly under the counter.
Satisfied, Vincent returned his full attention to the shuffling bikers. “Put the lighter away, or things will get ugly.”
“Then let’s get ugly,” the leader snarled.
The room exploded into action. The lead biker released his lighter, setting the napkins aflame, a few streaks zipping across the bar. The two bikers closest to Vincent surged toward him. Vincent put a table and chairs between them. The bartender began to lift the barrel of a shotgun into view, but upon seeing the flames, scrambled off into the kitchen, screaming something incoherent at the short order cook.
Vincent was on his own against an entire biker gang.
I’m used to taking on vaetturs, but I have absolutely no training in human combat. I froze in shock as Vincent executed a little dance around the square wooden table with his two foes. At first, the table remained too much of a barrier, but when the pair finally figured out they could approach Vincent together from either side, he had nowhere to go.
Vincent had planned for this, though. He pushed one chair directly into one biker’s gut, causing him to bend over in pain. In the same fluid motion, he grabbed the salt and pepper shakers between his fingers and lobbed them at the second biker’s head. Biker number two howled in pain as he crashed to the floor.
I internally applauded in victory, but it was all short-lived as the other four bikers rounded on Vincent. He raised his arm to avoid one punch to the face but received a second hit to his torso that pushed him backward. A few kicks narrowly missed blowing out his knee. Vincent went into full defensive mode, trying to use close quarters and their uncoordinated attacks against his opponents, but it was clear he couldn’t hold out for long.
That realization shook me out of my stupor. The faucet next to the dirty glasses continued to spew water, so I drew a series of Vs with a slash through them, sending the stream in an arc to spill onto the floor next to the bikers. That brought two of them slipping and sliding down, but I couldn’t chance coating the entire floor without crippling Vincent as well. Panic overtook me as I went through a quick list of earth and air sigils, none of which seemed appropriate for an indoor brawl.
That’s when the napkin flames surged up toward the ceiling, a roaring blaze that threatened to overtake the entire wooden bar.
Oh yeah, I thought. I can absorb fire. Duh.
I drew a cross and a wicked slash that sent a wave of flame straight onto the leader’s leather jacket. He must have spilled alcohol down his left side because it ignited instantly. He went from nearly clocking Vincent across the head with an empty glass to screeching in terror as he ran in circles around the room. I manipulated a second flame wave onto the last remaining biker’s hair, which only singed the tips but sent him into a panic. He almost made it out the door as the distinctive click of a shotgun pump filled the air.
The bartender had returned, the shotgun raised at the fleeing biker. “Don’t even think about it!” he ordered. “Raise your hands!”
Behind him, the short order cook came trotting out with a fire extinguisher. The deafening roar of foam blasts filled the room as he contained the fire. Unbeknownst to everyone else in the room, I helped him a little by drawing a cross with an infinity sigil behind my back, eliminating the blaze. I even extinguished the biker’s jacket.
Vincent had a shallow cut on his forehead and nursed a blow to his chest, but otherwise took control of the situation. “You call 911?” he asked the short order cook.
The younger man nodded. “They’re on their way.”
The bikers stirred at this, but the bartender’s yell reminded them he could shoot them at any time. They crept down to the floor on Vincent’s orders.
Still, I sympathized with the bikers on this one. I wasn’t sticking around for the authorities. I slinked toward the exit.
As I stepped over the last biker and pushed at the door, Vincent’s voice stopped me short. “Where are you going, Ina?”
I fanned my face and slapped on my most anguished, damsel-in-distress expression. “I need some fresh air!” I declared. “Before I faint!”
Vincent opened his mouth to protest, but the bartender waved me on. “Just wait outside, miss.”
I shot Vincent one last glance before I skipped out of there. He knew I wasn’t sticking around, his set jaw indicating as much.
The sound of approaching sirens swelled once outside. It was petty of me, but I couldn’t resist drawing an air sigil and knocking over the row of bikes in the parking lot. They crashed down like dominoes, breaking glass and crunching metal as I disappeared into the trees.
CHAPTER 5
“IS IT REALLY so difficult to go where you’re supposed to?”
At least this time no other shepherds were around to watch Guntram lay into me. The glare underneath his bushy black eyebrows could have started a fire without any pith.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot inside the homestead lodge. “I got sidetracked.”
We stood in the common area, where the combined kitchen, dining area, and living room dominated right inside the front door. The earthen floors gave the place a rustic look, while the glistening pool in the center offered a more spa-like atmosphere. A breeze from the glassless windows above tickled the back of my neck, allowing me to soak in extra air pith.
Guntram’s neck muscles tensed around his beard. “You sealed the breach hours ago. I was half ready to go looking for you myself.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” I muttered.
He snorted a humorless chuckle. “You have a funny way of showing it. Fechin told me all about how you used lightning on the kappa.”
Little flying snitch. Fechin hadn’t just been a reminder to go home, but also a spy to report every transgression I could possibly make.
Guntram was still prattling on. �
�…why I forbade you from using lightning pith. You have no clue how it works. It could get you killed one day. Lightning is a dangerous power. There are…”
“Well, the joke’s on me anyway,” I cut into his speech, hoping to placate him. “Lightning had absolutely no effect on the kappa.”
A smirk suddenly tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Is that so?”
Guntram may be a powerful augur and a master of air, but he has absolutely no poker face. My heat level rose, and it wasn’t due to the blaze in the fireplace.
“You knew lightning wouldn’t hurt the kappa, didn’t you?”
“I had my suspicions based on some tomes I’ve studied in the past few months.”
“And you didn’t bother to tell me?”
His smirk vanished. “I wouldn’t need Fechin to track your every move if you’d heed directives once in a while.”
I stiffened at this revelation. Fechin had watched me fight the kappa, but I hadn’t considered the possibility that he might have followed me elsewhere. Did Guntram know I’d met Vincent at the bar? “You had your birdbrain track me to my parents’ house?”
This caught Guntram slightly off guard. “Oh? Is that where you went?”
Whew. He had no idea about Vincent. “Where else would I go?” I threw my hands up in exaggerated exasperation. “Maybe most shepherds don’t have loved ones outside of magic, but I’ve got a nagging mother who wants me to date a moron from high school.” I pretended to wipe the sting of salt in my eyes. Better lay this on thick. “It’s not the family I would have picked, but it’s the one I got.”
I gave a final dramatic sniffle, then stared in defiance at my augur.
“I apologize, Ina,” Guntram said softly. “Of course you wish to visit your parents.”
His softness was my undoing. I couldn’t feign anger when he seemed so unsure of himself. “I realize you’re just enforcing the rules.” I sighed. “You’re not supposed to let me just dash back to civilization on a whim.”
“There is little precedent for your unique situation.” Guntram folded his hands in front of him. “The Oracle has offered some leeway in how I handle the fact that you have living relatives who care for you.”