Hounding The Moon: A Tess Noncoire Adventure

by P. R. Frost

  Sister Gert stalked off in high dudgeon.

  I’d always wanted to use the word. Now I had the perfect example. And a place to put it in the book.

  The imp—Scrap, I should say—pulled my hair and pinched me hard.

  I sobered instantly.

  Stop laughing, you miserable, no-good excuse for a warrior. Do you know what I had to go through to get here?

  Only then did I notice just how battered and bruised he looked. I thought I was too tired to care about anything, even Sister Gert’s disapproval. But my heart went out to the little beast.

  “Sorry, Scrap.”

  “Your name,” Sister Mary said gently. “You have to tell it your name.”

  “I’m Tess,” I said, looking into Scrap’s eyes. “That’s Tess, not Teresa and not babe.”

  Right, dahling, Scrap drawled. The thing wiggled and settled himself. Then he hopped onto my shoulder with a flutter of his stubby wings. They barely aided his ascent.

  “I guess we are well suited for each other,” I sighed.

  “What is it you do exactly?”

  “He becomes your Celestial Blade when you face the demons in battle.” Paige prodded me with her wooden replica weapon.

  “Until a demon is present, you must train with imp wood.” Sister Mary took a fighting stance.

  Grab your blade, dahling, they’re gonna attack, Scrap warned me.

  I rolled and rose to my feet, blade in hand, in one smooth move, blocking three attacks within as many heartbeats.

  The melding has begun.

  Chapter 11

  Vampire bats do not suck blood. They make tiny cuts in the skin of large birds, cattle, horses, pigs, and upon occasion, humans. Then they lap the blood from the wounds.

  “LEONARD STALKING MOON, this is my good friend Tess,” Bob introduced me to the owner and brewmaster of a local pub.

  I shook hands with the stocky Native American, not much taller than I, older by at least a decade. Hard to tell with his near hairless mahogany skin. He wore his sleek black hair in two long braids. A harelip scar marred his upper lip.

  He looked me up and down with the same intensity I gave him.

  “Are you any relation to Cynthia Stalking Moon?” I asked quietly, hoping Van der Hoyden-Smythe was too occupied ordering drinks and pizza for all of us to hear my question.

  “My second cousin’s daughter.” He finished his appraisal of me and pointed to a photo of a smiling adolescent girl behind the bar. Cynthia’s picture stood out among the dozens of photos of happy patrons.

  “She looks happy,” I said. She also looked less gaunt and strained than she had at the park. But that was an unusual situation. “Is she with you yet?”

  “Yes, thanks to you, Tess Noncoiré. I hope you know how special is our Cynthia,” Leonard replied almost in a whisper. “My daughter Keisha wanted her. She has fancy degrees and works in a museum, but she lives in Seattle. Cherry and I thought Cynthia would be happier here.”

  “She told you about me?”

  “Everything.” He looked closely at my left shoulder, then nodded.

  I gulped. Had he seen Scrap? If so, did he know what the imp represented?

  “My family, my entire tribe, owes you much,” Leonard said, handing me a foaming glass of ale with a strange purple cast. “On the house. A very special brew with huckleberries, only for family and special friends. Very special friends who are almost family. For you, Bob, and your friend, everything is on the house tonight.”

  I smiled my thanks to him.

  “Tomorrow, you speak to the high school and middle school English class. Cynthia will be there. She will thank you personally.” He smiled hugely, showing an endearing gap between his upper front teeth and a twinkle in his eye that reminded me of MoonFeather.

  Then I noticed a necklace of some sort tucked beneath his shirt. Only a little bit of knotted hemp showed around his open collar. MoonFeather had shown me a similar one in a book. That was a shaman’s knot.

  Leonard Stalking Moon probably did see beyond this reality.

  “You and I will talk more later. About just how special Cynthia is.” I looked pointedly at his necklace.

  He blushed and tucked it deeper beneath his short sleeved sports shirt so that it didn’t show.

  “Your thanks are appreciated but not necessary. I was just doing my job,” I demurred.

  “I know.”

  “Will you sit with us a few moments? We have questions about the dog.”

  “In a bit. I have other customers right now.” He moved to the end of the bar and served several more drinks.

  “What was that about?” Bob asked, jostling my elbow so that I almost spilled my mug of beer.

  No way to avoid telling him at least some of the tale.

  He’d never believe most of it.

  “Well… let’s sit down first.” I wended my way between scarred and scuffed tables to the booth Gollum had claimed. The new building worked hard at looking old and rustic with rough planked walls and floors. The many windows were high and curtained, the lights electrified oil lamps.

  “What did he say?” Gollum asked the moment I sat down across the table from him, next to Bob.

  “He’ll join us in a bit. I think he knows something about the dog.”

  “What dog?” Bob asked.

  I let Gollum fill him in. Thankfully, the man left out the crucial point about Scrap becoming a poker and any reference to the Sisterhood of the Celestial Blade Warriors.

  As Gollum finished, he took off his glasses and scrubbed his face with his hands. He looked weary.

  For the first time I could look into his pale blue eyes.

  Really look. Our gazes met, and trust flowed between us as if we had known each other for ages.

  Or perhaps in another time and dimension.

  Those thoughts shocked me. I filled my books with ideas like that. I never considered that it could happen to me. Could happen in reality, anywhere outside the pages of a fantasy book.

  I leaned against the high straight back of the booth and closed my eyes. Closed Gollum out of my thoughts.

  “So you followed Tess here just to find out about a stray dog?”

  I didn’t add that Gollum had stalked the dog across three or four states.

  Bob shook his head incredulously. He also moved his hand to cover mine, laying claim.

  His hand was warm and comforting. The contact lacked the electricity of Donovan Estevez’s touch.

  Naughty, naughty! Scrap chortled. Letting poor Gollum believe you are taken. He slurped some of the foam off the top of my glass.

  I made a casual gesture, as if shooing away a fly, that sent Scrap sprawling onto the floor, under the feet of two couples getting up to dance. He had to scramble to keep from getting crushed.

  Of course he could have popped into another dimension.

  But then he might miss something.

  “What’s so important about a stray dog?” Bob asked.

  He downed a considerable portion of his porter. “Send a sharpshooter after it. No more problem.”

  “Trust me, Bob, this is no ordinary stray dog.” I considered my next words carefully. Bob might be an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy, but his belief in the supernatural was limited to his Christian religion.

  “Bob, this dog is like something out of my books. Beyond the reach of an ordinary sharpshooter. Beyond the size and strength of any mortal dog.”

  Both he and Gollum stilled for a long moment.

  A tingle grew out of the base of my spine. I looked about the pub, peering into the shadows. I expected to see the dog, green slime dripping from its jowls.

  Scrap turned bright pink and took up a defensive position near my hand.

  Leonard Stalking Moon narrowed his eyes and lifted his harelip in a snarl as the front door opened.

  I half stood, ready to face the demon dog we had been discussing.

  Donovan Estevez sauntered into the pub as if he owned it. He brought with h
im two young ladies and a young man. From their T-shirts, I recognized them as the kids with the demon masks. Thankfully, they’d left the masks off for a public appearance outside the con.

  The bartender—not Leonard—carded Donovan’s friends but let them enter.

  Donovan surveyed the room, flashing that brilliant smile.

  I relaxed instantly, and my belly warmed. Nothing to fear here. The tingle of warning evaporated and I waved in greeting to a man I considered a friend and wanted as a lover.

  Scrap remained quite bright as he popped out of this dimension. See ya later, babe, when stinky man is not around.

  I knew I should pay attention to Scrap’s implied warning. I knew it. Yet Donovan’s welcoming smile and my blossoming affection for him clouded my senses. He and his friends sat at the table adjoining our booth and proceeded to monopolize the conversation. I didn’t care. My weekend was complete.

  Bob and Gollum faded in significance.

  Leonard Stalking Moon avoided our table for the rest of the evening, and I learned nothing new about the dog.

  The stinky man drove me away. He came too close to Tess and drove me away. What is he? There is nothing in imp lore to account for him or his friends.

  Leonard Stalking Moon knows about me somehow. He must be a shaman. I wonder if I can communicate with him.

  He might know something about Donovan. He might be able to tell me how to stay close to Tess when he is around. I know that she needs me.

  Even if she does not think so. All he has to do is smile and she succumbs to his every wish.

  But I have noticed something. I will try something when she is alone.

  Donovan escorted me back to my room when we’d all eaten and drunk our fill. I thought I’d have trouble ditching Bob and Gollum, but those two seemed to have bonded. They had role-playing games they wanted to check out.

  The three young people in Donovan’s wake evaporated.

  The huckleberry ale was wonderful, leaving me mellow.

  Now that I had him alone, Donovan filled my vision and my thoughts. Perhaps tonight I might, just might, get over my lingering inhibitions and doubts. Perhaps tonight I’d let him stay with me in the huge suite paid for by the con.

  He held my hand in the elevator as it creaked noisily to the third and top floor of the sprawling hotel. At my door he lifted my hand to his lips. His eyes met mine in silent inquiry.

  Heat flooded my face and a little thrill sent moisture to places in my body I thought I’d forgotten in the last two and a half years.

  “Would you like to come in for a drink?” I couldn’t believe my voice sounded so breathless and… anxious.

  Inside the living room of the suite Donovan pulled me into his arms. Our mouths eagerly sought each other.

  I melted under the firm pressure of his mobile lips.

  We came up for breath. My balance deserted me. He held me firm against his long, lean body.

  We came together again in a searing kiss. His fingers tangled in my hair. I delighted in stroking the length of his black braid. No fair that his hair was prettier than mine.

  In that moment I didn’t care about the mystery that surrounded him. I just wanted him to hold me, make the delicious champagne bubbles coursing through my blood go on forever.

  We stumbled toward the sofa, too intent on touching each other to care where we landed. He braced his weight on his elbows on top of me, eagerly exploring my neck with his wonderful mouth. The buttons of my cotton knit shirt fell open with just a touch. I yanked his shirt tails free of his jeans the better to run my hands up his hairless, muscled back to his broad shoulders.

  A touch of shyness made me reach behind me to turn out the lamp on the end table. As I fumbled for the switch on the base of the lamp my fingers brushed the antique comb. It fell to the floor.

  How had it gotten there? I hadn’t even unpacked yet.

  My luggage was piled at the foot of the bed in the other room.

  Before I could think of an answer, my skin cooled and my brain cleared just a little.

  “Don’t turn away from me now, L’akita,” he whispered.

  “Just for a moment. Not anymore,” I answered on a spare breath. His gaze latched onto mine, and I lost whatever stray thought or doubt had flitted through my mind.

  The world dissolved in a flurry of kisses and caresses.

  Our clothes landed in a tangle on the floor.

  We came together in a glory of sensation. He coaxed and teased me into ever-heightening explosions of joy.

  Replete, we lay cuddled together for a long time on the sofa. We didn’t need words, we just needed to lay there with our arms about each other, my head tucked between his shoulder and his chin.

  Eventually, we moved to the shower where we came together again.

  Then we tumbled into the big bed, content to use only a third of it.

  Sometime in the middle of the night he reached for me again. I opened to him eagerly. We slowly explored new ways to delight each other. Then as we fell asleep, he mumbled something into my hair.

  I thought he said, “I love you, L’akita.”

  But I couldn’t be sure.

  I was too exhausted to react. Instead I savored a special warmth beneath my breastbone.

  I might be falling in love with him, too.

  Chapter 12

  Scientists give bats names containing the word chiroptera, Latin for handwing. Most of a bat’s wing structure is supported by the elongated five-fingered hand, including a thumb.

  DAWN CREPT AROUND the edges of my perceptions.

  I cracked an eye half open. The digital clock showed big red numbers somewhere around sixthirty.

  Donovan’s arm lay across my waist, heavy, possessive, welcome.

  I basked a few moments in the aftermath of being thoroughly loved by a very handsome man.

  My mind spun and my fingers itched to write, as they did every morning about this time.

  And my bladder was full.

  Time to get up. I lifted Donovan’s arm and wiggled out from under. He mumbled something, and he reached for me again.

  “Later,” I said as I scooted to the edge of the bed.

  Something hard jabbed me. I squeaked and looked about for the offensive object.

  The antique comb lay beneath me. I grabbed it with the intent of throwing it across the room in irritation.

  Something in the luster of the gold knotwork grabbed my attention.

  I sat up to put a little distance between Donovan and myself.

  “Second thoughts, L’akita?” he whispered. He placed his hand on my thigh.

  “It’s been a long time. I haven’t been with anyone, wanted to be intimate with anyone, since my husband died.” I turned the comb over and over in my hands, examining it from every angle, falling in love again with the delicate filigree along the back. The abstract design suggested flowers, perhaps Celtic knotwork. I couldn’t be sure. It seemed to change with each new slant of light.

  “A long time to be alone. A woman as beautiful as you should not be alone.” He lifted my hair and kissed my neck. “You aren’t alone anymore.”

  Delicious shivers ran up and down my spine.

  Not knowing what else to do, I twisted my hair up and secured it with the comb.

  I shuddered as a stray draft worked its way through the French doors and wrapped around me. More than a draft. A ghostly presence. I’d lived with ghosts in the house on Cape Cod for too long not to recognize it, and I felt my mood change.

  “I’m sorry, Donovan. In many ways, I still feel married to Dill. I feel like I’ve betrayed him.” A cold lump gathered in my belly.

  “A live man I could compete with. A ghost I cannot.”

  He withdrew from me physically and emotionally. “The time will come, L’akita, when you banish this ghost. Only you can do it. When you do, I want to be the first man waiting in line for your affections. Your passions.”

  He dropped a kiss on top of my head and departed. At the door h
e blew me a kiss.

  Something in his posture, the swagger in his walk, something sent a frisson of fear into my throat, threatening to cut off my breathing. The indirect lighting gave him a visible aura, part a golden luster inviting trust, part black and impenetrable.

  I swallowed deeply to master my fear and confusion.

  “Donovan, were you one of the bat people in San Jose two weeks ago?” I knew he had been. I needed him to admit it.

  “You recognized me?” He came back into the room, pulling on his clothes.

  “Your posture, the way you walk.” I gulped, not certain if I could ever look at him in the same light again.

  The delight his long-fingered hands had given my body turned to revulsion.

  A bat. Anything but a bat.

  How had I forgotten the bat family last night when I succumbed to the desire that still plagued me?

  Two of the bat children tried to steal my tote. Had he fathered either one of them? Or both? And, if so, where was their mother?

  “You had other issues. We had not been introduced. I had family with me. My family can be overwhelming.”

  He smiled crookedly.

  I laughed a little. “So can mine.” I had to know.“Were any of those children yours?” I put on a bright smile, as if I had thought they were cute in their horrid bat costumes.

  “No. Nieces and nephews, and one a half sister. My father took a new and very young wife. I have not yet had the luck to meet a woman I wanted to have children with. Until now.”

  That thought lingered between us for several meaningful, almost wonderful heartbeats. It changed our relationship completely. A quickie at a con wasn’t going to be enough, or the end of it.

  The blackness around him competed with the gold.

  What was going on? Who was he really?

  “I’m glad Coach introduced us.”

  “A lucky happenstance.”

  “I won’t have doubts forever, Donovan.”

  “I’ll plan on it, L’akita. I’ll catch up with you later. At the con. You have a panel at two?”

  “I’ll look for you.”

  The door snicked closed with barely a whisper.