Heir to the Alpha: Episodes 1 & 2: A Tarker’s Hollow Serial
Page 9
“Other types of magical creatures,” Dulcie said.
Ainsley studied her, then realized she must be joking.
“Like leprechauns?” she teased, playing along. “Are they here for our lucky charms?”
“I’m serious,” Dulcie said quietly. “This town is turning into a beacon for folks like us.”
“Us?” Ainsley asked. “But you said you weren’t a shifter.”
“I said I wasn’t a wolf,” Dulcie said. “Shifters come in all shapes and sizes.”
It would have sounded almost foreboding, except that Dulcie took an comically large sip of her frozen Frappucino immediately afterward.
Ainsley thought about her words. She knew about the foster kids over at the Harkness place from her time spent with Darcy Harkness. She’d heard a few of them were bears, though she viewed the idea with a bit of skepticism. After all, those kids had their shifter animals suppressed, so maybe they had it wrong.
“If you’re not a wolf, then what are you?” she asked.
“That’s not important,” Dulcie said, her face turning pink. “But we do need to figure out what’s drawing the newcomers here, and what to do with them.”
Ainsley sighed, thinking of Grace’s grandmother’s theory about the open portal turning Tarker’s Hollow into a magnet for the supernatural.
“I think I have a pretty good idea of what is attracting them,” she said to Dulcie. “But first, you have to tell me what kind of people we’re talking about. Are they dangerous?”
Dulcie appeared to think about it.
“I suppose some of them could be,” she said at length. “Just like any type of people - most are pretty good, but you will always find a couple assholes in the bunch.”
Ainsley couldn’t argue with that. A respected member of the Tarker’s Hollow pack had once tried to kill her, after all.
“As far as what they are?” Dulcie continued. “There have been shifters, of course, and not just wolves. Just about any creature you can think of, from insects to elephants.”
Ainsley tried to process that information.
“Yes, that’s possible,” Dulcie answered her unasked question. “Do you know I once heard of someone shifting into a plant?”
Ainsley gave her a skeptical look, but her wolf sensed that the other woman seemed to be telling the truth.
“And if I’m right in what I’m thinking,” Dulcie continued, “besides shifters, there will be other types soon - there may be already. Fey-bloods, witches, demons, dragons, you name it. If you have ever heard a childhood story about it, it’s more than likely out there somewhere.”
“Vampires?” Ainsley heard herself ask.
Dulcie shuffled a folder on her desk. The picture attached to it looked like the old Ogden place up in the hills.
“I would assume,” Dulcie said quietly.
“Do you know about the duty of the pack?” Ainsley asked.
“To guard the portal?” Dulcie replied.
“Yeah,” Ainsley nodded. “Well ours kind of got…opened.”
Dulcie let out a low whistle.
“I guess that would do it.”
Ainsley sighed.
“Well, if we are going to have the fantasy section of the library knocking on our door, we’d better be prepared to answer.”
“What did you have in mind?” Dulcie asked.
“We’ll start by speeding up the timeline on making Tarker’s Hollow Realty Group the official owner of this place,” Ainsley said. “These… magical people are going to need places to live. We can help them get set up, lay down some ground rules - make sure everyone feels at home and plays nice.”
“Get out ahead of it,” Dulcie mused. “Good idea.”
“I’ll see the attorney today,” Ainsley said, getting up. “See if he can fast track the paperwork. You start putting together a team we can trust.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dulcie said, her eyes sparkling like she couldn’t wait to get started.
Ainsley smiled.
“If we get lucky, maybe we will all actually live through this.”
“That would be nice,” Dulcie agreed.
Ainsley said her good-byes and headed out, realizing for the second time that day that she’d better get ready to adjust to new neighbors.
Variety is the spice of life, she reminded herself ironically, hoping that whatever arrived in Tarker’s Hollow didn’t enjoy the spice by trying to eat the residents.
Chapter 4
Grace strode out the front door of the Beachfront Motel with Cressida by her side.
She was glad to see the kid from last night wasn’t there. Thank god for small favors.
They headed for the small town on foot, just taking it all in. The wind was really blowing, carrying with it a scent of the ocean that reminded her of her abuela’s gumbo. She wondered if Cressida’s nose picked up on the subtleties better.
Based on the she-wolf’s wrinkled nose she figured the answer was yes. At least her friend didn’t have to bundle up against the cold spring breeze. It was weird to see Cressida slinking down the street in a sleeveless Somnambulance tee shirt, while Grace herself was feeling the chill through her Tarker’s Hollow Timberwolves fleece.
“You a fan?” she asked when Cressida caught her staring at the sweatshirt. Couldn’t have her thinking she was looking at her chest after yesterday.
“Somnambulance? The lead singer is pretty hot, I guess,” Cressida said. “But he seems a little full of himself. I got this off some guy a million years ago. I mostly just like the way it fits.”
Grace nodded. Although she had yet to see a piece of clothing that didn’t fit her friend like it was designed for her.
“Are you picking anything up here?” Cressida asked, a note of hope in her voice.
“Not really,” she replied. “But somehow I have a good feeling about this anyway.”
Cressida grinned.
They kept walking until they reached the boardwalk again. The sight of the sun rising over the water was mesmerizing. Red sun, pink sky, fuchsia water - all lending their hues to the glowing sand.
“Looks like Mars,” Cressida observed carelessly.
“Mm,” Grace agreed, not having thought of that, but now unable to see it any other way.
“So what now?” Cress asked.
“We’ve got to keep a low profile,” Grace said. “The Federation doesn’t want anyone investigating the moroi, so we can’t let on to what we’re doing.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means we’ve got to go deep into that awesome cover story you made for us,” Grace said. “Let’s go get you a camera.”
“Nice,” Cressida said.
They wandered the boardwalk for a little while. The small stucco storefronts were dwarfed by immense neon signs, most of which were switched off.
The few shops that weren’t closed for the season all seemed to be occupied by good natured proprietors - an interesting mix of ancient retirees and recent immigrants, all happy to have visitors in the off season. There was something about it that made her think of Tarker’s Hollow.
While Grace chatted, trying fruitlessly to get a sense of whether anything paranormal was happening in town, Cressida browsed the racks of souvenirs and t-shirts. She was seemingly hypnotized by the endless neon muscle tanks, ships in bottles, and shells with Fletcher’s Cove printed on them. Grace made sure to offer to buy her something at the end of each visit, so by the end Cressida carried a Fletcher’s Cove tote bag full of doodads.
“Thanks for all the stuff,” Cressida said dubiously after they left another little shop.
“Sure,” Grace said. “I feel bad they don’t do much business this time of year. But maybe in the next one you can help me with the detective work?”
Cressida snickered.
“What?” Grace asked.
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Cressida asked.
“Um, buying boogie boards and snow globes,” Grace ventured.
“The old guy?”
“Yeah, big time. And there had been a wolf in that place recently, but not regularly.”
“What about this last one?” Grace asked, impressed.
“Well, I zoned out a little, I really wanted the boogie board,” Cressida admitted. “But the lady was right on about where to find the camera shop, and she has a crush on the guy who runs the place.”
“Wow,” Grace laughed. “You could tell all that from the back of the room?”
“It’s easier that way,” Cressida said. “If they’re not looking at me, I can concentrate better on picking stuff up from them. If I could shift, I’d be able to tell you what they had for breakfast three days ago, but I figured you’d have a hard time explaining that.”
Somehow, Grace found that oddly sensible. Cressida must have been rubbing off on her.
They continued to the camera shop in companionable silence. At last they reached it - an unmistakable little box with signs on the windows offering one-hour film developing - like something out of an old movie.
“How may I help you?” the man at the counter asked. He was an older gentleman, with elegant silver hair and dark eyes, dressed like an old school James Bond on vacation. Grace could see why the beach store lady liked him.
She looked around the dusty shop.
“I’m a photographer,” Cressida said, leaning across the counter in a way that told Grace the man’s good looks hadn’t been lost on her.
“Excellent,” the man smiled. “Are you looking for a special lens?”
“I’m looking for a whole camera,” she said. “Mine broke.”
“Oh dear,” he replied, standing. “Would you like me to take a look at it?”
“Nah,” Cressida replied immediately. “I dropped it.”
“Sometimes I can still—” he began.
“—And then ran over it with my car,” she interjected.
His eyebrows shot up.
“In that case, let’s see what we have that may interest you. I’m Reginald.”
“Cressida,” Cressida said, smiling in a way that made Grace want to give them privacy. “Hey, Grace, come on, help me pick. I sorta want something vintage since we’re shooting vintage stuff. Do you know about older cameras, Reginald? What would work best outside?”
They perused several models and settled on one that was inexpensive but that Reginald was convinced would be excellent for outdoor shoots along the boardwalk. Somehow, Cressida had managed to pass herself off as a real photographer without knowing anything at all.
“Gee, thanks again,” Cressida said, when he rang them up at a much lower price than the tag would have indicated.
“My pleasure,” he replied with a smile.
“Antoinette was right,” Cressida nodded, winking at Grace.
“What?” he asked.
“You know, that sexy lady who runs the boogie board place?” Cressida leaned in conspiratorially. “She said you knew everything about vintage cameras.”
Reginald didn’t reply, but Grace noticed pink blossoming on his cheeks.
Cressida smiled sweetly at him, gave him a salute, grabbed the camera in one hand, Grace’s hand in the other, and dragged her out the door.
“Thanks again, girls,” he shouted after them.
“That was nice of you,” Grace told her when they were definitely out of earshot.
Cressida shrugged.
“Whatever, if it was that easy, then I only sped things up. Hang on, I wanna try this thing.”
They stopped and Cressida pulled the camera out of the bag. Reginald had included a strap, covered in embroidered sunbursts. Cressida slipped it over her head and tried to take a picture.
“Damn thing is broken,” she said.
“The, um, the lens cap is on,” Grace said quietly.
“What? Oh, yeah,” Cressida said, popping off the cap.
She held it up again and Grace heard the click as she took a shot.
“I like this,” Cressida declared.
They began to walk again, though their progress was a bit slower since Cress stopped here and there to take pictures of the ocean, the darkened signs on the shops, the seagulls.
“I know you were looking for wolf scents, but do we even know if there is a pack in Fletcher’s Cove?” Grace asked at length.
“Mm, not exactly,” Cressida said. “I texted Mac. He said there should be one in this area, but the only ones who know the exact locations of all the packs are the Federation members. Something about it being safer for all of us.”
“You don’t sound convinced,” Grace said.
Cressida glared into the sun and then snapped a picture of a garbage can.
“I think it’s bullshit,” she said finally. “They obviously just want to keep us in the dark, so they can control us.”
“Not a fan of the Federation, huh?” Grace asked.
“This may surprise you,” Cressida said with a crooked smile, “but I don’t really like people telling me what to do.”
“Shocking,” Grace said drily.
“Also, in addition to his other talents,” Cressida grinned, “Mac is a damn good history teacher. And he always said that whoever has the information has the power. The only reason the Federation even exists is because they’ve managed to convince the packs that we need them. And as long as they hold onto our secrets, it will stay that way.”
“Sounds complicated,” Grace said, thinking it over.
“Ever heard of politics being simple?” Cressida asked.
“Fair enough,” she agreed.
“I bet the reason the Federation doesn’t want us investigating is that the other packs don’t even know there’s a moroi on the loose,” Cressida said.
“They wouldn’t do that, would they?” Grace asked. “So many wolves are in danger. They must have warned them.”
“Did you even meet Ophelia Winter?” Cressida asked.
Grace’s head was suddenly filled with the ruthless image of the Federation rep who had visited Tarker’s Hollow in the fall - a woman who would have torn apart Ainsley’s pack just for fun, like a kid tearing the wings off a fly. She shuddered. Maybe death by moroi was a fair punishment for Ophelia’s cruelty.
“Did she strike you as someone who cared a whole lot about what happens to people who weren’t her?” Cressida continued.
A flash of movement caught Grace’s eye.
Something had darted past. She thought of the shadow demon and felt the magic begin to gather in her hands.
“Did you see that?” Grace hissed.
Unfazed, Cressida wandered into the alley to investigate.
“Be careful,” Grace admonished her as she followed. “I don’t know what it was.”
“It was just a rat,” Cressida said from a bit deeper in the darkness.
“You couldn’t have seen it,” Grace said.
“Nah, I can smell the little bugger,” Cress replied.
There was a scurrying sound, then the rat appeared on top of a dumpster. He stood on his back legs, sniffing furiously.
Cressida calmly snapped his picture.
“If you’re looking for a model, you can probably do better than him.”
The deep voice came from behind them. They were in a strange town, in a deserted alley, with someone was blocking their entrance back onto the boardwalk.
Grace felt the defensive magic rise up inside her as she turned around.
Chapter 5
Cressida turned to find a handsome man walking toward them. He was tall and lean, with a command to his stride that told her instantly that he was magnificent in the sack.
He had blond hair and gray eyes and was dressed like a Banana Republic ad, but not in a fussy way. His white button down stretched to fit over his wide shoulders.
On her personal s
cale, he was pushing a soft nine.
Yum.
His eyes flashed when they met hers - like he’d also just heard the dinner bell.
“Hey, there. I’m Lincoln Monroe,” he said. “You ladies okay back here? The touristy stuff tends to be out on the boardwalk.”
Cress studiously ignored his teasing smile.
Let him work for it, she thought.
“I’m Grace, this is Cressida,” Grace said, sounding shaken. “We’re journalists, here to do a piece about the historic amusement park.”
He must’ve given her a scare. Though come to think of it, Cress hadn’t heard him coming either. Weird. Although she had been distracted. And now that he was closer, there was no way she would have missed his liberal application of cologne without him being downwind in a serious breeze. No one trying purposefully to be stealthy would ever spritz on that much of the stuff.
“What a lucky break for all of us,” Lincoln said. “My father owns that park. I’d be more than happy to talk with you about it. Though I’d prefer to do it over lunch rather than… here.”
Cressida couldn’t help laughing.
“Yeah, okay,” she said. “You good with that Grace?”
Grace nodded, still looking like she’d seen a ghost.
Suddenly Cressida wondered if Lincoln might be a wolf. He had the charisma. She hadn’t picked anything up from him, though.
Subtly she tried to scent him, tasting the air as they left the smelly alleyway. The salt air and Obsession for Men made it tough.
She really couldn’t tell much.
A man of mystery, then. Interesting.
“I know it must seem pretty desolate,” Lincoln said as they walked toward the diner where they’d eaten last night. “But I grew up here, and the quiet season is just part of the cycle, the heartbeat of this little place. You learn to see the beauty in it.”
Cressida stopped to snap a picture of an old man sitting on a bench.
“That’s not what I meant,” Lincoln laughed.
The old man waved at Cressida and she grinned and waved back.
They continued on, but Cress had a good feeling.
“There’s not much open this time of year besides the Grill,” Lincoln said apologetically. “But if you decide to stay with us a while, I’ll take you for Kobe beef when Rose Red’s opens up for spring break.”