by Megan Derr
Merry's black lips curved in a quirky, pretty little smile that disappeared entirely too soon. "You're not too bad yourself, witch. It would take a good eight hours to break all the wards and spells on your home."
"Eight?" Kirby repeated, offended. "No way. Those spells are better than that."
That brief smile again, too pretty for the otherwise solemn demeanor, the shadowed, shuttered eyes. "Maybe I'm better than you, witch."
Kirby reached up absently to touch the pendant at his throat, the talisman his mother had given him before she'd died. It had been passed down from mother to daughter in her family for generations—at least as long as the Hindons had lived in Midsummer, which was nearly as long as its founding Top Vamp.
The amulet was beautiful—a pentacle twined with roses, all done in silver and gold. Simple, but extremely powerful.
Also, pointedly feminine in design and energy. But then, Kirby's energy, much to his mortification growing up, had always had something of the feminine to it. They'd always attributed it to the fact that he should have been a girl. It was always girls, in his mother's line, and his grandmother swore until her dying day that it made no sense he'd been born a boy.
Even the damned wolves said he always smelled funny—like cinnamon and roses. Like a girl one wit had offered, and Kirby had come really close to arresting him for disrespecting an officer. He was as guy as guy could get, except that people who felt his magic before they saw him always thought he was a girl.
"No way," he finally said, though it was probably true that Merry was stronger than him. A twin and a hobgoblin? It probably would only take Merry eight hours to break down his wards, even if Kirby didn't want to admit it. "So is magic what you do for a living?"
"No, magic is a hobby," Merry replied. "I make clothes, mostly the kind I wear, but other stuff as well. Custom, of course, though I have a website where I sell more generic pieces."
Kirby smiled and pulled lightly at the brim of his hat. "Sounds a good sight calmer than being Sheriff."
Merry snorted. "At least you can lock them up. I designed this 'vampire' wedding dress for a normal once, and it wasn't quite what she wanted even though I'd done everything she requested. She freaked out and got really nasty. It would have been nice if I could have locked her up, but I finally had to give her a ten percent discount before she'd shut up."
Kirby made a face, sympathizing. "Yeah, people like that, I wish being obnoxious or stupid was against the law—but then we'd run out of places to put them."
"That is certainly true," Merry said with a laugh.
He wished he could keep Merry laughing and smiling, but as they reached the police station, the momentary levity died. Opening the door, he motioned for Merry to precede him.
"Hey, Sheriff," greeted the man on duty, Ted. He only looked sort of surprised to see Kirby again. "I see your out of town friend found you." His tone of voice said he wasn't yet convinced that was a good thing.
Kirby hid a smile. "Yeah, my friend found me. Anyone else been in tonight, Ted?"
Ted rolled his eyes. "Ol' Cutter came in drunker'en six skunks. I put him in cell two for the night. Then Nic, of course, and not ten minutes later Mrs. Holly. You just missed her. Want I should call her back?" He grinned.
"You do and I'll tell your mama where you go on Friday nights."
"Now that's not nice, Sheriff."
"Neither is siccing Mrs. Holly on me." Leaving Ted at the desk, he led Merry back to his office and closed the door. He strode to his desk, a massive u-shaped thing with a row of cabinets set in the back portion. Kneeling, he opened the left-most cabinet to reveal the safe set in it.
He punched in the digital code, then swung the safe open and pulled out the small urn inside. It was simple, plain silver, with nothing more than Kerry's name and the necessary dates stamped into it. Standing, he turned to Merry and held it out. "I'm very sorry," he said quietly. "I really am. I should have been able to stop him."
"My brother always was as wily as a goblin," Merry said, voice somber. "Even I couldn't stop him in the end. Thank you for your condolences, Sheriff, and for taking care of him until I could get here. I'll get out of your hair now."
"You—" Kirby reached up reflexively then fisted his hand and let it drop. "You're not in my way." He hesitated, then decided fuck it. "Look—it's just past one in the morning. You should get some sleep. If you don't have a place to crash, you can certainly crash with me. If you don't want to do that, I can recommend you to one of the two B&B's in town. But, uh, this is a small town. Everyone's nosy. I guarantee every last citizen knows you're here by now, and by morning they'll have some idea you're connected to Kerry. Staying with me will at least guarantee you some peace and quiet until you leave."
Merry looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end he only gave the barest nod. "Sleep would be nice. If you don't mind putting up with me for the night, Sheriff, I'll take that offer. I can pay—"
"Payment's not necessary, and neither is Sheriff. My name is Kirby."
Merry looked up and met his eyes, and Christ he looked so much like Kerry beneath the make-up and yet nothing like him at all. Kerry's eyes had never made him forget how to breathe, for certain. "Kirby. Thank you."
"Come on, then," Kirby said, and led him back through the office. "G'night, Ted."
Ted stared in surprise to see Merry holding Kerry's ashes, but at a look from Kirby only said, "Night, Sheriff."
Outside, they walked in silence back to Kirby's house. "Your car should be safe enough—"
Merry laughed, short, brief, a trifle forced, as he moved to his car and took a duffle out of the trunk. He locked it again, then set a spell that Kirby felt hard enough he shivered. "My car will be fine."
Kirby nodded, and got them inside his house, then reset all his wards and put away his hat and other things. "Would you like to eat?"
"No, but thanks. Now that sleep has been suggested, I think that's all I really want."
"This way, then," Kirby said, and led him upstairs. He strode past his room, to the room which had been his growing up. After his folks had died, he'd rented an apartment for six months and gutted the house, remodeling it from the ground up. His parents' room was now his, and his old bedroom was a perpetually empty guest room. The last bedroom was little more than a giant closet, since he'd never found a good use for it.
He flicked on the light to the guest room, grateful he got so bored and restless some night he did crazy things like clean the house top to bottom for the millionth time. "It's not much," he said.
Merry shook his head and said, "No, it's more than fine. Thank you."
"Sure," Kirby said. "I'll leave you in peace. It's got its own bathroom, let me know if there's anything you need."
"I will. Thanks, Sh—Kirby."
"Good night."
"Night."
Wishing he knew what to say or do, but utterly lost in this particular situation, Kirby simply did as he said he would and left Merry alone, quietly closing the door and going back downstairs to finally eat his turkey sandwich alone in the kitchen.
Somehow, the old blue mug stained with black lipstick sitting on the far side of the table only made the loneliness more acute.
*~*~*
Kirby stared, confused, at the boxes stacked neatly in front of his desk. There were three of them; ordinary brown boxes sealed with clear packing tape. Half-turning, he called for his secretary. "Nancy! What are these boxes?"
But even as he finished asking the question, he saw the answer for himself. On the right end of each box, someone had printed Kerry Greyling – Personal Effects in sharpie. Kerry. Which immediately led to thoughts of Merry. Two weeks later, it still lay in his stomach like bad meat, the way he'd woken up to find Merry gone.
"Never mind," he said as Nancy appeared. "No—you can tell me why they're in my office."
Nancy looked at him with fond amusement. "The boys finally got around to cleaning out Kerry's old place. Most of the stuff they gave away, car
ted to the shelter in Trenton; but the personal stuff, they were at a bit of a loss. I said to put it here, that you'd take care of it."
"Yeah," Kirby said, stifling a sigh. "I'll take care of it. Oh, yeah. Call Ms. Pearson. I caught her boy out by the old tracks with those Wither boys. I think I scared some sense into him, but tell his mom he's gonna be made to stew here a bit longer just to be sure. She can come pick him up around supper time."
Clucking her tongue and muttering about silly boys, Nancy nodded to him and wandered back out of his office.
Kirby moved around his desk and dropped down into his seat. He stared at the phone, heart pounding. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He'd only known Merry a few hours. They'd only met because Kirby had failed to keep Kerry from committing suicide—had failed at a lot. Merry had snuck out of his house rather than face him and say goodbye.
Still, he could not get the man out of his head. How beautiful he'd been, in leather and lace and black lipstick. How reserved he'd been, except for their short walk to the police station when he'd smiled and laughed. That scent of lemon and strawberries.
The way it had taken him a week to finally wash that stupid blue mug.
He'd lost count of the number of times he'd picked up the phone to call Merry, on one stupid pretext or another, always hanging up before the phone could ring. The post it with Merry's number had been thrown out ages ago, after he realized he had Merry's number memorized.
Now here he was with a perfectly good reason to call, and he couldn't pick up the damned phone. Pathetic. He rubbed at his temples, then reached out blindly with one hand to fumble open his top drawer and locate the bottle of aspirin within. Getting the bottle open, he used the iced tea leftover from lunch to wash down four.
"You take too much of that stuff," Nancy said in her tart lord-of-the-office voice. "I spoke with Ms. Pearson." She gave him a little smirk. "I also called up Mr. Greyling and arranged with him for someone to take Kerry's stuff to him."
Kirby frowned. "You what?"
"He lives a good eight to nine hours north. Said he was too busy with orders and the looming holidays to come fetch them any time soon. I said no trouble, we'd just take them to him, it was the least we could do."
"I didn't tell you to call him."
Nancy snorted. "Honey, if I waited for a man to tell me what to do, nothing would ever get done. You were staring at that phone so hard I thought you'd break something. Now, if you leave within the hour you should get up there right around ten. If I were you, I'd make a long weekend of the trip and not come back 'til Monday."
"What—" Kirby jerked. "Me? Nancy, I can't just up and take four days off. Send one of the boys."
"No," Nancy said flatly. "I think you need to go see that man, and I'll not tolerate any argument on the matter."
Not even bothering to point out he was the Sheriff, and therefore her boss, Kirby said instead, "Why do I have to do it?"
Nancy planted her feet and braced her hands on her hips, green eyes flashing as she said, "Honey, you've been growling around this office like a bear with a thorn in his paw. Now I don't know what happened when that man came, or what was said, but I do know what yesterday was and that this is the first time in nineteen years you haven't noticed. You will go see him." Turning around on her heel, she marched out of his office, slamming the door shut behind her.
Kirby barely noticed. Oh, god. She was right. Yesterday…yesterday had been nineteen years to the day since Randy died. Nineteen years since Randy was killed in a car accident on a bright summer afternoon. They'd been together every day of their lives since they were three, and more than friends since they'd started high school—and sudden as that, the boy he'd loved forever had been gone.
None of them had ever been the same. Randy's parents never really recovered, and finally moved away. Joni, Randy's baby sister, had wandered down a path from which she'd never come back. Kirby had gone through the rest of high school in a black cloud, and only made it to college because his father had all but beaten him and his mother had cried herself sick with worry. It was only at college he'd managed to move past the grief, the sense that part of him was missing.
After college and a few years on the Trenton police force, he'd moved back to Midsummer at the age of twenty five. Someway, somehow, a few years later he'd found himself Sheriff of his hometown.
But not once in all those years and everything they'd contained, had he missed remembering Randy all over again on the day he died.
Until yesterday.
Kirby covered his face with his hands and took several slow, deep breaths. Standing, he put his hat on and strode to his office door, yanking it open. He continued out to the main room and paused at Nancy's desk. "I'll be back to fetch the boxes. Tell the boys I'll be back at work on Monday. Thanks, Nancy."
"Don't do anything stupid," Nancy admonished, then winked at hm. "We'll see you Monday, Sheriff."
Kirby shook his head, equal parts amused and terrified. Don't do anything stupid, she said. Wasn't that what they called driving nine hours to see a virtual stranger on a paper thin excuse? When it would probably amount to nothing, especially considering all the obstacles in the way? Like Kerry. And they were strangers. And Merry was Kerry's twin brother. He might not even be gay. He probably had a lover, or several options better than a podunk Sheriff. They lived nine hours apart.
He was driving himself crazy.
The walk home took no time at all, a fact which normally suited him fine but right now he wished he lived more like eight blocks away. But once inside, he couldn't seem to make himself stall. He showered and changed, then threw a bunch of clothes and supplies into a duffle bag, packed a cooler for the trip, and when he went back to fetch the boxes at the office he knew Nancy would have directions and all printed out for him.
Last of all, he picked up his Stetson, feeling a bit more balanced with it firmly on his head. Stupid, he didn't doubt it, but he'd take his equilibrium where he could get it. He turned away toward the front door, then stopped and turned around, walking down the hallway to the little table where a cluster of pictures were arranged. His parents, dead now five years. His grandmother, dead nearly fifteen. Other family and friends, some dead, some alive. Center-most of all the pictures, though, was the one of him and Randy on Halloween their sophomore year of high school. Six months later, Randy would be dead. Kirby had, in a world of irony, gone dressed as a cop. Randy had dressed up as an angel—a dark, gothic, female angel because he'd wanted to make his parents mad. Kirby had loved it, though, had been driven crazy by it. They'd had a hell of a lot of fun that night.
With a rough sound, he turned away and strode back to the front door. Outside, he walked down his short little driveway and unlocked the garage, pushing up the rolling door he'd had replaced only two years ago. When he wasn't walking, he was nearly always driving his cruiser. He rarely had reason to take his own car out for a spin.
She was still a beauty, though, when he pulled the cover off—a sweet little Mustang he'd bought in college, repaired by Ferdy, painted midnight blue with racing stripes. Even now, looking at her still made him smile. Sliding behind the wheel, he backed her down the driveway. Leaving her in park, he got out and locked up the house and garage, then set heavy wards on both.
Climbing back into the car, he drove to the station. Nancy was waiting outside with a meekly obedient Ted and the three boxes. "Ted, load those boxes and no scratches or its your life," she ordered. "Kirby, honey, here's directions and his addresses—work and home. Try to have a good weekend, whatever happens or doesn't, hmm?"
"I will, Nancy. Don't let them burn anything down while I'm gone."
"They won't," Nancy said, eying Ted, who attempted to look very innocent and disinclined toward burning so much as a candle. Turning back to Kirby, Nancy gave him a light push. "Get on with you, now."
"Bye," Kirby said, and kissed her cheek. Then he slid behind the wheel of his car, set his hat on the passenger seat, and drove out of Midsummer.
*~*~*
The girl at the counter was quite the sight—beautiful, winsome in a spooky sort of way, and if he had any interest in girls he'd be on her in a New York minute. She wore a cute little dress made of velvet and lace that fell just past mid-thigh, with a wide skirt flounced high by lace petticoats in black, purple, red, and white. Below the skirt, she wore black lace tights and chunky, platform mary janes. More lace adorned her arms in elbow-length gloves, decorated with little gold and silver spiders. More of the spiders were in her hair, which was dyed in stripes of black and violet.
She looked at him in curiosity and amusement. "Hey, there. Um. If you're looking for the denim shop, it's about three doors down. The leather store is across the street, though, if that's what you want."
Kirby smiled sheepishly, wondering just how out of place he looked and deciding he didn't want to know the answer. He took his hat off and raked a hand through his hair. "Howdy. I'm actually looking for Merry Greyling. This is his place, isn't it?"
"Oh!" the girl said, contact-purple eyes popping open wide. Then she whirled around, braced her hands on the door frame to the backrooms, and bellowed, "Hey, Mer! There's a cowboy here to see you!"
The words were almost immediately followed by a crash and the sound of glass breaking. Before Kirby could ask if everything was okay, the little spider girl whipped back around and smiled at him. "He said you were handsome, not that you were hot as hell."
"What—" Kirby blushed, something he hadn't done in years, making her giggle, but really—what? Before he could figure out what to say or do, though, Merry appeared.
Damn it. He'd half hoped his memories had exaggerated the man. If anything, they'd dulled him. Spider webs seemed to be the day's theme. Merry's baggy pants were a deep scarlet underneath, overlaid with black that had spider webs cut out at random intervals. His long-sleeved shirt was tight—extremely tight—black fabric on which had been sewn more spider webs in glittering red glass beads. He wore a black leather choker and spider earrings, black eye shadow, his top lip painted dark red, the bottom one black.