Special Rewards (The Coursodon Dimension Book 2)

by M. L. Ryan

  Aiden and Alex spent the rest of the morning working on something having to do with a Coursodon-led, drug smuggling syndicate that operated in Mexico. The Xyzok were close to shutting the operation down but needed some additional information before they were certain to nab the guy in charge along with all his minions. I wasn't privy to the details, but it was likely dangerous. Concerning Alex's wellbeing, I figured the less I knew, the less I'd have to agonize over. After all, he managed to keep safe for many years before I ever met him; before I was even born, in fact. And being a blithering, anxiety-ridden worrywart wasn't going to help either one of us. At least, that was my intention. Still, much as I might want to maintain a Zen-like state of tranquility when he actually was at risk, there's no way in hell I'd put money on it.

  When Aiden finally took off around noon, Alex explained — without a lot of specifics — that the next day the Xyzok planned to raid the drug ring and take those involved into custody and back to Courso for trial. That required enforcers at a number of sites to swoop in simultaneously. With lots of weapons, not all of which were of the magical variety. I was feeling the slightest hint of panic begin to rear its ugly head when Alex revealed that, given the magnitude of the operation, he was the most qualified to head up the command post and coordinate everyone. That meant he was going to be out of the line of fire. I was relieved, but I knew if it were up to Alex, he would have chosen more active role.

  Regardless of his frustration at not being in the proverbial trenches, he prepared to depart by evening. Aiden and Cortez arrived around six to pick him up, and after Alex's duffle was loaded into the Jeep, they stayed outside while we said our goodbyes.

  “I should be back the day after tomorrow at the latest,” he said as he enveloped me in his arms.

  It's a definite logistical problem when one dates a man who is really tall. I'm not particularly short, but Alex was six-four. In this position, the 10-inch difference in our height forced my head into his chest. There were no stairs in my house for me to stand on to even things out, so unless we sat down or got vertical — which was extremely unlikely given that the boys were waiting within earshot — this awkward position would have to do.

  "Be careful, okay?" I mumbled into his shirt.

  Alex pulled back slightly and lifted my chin with his finger so our eyes met. As always, the intensity of his gaze made my heart flutter and just before his mouth met mine, he whispered, "I always am, carisa."

  The kiss began softly, our lips barely brushing against each other's. As Alex wrapped his arms around the small of my back, I brought my mine up around his neck and deepened the contact. His tongue swirled past my parted lips, teasing, enticing. Just when things were looking, or perhaps, feeling up, Alex pulled back and rested his head on top of mine.

  "I have to go," he sighed.

  Nodding begrudgingly in agreement, I stepped away. I followed Alex to the door, but that’s as far as I went. Right before he got into the Jeep, he turned and rewarded me with one of his awesome smiles. I waved and continued to stand in the doorway until I could no longer see the tail lights in the distance.

  That wasn’t so bad, I thought, giving myself a mental pat on the back. I was probably giving myself way too much credit for being mature considering Alex wasn’t likely to be any place where he could get hurt. It never occurred to me before, but Rachel would probably be a good person to confide in, what with Harrison being a fireman. Of course, that was never going to happen because I couldn’t tell her what Alex really did for a living. She thought he was just a private investigator. Hell, I couldn’t even tell her he wasn’t human.

  I decided to use the time alone to throw out any extraneous crap that had accumulated in the house. It’s amazing how one will amass stuff at a rate commensurate with one’s storage space. It didn’t take that much time to sift through my closet and cabinets and purge the clutter. But I knew if I had more room to put things, I’d feel compelled to fill up the space. Yet another reason never to move to a bigger place, I reasoned.

  Next, I did all those girl-things that everyone likes to do occasionally, but only when the significant other isn’t around. Because, honestly, no one looks appealing with green herbal mud mask smeared all over their face or while waxing their bikini area. For good measure, I also gave myself a pedicure, painting my toes a lovely shade of lilac.

  The next day went by quickly; I spent most of it online trying to figure out what I might do for a living. My Master’s degree in physiology qualified me for jobs in research labs, but I wasn’t sure that’s what I wanted to do. There must be something out there that would be different and fun. Like who names cosmetics or paint colors? I could come up with catchy monikers like Cerulean Seas or Biliary Atresia. It seemed like a job that could be done from home, too. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anyone looking to hire for that particular position. The real problem was I get bored doing the same thing every day. After a while, wanderlust kicked in and I wanted to move on to something else. I wonder if there are meds for my vocational ADHD; I probably should look into that.

  By nightfall, I was ready to watch a movie. One of my all-time oldie favorites was on, Rebecca, a 1940’s film noir mystery with Joan Fontaine and a dashing Laurence Olivier. It was about a shy, naïve woman who marries a man who seems obsessed with his dead first wife. There’s also a big, spooky mansion – because, of course, he’s mega-rich – and a really creepy housekeeper. And a lot of fog. You can’t have a decent film of this genre without tons of it. Just as Joan was getting swept off her feet by Larry, I heard a brief clanging noise outside. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought much about it, but with all my wildlife callers lately, I was concerned that something might be messing with the garbage.

  It was dark inside. I had turned out all the lights to best experience the film, so I went to the kitchen window and peered out. The flood lights hadn’t gone on, and I didn’t hear any more suspicious trash can racket. Maybe I just imagined it. As I started back toward the sofa, I noticed an odd, orangey light coming through the vertical blinds. I flicked off the TV and cautiously pulled back the slats a smidge to see what the hell was making the weird glow.

  The mesquite in the back — the coatimundi’s tree — was ablaze. Tendrils of flame engulfed most of the lower branches, and the top was soon to be consumed as well. Thick, dark smoke billowed upward, and the tree made loud crackling sounds as the fire ravaged the wood. Without thinking, I sprinted out the slider, grabbed the hose and began to spray water on the fire. It only took a few minutes for me to decide that my efforts weren’t going to be sufficient, and I dropped the hose and ran inside to call 911.

  After I reported the fire, I went back to the patio to keep an eye on the flames. It occurred to me that while the hose wasn’t up to the task where the tree was concerned, I probably should wet down the roof so a stray spark wouldn’t light up the house. I started spraying; I wasn’t sure if that would make any difference, but at least it kept me occupied. Soon, I heard sirens in the distance, and shortly thereafter, two fire trucks arrived. A bunch of firemen leapt off and quickly went to work. With the help of giant hoses and a lot of water, it didn’t take long for them to douse the blaze.

  Once the fire was extinguished, they poked around to make certain there were no smoldering embers and I sized up the scene. The tree was almost completely blackened, and the coatimundi’s branch had snapped off and was lying next to the charred trunk. The mixture of burnt tree, ashes and puddling water made a sloppy, smoky mess. Tears welled up in my eyes; I’m not sure why. Maybe it was just the letdown after the initial adrenaline rush. Whatever the reason, the destruction made me sad.

  An older fireman in a crisp white shirt rather than the bulky pants and jacket the guys fighting the fire wore, examined the area, taking samples of the ground and what was left of the mesquite. While he worked, the sheriff’s department showed up and two deputies, one male and one female, peppered me with a bunch of questions. The guy seemed nice and friendly, but the woman was
stone-faced and all business. Maybe they were doing the good cop-bad cop routine. Nevertheless, I answered as best I could; I mentioned the noise I heard on the other side of the house before I noticed the fire, and the guy went around to the front to check it out. When he returned, we were joined by the crisp white shirt guy, who turned out to be a captain.

  “The intensity of the fire and the rapid spread indicate some sort of accelerant was used,” Captain Crisp began, “but I’m not sure what. Usually, anything that someone might use to start a fire like this has a distinct odor, but I don’t smell any of the usual suspects.” He looked at the deputies and shrugged. “I took samples, so we’ll see what comes up. If we find anything, I’ll contact arson.” He strode away to his shiny sedan with the “Fire Captain” logo on the side and drove off.

  The female deputy, whose name tag identified her as A. Cunningham, wrote something in a notebook and turned to me with a frown. “Do you know any reason why someone would set a fire on your property?”

  “No, I don’t. Are you sure this isn’t some random thing, like some neighborhood teenage boy with poor impulse control?”

  She frowned again. Apparently, that was the only expression she was capable of. “Why do you think that?” she asked while continuing to write.

  “No particular reason. I just can’t imagine anyone doing this to me specifically.” She looked at me as if I had not given her the answer she wanted, so I added, “And I read somewhere that pyromaniacs are usually teenage boys.”

  She asked a few more questions, most of which made me feel like she was convinced I set the fire, and handed me a card with a phone number in case I remembered anything important. Which I took to mean “if you decide to confess, call me.” The male cop asked me if I was okay, and suggested I might want to call a friend to stay the night if I felt skittish. I thanked him for his concern, and shot Deputy Cunningham what I hoped would be perceived as an expression of annoyance that she could ever doubt my innocence. Given her obvious disdain from the get-go, it probably only made her even more convinced that I was involved in something criminal.

  By the time everyone left, it was close to midnight. I should have been tired, but I was too revved up to fall asleep. I briefly considered phoning Rachel to ask her to come over as Deputy Good Cop had suggested, but I decided that even if someone had deliberately torched the tree, they probably wouldn’t return tonight. More than likely, the incident was caused by a stray spark from a neighbor’s barbeque; it was a little breezy before. Or things sometimes just spontaneously combust. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Besides, what was I supposed to say to Rachel, “Something weird happened here tonight and I’m scared, so can you come over here and put yourself in potential danger so I won’t be alone?” I really hate it when I’m wimpy, even when it might be justified. Although in this case, I was 75% certain I had nothing to worry about. Okay, maybe that’s being too optimistic; the odds were probably closer to two in three that I’d make it to sunrise in one piece.

  I ended up spending the rest of the night on the sofa, with every light in the place on and clutching an old wooden baseball bat I kept around when I needed to coax Vinnie out from under the bed. I did doze off a couple of times, but only for a few minutes. When morning finally came, I brewed a cup of my most caffeine-laden java. After greedily consuming one cup, I poured another and ventured outside to survey the damage in the daylight.

  It all looked worse now that I could really see; the acrid scent of burnt green wood lingered in the air. Maris and Ferris, the Harris’s Hawks, were perched on top, heads turning rapidly back and forth as if they were trying to figure out what the hell had happened. The other visiting wildlife was fewer than usual — a couple rabbits, a coyote and a javelina — and all sniffed the burnt area cautiously. I didn’t see the coatimundi, but today wasn’t on his usual schedule.

  As I was contemplating the situation, I heard Alex’s ringtone, Kelly Clarkson’s My Life Would Suck Without You playing inside. I hustled to the living room and grabbed the phone from the end table where I had left it in case I had to dial for help in the night.

  “Alex?” I said tentatively when I answered.

  “Yes, carisa.” His deep, seductive voice was music to my ears; I was relieved he was okay. “This was my first chance to call you. All went as planned, I should be back in a few hours.”

  “That’s great. Everyone okay?”

  “Only a few minor injuries on our end. The smugglers did not fare as well. But we did capture their leader, which was the main purpose of the maneuver.” He paused for a moment and I could hear him talking to someone. “I’ve got to go now, but I just wanted to touch base.”

  I sighed with relief into the phone. “Thanks, I was a little worried.”

  Alex chuckled softly. “I figured you would be. See you soon.”

  True to his word, Alex arrived about three hours later. He looked tired and kind of grubby; the dark clothing he wore was covered with a fine layer of dust and his hair was uncharacteristically disheveled. The minute he put down his duffle, I threw my arms around him and hugged the bejeebers out of him.

  Laughing heartily, he returned the embrace and said, “I missed you, too.” He gave me a soft kiss, and then pulled away, his forehead creased with confusion. “Why do I smell smoke?”

  I had planned to avoid mentioning last night’s tree incident until he had a chance to unwind, but leave it to his super-human sense of smell to sniff out that something was amiss.

  “Oh, there was a little problem with the mesquite out back catching on fire.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “Not sure. The fire department seemed to think someone set it, but they couldn’t pinpoint the cause.”

  I could tell by the concern growing exponentially on his face that he wasn’t taking the news with a detached nonchalance. He flung open the sliding glass door and looked out at the charred remains. Lifting his head, he breathed in deeply, then moved purposefully to the tree. He closed his eyes and let his fingers slide over the blackened trunk. Almost immediately, his hand flew back and he muttered something in Courso. I didn’t understand the word, but both the context of the situation and the vehemence of the elocution indicated profanity of some kind. I really need to have him teach me some swear words, I thought absent mindedly.

  Without taking his eyes off the tree, he announced, “This event was magically initiated. But neither the perpetrator nor the reason why is clear to me.” I knew he was angry; Alex’s English always took on a more out-of-date, formal tone when he was pissed. “Tell me everything about last night.”

  I relayed the events in as much detail as possible, but beyond the noise and the fire, there wasn’t a lot to tell.

  “Did you smell anything unusual?”

  “Not really, once I was outside the fire was already going strong. All I smelled was burning wood. One minute I was enjoying a quiet night alone, the next all hell broke loose,” I concluded with a shrug.

  Alex’s forehead creased with concern. “Let’s hope those words do not prove to be prophetic, carisa.”

  ~11~

  Alex spent another hour or so combing over the roasted space, his expression somber throughout.

  “Do you think this was another ‘message’ from you mother?” I offered tentatively. I didn’t want to accuse someone falsely, but it seemed like the most likely possibility.

  He didn’t answer right away, but finally, he said, “Perhaps, but this is a bit over-the-top even for her.”

  “Really? How is this that much more outrageous than flinging a rock through a window?”

  “I suppose it might not seem different, but setting a fire in arid conditions in a populated area isn’t her style. She’s high strung, and likes to get her own way, but she wouldn’t do something that might endanger anyone.”

  I couldn’t help thinking that chucking a hard, heavy object through a pane of glass into an inhabited home was hardly benign. Not wanting to belabor the point,
however, I settled for a less charged response. “Well, at least no one was hurt and only the tree was damaged.”

  Alex started to respond, but before he could get out more than a few words, his cell phone rang. He yanked it from his pocket, clearly annoyed at the interruption and answered with a clipped, “Sunderland.” His expression quickly changed from irritated to concern as he listened intently. He interjected a few Courso words here and there, but mostly just took in whatever the caller was saying. Whatever the content of the conversation, it was definitely not good news.

  When Alex ended the call, his mouth was set in a thin line and his brow was furrowed. “Sebastian has been arrested. He is charged with imperiling a human – you – when he deconverged into your body. The trial will begin next week.”

  “Arrested?” I blurted out. “That’s absurd; Sebastian didn’t intend to possess me. He made me want to hurt him a few times when he insisted on verbalizing everything that popped into his head, but he certainly never harmed me.”

  “I must go to Courso to testify in his behalf.” He gazed out at what remained of the tree. “Given the circumstances, I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone. I will arrange for someone to stay here with you while I am away.”

  “I don’t think I need a bodyguard,” I said quickly. Actually, it wasn’t that I was against the idea itself, I was more uneasy that I actually might need protection.

  “Unless….” His voice trailed off and he seemed deep in thought. “Being the human in question, your presence would likely be quite helpful.” Alex’s hand curled around his chin as he continued to mull over whatever dilemma he was trying to sort out. After a while, he tapped a finger to his temple, raised one eyebrow and stated, “Normally, those who are fully human cannot pass through to Courso. You, however, are unique. Because you possess some of Sebastian’s magic, it is possible that you will be able to cross.”