Crone’s Moon argi-5

by M. R. Sellars

  “Ma’am,” the paramedic tending my wife said, trying to calm the auburn-haired tempest in front of him. “Listen to your husband. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’ve already told you I’m okay,” she snipped, her faint Celtic lilt taking on the hard edge of a full-blown brogue. “That should be good enough for the both of you.”

  “Ma’am,” he appealed. “You have blood all over your shirt.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see that he was motioning toward her chest with his gloved finger.

  “I told you those are just stains.”

  He shook his head. “They don’t look like stains, ma’am.”

  “Aye, and your point?”

  He gave a shallow laugh as if he couldn’t believe he was having the conversation. “Ma’am, that’s fresh blood. Usually where there’s blood, there’s an injury.”

  My wife raised an eyebrow and cocked her head at the young man.

  “You’re wanting to see my chest?” she asked with a perturbed bob of her head. “Is that it?”

  Before the paramedic could reply, Felicity crossed her arms and ripped her shirt upward. In a single motion, she pulled it quickly over her head with a snap, revealing that she was braless underneath.

  Tugging one arm loose from the sleeve, she reached up and pulled her long hair back over her shoulder with the free hand, then thrust her chest outward.

  “There,” she said, glaring back at the startled paramedic. “Are these what you wanted to see, then?”

  I was free to look over at them now that most eyes were focused on my half-naked wife, instead of tending to my impromptu check-up. Just as she had been telling him, there was nothing to see- in the way of injuries that is. The young man in front of her, for all his training and clinical experience, was so taken aback by her unabashed display that his face was running through every imaginable shade of uneasy.

  Ben was standing outside the door with the county police officer who had responded along with the life support vehicle. My friend nervously cleared his throat and turned away.

  The uniformed cop continued to watch, expression never changing. He nodded then quipped, “Nice tattoo.”

  “Thank you,” Felicity replied out of reflex.

  I sighed. “Put your shirt back on, Felicity.”

  “But you said for me to let them check me over,” she replied sarcastically.

  “Felicity…”

  “Aye, all right, it is a bit cold, then,” she retorted, then directed herself to the paramedic. “But I suppose you can see that for yourself now, can’t you?”

  “Go ahead and put your shirt back on, ma’am,” he stuttered.

  She let go of her hair and slipped her arm back into the sleeve, then lifted her arms in a reverse of her earlier display.

  “Honey, leave the poor guy alone,” I appealed. “He just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “And so I am,” she spat. “And, why are you on his side? I’m your wife.”

  She finished pulling the shirt back over her head and then tugged it into place.

  “Hey,” I said. “I seem to recall being in the same position a few months back, and you weren’t anywhere near as forgiving.”

  “That was different,” she told me as she untucked her spiraling curls from her collar and brushed them back.

  “How?” I asked, a note of incredulity in my voice.

  “Because it was you and not me.”

  “I see,” I replied with a nod. “Well, at least I was a little more cooperative.”

  “That’s not my recollection.”

  “I didn’t do a strip-tease.”

  “I was just being cooperative, then.”

  “How? By embarrassing everyone?”

  “No,” she returned. “I’m simply trying to get us out of here.”

  “Ben and Constance are waiting,” I told her. “It won’t take long.”

  “I don’t care,” she snapped. “Kimberly hasn’t the time to wait.”

  With everything that had happened, I had completely forgotten that she had told me she remembered something from her excursion into the ethereal plane. I looked over at her and met her gaze.

  “Do you still…” I started.

  “Aye,” she shot back, her voice deadly serious as she nodded vigorously. “And, right now, we’re in the wrong damned place to do anything about it.”

  CHAPTER 33:

  “What the hell was all that with the strip tease?” Ben asked as he backed the van out of the parking space.

  “I still can’t believe you did that,” Constance added, but you could almost hear the giggle in her voice.

  My wife replied in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the answer was obvious, “Getting us out of there.”

  “By takin’ your damn clothes off?”

  “Aye, it worked didn’t it?”

  “It embarrassed the kid,” Ben replied.

  “And he couldn’t wait to get rid of me then, could he?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I guess.”

  “Then it worked.”

  “You know they’re gonna be tellin’ stories about ya’ don’t ya’?”

  “Aye, let them talk. They’ll be giving someone else a rest then,” Felicity remarked, then turned her attention to more pressing matters. With her next sentence, the deadpan delivery was gone and impatience suddenly underlined her words. “Have you found the map yet, Constance?”

  “Still looking,” Mandalay called back to her.

  The first thing Felicity had asked for when we climbed back into the van was a Missouri highway map. She gave no explanation other than that she needed the map, and she needed it right now.

  Agent Mandalay continued rummaging about in the glove box, extracting all manner of Chinese take-out menus, receipts, and even Ben’s backup weapon. All the while, he was making haste for the nearest exit, looking to put some distance between Northwoods Mall and us.

  I, for one, had absolutely no objection to that maneuver.

  Eventually Constance extracted a wrinkled wad of semi-folded paper, gave it a quick glance, and then started to set it aside with the rest of the detritus.

  “That’s it,” Ben announced before she dove in again.

  “This?” she asked, holding it up. “For real?”

  “Yeah, for real.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Just give it to her, will’ya’?”

  “Well, I guess it’s a good thing anyway,” she muttered in reply as she handed the sample of origami-gone-bad back to Felicity. “Because I think something’s alive in there.”

  My wife took the wad of paper and began looking for a free corner so she could unravel the map from itself. She reached up to click on the courtesy light but was met with nothing more than darkness and the popping noise of the switch.

  “Bulb’s shot,” Ben offered.

  “Obviously,” she returned, her irritation plainly audible. “And I can’t very well read this in the dark now can I?”

  “Hey, you wanna chill?” he barked. “I’m workin’ on it.”

  “Benjamin Storm!” she snapped in return. “Don’t you understand? We simply don’t have time to waste!”

  “What did you just call me?” my friend asked, giving a quick glance back over his shoulder.

  “That’s what she does when she gets serious,” I offered. “Uses your full name, just like her mother.”

  Ben shifted his eyes back forward and immediately slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a rear end collision with a sports car. I couldn’t help but noticed that Constance instantly reached for the shoulder harness, pulled it across her chest, and stabbed the metal finger into the catch at her side.

  “Yeah, well stop it, Felicity,” Ben called over his shoulder. “That just didn’t even sound right comin’ outta you.”

  “Hey, just be glad she didn’t use your middle name,” I explained. “She does that when you’re in trouble.”

  “Dammit, will you two quit j
oking,” Felicity demanded. “I’m serious.”

  “I know you are,” I replied.

  “Look, Felicity,” Ben replied as he turned the van toward the main exit. “I know we don’t have time. Trust me, I said it myself earlier, but a lotta shit has happened in the past two hours, and I’m still tryin’ ta’ get my bearings here.”

  “Kimberly is being tortured!” my wife appealed, her voice rising slightly. “Don’t you get it?!”

  “Goddamit, Felicity, yes! Yes, I get it. Isn’t that what I just said?” Ben growled. “Jeezus H. Christ, you’re worse than Rowan when it comes ta’ this shit!”

  “Felicity,” Constance voiced, stepping into the role of mediator. “While neither Ben nor I can fully understand what you are going through, we do have a grasp of what’s happening. We’re on your side, but you are going to have to calm down.”

  My wife huffed out a frustrated sigh and sat back hard in her seat. “Aye. I know. But the son-of-a-bitch is killing my friend.”

  “Not if we can help it,” Mandalay replied with a note of compassion. “I promise.”

  Ben angled the van toward the merge lane and shot forward into traffic, cutting off a small sedan in the process. Horns blared, but he continued wedging his vehicle into the flow of traffic anyway.

  “Yeah, fuck you too,” he muttered as he shot an angry glance out his side window.

  The light ahead of us winked yellow and my friend punched the accelerator, making the left hand turn onto Northwoods Drive just as it switched to red.

  “Over there,” Felicity sat forward and exclaimed. “On your right. The gas station!”

  “What?”

  “The gas station,” she repeated urgently. “Pull in and get under the light so I can read the map!”

  Ben jerked the van over into the next lane and then quickly hooked it into the lot. He pulled off to the side, out of the way, and rolled beneath a bright streetlamp. Felicity was already out of her seat and climbing over me to get to the door before we had come to a stop. I convinced her to wait a second while I levered it open and slid it back. She pushed past me the moment the opening was wide enough for her to fit through then continued spreading out the tattered map, which was literally falling apart in her hands.

  Ben switched off the engine and yanked the keys from the ignition to kill the warning buzzer, then tossed them into the console.

  “I’m going to go use the restroom and grab a coffee,” Constance announced, pushing her door open. “Anyone want anything?”

  “Make that two,” Ben told her, reaching for his wallet.

  “I’ve got it,” she replied. “Rowan? Felicity?”

  “I’ll come with you,” I told her unbuckling and climbing out of the seat. I squeezed past Felicity, who’d yet to answer, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, anything?”

  “What, oh, yes, a water,” she chirped absently, intent on studying the faded and torn rectangles of paper. Then, almost as an afterthought she added, “And maybe a new map too.”

  I gave her a nod that I suspect she missed entirely, and then skirted around the nose of the van, following after Constance. Since we were parked along the far outer edge of the station’s lot, near the street, the store itself was a good thirty-five yards or better from us. Mandalay waited a moment for me to catch up, and then we fell in step with one another, strolling across the near deserted expanse of asphalt.

  “Is Felicity going to be okay?” she asked.

  I looked over and saw sincere concern in her face. “I think so,” I replied. “This case is really the first time she’s been through this sort of thing from my perspective. I think we’re both having a little trouble adjusting to the change of roles.”

  She nodded. “Makes sense. Okay, so clear something else up for me. What was that whole thing with the whiskbroom? That some kind of WitchCraft thing or just a sudden attack of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder”

  “It really is a spell actually,” I replied with a slight chuckle. “It’s meant to get rid of unwanted guests. Basically you just take your household broom and turn it bristles up. If the magick works, the unwanted guest will leave.”

  “Don’t they get a little suspicious anyway when you scream ‘goddammit go away’?” she asked with a grin.

  I laughed. “Yeah, well, I have to admit that was my own addition. But I guess there are some instances where that could work without the broom.”

  Traffic was dying down out on the main road. I glanced at my watch and based on the time figured that it must be a dinnertime lull. Besides us, there were only two other vehicles on the gas station lot. One parked on the side of the building, and another with its lights on and sitting in a space near the front door.

  An undulating breeze whipped along the lot, weaving its chill around the light standards and gas pumps as we walked. It swished through as if on a whim, caressing us with its gelid fingers, and then left as quickly as it had arrived. I found myself suddenly wishing that I had brought a jacket.

  Still, the prickly cold that was running along my spine remained, even after the calm had returned. I shuddered at the feeling, my mind beginning to entertain the idea that it had not been an effect of the wind at all. As the hair on the back of my neck began to rise, I realized that my mind was apparently on to something, because it dawned on me that the sudden chill had come directly from Constance.

  “You have got to be kidding me…” Mandalay said in a soft voice, more than a little incredulity wrapped around the sentence.

  “About what?” I asked, confused.

  She didn’t answer, but she was beginning to slow her pace.

  We were a little better than halfway to the door when I shot a curious glance in her direction. At that same instant, her arm came out in front of me, extended like a barrier. Her steadily slowing footsteps now came to a complete halt. Her expression was deadly serious, and her eyes were locked straight ahead.

  “Go back to the van, Rowan,” she told me in an even tone.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, confused by her sudden change of demeanor.

  “Go back to the van,” she repeated.

  She moved fluidly, and her arm was no longer in front of me. Following the motion with my eyes, I noticed she was slipping her hand beneath the folds of her blazer. As it disappeared under the fabric, I heard a quiet snap. She continued speaking in a no-nonsense voice. “Tell Storm to get you two out of here and call for backup.”

  Her hand was now filled with a forty-caliber Sig Sauer, and she was starting once again to advance on the storefront. I looked past her, through the large windows and at the brightly lit interior. It took a moment, but my eyes finally fell on the correct target, and I saw for the first time that which had not escaped her finely honed attention.

  “Go! Now!” she hissed over her shoulder as she started to jog, angling toward a blind spot near the front door.

  CHAPTER 34:

  I was approaching the van at just under a dead run. Even though I couldn’t see them, I could still hear Ben and Felicity bickering on the opposite side of the vehicle.

  “Felicity, that’s not much to go on,” I heard Ben say as I reached the front corner and started to hook around.

  “It’s better than nothing at all, Ben,” my wife snapped in return, her voice a mix of frustration and urgency, both vying for dominance over her tone.

  I whipped around the front of the van and almost slammed directly into her. Her back was to me, and she was holding a scrap of paper up into the light of the streetlamp above, animatedly tracing a route with her painted nail as she spoke, “I’m telling you if we…”

  “Whoa!” Ben barked, cutting Felicity off mid-sentence as he grabbed her arm and yanked her to the side. His other arm came up in a flash and brought me to an unceremonious halt as my chest thudded against his outstretched palm. “What the fuck, white man?!”

  The impact had knocked the wind from me, and I sputtered as I tried to catch my breath. “Constance… Backup…”

&
nbsp; “Do what?” he asked.

  I sucked in another breath and pointed back toward the station. “The store’s being robbed,” I blurted. “Constance needs backup.”

  “Oh Gods!” Felicity exclaimed, shuffling to look past me. “Is she okay?”

  “Jeezus!” my friend rumbled at the same instant, stepping forward and looking over the front slope of the van as he reached for his sidearm. “Is she inside? Forget that, I see ‘er. You got your cell phone?”

  “Aye,” Felicity spoke up.

  “Stay here outta sight and call nine-one-one,” he instructed. “Tell ‘em what’s goin’ down, and let ‘em know they have two off-duty cops on the scene.”

  “What are you going to do?” I queried.

  “If we’re lucky, nothin’,” he replied as he drew his sidearm and began scanning the area.

  “What do you mean nothing?” Felicity asked, shaking her head.

  “Just make the call,” he returned quickly, starting toward the near side of the station, then stopped and muttered, “Awww, goddammit, not now…”

  I peered past him and saw a car rolling to a stop in one of the spaces at the front of the store. I could see Constance crouched in a blind spot near the entrance, any view of her from the inside being blocked by a pair of back-to-back payphone pedestals. She was trying to motion to the person in the newly arrived vehicle to stay put but to no avail. Either the woman had yet to see her or simply wasn’t paying attention, because she got out of the car and started toward the front door without a care.

  Behind me, Felicity was already speaking to the 9-1-1 operator, quickly reciting the name and location of the gas station. Ben started moving, taking off at a fast clip into the shadows before cutting suddenly to the left and aiming for the side of the station.

  Constance was gesticulating with as much fervor as she could while still remaining hidden from the interior of the store. The woman had actually gone several steps along the sidewalk before looking up, and she now noticed the gun-wielding federal agent. Of course, having no idea who Mandalay was, she froze in place and began to scream.