She could see those paintings filling walls painted in golds and dark blues and light blues with large sunflowers and a large tree trunk as her barista station, right in the center of the café that would act as a reminder for those who came in that there was power in discovery. She’d have to find a good woodworker in the area.
“Do y’all know a good woodworker in the area?” Gem asked, not expecting them to know. Most didn’t. Most bought from a big name store. Went to big name cafés. Ate at big name restaurants. But Gem liked the off the beaten path places with heart and soul and a unique spirit.
“My mate, Devon, actually,” Alexia answered, pride in her voice. “His woodworking business was just moved locally a few months ago… Bear Necessities Woodworking-”
“Oh, hell naw!” Gem exclaimed, as she turned around punched the redheads arm. Pain radiated up her arm, but the redhead just stood there smiling, proud of her man from the looks of things. Totally a CrossFit chick. She missed her favorite handmade wooden table. “I had a piece in L.A. that I got at a show while visiting Marilyn and Loren and the girls a few summers back… Jesus, he’s good… that was my favorite piece.”
“Couldn’t carry it from L.A., then? Shit, that’s quite a move.” Alexia seemed like good people, and while Gem was normally the open sort, always excited to meet others, she was also cautious.
“Something like that,” Gem said, looking to Alexia. Gem pulled out a tissue to wipe at her nose and came away with more blood. Goddamn cold. She really needed to just rest up this week. But she had so many ideas. As she wiped her nose of the blood, she could have sworn Alexia’s eyes turned a brighter shade of red, but shit, didn’t Gem’s eyes change to a deeper brown in moments of stress? She brushed off the tingle that went up her spine.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to work,” Alexia said, running her hands down her apron and taking a few steps backward in a gesture of goodbye. “But if you need anything, Gem, we’re right next door. And I’ll make sure to get you the address for Devon’s workshop.” She nodded to Damon and rushed off.
Gem watched her exit with some trepidation. The tingle she’d brushed off hadn’t gone far. That redhead had secrets. She normally didn’t like to pry into other people’s business… ah, hell! Who was she kidding? She made a living off getting into other people’s business. She’d been a freelance journalist for the better part of the decade, and although much of her work was with animals and on mountain trails and passes, she loved a good human interest story. And that redhead had a story. She could feel it in her bones.
“Yes, you’re definitely going to be trouble, aren’t you, Gemini Lynn Harrington?”
She looked at the tatted up bar owner with the mysterious eyes and the unique features, and smiled.
“Probably,” she said, drawing out the word and giving him a wink, and then she couldn’t help herself. As she walked away, she threw over her shoulder, “Thanks for the warm welcome, Garrison.”
He didn’t reply. She thought she heard a slight chuckle, but she didn’t stick around to see. She had plans. She had goals. She had someplace new to start over.
And she had a stop to make before she jumped into those plans.
The sun beat down on her skin as she walked the mile into town. The cold of the late autumn hit her face, but she didn’t mind the light wind. There had been a time when she’d thought she wouldn’t make it past 18, but her illness had only lasted until she was about 22—
Shit. She’d spent twelve years in and out of the hospital.
And because of that, every moment meant something to her. Every rainfall. Every beat of sunshine. Every small breeze. Every hug. Every smile. Every fucking thing she experienced. They were the details that made life worth living, and Gem soaked them up like the beautiful gifts they were.
So, she’d accept Marilyn’s gift, and she’d start a new path here in Montville.
And maybe along the way, she’d find the niche she’d always sought.
Thinking about the intriguing Alexia and her stunningly mysterious boss, she smiled.
Or maybe, just maybe, she’d find more than she ever dreamed of.
Two
Numb
Swig. Spit. Swig. Spit.
Matthew Garrett was fucked. Gambling debts up to his eyeballs. A complete lack of control over his shift recently. Drunk as a shitton of skunks most days.
“You going to drink it all away, you big pussy?”
And the one man who he really didn’t want to see him hell bent on his own destruction had just slid onto the seat next to him: James Vuković.
“Pussy, huh? I’m a badass jaguar, oh fearless leader.” He was, actually. At least when his shifts were working right. A badass, motherfuckin’ black jaguar, even though his animal was only about 250 pounds. Pure as fuck muscle his beast was. Of course, that was the way with the Luna Clan. Their animals, tied to their very souls, the very spark of spirit they’d had since their creation, were the same mass as their human counterpart, just redistributed to the animal’s form.
The wolves, the Vuković Clan, were the big shits, and they thought they were the beasts of the shifters in the Clan and Other world, but the Luna, the Luna were special. Different. He’d say it in his head, and probably out loud when he was flat out drunk too, but the Luna, in his opinion, were the best of the Clans and the Others.
“Badass for damn sure,” James said sarcastically as he ordered a club soda and cranberry juice.
The man never ordered booze. Matt didn’t get it. Alcohol took the edge off, calmed him the fuck down at least for a little bit, or until a good fight. When he knew he was going into a fight, he didn’t drink, but shit, he couldn’t help it that a good couple fingers of Tennessee whiskey fucked him the hell up, and caused him to lay out all his bottled up words with too much goddamned truth.
So, he was a bit complicated. Who the fuck wasn’t?
“Gonna ruin my buzz,” Matt said, and his words were slurred. Yeah, he was getting there. He could feel the oblivion taking over as he fell into the emptiness. Goddamn, but he needed that oblivion on this chilly and desolate November night. Every night, really. But especially tonight.
“Heard about your ma.” James’ soothing accent rushed over him, but Matt didn’t want that type of soothing. He wanted the smoothness of his Tennessee whiskey that would offer him the bite and the kick in the ass he needed later. He’d wallow. He’d fight someone. He’d get up tomorrow and do this shit all over again. And he’d do it in his own fucking way.
But today, shit. Yeah, today was worse.
“Whatever.” He tried to be blasé, tried to write off the punch of pain that got caught in his throat, but fuck it all. He took another swig and then spit out some of the chewing tobacco he’d had lumped in his cheek.
He was just full of bad habits. But fuck the universe, fuck the Veil, fuck it all. He just couldn’t give two shits about anything as he brooded over his most recent loss.
James had apparently had enough of the pity party because he threw his money on the counter.
“That was quick-”
Matt’s statement was cut off as he was hauled up by the giant Vuković wolf and dragged out the front door of the bar and into the cold of a late upstate New York Fall. The thick skin of his Clan heritage blocked the cold, though. He didn’t want to breathe it in, didn’t want to suck in that cold, which would inevitably cure him of his recent intoxication. It took a lot for the Clan to get drunk, and he’d just spent a lot of money and time to get even the baby buzz he was holding on so tightly to now.
“Fuck, James,” Matt said, shaking from his anger, as he disengaged himself from the leader of The Lodge. He’d come to The Lodge a few years earlier to find solace after his time in the cage. Instead, he’d only found more pain. It was his own damn fault. He knew that. But he couldn’t escape the nightmares, the memories, the damn near drowning images of his past. They wouldn’t abate. He lived those moments over and over constantly, knowing he’d never be able to mo
ve past the shit he’d experienced.
“You’ve got to find a way to move forward, Matthew,” James said, mirroring his own thoughts. “You’ve got to find a way to deal with your past and loss that isn’t going to destroy you.”
Easily said, wasn’t it? Except he knew James.
“And how am I supposed to do that, James?” Because James always had a solution, didn’t he? As much as Matt loved the man, he also hated him. Hated that he always seemed to have the answers. Hated that he had his shit together.
James straightened, but was quiet for a moment, as though he’d been thinking of the plan for a while, but couldn’t quite get the words out.
“You’re going to help build another Lodge in Montville.”
“You’re sending me away?!” Matt asked. Anger didn’t even begin to describe his feelings in that moment. He’d fucking fought battles beside this man, helped rehab some of the wounded, helped fix up The Lodge with his building skills when no one else would or could, did odd jobs whenever anyone needed anything done, and now James was going to throw him away? He didn’t do well with change. Hell, at one point in his life, he’d been an adventurer, a traveler, but he’d experienced the whole shitton of bad that could come from the life of a nomad. He wouldn’t get lost again. He couldn’t have something else change right now.
“Your ma just died,” James said softly. “I get that. I really do. And I want everyone here to help you through it, but you don’t accept our help.” James paused and looked at Matt. Matt saw the concern, the pleading, but he was at that point in the night where all he wanted was to punch something. Anger bubbled up inside of him, and he didn’t bother to squash the feeling. “You don’t accept our help… You help everyone at The Lodge, whether it’s fixing a clogged toilet or repairing a leaky roof, but you won’t accept anything back. No exchange of help. No relationship.” James blew out a breath, but Matt couldn’t help the sting that hit his chest. Anger still flowed through his veins, but the truth in James’ statement raked across his mind, reminding him once again of how fucked up and damaged he truly was.
“So, because I’m fucked up, I get sent away?” Matt moved in closer to James, and he’d give James credit, the Vuković didn’t back away. “That’s horseshit, James, and you fucking know it! Everyone at The Lodge except perfect Tessa has shit they come in with. Everyone there is a veritable hermit on the edge of some cliff they can’t or won’t talk about. So, fuck this! I’m different, but I’m not that different, James.”
James blew out another breath, but Matt didn’t have it in him anymore to not ruffle some feathers. He’d once been the good guy, the nice kid you wanted to meet, the charmer. But life had gone to shit ever since he’d turned eighteen, and he’d be damned if someone would try to rule his life. Except, he’d chosen The Lodge as his refuge, and The Lodge’s leader was standing in front of him saying he had to go.
“You can’t do this every time something goes wrong with me, James,” Matt said, taking a step back. “If I leave, that’s where I stay. No moving back here. If I leave, I’m not picking up and coming back even if you need me. You’ve made your bed by sending me away.” Matt was serious. He was done with having others choose his path. He was done with being a slave to other’s whims. He couldn’t move again. He couldn’t uproot again. It wasn’t in his nature anymore. He needed the consistency of the every day. He needed his pattern. He couldn’t have anything throw a chink in his own version of surviving.
“Help them build the extension for The Lodge, and you can stay.”
He nodded once and started walking back into the bar, hoping he could once again regain that sense of oblivion he needed.
“I think that’s enough for tonight, Matthew,” James said from his spot on the concrete walkway just outside of the local watering hole.
“Well, fearless leader,” Matt said, throwing up his middle finger. “What you think doesn’t really mean shit to me right now.” That was only a partial lie. James’ opinion almost always mattered to him; he just hated that it mattered so much.
“Give it time, Matthew,” James said under his breath as Matt walked back into the bar. “You’ll realize soon enough that the alcohol won’t drown the memories. They just come back stronger.”
Matt heard the last as he took the final step inside and asked the bartender for another few fingers of Tennessee whiskey. He took the swig and spit out some of his chewing tobacco into the cup the bartender gave him as a courtesy.
Swig. Spit. Swig. Spit.
Story of his motherfuckin’ life. He knew he couldn’t drown the nightmares, the dreams, the memories. He hated that James was right. Because Matt knew that in the end, without fail, the demons came pounding at his door more insistent than ever.
Time heals all wounds was something he’d heard often, especially in the goddamned mind-body-soul classes James had made him attend at The Lodge. But that saying was a complete and utter lie. Time did not heal all wounds. For some people, time made the wound bleed more, scar deeper, settle in for the long haul like an unwanted new neighbor who you couldn’t shake once you moved in. So, maybe… just maybe this new place would allow him to shake that neighbor.
Swig. Spit. Swig. Spit.
Or maybe… just maybe, he’d finally find the oblivion, the emptiness of self he’d been seeking for so long.
Three
Castle of Glass
Alexia Garda-Martinez wrung her hands at her side. She wanted to wipe the sweat from her brow, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. The salty sweat wept into her eyes, though, and her cover was blown. She quickly lifted her arm, avoiding using her gloved hands, to wipe the sweat from her brow and her eyes. The darkness of the late Fall evening crowded around her and she let her nose pick up the scents from inside the house, preparing herself for more death.
“Hey, Queen Bee.” Danny Rios’ voice came from her left, drawing her attention to the Guatemalan charmer. She blinked at him, blinded by the sweat still trickling into her eyes and the glare of the crime scene lights that had been set up outside of the white picket house. She’d gotten to know him fairly well these past seven months since Cam’s disappearance.
She punched his arm in reply to the nickname he just wouldn’t let go, eliciting a wince. She smiled in retaliation. “You’re gonna need new gloves now, Queen Bee,” he said unrepentantly, his dimpled smirk making her want to punch his arm again.
“Danny boy, leave our Lex alone,” Caty Rios, the local coroner, medical examiner, and also Danny’s mother, said as she walked outside of the house. A small, country home with white shutters and deep, blue, cedar siding. The neighbors were out, their house lights on, many of them having just returned home from work. A swing set sat on the large front lawn that was set a half a mile away from the road, and Alexia watched as it moved in the breeze. The back of the house was surrounded by woods, which was not uncommon in the Montville area.
What was uncommon was that the most recent case was a domestic disturbance, and the third murder in two months, even though all three murders had different scenes.
At the first crime scene, the evidence they’d collected suggested the father had gotten out of bed, grabbed the curtain rod from the bedroom window and beaten his wife to death. Mr. Gregory had then slit his wrists in their master bathroom and bled out before both bodies were found. The Gregory’s had no children, so at least that had been a blessing of sorts.
At the second crime scene, which had happened a couple weeks before this current crime scene, the father was again the suspected perpetrator, except this time, the murder had occurred in the early morning, around 4:00 am. Mr. Weis had come home from his morning run, and according to the evidence, it seemed he’d started making an omelet when his wife had entered the kitchen. His wife’s body had been found in their upstairs bedroom, but a blood trail had led from the kitchen to their shared room, and the frying pan had been covered in blood. Mr. Weis was being held without bail two counties over.
Alexia h
adn’t been at either scene. She didn’t see every case, only the ones that they were called to when she was interning for Caty.
What really made Alexia’s hair stand on end, though, were that all three murders had taken place in the small suburbs about two miles away from the college, and all three families lived within a block of each other. Stranger still was the fact that the murders appeared to be committed by husbands who had seemed otherwise normal, where no history or signs of abuse had been present.
Alexia hadn’t been on a domestic disturbance call yet, because despite the unnatural spree that had been sweeping through Montville, deaths due to domestic disturbances were rare in Montville. Hell, murders in general had been few and far between in her little college town, at least before Professor Anderson and his family had been killed in March earlier that year. Alexia had only just switched her advanced degree in Anthropology emphasis to Forensics after the death of her best friend, Mindy, the Spring before, so much of this was still new to her. She shuddered and wiped at her eyes. Goddamn it. She needed to buck up, grow a tougher skin, and get shit done.
“It’s cool, S’Bones,” Alexia said, hiding her face from Danny and Caty. She moved back to the van and took off her fiber-riddled, sweat-stained gloves. Jesus, she was doing a bang up job at her first murder scene. She made her way back to the group, newly-gloved, but still feeling slightly sick, she took a slower pace. “Ready when you are, Don Quixote.” She put on a smile and looked at Danny.
Danny threw her a look of mock horror and glanced around. “Queen Bee,” he said seriously, then lowered his voice to a whisper, “I think you’re fab, babe, really, but you can’t flirt with me. Devon would kill me.”
Dancing with the Devil (Wild Beasts Series) Page 2