by Ani Gonzalez
"Of course," Luanne said, wondering why the police had contacted the AASC.
"I don't know why they keep bothering us." Mary sounded thoroughly exasperated. "It's a small picnic party. I don't see why I need a permit."
"I can help you with it," Luanne blurted. "I had to do one for a group reading I did in the park."
She didn't mention that filling out the form with Mary was a perfect opportunity to learn more about the prospective alien encounter. Mary didn't need to know that.
"That's okay," Mary replied. "I'm almost done with it. It's not that hard. It's just that I don't see the point." She shook her head. "But that's neither here nor there."
She smiled at Luanne. "But if you have time to spare, we'd love to get some tarot card readings." She pointed toward Cassie's display. "Our members were very intrigued by your friend's argument that Jungian archetypes, including those featured in the tarot, could be based on alien encounters. They'd love to explore that."
"Oh." Luanne was fairly certain that Cassie's theory was exactly the reverse—alien encounters were modern Jungian archetypes—but it seemed prudent to keep that knowledge to herself. "Tarot readings?"
"They don't have to be very long." Mary looked at her expectantly.
They'd better not be very long. She still had horoscopes to write and a presentation to research.
But a couple of readings would tell her a lot about the AASC and its members. Information that could help her anticipate what would happen at the alien meet-up.
And maybe save Sean's life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"PLEASE TELL me you have wine in there," Luanne pleaded as she opened the door to her bungalow. Her face was pale and drawn.
"Hard apple cider, actually," Sean replied, carrying two bags of groceries into the house. "Mrs. Millsap gave them to me, along with fresh apple pie."
She raised a brow and closed the door behind him. "Bribery seems to be a way of life in this town."
The living room was neat and clean, and the lampshade, a bit banged up to be sure, was in its proper place. It looked exactly like it had during his previous visit, except that the console in front of the sofa now had a television set on top. That hadn't been there last time.
"Just trying to maintain good relations with the police," he said. "Not a bad idea when you're expecting an alien invasion."
"You say tomato. I say to-mah-to." She grabbed one of the bags and headed for the kitchen.
He followed her down the hall. "Did you get a new television?"
She looked back. "Nah. I just took it out of the closet. I keep it there for...safekeeping."
Ah, Honoria the Poltergeist strikes again. "Do I want to know?"
A small smile crossed Luanne's face. "Not really."
She put the bag on the dining room table, took out a six-pack of Haunted Orchard's Brandied Apple Xtreme Cider, and sighed. "Eight percent alcohol content. Just what the doctor ordered."
He set his own bag down and took out the contents. "Hard day?"
She looked exhausted, which was odd. What had she been doing that had drained her so much?
"You have no idea." She found a bottle opener and opened the bottles. "Five straight hours of tarot reading, with people who argue, no less. Those UFO enthusiasts are tough customers. It was straight out of Dante's Inferno."
"At least you made some money, right?"
"Ha," she snorted. "If only. These readings were for free." She flipped a cap with a vicious twist of the wrist. "That Myrtle lady was the worst. She wanted to know everything and she wouldn't even sit for a full reading. She just wanted me to guess what was in her stupid bag, which, according to the rest of the group, she's never without. I tried to explain that it doesn't work like that, but she wouldn't take no for an answer." She rubbed her wrist. "Can you get carpal tunnel from shuffling cards? I bet you can."
"Don't look it up on the Internet."
He didn't like that she was giving readings for free. Why would she do that? One reason came to mind, and he didn't like it at all.
"I won't." She gave him a bottle. "I found out a couple of things, though. People get surprisingly chatty during card reading sessions."
His jaw tightened. His guess had been right. She'd been doing amateur detective work. Had she lost her mind? Sure, the Alien Abduction Survivors Club sounded harmless, but that was no guarantee. Sticking your nose into things was always dangerous.
But he hid his reaction. Luanne, he knew, would pay no attention to his warning.
"What did you find?" he asked instead.
She grabbed a green flyer that was lying on the table and handed it to him. "This."
An ovoid alien head adorned the middle of the flyer. The heading read "Lucky Alien will smile upon you." The small print was exactly the same as in the Lucky Ghost ads. Same promise. Same requirements. The only difference was the address. Instead of Banshee Creek, VA, it was Roswell, New Mexico.
Luanne smiled happily. "Most of the members of the AASC had heard of the scheme. Strangely enough, not one had participated in it."
"They think it's a scam?" He couldn't keep the skepticism out his voice. According to his bunco squad buddies, people often participated even if they denied it in public.
She raised a brow. "One of them told me that only the feeble-minded would fall for something like that. Then he talked to me for forty-five minutes about how the small grays—not to be confused with the tall grays, who are a completely different species—snatched him from his car and took him to Aldebaran."
"At least they didn't take his money." He dropped the flyer and it fluttered down to the table. "Thanks. I'll make some calls tomorrow."
Her find, he grudgingly admitted, was a good one. This was an interstate matter now. He could call in the financial crime guys in D.C. and see if they'd seen it before. That would save him a lot of time.
But that could wait until tomorrow. It was time to cook. The food was now laid out on the table. The hamburger recipe looked pretty simple on video, but now the sheer number of ingredients was daunting. What was with all the bottles?
"So, you brought apple pie?" Luanne asked, taking a bowl out of a cabinet. "Very appropriate."
He opened the packet of ground meat and placed it in the bowl. Surely that was the first step. "Appropriate why?"
She grinned. "For watching Supernatural, of course."
Ah, yes, the show about the car. That's why she'd brought out the TV. Well, there were worse things in life than spending an evening watching television with a beautiful woman.
Making burgers from scratch for one.
"You should probably add some seasonings now," Luanne said, giggling. "Or you can just stare at the bowl blankly. I'm sure that's an important step in the recipe."
"Laugh it up, fuzzball." He added salt, pepper and chili powder. "This is going to be delicious."
Luanne frowned. "That's a lot of chili powder."
Were teaspoon and tablespoons different things? Apparently so.
Too late now.
"I like to live dangerously," he said, as he shaped the hamburger meat into patties.
Luanne laughed and put a pan on the stove. "Good thing I have ice cream in the fridge. It'll help us cool down."
"It's not that bad," he said, trying not to sneeze. How much chili powder had he put in? The stuff was positively pungent.
Luanne poured oil into the pan. He added the burger patties and stepped back to admire his handiwork. They weren't exactly round, but, still, they were roughly burger-shaped.
She handed him a spatula. "Here you go. Try not to destroy the kitchen."
He rearranged the burgers, and a drop of burning oil hit his hand, making him jump. "I'll do my best. We can always blame Honoria if something goes wrong, can't we?"
"Nope." She carried a cutting board to the dining table and started slicing onions. "She hates fire."
As if on cue, an orange flame appeared on the edge of the pan. He quickly turned the heat down.
"So
do I," he said, flipping over the burgers. The bottoms were burnt. Crap, how did that happen? The other side was still completely raw.
He focused on their dinner and managed to produce a couple of fairly well cooked, albeit extremely spicy burgers. He placed them on buns and added lettuce, tomato, and onions.
There. That looked practically burger-like.
"Bravo." Luanne clapped. "These actually appear edible."
He glowered at her. "Keep this up and there'll be no dessert in your future."
She grabbed a plate and sat down at the dining table. "Hey, who's the fortune teller around here? Trust me, I definitely see some apple pie in my near future. It's written in the stars."
He joined her at the table and they dug into their meal. The burgers were spicy, but they weren't half bad washed down with copious amounts of cold cider.
"Whew," Luanne breathed. "That's hot." She took another bite. "Hot, but good."
"Glad you like it." He finished his cider. "We can eat the pie while we watch your car show."
Luanne frowned. "It's not a car show."
"I thought it was about an Impala." If his room decor was anything to go by, the show was pretty much an ode to the vehicle.
"No." Luanne's answer was emphatic. "It's about two brothers, and monsters, and a family legacy." She paused. "I guess the car's part of that, in a way."
She stared off into the distance.
"Nah." She got up, holding her plate. "It's not a car show. I'll show you."
He washed the dishes quickly, while she heated and served the pie and ice cream. She even added butterscotch sauce from the Banshee Creek Bakery, which she'd apparently received as a housewarming present.
"Let's go." She led him to the living room and placed the two plates on the coffee table. He watched as she picked up a couple of DVDs labeled "Property of the Banshee Creek Library" and put them into the player. The television screen lit up and he sat down next to her. He wrapped his arm around Luanne's shoulders as a pretty blonde entered a baby's room.
The show's music was good and Luanne felt warm and soft in his arms. Feeling strangely content, he settled down to watch.
An hour and several explosions later, he leaned close to whisper in her ear. "I told you it was a car show."
She stared at the screen where something was being burnt to a crisp. It was a good show, but he had better plans for the evening.
"It's not a car show," she replied stubbornly. "It's about family."
"Cars are family."
She threw her head back and laughed. "You're such a guy."
Her laughter was a smooth, rich sound, like a drink of apple brandy. He bent and laid a soft kiss in the graceful column of her neck. A shiny gold hoop tickled his cheek as he did so.
The caress made her shiver. He smiled against her silky skin. That was exactly the response he was looking for.
"And speaking of being such a guy," he whispered, "why don't we hit the pause button and take this upstairs?"
She looked into his eyes and for a moment, he thought she'd say no. Then he felt her lips brush against his mouth. She reached up, deepening the kiss.
It was heaven. A little piece of heaven tinged with desperation.
She stood up, all flame-colored hair and sparkling eyes, and held out her hand. "Come."
She looked like a vision with the glow from the television surrounding her like a halo. He was rendered speechless for a second. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Er, I'll turn the TV off."
She bowed her head, as if listening to something he couldn't hear. "No," she said softly. "Leave it on."
She frowned at the screen. A handsome young man with black hair was getting into the Impala.
See? It was definitely a car show.
"I think the ghost wants to watch it," Luanne whispered, sounding confused.
"Are you kidding?" He paused and looked around. The living room looked perfectly normal. Clean, neat, with only the television to disturb the quiet.
Luanne shrugged. "She is a teenager, you know."
Ghosts watching TV wasn't the weirdest thing he'd experienced in Banshee Creek. With this cheerful thought, he followed Luanne up the stairs. Kansas' "Carry on My Wayward Son" rang out as he reached the landing.
It seemed strangely appropriate.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LUANNE WOKE up with a start. The room was dark and still, with dregs of moonlight washing in through the window. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out some shapes—the mirror over the dresser with the large crack in the corner, the metal bed with its dings and scratches, and the fluffy chenille quilt.
Everything looked normal. Well, the muscular shape sleeping next to her was definitely not normal, but she knew how he'd gotten there, so that was okay.
She glanced at her phone on the shabby-chic nightstand next to the bed. Four a.m. Ugh. She laid back on the mangy chenille pillow and stared at the ceiling.
Something had woken her, but what? She held her breath and listened. The house was quiet. She couldn't even hear the television, which meant that Honoria's TV-watching marathon was over. Was her ghost acting up again?
Sean stirred and turned but did not wake up. The quilt fell off his back, revealing the twin round scars on his shoulder.
The scars looked so small and neat, it was hard to believe that they were so nearly deadly. Sean had been really lucky. The shoulder wounds were not life-threatening, but that third one near his spine...
Wait, third one? Sean had only been shot twice.
She held her breath and counted the marks, two, three, four... They seemed to accumulate as she stared at her lover's back.
She struggled to breathe as a tightness spread across her chest. Blood flowed from his back, dripping slowly onto the sheets.
Crap. It was a vision. She was having a vision. Blood and pain and something shiny and metallic. A beam of light bounced off the metal, making her head hurt.
She hated visions. She seldom had them, but when they came, she couldn't stop them. All she could do was try to remain calm as blood spread out on the bed, dripping slowly onto the floor.
Then a loud crash sounded. Sean jumped up, pushed her back against the bed and straightened.
Awake and very much alive.
She let out a shaky breath. His back was fine. The sheets were clean. The vision was gone.
"What was that?" he asked groggily.
He was blocking her way to the door, she realized. He was protecting her.
"It's okay," she said, laying her hand on his warm shoulder. "It's just Honoria. She's upset about something."
And just in time, too. She wouldn't complain about her ghostly housemate's antics ever again. The spectral teen had just saved her from a deeply traumatic incident. She owed Honoria big time.
Sean fell back on the pillows. "Are you kidding me? What time is it?"
"Four."
He turned to look at her, his lips curving into a smile. "Too early to get up and too late to go back to sleep." He reached for her, wrapping a muscled arm around her waist. "I wonder what we can do to pass the time."
She melted into his embrace, trying to forget the horrible vision. "Oh, I don't know."
He dragged his lips over the curve of her shoulder, making her shudder. She'd never known a shoulder could be so sensitive.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned closed, drinking in his warmth. "But I have some ideas..."
The lamp next to the bed flickered, as did the hallway light. Oh, fudge.
"What—?" Sean reached for the lamp and turned it off.
It didn't work. The lights flashed in tandem, giving the room the look of an eccentric disco hall with disparate vintage furnishings.
Luanne sighed. "On my way. Hold your gosh-darn horsies." She reluctantly dragged herself out of the bed.
Sean held on to her arm tightly. "You're not going anywhere. What if she throws something at you?"
She shook off his grip, grabbed the c
olorful kimono robe that hung from the headboard and shrugged into it. "Don't be silly. Honoria's not like that. She just wants me to change the DVD."
Sean stared at her in confusion. "Change the what?"
Luanne groaned as she walked to the door. "The Supernatural DVD. She finished season one and now she wants to watch season two."
She ignored his befuddled stare and headed down the stairs. Every light in the house was flashing, which made her dizzy. In the living room, the lamp was on the floor, and the pillows were strewn everywhere. As she reached the living room, she heard the kitchen drawers open.
"Calm down," she shouted. "I'm almost there."
The moonlight fell on the sofa, revealing the outline of a skinny teenage girl with long braids glaring at her. Luanne blinked and the girl was gone. For a second she thought she'd imagined it.
Had the ghostly figure been wearing a #TeamSam t-shirt?
Luanne reached the DVD player and changed the discs. The television flickered and the melodic strains of Kansas' "Wayward Son" rang through the room.
Again.
The lights dimmed. The jangling cutlery in the kitchen stilled. Everything was peaceful once more.
Luanne headed back to the bedroom. It was still early. Maybe she and Sean had a little time to engage in some healthy life-affirming calisthenics.
Or maybe not. Sean was coming down the stairs, fully dressed. He had on the jeans and plaid shirt he'd worn yesterday.
And a gun.
She eyed the weapon warily. "What's up?"
Sean reached for his leather jacket, which was hanging from a peg next to the front door. "Sorry. I just got called in. Code twenty-seven at Virginia Vintage Motors."
"What?"
He zipped up his jacket. "Breaking and entering."
"You mean like a robbery?"
"Yep."
"That's impossible," she said. "We don't have burglaries in Banshee Creek."
"Of course you do," Sean scoffed. "There're burglaries everywhere."
"Not here." She shook her head for emphasis. "Not in this town. Who would break into a haunted house? That's just asking for trouble."
He raised a brow. "We'll see."