A Christmas Spectacle to Bear

by Jennifer Hilt

  Lea swept up an armload of discarded feather boas from backstage and carried them to the dressing room. Every flat surface was covered with bras, makeup, and hair products. Lea dropped her tools in exchange for her dance bag and notebook. While performances ran, she made notes on how the holiday routine worked for the audience. Now she could add suspicious characters and investigation notes to her musings.

  Slipping through the side door, she nodded to the werewolf-shifter security. Uniformly, these guys were muscle-bound, nonverbal, and hot. Whenever Lea drifted by one of them, his nose would twitch. Thank the Goddess, she was most assuredly not a troll. As a petite and (mostly natural) auburn with a barely-there B cup, Lea looked more like seventeen than early twenties.

  It was that fucking claim of Caleb’s.

  Back in New York, she was used to attracting a fair amount of attention from the opposite sex. Since last summer, though, the human male response had disappeared like a dry autumn leaf. She was leery of dating more shifters, or paranorms of any type, really.

  She admired the security guys, with their tight tees stretched across their pecs and abs. She liked the tats running down their arms too. These shifters took their work—protecting performers by safeguarding the only door between the main house and backstage—seriously. After a few too many drinks, the occasional asshole troll insisted his twenty bucks was good for a lap dance. Wanda had assured her that security corrected such assumptions out in the alley behind the club.

  Lea waved to tonight’s sentry before heading for the bar running across the back of the house. It was opposite the stage, giving her a full view of the dancers. Finding an empty seat at the bar, Lea ordered a margarita. The crowd was mostly trolls, but lately it wasn’t uncommon at Paddy’s to see a trio of blue-haired grandmas tossing back gin and tonics with their walkers stacked to one side. Must be a senior home nearby.

  Lea sipped her drink, checking the room once more. A few guys old enough to be her grandfathers winked at her. She ignored them, turning instead to Sonny, the vampire bartender. “You working again?”

  Sonny could have been a double for an A-list actor in a recent superhero movie, except that he was her height. Being a vampire provided immortality, not any increase in size.

  “Paddy’s short on help.” Sonny dried a shot glass before moving on to the next one. “Wanna learn bartending?”

  “Nope. I’ve got to create a new act for the holiday spectacle.” Lea’s attention returned to the troll showgirls. Their footwork was sloppy. The dancer at the far end was rotating her arms like a crossing guard.

  She couldn’t help scanning the crowd, wondering if one of them was the murderer. “Sonny, have you seen anything unusual here lately?”

  The bartender carried his towel over to where she sat. “I’m glad you asked.”

  Jackpot! Lea practically crowed.

  “What I saw the other night was so disturbing, I can’t get it out of my mind,” he said.

  She leaned in toward him across the bar.

  “I interrupted a troll threesome going at it in the stockroom. It was the most—”

  Lea snatched up his towel, tossing it in his face. “Buck up! You’re such a baby. I can’t believe you’re a vamp.” She hopped off her stool. “If you see anything non-ménage-related, let me know.”

  The audience’s applause rattled the chandeliers. Apparently, bouncing boobs, feathers, and sequins worked for them. Lea checked her watch. Five more hours and she could go home. Caleb might be back from work by then. And she certainly didn’t want to miss that.

  Waiting for the shuttle to take her back to the trailer park, Lea lost any feeling in her ass. All because those fucking trolls hid her street clothes again. She’d find the clothes tomorrow exactly where she’d left them. In the meantime, she wanted to get home as quickly as possible to treat her frostbite. That meant doing so in her leotard, tights, and heels. Thank God she had a winter parka that covered most of her torso, but still, she avoided checking her own reflection.

  She waited inside the club’s doors for the shuttle bus to pull around. Troll traffic entering and exiting the casino snickered at her.

  Finally, the shuttle pulled around. She climbed onboard, greeting the driver, a demon named Lyle.

  He raised his chin. “What’s up? I’m Lyle from Dallas.”

  Lea didn’t introduce herself tonight because she’d done it already several times before. Every time she met Lyle from Dallas, he greeted her the same way. And if that wasn’t odd enough, he wore sunglasses. At night, during an Alaskan winter. He also wore a Dallas Cowboys uniform, complete with shoulder pads and greasepaint under his eyes. No cleats, though; he preferred snow boots. She suspected Lyle had played quite a bit of football without a helmet somewhere in his past.

  His round face sported a nose ring and a neck tat of something scaly. The sunglasses bit was unnerving. When she’d mentioned Lyle from Dallas to Paddy as a potential suspect, he’d waved away her concern. “He’s harmless. Been run out of Icy Cap over unlawful possession. He didn’t have the consent forms for the souls he’d borrowed. Times are tough all over.” Paddy had shaken his head.

  Her uncle always did champion the under-demon.

  The shuttle ride from the casino to the trailer park smelled like exhaust, thanks to the heat blasting. She was grateful for the latter so tried to ignore the former.

  Only non-troll S&S employees lived at the mobile-home park. The shuttle services enabled everyone to get back and forth without dealing with frozen vehicles. It was more than convenience: the troll mining community immediately surrounding the casino wasn’t keen on anyone who wasn’t a troll hanging around. The trailer park provided a safety in numbers.

  Waving goodbye to Lyle, Lea stepped carefully up her brother’s sidewalk. The rest of the units were dark. She’d gotten out earlier than expected, and everyone else was still at the S&S.

  Inside was quiet, with no signs of Caleb. Good. She was early enough to use the time to investigate. She walked back to the bedroom, leaving Elvis to snooze on the couch. She closed her door, stripped off her all clothes, and stretched her arms over her head. A few more easy stretches followed twenty jumping jacks. When she was done, she popped the bedroom’s porthole window open, getting a face full of icy air. Then she spun around in a circle, gradually picking up speed as if she was dancing.

  This time was no different than any other time, within a few revolutions, Lea shifted into a dove. She flew out the window and into the night. Her spirit animal needed a release, as incongruous as a dove was in the high Arctic. Flying at night was safer; she didn’t want to meet any aggressive skua birds. Those scavengers were always hungry and happy to pick off anything smaller. Flying over to the S&S meant she could do the only kind of investigation she had experience with: sitting and watching.

  As with most surveillance, however, she learned a whole lot of nothing that night. Well, not exactly nothing. The cook was selling off some steaks at the kitchen door, earning him a tidy profit in a place where the closest cow was seven hours away. Also, surprisingly the frigid temps did not deter trolls from shagging out by the prop shed.

  Taking a cue from Sonny’s experience, she moved on quickly if troll courtship appeared to be the subject. Female trolls demanded a certain level of satisfaction from their partners. As a result there was fair amount of slapping with, as far as Lea could tell, nary a safe word in sight.

  Unfortunately, no one slunk around suspiciously under her watch. She flew home and found a message from Caleb that he had to work a double shift.

  Coward.

  By eleven the following morning, Lea was back at the S&S, rehearsing with Wanda again. They were both sweaty but no farther ahead in choreography for the show. Wanda was performing a solo. Since she was the only non-troll on the chorus line, choosing her was far safer than selecting one female troll over another.

  For the first time in their long friendship, Wanda was irritable. Lea guessed she was homesick but too proud to pack it
in and return to New York.

  The two women worked on the stage with the house lights on. The air smelled like industrial-strength cleaner. Janitors moved the tables and chairs to mop the floors. Scraping furniture clashed with the music. Paddy and an elderly woman sat amid the tables in back, their heads huddled together.

  Now was not the time for an audience.

  Wanda rolled her hips and shoulders to the music.

  “More Arabian Nights, less Boogie Nights!” Lea called to Wanda.

  “Stop. Stop!” Paddy hurried to the stage, his toothpick thrust to the side of his mouth. “What the hell are you girls doing?”

  “Burlesque for the Spectacle.” Lea turned off the music and put her hands on her hips. She hated criticism. Being the youngest in an opinionated family meant she heard it a lot. She’d learned to work harder and smarter. Still, there it was. It never failed to sting.

  “That’s not burlesque. There’s no romance.” Paddy set his palms down on the stage. “And that’s what I want.”

  “Romance?” Lea asked. She left “at the S&S?” unsaid.

  “Do you want to see my boobs or not?” Wanda asked impatiently.

  “I want you to seduce the audience,” Paddy insisted.

  Lea and Wanda exchanged a glance. Did Paddy want to boost attendance or cause a riot?

  “There’s no time in four minutes for romance,” Lea said. “She’s gotta come out tits blazing.”

  Paddy threw up his hands. He stalked away, heading for the bar.

  Paddy’s companion, a woman in a bright purple polyester blouse, dark pants, and black orthopedic shoes, made her way past the empty tables to the stage edge. “May I offer a suggestion?”

  Lea eyed her comfortable shoes with envy.

  The woman’s dyed-blonde hair, close to platinum, was in a gravity-defying updo. Lea suspected a serious Aqua Net application.

  Paddy poured himself a drink from behind the bar. “Anything for you, Vera?”

  “Is it afternoon yet?” the woman asked. Her round black eyeglass frames accentuated her heavy lids. She moved carefully, as if she was sore or recently injured.

  Though she had her share of older relatives, Lea always felt rather uncomfortable around the aged. So much of the talk was bingo and wakes, neither a topic of interest to her.

  “No, ma’am.” Paddy set two glasses on the bar but left one empty.

  “I’ll wait,” Vera said. She returned to Lea and Wanda. “Paddy, will you introduce us?”

  Paddy pointed at the stage from behind the bar. “Lea and Wanda, this is the One and Only Marvelous Vera. Vera, meet the girls. This little lady is my niece. Her friend, Wanda is my star showgirl. They mean well, but they know squat about style.” He disappeared to rifle through bottles under the bar.

  Vera faced Wanda. “Pleased to meet you, Wanda. Now, let’s not discount your remarkable assets. But how about offering a bit of tease?”

  “You mean like grabbing myself?” Wanda asked.

  “Not exactly.” Vera’s coral lipstick stained her front teeth when she smiled. She set her cane against her chair; it promptly clattered to the floor.

  Lea hopped from the stage. “I’ll get it.”

  “Show them how it’s done, Vera,” Paddy called before tossing his drink back.

  “I don’t have any music.” She smiled.

  He left the bar, hurrying to the piano. His fingers ran down the keyboard and back, warming up.

  “I didn’t know you played piano,” Lea said.

  “I play a little.”

  “How about something like this?” Vera angled herself sideways. Holding the back of a chair, she repeated Wanda’s action, but with a smaller range of motion. She focused on her arms and legs. “See, on the angle, it’s all about the glimpse,” she said.

  Wanda and Lea experimented, ignoring their torsos while they moved their extremities.

  Vera clapped her hands twice, signaling Paddy to stop. “Let’s start at the beginning. Follow me: You bump the apple.” She thrust her right hip forward. “You bump the orange.” She bumped her left hip forward. “Now you grind the coffee.” She swiveled her ass outward in a practiced movement.

  Even with Vera’s limited range of movement, Lea was impressed.

  The two younger women practiced bumping and grinding without any music. Lea knew that with repetition, the awkwardness would give way to muscle memory. It intrigued her, and it was fun.

  “I’ll take that drink now,” Vera called to Paddy, then returned her attention to the stage. “Make it fluid. Start small. Don’t be choppy.”

  Paddy delivered a two-olive martini to Vera. “It’s only ten forty-five.”

  Vera accepted the glass. “Us working gals get thirsty.”

  Paddy looked at her with such longing that Lea forgot her movement. She’d never thought about her uncle’s personal life. He was just Paddy. From the small amount she’d seen, he obviously cared very much for Vera.

  “Close enough,” Vera said as they finished another hip swirl. She sat down heavily in her chair and sucked the olives off her swizzle stick. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. Then she opened them, looking directly at Lea. “What’s in the prop shed?”

  Lea’s cheeks heated as she thought of the black plastic bag containing an elf corpse. She was pretty sure this was not what Vera was referring to.

  “Vera says we need props.” She turned to her uncle, deadpanning.

  “My insurance premiums are high enough, no props.” Unconcerned, Paddy pulled a cigar from his inside jacket pocket. He snipped the end off, lit it, and inhaled. “What about doves?” he asked. “I’m still paying for the magician’s doves, eating grain and cooing their heads off.”

  Lea narrowed her eyes at her uncle. If he was teasing her, she didn’t think it was funny. She was not working with doves. She was a human who could change form into a dove; working with a bunch of non-shifter birds was beneath her.

  Vera sipped her drink. She swirled her martini, staring into it like a crystal ball. She considered Lea, then Wanda, then looked back again. “No live animals. Not enough time.”

  Lea let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

  Vera eyed them over the rim of her glass. “You do need feathers, though.”

  After the morning rehearsal with Wanda, the afternoon was full of rehearsals with the trolls. Beyond all of that, there were other professionals to touch base with. The droopy-eyed tech guy barely kept his eyes open when she reviewed how he should light the dancers. From the musicians’ defensive attitude, Lea guessed they hadn’t often met with the former director. She couldn’t understand that. How could they expect to have the best show possible if everyone did their own thing?

  By the time Lea exited the shuttle after midnight and was climbing the steps to her trailer, she felt exhausted. She’d even poked around various corners of the S&S, looking for an ice pick, but she’d never tell Caleb that. Nothing.

  Elvis greeted her with a series of happy growls. He inspected her dance bag, which she’d dropped on her way in the door. He sniffed around it before finally climbing inside. She let him nose around while she fixed his food.

  “You should be working for your meal,” she said. “No one gets something for nothing around here.” She held a zucchini slice with one hand and patted her chest with the other. “Up, Elvis. Up.”

  Elvis stared at her, only getting so far standing on his back legs. “Good enough for a start. Here’s your dinner.” She arranged a plate of scrambled eggs, fruit, and veggies while he wound in and out between her feet. As soon as she set the food down, he heartily ate. His throaty purrs punctuated the quiet kitchen.

  “You’ll never pass for a cat, but I love you anyway.” She wasn’t lying. It was unusual for shifters to like pets, but her family was different that way. And there was something charming about this mammal, even if he was a little more off-putting initially.

  Lea didn’t have an appetite herself. Instead, she slipped on shorts
and, keeping her tank top on, set about her Pilates exercises in the living room, her makeshift studio.

  The series of ballet-like exercises required all her concentration. It was the best thing she could do to stay in shape. An ankle injury had put an end to her own dance career. She missed leaping, and she’d been good at it.

  After about thirty minutes of Pilates, her muscles loosened up. She slid into a split on the living room floor. With one leg directly behind her, she stretched her other leg out before her and leaned forward, wrapping her hands around her front foot. She repositioned herself to a center split, walking her hands out, then in again. The stretch from her tense back muscles all the way down to her groin felt heavenly. Lea sighed.

  Her pleasure was interrupted by Caleb’s key in the door.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Hey, don’t get up on my account,” Caleb said and grinned, pulling the key out of the lock. His backpack hung over one shoulder, and he held a brown paper bag in his other hand. “Did you eat yet?”

  Lea shook her head. “I’m not too hungry.” She rotated her ankles, still sitting in her split. The damn right one was still tender.

  “You haven’t tried my quesadillas,” he said.

  “You know those are just grilled cheese, right?”

  “It’s all in how you flip them.”

  Lea raised an eyebrow at Caleb as he unpacked the groceries.

  “Wine?” he asked.

  “Please.” She reached her arms over her head, savoring the last stretch. Then she got up and headed to the kitchen. Caleb still wore his hospital scrubs. Was there anything he wore that wouldn’t make her want him?

  They’d not spoken since the incident in the shed. She accepted the glass of wine, glad he couldn’t read her thoughts, which were a mixed-up, jumbled mess.

  He looked down at his clothes. “I left as soon as I wrapped up my work. If I stayed around to shower, there’s always a chance I’d get sucked into more work.”

  The chardonnay tingled pleasantly down her throat. She couldn’t help wondering: had he found the remedy to the mark? Being in constant lust for him was distracting. Something was sure putting him in a good mood, though.