by Drew VanDyke
Will turned to me and said, “Let’s go cruising.”
Before I had a chance to say anything in response, JR crowed, “Yeah! Woohoo! We’re going cruising! American Graffiti style!” and went to put on his shoes. He’d been raised on that movie, as – did I tell you this before? – George Lucas had filmed it in nearby Modesto, and its success had given him enough juice to have Star Wars made, another of JR’s favorites, of course.
“What a great idea!” Amber turned to Elle. “We should all go. We can take the SUV.”
Elle narrowed her eyes at Amber.
“Hey, I think if I’m going to be a part of the Street Witches, I should probably see up close what they’re doing,” Amber continued.
“I suppose.” Elle followed Amber to the bedroom to change from slippers to sneakers. I grabbed the jug of sun tea from the porch and went back to the pool house to stock up on cloves and fill a water bottle with Ashlee’s Long Island Tea of Tranquility. Hey, if I was going to revisit my glory days – or the sins of my past – I was at least going to be fortified with something better than Amber’s potion, California’s open container laws be damned.
I call shotgun! Siegfried dashed for the garage as we headed for the vehicle. I guess the dogs were coming on this excursion as well.
John Robert sat between his moms in the front seat and laughed as we drove down Olive to the Foster’s Freeze next to the White Rabbit, a popular bruncheon spot for the aspiring magick crowd, landmarking the beginning of Main Street, Knightsbridge, California, USA.
At the edge of the street, a group of women, children and a few men, all dressed in all shades of yellow, poured out of a large lemon-colored pup tent and ran around. Some waved saffron streamers on sticks; others twirled flags, set off rainbow blooming flowers or fought over a couple of blue-and-canary lawn chairs. They sold drinks from a Knightsbridge Trojans cooler and sported a big banner that announced them as Station #1 of the Street Witches, Eastside Daughters of the Eternal, or SWEDEs for short. That seemed appropriate, given the many Scandinavians who’d settled the town so long ago.
We rolled up beside them on the side of the street and Elle rolled down the window.
“Hey Bea,” she said, and the whole car echoed as a half-familiar woman stuck her head in and gave us a brilliant smile.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen.” She gave Will a nod and settled her warm sunny disposition onto my nephew. “Well, what have we here? I’ve never seen you around here before and I know everybody.”
“It’s just me, Aunt Bea,” John Robert responded, and dawned on me that we were looking at JR’s Sunday School teacher, Beatrix Soderstrom. The oddity of a witch holding that job would hit me later.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Inaugural run, is it?” she asked him.
“First time for everything.” Amber smiled.
“Well, Team Gordon-Scott,” she admonished with a wag of her finger, “obey all street signs, keep it moving, and Chinese fire drills only at stop lights with a Street Witches station on the corner.”
“What’s a Chinese fire drill?” JR asked.
“You’ll see!” we all answered together, laughing. Oh, this was going to be fun.
“What’s a Chinese fire drill? What’s a Chinese fire drill?”
I swear the kid did not let up until we hit Station #2, Street Witches Northside Brothers of the Eternal, or SWiNBEs, as they said it. Yes, the acronym was a bit more forced. This station held mostly men and their children dressed in green, with kids holding glow sticks and waving around emerald sparklers.
We rolled up to the red light. Amber and I looked at each other from between the seats and screamed, “CHINESE FIRE DRILL!”
The universe seemed to slow around us, the people thronging downtown stopped to watch as colored lights from above spotlit the car. We all clambered out of the vehicle and made one revolution of the SUV before climbing back in and starting the car again just as the light turned green. It always happened that way, and everyone clapped and laughed as we drove on.
“Oh my gosh. I was so afraid we weren’t going to make it,” Elle deadpanned as JR hopped up and down on the seat.
“Let’s do it again! Let’s do it again!”
And though I know it might be fun for him, I realized that I’d begun feeling claustrophobic. “Hey Elle, can you pull over at the next street witches station. I think I’d like to walk for a while.”
“Me too,” Will said, which was fine.
She stopped at Street Witches Station #3, Southside Sons of the Eternal, or SWiSSE, and let Will and me out among the crowd gathered there. These men were a bit more somber; maybe it was the color red that seemed to portend something disastrous. I think the colors had something to do with the cardinal directions, but I couldn’t remember what red stood for. I’d ask Amber later.
Will walked beside me and as natural as breathing slipped his hand into mine. “Quarter for your thoughts?” he asked.
I snorted. “A quarter?”
He shrugged. “Inflation.”
“What happened to a nickel or a dime?”
“What can you get for a nickel or a dime anymore?”
“You can get nickeled-and-dimed.”
“Or get a dime dropped on you.”
“By Professor Plum in the dime store with the nickel-plated revolver.”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Exactly.”
“Wierdo.”
“Maniac.”
“Lunatic.”
“Luna, moon. Ooo, that’s actually spot-on. So I was thinking about the pups,” I began.
Will interrupted. He was doing that a lot more than he used to and it was annoying. “Me too.”
“I think we should –” I said.
“I think we should –” he said simultaneously
…And I said, “wait,” while he said, “do it soon, do it now!”
Hoo, boy.
“Will, you just turned. You’ve only experienced one MoonFall and frankly I think we need a little more time together before we become puppy parents.”
“Okay, I get that. But it’s only going to affect you while you’re turned, right?”
“I don’t know that. Maybe. Probably. That’s what I’m told. Worst-case scenario puts me in a perpetual state of PMS. But I’m a little more concerned about your behavior lately.”
“Yeah, I’ve been a gen-u-wine moody bastard,” Will said in a Sam Elliot drawl, mimicking Sully, who obviously must have called him that at one time or another.
“Glad we agree on something.” I tried to pull away but he snuggled up closer to me.
“Grr,” I growled, only half annoyed.
“Grr,” he growled right back as we walked, shoulders pressed together.
“Hey Ashlee! Lookin’ good!” Greg Anderson, an old school chum, yelled at me from his tricked-out convertible roadster with the top down. The girl in the front seat next to him waved.
I laughed. “Hey Kira! Can you please keep a leash on your dad? I’m already taken, thanks!”
Will stood stock still in his tracks, nostrils flaring.
“WILL!” I had to step in front of him as his blue eyes began to glow – yes, literally glow – with an amber corona around the iris. “Will,” I began again, softer this time, hugging him to make sure he didn’t move. “Honey. Greg is just an old friend from high school. He’s married. We never even dated. You remember him, don’t you?”
“Argh,” he answered. “Sorry. I just. I’ve never thought about myself as the jealous type. I mean, I always knew a part of me was an animal, but…”
“But now that means more than you ever bargained for?”
“Guess so,” he said. “It scares me. It’s like times ten.”
I stared up at him, my chin pointed at his, and waited. People flowed around, ignoring us. Plenty of lovers on the streets, the night and the lights relaxing the usual small-town standards, ice cream cones or pretzels or churros or drinks in
their hands. At moments like these, Main Street in Knightsbridge seemed like Disneyland, warm and magical.
Will said, “You know my dad had a temper. He only snapped once, but it was pretty nasty. Went on a bender. Said some horrible things to my mom and me. Came to us the next day weeping at our feet begging for our forgiveness. I don’t know which was worse, his anger or his shame.”
“You’re not him.”
“We’re all products of our parents and our upbringing, Ash. For better or for worse. I know it’s cliché, but I don’t know if we actually make any choices in our lives or if it’s just circumstances making us dance like puppets on strings.”
“The fact that you’re struggling with this shows we choose.”
“You didn’t choose to be a…” He lowered his voice and pulled me over to an unoccupied bench, out of the way of the foot traffic. “You know.”
“But I do choose what to do with it,” I replied, stroking his cheek. “You’re having the equivalent of your first period, hon. I know it ain’t much fun, but it will settle down as you get used to it. Remember, your response is your responsibility. Control your emotions or your emotions will control you.”
“You’re one to talk.”
I sighed. “Oh, I know. I can be bad sometimes, but I’m not six-two and well known in town. And my livelihood doesn’t depend on not being arrested for assault.”
“I dunno. It’s hard to be a travel writer from jail. Okay, I get it.” He took my hand and brought it down. “But about the pups…”
“I think we need to wait a while,” I said. I wanted to seem like the perfectly reasonable girlfriend when I know I’m not, but I also wasn’t ready to be a mommy, dog or human. Or hybrid, either. I wondered what would happen if two lycanthropes in wolf-man form mated. Have to ask Jackson about that one sometime.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Will said as we neared Station #4, Street Witches Westside Sisters of the Eternal, dressed appropriately all in blue. These abbreviated their piece or sect or chapter as SWWaSE, which for no particular reason made me thing of Swayze in Ghost.
What’s weird was, standing right next to them were Elle, Amber, JR and Ghost Mom. I guess they had pulled over somewhere and got out. Behind the crowd was a man dressed like a Mormon missionary, on a podium with a bullhorn.
The parking lot of Youngdale’s was the official terminating point of Main Street before it made a 45-degree angle due west and became tree-lined West Main, making a beeline toward the California coast a good two hours away. It was also a gathering place for those who enjoyed walking the downtown stretch rather than driving it, and it included many families.
I guess recently it had also become a staging point for the evangelists who believed it was their job to save the world, one convert at a time, God love them. Don’t get me wrong, I’d prayed the prayer, too many times probably. I had my fire insurance – once saved always saved, after all – but hellfire and brimstone? This was new for Knightsbridge.
“Repent, for the End of Days is at hand! Beware the prophecy of the Blood Moon which forecasts the coming of the apocalypse,” he bellowed. “Don’t waste your life cruising Main Street! Turn to God, not these spawns of Satan claiming to protect you as they usher you up and down the main street of perdition! Wide is the road that leads to destruction and narrow the gate that leads to everlasting life!”
I wasn’t quite sure how he connected cruising with the apocalypse, and if he really knew his Bible he might have run across “by their fruits shall ye know them.” And I’m pretty sure there’s no mention of a Blood Moon anywhere in Holy Scripture. I googled the phrase and “Bible” just to be sure.
Nope, no Blood Moon, not even in the Book of Revelation, though at least once the moon turns red as blood.
Ya think?
Naw.
Still, his words seemed to resonate. As I pondered the incoherent rambling of the street preacher and the excess of Polo cologne covering his sweaty skin, I decided I’d better find out more about this Blood Moon prophecy. Maybe he’d tapped into something. I’m pretty sure Aleister Crowley had said, “The spiritual is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” Or something like that.
Meanwhile, Amber looked like she was having a heated argument with Elle, who was holding on to her elbow keeping her from tackling the preacher. The last thing we need here in Knightsbridge is a fanatic calling us all sinners and scaring away the tourists.
I think everyone knows deep down they are sinners, after all. I mean, who hasn’t done something wrong, even mean and nasty? But it was kind of like “everybody poops.” We don’t need to have the details thrust in our faces when we’re trying to have a nice evening out. There’s a time and place for a life-changing epiphany of guilt, usually right after hitting rock bottom and right before deciding to enter a twelve-step program, but this wasn’t it.
I’m only partway being facetious on that one. I know there are those who believe that the world is going to hell in a hand-basket, but I choose to believe that the Eternal Divine still has His and Her hand on humanity, hoping we’ll one day sort ourselves out, with a little help from above, I suppose.
Anyway, Ghost Mom had her insubstantial arms around JR, who in turn had his hands full with Spanky, who was barking like mad at the street preacher. He was also juggling the pull of Siegfried’s leash around his wrist, though how he ended up with both dogs, I don’t know. Ghost Mom was losing the fight to help, and JR got dragged away from the Street Witches’ encampment to stand in front of the missionary.
Will and I hurried to cut him off at the pass, but it was too late. The street preacher stopped speaking to look at the child, nonplussed. Okay, not such a bad thing, I guess. “This is no place for good young men,” he said, wiping his forehead. He was so not dressed for an evening in the high eighties.
“My dog doesn’t like you,” JR said with perfect, nonjudgmental sincerity, like he was merely conveying indisputable fact.
Siegfried agreed by baring his teeth at the sweaty man.
“My other dog doesn’t seem to like you either,” he went on.
“I’m more of a cat person,” the street preacher said and grinned. He actually had a little bit of charm if you could get past the cologne. But cats? Hell, no.
So, maybe I’m prejudiced, but I don’t trust cat people. Never had, never will. Anyone who could put up with the manipulative, coy, fickle personalities that typically come with cats makes my inner wolf sit up and take notice. Unless it was a lion or a tiger, I think she thought that the word cat meant prey. I, me the human, just thought they were nuisances. Maybe you know more than I do, but if cats are an acquired taste, then I was sensory-deficient in that area. Although they might taste good, I mused.
And we don’t play with our food, Siegfried commented. Most of the time. And then he bit the man. Okay, actually he merely closed his mouth gently on the man’s hand as he had with mine. It wasn’t Siegfried’s fault the guy yanked it out of the poodle’s jaws, catching a ring on the dog’s teeth and drawing blood.
“Siegfried, No!” Elle grabbed Siegfried’s collar and pulled him away.
Mmm, tasty, Siegfried said in my head.
“Oh my gosh, sir. Are you hurt?” Amber asked, putting on her most polite customer-service solicitousness and hiding any of her usual intolerance for children and fools.
Oh, yeah, that was me. Amber is much better at soothing ruffled feathers than I. Me, I was enjoying the smell of fresh blood in the air. But Will was growling, and that wasn’t good. I dug my nails in his arm and pulled him away from the crowd and into an alleyway.
“I’m losing it, Ash,” he said, his eyes glazing over with bloodlust.
“Just breathe, babe. Take long, deep breaths.”
“I don’t wanna take deep long breaths. I wanna take my claws and –”
I cut him off there. “And what? Rip the guy limb from limb?” I raised my voice and got into his face, my alpha against his whatever. I knew it was a
power play and normally I wouldn’t do it, but somebody was going to have to get this under control and since the pack wasn’t here, I guess it was going to have to be me. “Because I’ve done that, Will. And it’s not pretty!”
That got through to him, I guess, enough so he calmed down. His eyes turned human again and he laughed ruefully. “Okay. I got it.”
And though I wanted to be mad at him, I just couldn’t. You’ve got to have a morbid sense of humor as a werewolf, otherwise you’d be crying all the time. So, to take all the sting out, I kissed him.
We turned back to see how the scene was playing out, and I noticed Con Shelby, in his usual suit, hat and walking stick, stepping up behind the agitated street preacher. Hey, I didn’t really blame him for being agitated, what with a big white daemon dog appearing to bite him.
Anyway, I got that itchy feeling in my sinuses just as Shelby tried some kind of fang magic on the guy. I said “tried” because whatever it was, he botched it miserably, or at least it failed.
Worse than failed, it seemed to backfire. The man spun around and pointed with his Bible like a gun, yelling, “I see you, Spawn of Satan! I feel your presence! Get thee back to thy grave and stay there!”
I’d thought this guy was all talk, but when Shelby reeled back and had to be caught by several members of the watching crowd, I knew something more was going on. Whatever mojo he had, it was enough to take a vampire off guard.
Shelby staggered to his feet and straightened his lapels, giving the man a shrewd, though not particularly angry, glare. “I’m no more familiar with the grave than you, Mister Willoughby, and I’ll trouble you to cease your assaults upon my person.”
I wondered how Shelby knew his name. Maybe magic, maybe he’d just seen the man around before.
Willoughby said, “So it is always with the evil ones, attacking first and then claiming offense when they are defeated by righteousness.”