Thunder Moon

by Lori Handeland

  I half-expected her to keep whispering, lost in another world where Ben still answered, but instead she said, “Hey, Grace.”

  We’d gone to high school together, though she’d been a few years younger than me. However, in a town like this, everyone knew everyone else and most of their business, which made me wonder why I hadn’t known her husband was sick.

  “What was wrong with Ben?” I asked.

  “Wrong?” Nora’s forehead wrinkled. “I think he’s dead.”

  “I meant when did he get sick? What did he have?”

  “Ben’s never been sick a day in his life. Hardly even a cold. He made me so mad.”

  I glanced at Ian, who shrugged. “You’re sure he didn’t see a doctor lately?”

  “He hated doctors. No offense,” she threw in Ian’s direction.

  “I’m not wild about most of them myself,” he said, and Nora’s lips curved just a little.

  “Can you tell us what happened tonight?” I pressed.

  Nora’s smile faded. “I got up to get some water, and there was this awful noise. I ran back to bed, and he was gasping, clutching his throat.” Her voice broke; she buried her face in her hands.

  I patted her, as clumsy with it as Cal had been, then joined Ian by the door.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling,” he said.

  “I’ve had one for days. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t be sure until we’ve got an autopsy report, but I think the Raven Mocker’s figured out how to steal the lives of the living.”

  I got a sudden chill, even though the room was July-in-Georgia warm. “That’s not what the legend says.”

  Ian’s eyes met mine. “Legends are made to be broken.”

  * * *

  “Merry was as heartless as the rest of them,” Doc said in lieu of ‘hello’. He complained about caller ID, but he had it, too.

  “I’ve got another one.”

  Doc sighed, sounding as exhausted as I felt. “Who is it this time?”

  I’d moved out of the bedroom and into the hall, not wanting Nora to hear me call the medical examiner and order an autopsy. Ian had run back to the clinic to get his bag so he could sedate her if she didn’t stop whispering to the dead. Before I’d called Doc, I’d called Nora’s mother, who was on the way.

  “Ben Fitzhugh,” I answered.

  “What? He’s maybe twenty-five.”

  “He doesn’t fit the profile,” I said, “but then, neither did Merry. At least when she died.” An idea flickered. “I wonder if the Raven Mocker didn’t know that until it was too late?”

  “The what?”

  Whoops. Doc was still under the impression we were dealing with aliens. I hated to burst his bubble, but quickly I filled him in.

  “You think that makes more sense than alien invasion and pods in the basement?” he asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not really.”

  “All the evidence points to the killer being a Raven Mocker. The loud shrieking, the lack of a heart in the victims, lack of a scar from the removal, and the storm on the night of the Thunder Moon.”

  “Except the Raven Mocker steals the lives of the dying. So what about Merry and Ben? If Ben’s actually a victim and not just a fluke. We won’t know for sure until I crack his chest.”

  Sometimes Doc was too blunt even for me.

  “Legends are made to be broken.”

  “True,” he agreed. “When dealing with the supernatural, it’s good to remember that anything can happen. You have a theory?”

  “What if the Raven Mocker didn’t know Merry was in remission, killed her anyway and discovered it could, so it moved on to a completely healthy victim with Ben? In killing a person who has years left, the witch would gain so much more time than it’s ever gained before.”

  “If that’s the case, no one’s safe.”

  I didn’t bother to curse, even though I wanted to.

  “I’ll be there in ten,” Doc said.

  I hung up. Ian stood just inside the front door. “You heard?”

  He nodded. “We’d better figure out how to identify this witch before the thing eats every heart in town.”

  “Got any ideas?”

  “Actually, I do.”

  Chapter 29

  Ian’s idea for identifying our culprit involved visiting every elderly man and woman in Lake Bluff and surrounding areas and gifting them with a buzzard feather.

  According to him, the Raven Mocker should appear as a withered senior citizen—cronelike with the weight of the days it had stolen. Such an appearance for a witch seemed too cliché, but then, clichés became clichés for a reason.

  Before we’d left on our odyssey, we’d stopped in town, where I’d bought enough underwear, jeans, and shirts to last me a week. Ian had bought postcards to run through his computer.

  While I’d taken a shower and changed, he’d made up fairly professional-looking flyers for his new clinic, then attached a buzzard feather to each of them. People didn’t seem to think that was any odder than the sheriff, wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, escorting the new doctor, also in jeans and a black T-shirt, but wearing cowboy boots instead of sneakers, from door to door.

  No one had burst into flames or cried, “I’m melting!” Not one person had hesitated to take the buzzard feather at all.

  “How many buzzards are now bald?” I asked.

  “Buzzards are kind of bald anyway.”

  “Are you sure these things repel a witch? What’s supposed to happen?”

  “Extreme aversion to the feather.”

  “Cringe, cry, run away?”

  “Maybe all three.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How many witches have you dealt with?”

  “Enough.”

  “Any Raven Mockers?”

  “Not personally, no.”

  “Swell.” Was it too much to ask that he’d be an expert in this field? Apparently.

  We continued to visit the elderly. We continued to have no luck. We never ran out of feathers, though. I swear the basket was like the proverbial fish and bread for the masses; the more elderly there were, the more feathers we had.

  I’d checked in and told Cal I was taking a personal day, which he assumed was because of the fire, and I let him. Once Claire got to work and heard about the incident, she called and made me promise to come to dinner.

  Since I needed to update her on the latest in paranormal occurrences, I accepted. When she found out I was spending the day with Ian, she invited him, too. I felt weird about that, like it was a date, but the least I could do was provide him with dinner.

  Later, Sam called. The investigator had ruled the fire accidental. Even though the night had been clear, enough people had heard thunder and seen what they swore was lightning to blame just that for my torched roof. I knew better, but what could I say? A shape-shifting witch had thrown sparks out her ass and onto my shingles? I’d get the insurance money regardless, so I kept my mouth shut.

  We finished my list of old folks without having one person behave oddly. However, there were at least half a dozen on the list who hadn’t been home, including Quatie, which disturbed me more than I liked. Where could she be? It wasn’t as though she belonged to the local book club or women’s society. She didn’t even drive.

  “We’ll make Quatie’s place our first stop tomorrow,” Ian said.

  Just as we had at every house where we hadn’t been able to hand one to the resident directly, I tacked the buzzard feather to the front porch. If it didn’t reveal the Raven Mocker, the feather could then protect the holder from the Raven Mocker. Ian’s test became a charm.

  We rang the doorbell at the Cartwrights’ at 6:00 p.m. Ian had insisted on stopping at Goldman’s Save U and buying a bottle of wine and some flowers for Claire. I brought the bright orange pacifier in the shape of a basketball that I’d been unable to resist buying for Noah. Malachi would just have to be content with the pleasure of our company.

  The do
or flew open. Claire didn’t even say hello before she hugged me so hard I coughed.

  “What’s wrong with you?” She had me worried. “Where’s Noah? Mal!”

  Malachi appeared in the hall with the baby, saw Claire mauling me, and shook his head. “Ye scared her half t’ death, Grace.”

  His Irish accent was more pronounced than I’d heard it in a long, long time.

  “What’d I do?”

  “She finds out your house was on fire and you didn’t call, you didn’t come to us?”

  “Sorry. I—”

  Claire’s gaze went to Ian and she smiled. “Dr. Walker, come in. Are these for me? Thank you.”

  Suddenly all mayoral, she turned and headed for the kitchen. Now that she’d hugged me and made sure I was in one piece, she was going to make me pay. I suppose I deserved it.

  I should have called. I’d have been pissed if the situation were reversed. I’d given her a seriously hard time for taking off to Atlanta and leaving me behind, even though the only way she could have gotten me out of Lake Bluff would have been to shanghai me.

  We were best friends, and we were supposed to share everything, depend on each other. Just because she was married and I—

  Well, I wasn’t. That didn’t mean I shouldn’t follow the best-friend rules. They were women law. Break them at your own risk.

  I took Noah and offered him the new pacifier, which he promptly started drooling on as he laid his cheek against my chest.

  Something bumped against my ankles, and I glanced down to see Oprah rubbing her head on me just like she used to. I went down on one knee and scratched behind her ears. She began to purr.

  One of Noah’s wildly waving hands smacked Oprah’s tail. Before I could stop him, his fingers latched on and yanked. Instead of hissing, Oprah went still and let him tug. Definitely true love.

  I pried Noah’s fingers loose. They came away covered in cat hairs, which I began to pick off one by one.

  “Come along and have a drink on the deck.” Mal led the way through the kitchen.

  Claire had opened the wine and put the flowers in water. She was messing with something on the stove that didn’t appear to need messing with, but what did I know about cooking?

  “Need help?” I asked.

  She snorted.

  “Guess not.”

  “Ah chroi,” Mal murmured, and her shoulders raised and lowered on a sigh.

  “I actually could use a hand bringing the drinks out. Does anyone want anything other than wine?”

  We declined, so she began to pull out wineglasses. I turned to hand Noah to Mal, but he’d already stepped outside.

  “Here.” Ian held out his hands. I hesitated, and he tilted his head. “I’m a doctor, Grace. I’ve held quite a few babies. Haven’t dropped one yet.”

  “Of course not.” I handed Noah over, and he curled up on Ian’s chest with as much trust as he’d cuddled against mine.

  The men disappeared outside. Claire poured four glasses of wine, then handed me one and took a sip of her own.

  “I screwed up,” I said.

  “Big-time. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Yes, Madame Mayor.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed. “I thought we were making up.”

  “We are. But sometimes I just can’t shut my mouth.”

  “Most times. Now tell me what’s going on around here, but first take the boys their drinks.” She handed me a bottle for Noah, which I tucked in a pocket, then picked up the other two glasses of wine.

  Mal and Ian faced the trees that lined the property, watching the sun fall and chatting about—

  “NASCAR?” I said incredulously.

  Mal shrugged. “I like fast cars.”

  “And you?” I asked Ian.

  “What’s not to like?”

  Noah spit his basketball pacifier directly into Ian’s face. Ian caught the thing before it fell to the ground and laid it on the table. He really did seem to have a knack for kids.

  I set the bottle between the two men, figuring Ian would turn Noah over to his dad for the feeding. But they continued to talk about drivers I’d never heard of. I couldn’t stand car racing, probably because all of my brothers had watched it incessantly. Around and around and around. Crash, bang, explosion. Snore.

  I reached the sliding glass doors that separated the deck from the kitchen and glanced back just in time to see Ian shift Noah into the crook of his arm and pop the bottle into his mouth as if he’d done the same thing a hundred times before.

  My chest tightened; my eyes went hot, and I had to turn away before I embarrassed myself. The sight made me want him in ways that didn’t involve being naked in the night. Ways that were far more dangerous.

  I practically dived inside and nearly smacked into Claire, who was watching him, too. Her gaze met mine. “He could be a keeper.”

  “Too bad someone else is already keeping him.”

  “He’s married?”

  “So I hear.”

  Claire looked at him again. “He doesn’t seem married.”

  “How does someone seem married?”

  “They just do.” She handed me my wine, which she’d topped off to the brim in contrast to every Southern Belle Rule of Etiquette.

  Claire and I had always done our best to break all those rules as often as we could. I took a swig instead of a dainty sip; she did the same and we clinked glasses, then leaned against the counter, as I filled her in on everything that had happened.

  “Raven Mocker,” she repeated. “That’s a new one.”

  “So was werewolf, but we handled it.”

  She lifted her glass in a salute. “And now the thing’s moved on to the young, the strong, the healthy.”

  “Yeah.” I took another swig of wine.

  Doc had tagged me by noon with the news I had dreaded. No heart in the chest of Ben Fitzhugh, either.

  “Maybe we should call Elise again.” Claire glanced toward the deck where the men continued to lounge. “At least see what she knows about this other secret society.”

  Since I did want to give the woman a piece of my mind, I dialed the number.

  “What can you tell me about the Nighthawk Keetoowahs?” I asked as soon as she picked up. I could ignore “hello” as easily as she did.

  “He told you,” Elise said. “Interesting.”

  “You said you knew nothing about him.”

  “I said he wasn’t in my database of paranormal baddies.”

  I wondered if she knew about his tendency to go eagle eyed, literally, then decided I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. Two could play at the secret game.

  “I called you for help and you didn’t give me any.”

  “There here are quite a few ancient groups that were fighting evil long before the Jäger-Suchers showed up. We work with them sometimes, but against them never, which means I don’t give away their identity to anyone who calls and asks.”

  “I’m not just anyone.”

  “The secret was his to share, which he did, so what are you whining about?”

  God, she was annoying.

  “We’ve discovered we have a Raven Mocker in Lake Bluff.”

  “I haven’t heard that one before.”

  “Ian seemed familiar with it.”

  “Then you’re lucky he’s there.”

  “We could use a little help of the J-S variety.”

  “Can’t do it. We’ve got...” She paused. “Issues.”

  “What kind of issues?”

  “Creepy things are crawling all over the place. Like I told you before, I can’t spare anyone, especially when you seem to have things under control.”

  “People are dying here!”

  “People are dying everywhere, Sheriff, and at a lot higher rate than usual. I have confidence you and your people will prevail just as you did the last time you were visited by supernatural creatures.”

  In the background I heard phones ringing, people shouting, buzzers buzzing. Sounded as if a
ll hell were breaking loose.

  Elise hung up, or maybe the line went dead. I couldn’t tell. I glanced at Claire, lifted a brow.

  “I got the gist,” she said. “They aren’t coming.”

  “She annoys me anyway.”

  “What is it with you two?”

  “Ian thinks her wolf smells my panther and the other way around.”

  Claire’s eyes sharpened. “You been turning furry and not telling me about it?”

  “No. But according to legend, my clan descended from panthers.”

  “Which explains your collection obsession,” she said. “You believe that?”

  “I’m not sure. Stranger things have happened.”

  We ate dinner outside—grilled fish, garlic potatoes, steamed broccoli, and a lot more wine.

  Noah sat in his swing and watched us, wide eyes on Ian all the time. I think he had a crush. Which just made two of us.

  As darkness fell, we said good night. Though Claire had insisted I stay with them, I’d refused. I was going to get that hotel room tonight.

  Really.

  Ian and I could have walked from Claire’s to his place and then I could have gone on to a hotel. Except I had my truck, and it was full of packages, and I’d need it in the morning, so I drove down the hill, slowing as we neared the clinic.

  Someone stood outside. Ian cursed, then lay down, putting his head in my lap. “Keep driving.”

  Katrine leaned against the brick wall. The streetlight spilled down, revealing her usual tight, low-cut blouse and short skirt. Her hair had been curled and teased into the trademark trailer trash big hair, and she wore a shade of lipstick that must be labeled Ruby Red Botox.

  “Go to the hotel,” Ian whispered, as if she could hear him. “I’ll help you check in and then walk back. Hopefully she’ll be gone by then.”

  His breath puffed against my knee, warm and moist. I shifted in the seat as other places grew warm and moist. I wished I could forget the times he’d touched me, but I wasn’t sure I ever would.

  “She’s been hitting on you?”

  “A little.”

  Knowing Katrine, a little was more like a lot.

  “You tell her you were married?”

  “Yep.”

  “She didn’t care?”

  “Nope.”

  “I think you can sit up now.”