Strange Omens

by Jim Stein

  ***

  After roaming half the town, we found Max exactly where I left him, sitting on his bed like we were the lost ones. I could have strangled that dog, but at least I got to talk with Quinn. Of course we mostly discussed the show and the thimble full of knowledge we collectively had on cougars. It was a start.

  All too soon, the band retired to the RV and my sister and I headed to the hotel. The night was peaceful, except for a few gunshots that in the morning proved to be just to scare off coyotes.

  “Where to next?” Piper asked as she turned the car onto blacktop.

  The morning was frosty, and I hadn’t felt like pulling out the maps. We were basically just following the giant recreational vehicle so weren’t likely to get lost. I knew where we were heading, but saying it out loud had my arms bumped up in goose flesh, which couldn’t have been a good sign at all.

  “I-90 to fourteen south, Deadwood.”

  14. Deadwood

  E IGHT HOURS of gorgeous scenery later, we rolled into the narrow chasm of a town that was Deadwood, South Dakota. Contrary to its name, tall ridges bursting with pine, aspen, and birch rose to either side of our little convoy. We trundled down the main strip, gawking at Victorian architecture and pristine brickwork—an isolated pocket of history.

  “Why are they dumping out so much ice?” Piper pulled in to park between Pioneer and a five-foot pile of tiny ice cubes at the rear of a five-story stone hotel.

  “Maybe their machines are broken?”

  I looked down the alleyway. The back of each building was as well maintained as the front, but other piles of ice glistened in the afternoon sun. An epidemic of faulty icemakers seemed improbable.

  “Hail!” Billy jogged toward us. “It came in over the radio. Can you believe this is all freakin’ hail?”

  He kicked at the pile. A spray of half-inch chunks skittered across the cement. I thought of winter storms back home and the snow piled high from plows. Judging by the heaps, the hail must have been a good two inches deep before plowing.

  “What kind of weather do they have out here?” I asked.

  “Wicked and wonderful. The temperature rose so fast today I saw a cow split in two on the ride over.” Billy’s grin was infectious. “These one-off shows just get better and better.”

  I shook my head, not knowing how to respond. The band had three more of these engagements before hitting the big event in Milwaukee. “So, a real concert hall tonight?”

  “Too right. Stage hands, lights, even comfy seats. But first, I’m heading up there.” Billy pointed up the insanely steep street heading off to our left. “Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane are buried in Mount Moriah Cemetery.”

  Billy made it back before the show, but it was a close thing that had Manfred furious. Luckily, Billy didn’t sing lead, because the steep incline had challenged even his long legs. In spite of the road manager’s reprimand, he panted through a big smile as the band hit the stage.

  Unlike Bridleville, the show went off without a hitch. The music hall’s acoustics rocked, and I grabbed a quality set of recordings. Between the locals and our groupies, we halfway filled the plush concert hall. Piper stood with Manfred and Rhonda at the start of the show, but Billy’s stunt left the manager sullen and moody. The women moved off to a corner during the third number, chatting like old friends.

  Anna’s group seemed more at ease with their new additions. Downer Dan even smiled and joked with the other two men. He slipped his arm around Anna as I walked over, and I bit down a curse. Maybe the Brights simply rubbed off on him. It was a surprise to see Cindy. The mayor’s daughter was awfully young to be on a cross-country trip. But so was Anna, and the two stuck close together.

  “Ed, this is Aarav and Claude.” Anna introduced the men. “And of course you remember Cindy, from Bridleville…and this is Dan.”

  I thought the Grim was extending his hand to shake, but his arm snaked around Anna again. Rather than brush him off, she gave a half-apologetic smile.

  “Haven’t seen you at the shows, Eddy.” Dan was spindly, with a sneer to match his gaunt features.

  “It’s just Ed,” I said, teeth grinding as I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “Gotta watch behind you. I record from about halfway back.”

  “Are the Chords putting out a live album?” Like most Brights, Aarav’s head bobbed to an unheard beat. A few years older, his dark hair and skin spoke of ancestry rooted in India.

  “That’s up to the promoter, but it makes sense. The material is solid, so all Double-M has to do is remix what I capture. Shouldn’t take more than a month post-tour.”

  “We’ll watch for it!” Claude gave me a double thumbs-up, blond perm bouncing with his enthusiastic nod. “Dan, your friends in Milwaukee could make sure copies get out to the golden state.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think they’d be interested.” His sneer was back.

  Anna finally slipped from beneath Dan’s arm and moved to stand between me and Cindy, who let out a sigh of relief. Claude didn’t seem to notice.

  “At least ask, man!” The muscular surfer’s enthusiasm was undiminished—I assumed he surfed. He had the look. “You keep saying what great things await us out east, so make some shit happen, dude.”

  “Yeah, Dan,” Anna chimed in. “Pull your weight for a change. This is something we really want.”

  “Your wants are”—Dan bit off his statement and sucked in a short breath—“duly noted. If you still desire that sort of help after we get there, we’ll see what can be…arranged.”

  I got the impression he rarely lifted a finger for anyone but himself, which made it all the more baffling why Anna’s group let him hang around. In my book, his dramatic pauses and stilted delivery pushed Danno from condescending to just plain creepy, like the bad guy in an old horror flick. What a drama queen.

  “Speaking of albums, I need to go deliver tonight’s recordings.” I was happy to have an excuse to extract myself. “See you in Old Milwaukee, gathering place by the lake.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Anna gave me a big hug.

  Dan graced me with a smirk and tilted head, as if impressed by my knowing what Milwaukee meant while implying I had the meaning wrong. Jerk.

  ***

  “You could have brought them before I packed up.” Rhonda looked down her slender nose at me.

  “Okay.” What did you say to something like that?

  “Your labeling is inconsistent.” She flipped through the recording sticks. “If I have to do all the work, why does Manny even have you?”

  “Maybe if you told me how you want them done?” I labeled each channel with the frequency band, instrument, and date, same as last time.

  “Never mind. I’ll do it, same as always. Honestly, setting out a few pickups and pushing the record button hardly pays for your room and board, especially when you drag that blasted animal around with you!”

  A stab of guilt caught me, but I shoved it aside. Double-M footed the bill for our accommodations, but they basically had a free album coming, more than fair compensation. Manfred’s assistant had it in for Max. I don’t know why the woman hated my dog, but the feeling was mutual. He never growled or barked, but I didn’t miss how his hackles rose and tail stiffened anytime she approached.

  “Well, if there’s anything else I can help with, just let me know.” I gave Rhonda a dazzling smile, figuring it would confuse the tight-assed bitch.

  One of those freak mid-west storms broke as we rushed to finish loading the equipment. Stars shone bright in the clear night sky, except to the south, where a black mass replaced the constellations. The darkness grew, swallowing the stars and half-moon overhead. Wind slammed into us, the temperature plummeted, and heavy fat raindrops slapped down, stinging and cold.

  “Crap, that hurts,” I blurted out as Piper, Quinn, and I dashed for an overhang.

  Puddles formed impossibly fast around our feet as we huddled against the back of the theater. Someone rolled out the powered awning on Pioneer to shield Ma
nfred and the rest of the band as they shuffled equipment into the basement storage compartments. The wind gusted in howling waves, and I imagined the awning tearing off like a paper towel.

  “It’s freaking freezing.” Quinn’s gauzy blue top clung to her body, the wet and cold teaming up and leaving little to the imagination.

  As if in response to her complaint, the temperature dropped further, and a tick sounded from the pavement—then another. Ice cascaded down. I’d seen hail before, but the volume of this storm was incredible. In just a couple of minutes a good half inch coated the street.

  “Changing back over to rain.” Piper wrapped her coat around Quinn’s shivering shoulders.

  Impossibly, it grew darker. The meager bulb over the backstage door fought to illuminate the ground, barely penetrating the shadows that crept in from all sides. Lighting lit the clouds, brilliant dazzling relief from the dark. Pioneer and the gang stood in stark contrast beneath each flash. Billy dashed around the RV, locking compartments with his big keyring. Jinx ducked inside, but Manfred and Randy stared out from under the awning’s scant protection. Both were thoroughly drenched and scanning the sky.

  The manager’s car sat only fifty feet away. He likely watched for a break in the downpour. Lightning flashed again, and white shapes flapped at the edge of the awning.

  “What’s that?” Piper’ voice was nearly drowned out by the roaring torrent.

  “Awning’s breaking up,” I said, but another flash proved me wrong. “Birds?”

  Ghostly forms like the white underbellies of giant birds buffeted the awning. It was difficult to make out details through the rain and sporadic lightning.

  “Watch out!” Quinn yelled.

  A shape slipped around the material and slapped at Randy. He whipped his head left and right as if unable to see what struck him. Manfred turned with a scowl and pushed the drummer toward the door. Randy fumbled his way up the stairs and disappeared into the RV.

  Billy emerged from the backside of the vehicle, drenched but grinning. Two of the storm things hovered and made striking feints at his back, but he didn’t notice. Manfred hustled him through the door and turned to glare once more out into the dark before stepping inside and yanking the door shut.

  All three of us jumped as the metal door behind us slammed open. An old stage hand struggled out with two canvas sandbags. He plopped them down, turned to head back in, and then jumped himself.

  “What’re ya doin’ out in the rain?”

  “Waiting for it to let up, so we can get to the car,” I said.

  “Get your asses in here before the flood starts.” He chopped his hand toward the theater. “Here it comes!”

  He pointed out at the street. It looked wet and icy, which was to be expected. Lightning flashed again, exposing white ruffles running down the hill Billy had climbed. They crashed onto the flat intersection and flowed across the parking area leading a wave of ankle-deep water.

  “Go, go, go!” I pushed the girls toward the old man, and we piled inside.

  He slammed the door shut, and I helped pile more bags across the threshold. Water hit with an audible whump. I stuffed the bags tighter, sealing off jets of water, but a puddle still formed inside the door.

  “Best we can do,” the man said. “Get comfortable. It’ll be gushing like a firehose soon but shouldn’t last long. A little joy of living in the deep valley. Flash floods shoot downhill like greased pigs.”

  Within ten minutes, geysers shot from around the sand bags. Water rose to the first step leading to the backstage area. Even after the rain stopped, the level rose.

  When it finally receded, I waded out to the car. Max gave me a lazy yawn from within his nest of blankets. Manfred’s car was gone. Laughter erupted from inside Pioneer, so the band was fine.

  Quinn, Piper, and I stayed up discussing the storm. Max was relegated to the car, because the building owner had some sort of canine phobia and refused to entertain the idea of him staying in the small apartment she provided. The lodging was free of charge, so I couldn’t exactly complain.

  “I’ve never seen such a storm.” Quinn munched popcorn on the far end of the sofa. “Desert typhoons flood roads, but not like this. These folks just take it in stride.”

  “They have the drill down.” I tossed a can of Rejuve to Piper and popped one open for myself. “Sandbags galore.”

  “No canopies or flags either,” Piper added. “Nothing for that ripping wind to destroy. Good thing the guys pulled in your RV awning after everyone was inside.”

  “Did you see them?” Quinn turned solemn. “The things in the wind?”

  “Big fluttering birds?” I asked, not really believing they had been simply animals.

  “I wish. Too dark to get a good look.”

  “I thought you all were looking at something!” Piper rocked forward in the leather recliner. “Better eyesight than mine. I just got ghostly impressions of movement, which could have been lightning afterimages.”

  “Randy and Billy were oblivious too.” I nodded. “You know what that means.”

  “Magical creatures. Ordinary folks never see much, though Manny noticed.” Quinn turned to Piper. “You’re more attuned than most. I think your research and openness give you an edge.”

  “I’d rather have a little power,” Piper complained. “The Wiccan spells feel like a good match, but I can’t see that they do anything.”

  I wished she had power too, so she’d stop hounding me. I couldn’t even discuss a spell without getting an earful.

  The storm creatures felt different than the malevolence inside New Philly’s freak windstorm. These had been questing and seemed more a part of the storm rather than driving it.

  Fortunately, the things focused on Pioneer and the band. My cloak of Tokpela would have screened me, but Piper didn’t have any protection. It was high time I figured out how to extend my hiding spell to others. I glanced sideways at Quinn, letting my magical sight play over her aura. It shone pale blue, a healthy nimbus matching her favorite guitar.

  “You still aren’t using the hiding spell!” I accused when I got Quinn alone in the stairwell.

  She needed to get back to Pioneer, and I needed to find a dry patch of ground for Max. The pond inside the backdoor had receded into the floor drains, but I blocked Quinn’s path, waiting for a response.

  “I knew you were mad about something.” She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. “You are such a control freak.”

  “Me?” I sputtered.

  “Yes, you. All clingy back in Philly, then showing up on tour, and now bullying me to live in fear.”

  “It’s not my imagination. You saw them tonight. And the attack back home? It just makes sense to protect ourselves.” I reached into my pocket, but froze at a glare from Quinn.

  “Do not hand me that ring again!” She pushed past me and kicked the door open. “Give me a little credit. I’ve been dodging shit like this all my life.”

  She stormed off to the RV, and I slogged through thin slush to let Max out. What was the big deal? It was too much to hope she would take my gift, but keeping the spell in place would be simple. Any little bit of protection helped. If the dark forces knew Quinn helped defeat the witch, it made her a target. The thought scared me more than the enemy discovering Koko’s first child still lived.

  ***

  A flock of nightmare creatures battered me with icy wings as I ran in my dreams. But details were elusive, and I woke surly. The sun blazed from a deep blue sky that belied last night’s storm as Max nosed around the stop sign for the tenth time. My days on the road revolved around my dog’s digestive system.

  “Just go, would ya?”

  The only patch of grass that hadn’t turned to mud was maybe twice as long as my picky dog. Vapor rose from the ground in slow lazy curls as he circled for the hundredth time.

  “Hey ya,” Randy called as the RV door popped open.

  He and Billy tromped down the metal stairs. Billy peeled off with a wave to i
nspect the motor coach, but Randy headed my way.

  “Morning,” I said as Max finally gave in. “Quite the storm—”

  We both gagged as an eye-watering stench rose with the mists. My oh-so-pleased pooch trotted back from the big present he left. I fumbled to unroll a little blue bag from the pouch on his leash, looked from the tiny square of plastic to my smirking dog, and felt my ears grow hot.

  “No kidding, got—” the drummer broke into another coughing fit as I picked up and carefully tied away the offending material.

  I held the heavy bag at arm’s length, snorting air out through my nose, desperate to dislodge the clinging odor. Randy wheezed and spat out a dark gray wad.

  “Think your mom can get me more meds?”

  15. A Sprite in Old Milwaukee

  T HE SHORTWAVE radio proved its worth. David patched us through to the hospital back home. Mom arranged for a nurse practitioner to check Randy and provide a round of stronger antibiotics. Two hours later we rolled into Rapid City’s medical center where a burly frau with netted hair and forearms the size of my biceps thumped the living daylights out of Randy until his lungs were clear again.

  “Strange he should be good so long and now have that.” The nurse jerked her chin at the dark mess filling the stainless-steel basin on the drummer’s lap.

  “It’s going on what, two months?” I struggled to add up weeks that had blurred together.

  “Two, right—” Randy broke off to clear his throat, which earned him three more sharp blows between his shoulders.

  I winced as the hollow thuds resonated in my own chest, but a smile blossomed on Randy’s face as he rocked forward, long hair whipping. When he only coughed up clear spittle, the nurse gave a sharp nod. She turned to type on the computer and retrieve a pack of pills from her neatly organized shelves.

  “I’m in love,” Randy whispered with a conspiratorial wink.