by O J Barré
Landing in a tangled heap on what felt like crushed stone, Brian wailed, “What the heck?” He extricated himself and leapt to his feet. He could see nothing, including Ethnui. “What happened?” He dug the lightstick from his pocket. Flicking it on, he extended a helping hand.
Ethnui took it and rose slowly, cap atilt, revealing one horn. When she saw him looking, she reached up and yanked it back in place.
“No idea. I was sound asleep.” She drew her weapon and circled the car. Brian stayed close with the light. “I’m pretty sure this is not our destination,” she said warily. “We’re not even at a station. I don’t like this one bit.” She boarded the car, and Brian crowded in beside her. Together they studied the rudimentary map.
“Is it hot in here?” Ethnui tugged at her collar and fanned her face. She was beet-red. A wave of heat washed over Brian.
“Yes,” he panted, shucking his jacket and tying it around his waist. His eyes widened, as terror crept into hers.
“Magma?” she squeaked.
“Magma,” he gulped, nearly convulsing his body trembled so hard. “This is what it was like before the volcano spewed at the zoo. Eeeuww.” He pinched his nose together as sulfuric fumes filled the car. “We gotta get outta here. But where is it coming from? It’s not in the tunnel. We’d be toast.”
The alarm clanged again, louder this time, and cycled through a repertoire of annoying sounds. They couldn’t go back. The only way out was through.
Ethnui exited the car and strode in the direction of their destination, holding the other lightstick out in front.
“Wait!” Brian called. “Where are you going?”
“Come on, human. Hurry!” she yelled back.
Against his better judgment, Brian followed. With every step, the air became hotter and fouler. Soon they came upon the source. A gas vent beneath the rails. Steam billowed out, stinking of rotten eggs and camp latrines.
“Gross,” he groaned and held his nose.
Ethnui hesitated. “We need to get past. There should be a station around the corner. I saw it on the map. I’m hoping there’s another car. Or a switch that will help get ours moving.”
Brian eyed the rank-smelling vent. It was too wide to skirt. Holding his nose and covering his mouth, he waited for a break in the steam. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and he fanned his damp tee-shirt against his chest.
Sure enough, the steam soon thinned and he took a flying leap over the vent. He turned to gesture to Ethnui, but she was right behind him, one foot catching the edge of the rim. As she tipped backward, Brian reached in to yank her to safety.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did you get burned?”
“I’m good,” she uttered against his cheek, then pushed away. “Thanks for saving me. That was close.” She tentatively placed one foot in front of the other. “Be careful. There may be other vents. And pray the station is up ahead.”
Luckily, it was. About a hundred yards from where their car had stopped, they found another terminal that was dark and looked abandoned. Ethnui took her weapon from its holster and reached into her boot to produce another.
This, she handed to Brian. “Just in case.”
When he wavered, she frowned. “You know how to use a gun, don’t you?”
Brian took the revolver with trepidation. He checked the chamber, the way his father had taught him, and made sure the safety was engaged. Clutching the loaded weapon, he nodded.
Ethnui’s face relaxed and she smiled just a little. “Stay behind me. It’s still a long way to your North Carolina, and I sense the Reptilians may be close. With any luck, we’ll be out of this mess shortly.”
“If that vent doesn’t blow and kill us first,” Brian muttered.
Ethnui’s face fell. “Yeah. There’s that.” Then she brightened and pointed. “Look, another car. Let’s get out of here. Maybe the magma will trap the Dracos.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Heeeey. That thing’s going to blow anyway. What if we helped it?”
Brian had wondered the same thing, then discarded it as too dangerous.
“I see where you’re going, but no. First things first. That magma will kill anything in its path. Including us. I vote we get the hell out of here. And not mess with Mother Nature.”
Asheville
Shalane stepped from the train in Asheville, North Carolina with a song in her heart. Rain pummeled the awning and the scent of spring filled the air. Shouldering her heavy hobo purse, she joined the debarking passengers and wheeled her carryon into the newly-updated depot.
She scanned the crowd, but didn’t see the attorney anywhere. Disappointment dragged the corners of her mouth down. Shalane hurried to the restroom to freshen her makeup and reinforce the youthful-appearance spell.
Returning to the teeming lobby, she elbowed her way through the throng. Near the front door, she caught sight of Mitch Wainwright leaning against an empty counter. His arms were folded and his fingers tapped an agitated beat.
A frisson of anxiety made Shalane pause. The handsome face was lined in consternation; his vague blue eyes stared past her into the crowd. Mustering a smile, she strolled over nonchalantly.
“Hello handsome. Care to give a lady a ride?”
The steel eyes flicked over Shalane as if seeing her for the first time and not sure they liked what they saw. Then the eyes lit and a slow smile stretched across the attorney’s face, igniting a fire in her belly.
“Well hello, Shalane.” He leaned close as if to kiss her.
Instead, Mitch gripped the handle of her carryon and made for the door. Dismayed, Shalane had no option but to follow.
Outside the rain beat down even harder. She had learned that spring in the southeastern U.S. was incredibly beautiful—lush and green with prolific flowers—but it was only so because of its unpredictable rain. She dug in her purse for the compact umbrella and popped it open, then stepped from the curb. The attorney was nearly out of sight. He hadn’t bothered to wait.
What the everlovin’ fuck? Why had he even asked her here?
She slogged through the lot, cursing Mitch in her head. If he was a gentleman, he would’ve pulled the car to the curb. The rain blew at a slant, soaking Shalane from the waist down. She caught up with him as he lobbed her carryon into the back of a BMW convertible.
Disgusted, Shalane climbed in on the passenger side and wedged her umbrella behind the seat. Regret and something akin to fear warred with excitement at seeing him again. When he continued to stare straight ahead, thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel, anger surged to the forefront.
“Is something wrong?”
For a moment Mitch remained silent, then he turned slowly and looked in her eyes for the first time. His own were drawn, but his lips curled in a half-smile.
“Not at all, it’s good to see you.” He pulled into traffic.
“Then tell your face. You look like someone pissed in your oatmeal.” The face darkened and he scowled at her.
“They kinda did.”
“Seriously?”
Mitch sighed and gripped the steering wheel, then glanced in the rearview mirror. “I found out my birth father fucked every Marie and Sheila he ever came across. Even paid for it. All in the name of siring a female child.”
Shalane stared. Now that was a first. And not at all what she had expected. Usually, the aim was to continue the bloodline by fathering a male—not female—heir. On impulse, she reached over and touched Mitch’s cheek. He flinched, but covered her hand with his and looked at her a tad woefully. Her heart softened. The man was obviously in turmoil.
But she was anxious to get out of her wet clothes. And into his pants. “Are we almost there?”
“The hotel’s not far. Up by the Blue Ridge Parkway. I thought we’d stop and have a bite to eat first.” He must’ve seen the dismay on her face, because he quickly added, “Unless you’d rather go change first.”
She leaned back and tugged at her wet pant legs, ungluing them from her inner thighs. “Yes, let’s.”
The powerful vehicle shot forward, only to stop short when Mitch slammed on the brakes. Growling at the car that had stopped in front of them, he maniacally maneuvered through the late-morning traffic.
It took another twenty minutes of tailgating terror, but they finally arrived at the famous Grove Park Inn. Its winding drive wove through a forest and opened to a grand, rock-sided building that sprawled atop what was billed as Sunset Mountain.
Had Shalane not been itching to get out of her wet clothes, she would have been suitably impressed. As it was, not even the Taj Mahal could’ve taken her breath.
Mitch parked the BMW under the portico and left it running. The valet slid into the driver’s seat, and the bellhop scooped up Shalane’s bag. Leading her onto an empty elevator, Mitchell shoved her against the back wall and ravaged her lips as the door dinged closed.
For once, Shalane wasn’t in the mood. She pushed him away and raked her fingers through her damp, flyaway hair. “Down, big boy. I’m wet and need a drink. A good stiff one.”
Mitch leered and cupped his crotch with both hands. “I’ve got a stiff one here, and wet is exactly what it needs.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not interested at the moment.”
A dangerous glint sharpened his stare and her twat twitched despite her discomfort. She added with a smile, “But I can assure you that is temporary.”
Finding the bathroom, Shalane shucked her wet clothes, toweled off, and pulled on a pair of loose-fitting palazzo pants with a crepe blouse that flowed past her tush. She fished for her pipe and added a measure of ground flower, then stepped onto the balcony.
The rain had stopped. Clouds enveloped the hotel, shrouding them in mist. Lighting up, Shalane inhaled deeply and held it until she couldn’t any longer, then let go of a dense puff of white smoke.
Mitch stepped through the sliding door and reached for the pipe, taking it and the lighter from her hands. Inhaling deeply, he handed them back. They stood companionably on the balcony, smoking and gazing out at the cloud-blanketed landscape.
“Too bad it rained. When I arrived it was clear enough to see the Blue Ridge Mountains.” He turned to face her. “Hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Shall we get naked and order room service?” Mitch’s tone sounded strained.
She peered at him from under her lashes. Something had changed since Atlanta. He was distant. Aloof. Uncaring. Not that he’d been a powder keg of emotions. But at least he’d wanted her. Now, she wasn’t sure.
Rather than dwelling on it, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he just needed food. Lord knows, she did. She hadn’t eaten anything substantial since last night.
Instead of room service, they agreed on lunch at one of the hotel restaurants, where the host seated them by an imposing picture window. The view was likely grand here, and Shalane hoped to get a chance to see it exposed. She might have to conjure a spell to help it out.
The waiter appeared with an aged bottle of Seyval Blanc. He removed the cork and recited the pedigree. Not being a wine connoisseur, Shalane only half-listened, though she did catch the part about it being grown and bottled at a local vineyard. Mitchell, on the other hand, appeared intrigued.
As instructed, she swished her glass and inhaled, then took a sip. The wine was dry with citrus overtones, as their waiter had said. He poured more and took their orders. She opted for the Salmon Paillard salad, Mitchell for the Sunburst Trout. When the waiter scurried to turn in their order, Shalane studied her date.
“So what were you saying about your father?” she asked, batting her lashes.
Mitchell blanched and looked away. “Oh, nothing. I’m sorry I brought it up. Just some crap I’ve been dealing with.”
“So tell me. I’m all ears.”
He cleared his throat and started to speak, then shook his head. “No, I’d rather enjoy our lunch. I’ll tell you later.”
Shalane shrugged and let it go. For the moment, anyway.
**
Mitch’s sides heaved. He lay atop Shalane, spent and winded. She groaned and rolled from beneath him. Mascara caked her lashes, but somehow it hadn’t smudged. Curious, he looked closer. Her face was plumper and pastier than he remembered.
She opened her eyes and a look of pure terror flit through them. Then her features smoothed. The wear and tear disappeared behind wrinkle-free skin. Did she use magic to hide her flaws?
Rolling to his back, he gasped for air and fanned his face. Hauling himself up, he opened the slider and stepped to the balcony. Someone on the grounds looked up at him. Mitch covered his cock with both hands, returned to the bedroom, and yanked on his clothes.
It was a mistake to come here. Why he’d thought Shalane could help him was beyond his ken. He had more than enough information to out his birth father. But he couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his gut. It had plagued him since hearing Hamilton Hester had fucked every druid female in the United States. And probably those in Europe, too.
That he had recompensed each was beside the point. The man was a letch if there ever was one. And he’d never even acknowledged Mitch was his son. Shuddering, he slammed the bathroom door, hit his knees, and lost his lunch.
**
Shalane stared at Mitch over her mocha latte. They’d been having a companionable moment in a quaint coffee shop in Asheville. Up until his phone beeped.
“I have to go,” he said again.
“But, we just got here.” Pooching her lips, Shalane fluffed her hair to soften the impact of her shrill words, then bumped it down an octave. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
Mitch raked an annoyed hand across his face. “Look, doll. I did tell you I’m in the middle of an investigation.”
“So?” she pouted. Mitch buried his face in his hands. Shalane flashed to someone else doing the same thing—Ebby, when she was frustrated or down. Or thinking hard. Which was Mitch?
“That text conveyed a key piece of information. It won’t wait. I have to go take care of it now.”
From the steel in his eyes, Shalane knew he had made up his mind. “Can you at least tell me what’s going on? Maybe I could help.”
“Maybe. But not now. I can drop you at the rail station, or you can stay in Asheville until Thursday, as planned. The room’s paid for.”
Shalane snorted. “If you’re not here, there’s no reason for me to stick around. Tell me, Mr. Wainwright, is there any chance you are related to that Hester woman you keep talking about?
Mitch’s brows twitched and his glare sharpened, but he shrugged and paid the check. “I’ll take you to the hotel. You can collect your things.”
She bit back a retort, aching deep in the pit of her stomach, but angry, too. She knew not to let her heart get involved. Bad things happened when she did.
Silence filled the sporty car on the trip to the hotel. As Mitch maneuvered the long drive, Shalane fished again. “So, is she your sister?”
The response was silence from a profile etched in stone.
Shalane laughed so hard she snorted. “Sister it is. And now she’s likely dead. But she didn’t know about you, did she?” His bottom lip twitched. “No. And you hate her, loathe the ground she walks on.”
He parked under the portico and leveled her with a demonic glower. Her smile morphed to a sneer.
“Daa-umm,” she said. “You’re a mean one, aren’t you? You hate her that much?”
“Woman, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Stop shrinking me.” He strode from the car and held the elevator in silence.
Where was the man she’d fallen for in Atlanta? Packing her bag, Shalane noticed he only had a small duffel, including a shaving kit with a few toiletries. No change of clothes. Had he planned on ditching her all along? If so, why’d he bother to show?
She fumed in silence all the way to the station. When he didn’t get out of the car to see her off, she leaned in his window for a kiss. Mitch glanced away.
“So long,” she mutter
ed, battling to keep the hurt at bay. He nodded and peeled away from the curb.
“Goodbye, asshole,” she yelled after the car. “And good fucking riddance.” But the hurt sat heavy on Shalane.
Ignoring stares from passengers milling nearby, she wrangled her carryon into the station and exchanged her ticket for an earlier train. Lucky for her, there was one in forty-five minutes. She settled in an uncomfortable chair and opened her phone browser to read the news. The second headline caught her attention.
“REVEREND CARPENTER’S COMPANION CLAIMS ALIEN HIJACKING”.
Ice spiked through Shalane’s veins.
“What the hell?” she groaned. “That insolent twit went and blabbered to a reporter. My least favorite one. Goddamned fucking bitch!”
She clicked the link and recoiled at the picture of Patty with Shalane’s hand on her tit. That damn photo had been bandied about by the religious right ever since the paparazzi had invaded what was supposed to be a private moment.
She scanned the brief, but damning, article.
Patrika Tolbert, the paramour of evangelist Shalane Carpenter, claims that during a session with Carpenter, a snake-like alien entered her body and took over her thoughts. Miss Tolbert states the alien eventually left her alone, but after recently parting ways with Carpenter, Tolbert began seeing into the alien’s mind in her dreams.
According to Tolbert, the being is a leader of a race of reptilian aliens living inside Earth, in what they call UnderEarth. Tolbert says the aliens are plotting to kill humans and take over Earth.
When asked why she is coming forth now, the eighteen-year-old Tolbert insists something must be done to stop the aliens. Reverend Shalane Carpenter is away on a twenty-week evangelical tour of America, and not available for a quote at this time.
A blinding pain like a hot poker stabbed Shalane in the eye. Wincing, she dug a thumb into her socket and fumbled in her purse for the pain blockers.
Not available for a quote? The bitch hadn’t even tried to contact Shalane. But of all the goddamnned-sonofabitchin-fucked-up things Patty had done, she’d gone too far this time.
Shalane’s call to Patty went straight to voice mail. The reporter answered on the first ring.