by Zoe Chant
He mentally stomped on the wish that she’d clearly and assertively suggested that they get a room with one bed.
“Of course,” he said. “Let’s see your list.”
“I may need to revamp it. Make it more dog-friendly. Maybe reconsider some items.” She pulled out her bucket list and tapped an entry. “This here was a huge disappointment.”
“RUSTPROOF FEMINIST?”
She snorted in exaggerated disbelief, though he hadn’t been joking. “Very funny. RUTABAGA FESTIVAL.”
“Oh, that,” Ransom said, nodding. “I saw a flyer for it.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
“I don’t like rutabagas.”
“Neither do I, apparently,” Natalie said glumly.
“Then why did you go?”
She held up a slim finger, ticking off the items. “One: I’d never had one before. I wasn’t sure exactly what they were, in fact. Apparently they’re large turnips.”
“A bit sweeter,” Ransom said absently. He didn’t care for turnips, either.
“Two: I’d heard about American produce festivals, and I thought they sounded like more of a big deal or more fun or something. This had a few food stalls, a stall with pamphlets, and a woman selling rutabaga crafts. Oh, and a mascot. It looked like a leaf monster from a horror movie. That was definitely the best part.”
Wally twitched, dreaming, and woke with a startled yip. Natalie petted him. “Apart from finding Wally, of course.”
“Oh, was that where you found him? Where was he?”
“Up a tree.” She laughed at Ransom’s expression, then told him the entire story.
“I wish I’d seen it,” he said. “It sounds like you were the highlight of the entire thing.”
“Without me and Wally, it’d have been nothing but lowlights.” She frowned. “Maybe I’m being mean.”
“To the rutabagas?”
“Yes. Poor vegetables, nobody likes them and their festival is tiny and boring.”
Amused at her produce obsession, Ransom said, “There’s a much bigger one going on this weekend, south of here.”
“I can’t believe rutabagas inspired even one festival, never mind two!”
“The big one’s not for rutabagas, or any vegetable. It’s for tomatoes.”
“Tomatoes are vegetables.”
“Scientifically, they’re fruits.”
“What? No way.”
“A fruit is the part of a plant that contains its seeds. Tomatoes contain the seeds of the tomato plant. Therefore, they’re fruits.”
Natalie’s eyebrows pulled together as she considered the idea. “That can’t be right. If it was true, then green beans would be fruits too. So would bell peppers. And squash. And avocados.”
It was fun debating her; she was so quick on the uptake. “They are. All of them. Botanically speaking.”
“Well, clearly the botanists were on the losing side of the fruit-vegetable battle, because supermarkets and cookbooks and people in general classify all of those as vegetables. But more importantly, is the tomato festival fun?”
Ransom shrugged. “I’ve never been to it. It’s famous. It’s open all year round—I think it’s a combined fruit festival and amusement park.”
“A vegetable festival slash amusement park.” Her eyes were gleaming with a familiar light. He’d first seen it as she’d stood poised on the edge of a cliff. “Is it within driving distance?”
“Sure.” It wasn’t what he’d have picked for a do-before-you-die list, but then again, he wasn’t accompanying her to have a good time. “You like tomatoes?”
“Sure. But I mostly thought produce festivals sounded fun. A real American thing, you know?”
“Aren’t you American?”
“Sure, but I didn’t grow up here. The Fabulous Flying Chameleons toured around the world. And before I was with the circus… Well, I was young. I didn’t get the chance to do much.”
Ransom recalled Merlin’s stories about him and Natalie. They all involved the phrase, “Natalie, my best friend since we were eleven.” He asked, “Didn’t you join the circus when you were eleven?”
“Yeah.”
“Fruit and vegetable festivals are family things. The prime time to visit is before you’re eleven. Then you’re too old, until you become a parent and take your own kids.”
“I didn’t have a family.” Her easy flow of conversation had shut down.
I shouldn’t pursue this, he thought. But he wanted to know. That had always been his downfall.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I can drop it,” he said.
She gave an impatient hand-wave. “I don’t have any forbidden subjects. If you’re curious, go ahead and ask. I grew up in group homes. They didn’t do festivals. When I was eleven, I ran away to the circus.”
Those few sentences covered a whole lot. But he didn’t push it. He too had plenty that he didn’t want people to know about.
“I read books about stuff normal American kids did,” she went on. “State fairs. Sleepovers. Prom. I wouldn’t have traded it for the circus, of course. But I was curious. I still am. Look.”
Her close-clipped fingernail tapped against her list. With a teasing gleam in her eyes—they looked amber under a lock of golden hair—she said, “Go on. Read me what you think they say.”
Ransom could have figured some of the items out, now that she’d given him context. But he obeyed the letter of her request, and read, “QUIZ A HIGH FOOL. SODA BALL. EEL IN A BINDER.”
“Soda ball,” Natalie repeated, laughing. “Now that sounds like an American thing. After the tomato festival, you attend the soda ball and crown the Root Beer Queen.”
“You’d want to go if it existed, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. Anyway, they’re actually VISIT A HIGH SCHOOL, GO TO A MALL, and EAT AT A DINER.”
Ransom felt an odd pang in his chest, hearing her read out her wishes. They were such ordinary things, but so exotic and desirable to her. He hoped they wouldn’t disappoint her. “We could do all that.”
“What about you? What’s on your bucket list? If there’s anything in the vicinity, I’d be happy to come along to yours. Fair’s fair.”
“I don’t have a bucket list.”
“It doesn’t have to be a literal list,” she said. “Just things you’ve been dying to do—oops, bad choice of words—places you always wanted to visit, but you put it off…”
“I don’t have anything like that.” Ransom heard how abrupt he sounded, and tried to soften it. “Nothing around here, for sure. I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning. Take the pastries you want to eat tonight or bring with us for the road. I’ll drop off the rest at the office.”
She immediately put the Crime Of Passionfruit Tarts in the bag, saying, “Merlin will love these.” A flash of sadness crossed her face, but was quickly replaced by a slightly forced smile as she sorted the pastries, taking out a selection to keep. “See you tomorrow! Heidi too.”
“See you.” Ransom picked up the pastry bag and whistled to Heidi. “Hey, girl. Time to go ride in the car again.”
Heidi cocked her head, then vanished. He had a moment of alarm, then looked out the window and saw her in the front seat of the car.
Natalie stepped forward to look out the window with him.“Smart dog.”
She was standing so close that he could feel the warmth of her body and breathe in her scent. His senses had sharpened since he’d been made into a shifter; what he smelled wasn’t perfume, but a clean, crisp, bright scent like lemon juice and fresh-cut grass, which he knew was hers alone.
He was tempted to linger, but Heidi gave a sharp bark. She could get overheated inside a car with the windows shut. “See you tomorrow.”
Ransom had fled Defenders in such a rush, he’d left his laptop in his office. Otherwise he’d have been tempted to call in rather than return to the office. He hoped he’d be able to avoid too many questions about why he was leaving and when he’d be back. He
couldn’t say he had a new case, though he sort of did, without Roland insisting that he file the proper paperwork. Maybe he could say he was taking some time off.
With a twinge of regret, he decided not to bring Heidi. Everyone would love her, but they’d ask a million questions too, and he didn’t want to get quizzed about her when he couldn’t tell them about her brother… or her brother’s owner.
He stopped at a pet shop and bought Heidi dog food, a bed, a crate that was big enough for two puppies and could fit in a car, a collar, a leash, and some toys, then drove her to his apartment. She behaved beautifully, for the most part, though she refused to stay in the crate, blinking out of it and back to the front seat when he tried to put her in. At least she seemed to understand that it would be a bad idea to teleport out of a moving car. Maybe teleportation came with instincts about using it safely, the same way that dogs knew not to jump off a cliff.
Ransom’s current sublet apartment was in a neighborhood that was safe enough to not have anyone trying to break in to steal things, and shady enough that people turned a blind eye to any oddities. His neighbors were neither friendly nor hostile, and that was exactly how he liked it. Especially now that he had a teleporting puppy.
All the same, he carried her into his apartment rather than risking putting her on a leash. There might not be much that would get his neighbors’ attention, but could think of one thing: an empty leash falling to the ground as the puppy at the end of it vanished.
Heidi attacked the dog food with immense enthusiasm once he got her inside, and he took the opportunity to rush to his car and floor it out of there before she decided to follow him. For half the trip, he expected her to appear in the passenger seat, and he only relaxed when she was still a no-show by the time he arrived at Defenders.
He’d hoped that everyone would have left on some errand, but their cars were still in the parking lot. Resigned, he headed up to the lobby. If worst came to worst, he could always grab his laptop, take off, and call Roland after he was safely gone.
Ransom stopped in the doorway when he saw the semi-controlled chaos in the lobby. Spike, Pete’s cactus kitten, and Cloud, Dali’s dragonfly kitten, flew around in a tight circle, nipping at each other’s tails. Dali at her desk, trying to speak on the phone while periodically ducking when the kittens flew low.
Roland was getting a report from Pete. Both men were working hard to focus on the conversation and ignore Blue, who was slowly creeping up on them in what he clearly believed was an extremely stealthy manner, but wasn’t given that he was a bright blue bugbear the size of a Saint Bernard with tiny, rapidly buzzing dragonfly wings.
Tirzah and Carter were working side by side on laptops while Batcat perched on her shoulder, chewing on her curly hair. Merlin was talking to Tirzah while twisted into some bizarre acrobat’s stretch on the floor, looking totally relaxed even through the pose would have dislocated anyone else’s joints.
Except Natalie’s, Ransom thought. From what Merlin had said about her, she could do all the same circus tricks he could, and a few he couldn’t.
“She’s doing it again!” Carter yelled suddenly. Everyone jumped, and Tirzah nearly spilled her coffee mug over her laptop.
“Who’s doing what again?” Tirzah asked.
“Fenella Kim,” Carter snarled, emphasizing each syllable as if she was some famous villain.
“Never heard of her,” said Pete.
Carter rolled his eyes, then turned his laptop around to display an article headlined FENELLA KIM ATTEMPTS HOSTILE TAKEOVER OF HOWE ENTERPRISES. It was accompanied by a photograph of a woman of Carter’s age in a white business suit and extremely high black heels, with her black hair in a razor-sharp, asymmetrical cut. Considering how Ransom dressed to avoid notice, he could see instantly how she’d designed every aspect of her appearance to turn heads. She looked fierce: an exceptionally striking corporate shark.
“This is the second time! What has that woman got against me?” Carter demanded to the room at large. After a moment, he added, “Other than that I tried a hostile takeover of her company once. But that was years ago!”
“I think you answered your own question,” remarked Roland.
Carter ignored him and began packing his laptop. “I have to go. Do your best to survive without me.”
“We’ll be fine,” Merlin assured him with a bright smile. “After all, you don’t even work here.”
Carter gave him a blank look, then said, “Right. Right!”
He nearly collided with Ransom as he strode out. Carter glared at him as he caught his balance. “I don’t even work here, and I’m still here more than you are!”
The door slammed behind him.
“Oh, you’re here, Ransom,” said Roland. “I didn’t see you.”
Ransom had, in fact, been deliberately lurking in the doorway, looking for the perfect moment when everyone was so preoccupied that he could get in and out without a fuss. Apparently he’d missed it.
“Hey!” Tirzah spun her chair around. “Are those pastries from the murder café?”
“Murder café?” Pete echoed.
“Murder mystery café,” said Merlin, uncoiling himself. “Annabeth works there. You know, the barista whose sofa we returned.”
“I know who Annabeth is,” Pete grumbled.
Dali hung up the phone and asked, “That’s a huge bag. Did you bring them to share? I can get a platter.”
Ransom handed her the bag, and she headed for the kitchen with it to a chorus of “Thanks, Ransom,” and “Thanks, Dali.”
“So, nothing on Natalie?” Merlin asked, giving Ransom a start before he realized that he wasn’t being addressed. Merlin seemed to be continuing a conversation with Tirzah.
“No, sorry,” Tirzah said. “She must not be using her real name. Honestly, Merlin, it sounds to me like she had some personal stuff going on and she’ll get back in touch when she’s ready. I can’t find any indication that she didn’t leave of her own accord.”
“I know,” Merlin said. “But maybe she decided to take a vacation, and then she got kidnapped, and now she’s being held against her will and no one’s trying to rescue her because we all think she’s off having a quarter-life crisis or—”
“She hasn’t been kidnapped,” Ransom said. Everyone stared at him. He dreaded the moment when they’d ask him if he knew that, and he’d have to lie. But no one did, and he realized that they wouldn’t. They’d assumed it, because how else would he know? That made him feel even more like a liar as he went on, “She’s not being held against her will. She left of her own accord.”
The relief on Merlin’s face made Ransom glad he’d said that much. Then Merlin frowned. “But do you know why she left? And why she’s not getting in touch with anyone?”
Roland stepped in, to Ransom’s relief. “Merlin, don’t ask him that. You wanted to know if your friend was safe, and she is. The rest is her business.” To Ransom, he said, “Do not look into that any further.”
Hurriedly, more to Ransom than to Roland, Merlin said, “No, no, I wasn’t asking that! I just meant if you already knew why she left. I wouldn’t ask you to look again, on purpose. Don’t do that!”
“I won’t,” Ransom promised, with perfect honesty. He was about to ask if he could speak to Roland in his office when a flash of knowing came to him.
Natalie was in danger. The wizard-scientists who had kidnapped him and made him into a shifter were coming after her.
His first impulse was to rush back to the motel to protect her, but a dreadful thought stopped him in his tracks. Ransom was the one who had history with the wizard-scientists, not Natalie. What if she was only in danger because of him? What if returning to her side was what would doom her?
Roland cleared his throat. “Ransom? What’s going on?”
“Excuse me.” He ran for his office. The faster he followed up on that first vision, the better his chance of getting more information about it. Once inside, he locked the door, then sat down on the floor
so if he fell, he wouldn’t hit his head.
Before he could do anything more, there was a loud knock at the door. Roland’s deep voice said, “What are you doing?”
“I’m working.”
There was a brief silence, then Roland said, “Open the door.”
What a time for his boss to decide he was needed right now! “I’m busy, Roland. I’ll be done in a moment.”
“Are you using your power?” Roland’s voice nearly shook the walls. “I want to talk to you first!”
Ransom could feel his chance of learning what he needed to know to protect Natalie starting to slip away from him. If he wasted one more minute, it would be lost. He stuck his fingers in his ears, visualized a pair of heavy wooden doors inside his mind, and flung them wide open.
A tide of information knocked him off his feet. It was like having a million TV sets turning on at once, all turned to different stations and all at top volume. He knew so much, he couldn’t take in any of it. Knowledge filled his mind and battered at his sanity. It was all he could do to focus on the single question whose answer he needed to know:
Is Natalie safer from the wizard-scientists if I stay with her, or if I stay away from her?
Chasing after that answer was like swimming upstream in a raging river, getting bruised and battered by logs and debris along the way. But at last he had it:
She’s safer if you stay with her. Only you can protect her.
He had to fight his way back, clinging tight to his answer, to find the doors in his mind and slam them shut. There was a wrenching jolt, and he found himself in his office on his hands and knees, palms braced on the floor. A splitting headache pulsed behind his eyes.
A loud knock at the door sent a nauseating shock of pain through his head. “Ransom! Open the door!”
Gritting his teeth, Ransom forced himself to his feet. He opened the door and beheld the looming figure of his boss. “What?”
Roland looked him over for a long, disapproving moment. “We need to talk. Now.”
The next thing Ransom knew, he was getting frog-marched along the corridor and into Roland’s office, where he was forcibly sat down in a chair. Roland closed the door, stood in front of it, then said, “Do you want some coffee? I could get you some from the kitchen.”
