by Anne Bishop
“You divorced him,” Ineke said, sounding sharp, “which proves you have some sense. So forget what he said. What’s a little cellulite among friends?”
Grimshaw saw Vicki’s face flush, and he figured she was going to bolt and lock herself in the house, pretty much ending what might have been a pleasant afternoon.
Then Julian stepped forward and looked at Vicki. “We are among friends who don’t judge us by how we look but by who we are, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He shrugged out of the shirt, tossed it toward blankets spread out on the sand, and walked into the water—knees, thighs, waist. Then he dove under.
Ineke looked at Vicki. No question everyone had seen Julian’s scars. Vicki hesitated a moment longer, then pulled off the cover-up and went into the water with Ineke and Paige.
Hector eased up next to him and whispered, “What’s cellulite?”
Grimshaw shrugged. “A female obsession?” He eyed the other man. “But not among the Simple Life women?”
“If it is, it is not spoken of in the presence of men.”
Lucky men.
Watching Julian swimming parallel to the beach, Grimshaw struck out in the same direction, angling to eventually meet up with his friend. They swam together for several minutes before Julian stopped to tread water.
Grimshaw looked around. Another beach but not sand. Stones and shale?
“This is a boundary,” Julian said.
“For what?”
“Don’t know. But I have the feeling we’ve crossed a line and are now in a part of the lake where we shouldn’t be without permission.”
Grimshaw scanned the shore. Was something hiding among the trees, unseen?
“Wayne,” Julian breathed.
He turned and noticed Julian was looking at the water farther out from shore. Ripples, as if a large fish had broken the surface. “You see something?”
“I’m not sure, but I think we should join Vicki and the rest of her guests.”
Something broke the surface. Maybe a large fish catching a meal, or was it something else coming up for air—or for a look at him and Julian? The arch of a back. A glimpse of a delicate, translucent dorsal fin. And at the last moment . . . “Was that a tail?” By all the gods, what had he just seen?
“We need to get back to the beach,” Julian said.
He didn’t argue. And if it felt more like they were racing on the way back, he thought they had good reason.
* * *
• • •
Ineke had brought a beach ball along with the blankets and towels. When Grimshaw and Julian reached them, Vicki and Paige were on one team and Ineke and Hector were on the other, playing water volleyball—except the idea seemed to be how long they could keep passing the ball between the teams before someone slipped and went under. Since Julian joined Vicki and Paige, Grimshaw went over to Ineke’s team.
He wasn’t sure how long they played—couldn’t have been more than a few minutes—when Vicki and Ineke excused themselves and went up to the house to set out the lunch. A couple of minutes after that, Paige caught the ball and said, laughing, “We should go up now.”
They got out of the water and dried off, but Grimshaw lingered, looking toward the lake. So did Julian. That was why they were the only ones who watched the white pony with the weird-colored mane and tail trot into the water and disappear. That was why they were the only ones who saw the water begin to swirl, a small circle at first but getting wider and wider—and deeper and deeper.
He didn’t ask Julian, didn’t really want confirmation that someone else could see a powerfully built yet insubstantial horse with that same coloring galloping round and round the edge of the whirlpool before the horse vanished and the lake rushed into the funnel shaped by the swirling water. A moment later, water lapped the sand and there wasn’t any sign that anything had happened.
Grimshaw looked at Julian. Julian looked at him.
“This isn’t new,” he said quietly.
“No, this isn’t new,” Julian agreed. “But I think someone has decided to allow us to see it . . . and live.”
CHAPTER 42
Vicki
Firesday, Juin 30
The guest suites in the main house were ready, and the renovated cabins were clean. I dithered about putting a vase of fresh flowers in each room along with a welcome basket, but I didn’t have three vases. Well, I did, but they were old, chipped ones I’d found haphazardly packed away in the attic—all right for my use but not something you put out for guests.
The Milfords sold what they called weekend jars of jams and jellies—small containers that would be sufficient for one or two people for a couple of days without wasting the contents of larger jars since most people didn’t want to eat from an opened container when they didn’t know who had had their utensils—or fingers—in it. At breakfast, Ineke put out jams and jellies in small bowls to avoid waste, and I would need to figure out which way was the most practical for guests coming to The Jumble. The weekend jars could be something guests took with them, whether or not they had opened the jars during their stay. If I did that, it might provide more business for the Milfords, and that would be a good thing.
“Why do we need more humans here?” Aggie asked.
She had watched me go through my list of preparations since early that morning and had become more and more unhappy the closer we got to the arrival of the three couples who would be spending a long weekend with us.
“We need paying guests,” I replied.
“I pay.”
I stopped dithering and looked at her. She reminded me of a resentful teenager, but maybe she wasn’t resentful of intruders, however temporary, as much as she wanted reassurance that she was equally valued?
“Yes, you do, and you’re a great lodger.” If we overlook the whole squooshy eyeball thing. “But I need more paying guests. In order to stay here and be the Reader and help all of you restore The Jumble as a terra indigene settlement, I need to make a living, need to make enough money to pay the bills. I can’t do that with only one lodger. Do you understand?”
“Are you going to make the other terra indigene move out of the cabins?” she asked after a moment.
“Conan and Cougar? No, Aggie. They’re helping me with the heavy work in exchange for using those cabins.”
“I meant the terra indigene who are using the meadow cabins near the kitchen garden.”
When Paige mentioned my having helpers to tend the kitchen garden, I thought she’d meant Conan and Cougar. “There are more terra indigene living in the cabins?”
Aggie nodded. “There’s a Bobcat and a pair of Coyotes for sure. I think the Owlgard took the third cabin there.” She moved this way and that, twitchy movements. “Maybe they should have told you?”
“Yes, they should have told me.” When she seemed to shrink into herself, I added, “If I’d known, I would have gone over and introduced myself and made sure those cabins were habitable.” Enough work had been done to stop further weather damage, but I hadn’t expected anyone to stay there so the furniture I’d left in those cabins had been rickety at best. Then again, maybe the Others often took over abandoned human buildings and thought wobbly chairs and tables with peeling paint or stains in the wood were normal.
That made me sad, so I pushed the thought aside until I could talk to Ilya Sanguinati. He would know if the Others in those cabins were happy with the arrangement or felt slighted in some way. And really, if anyone had felt slighted, I wouldn’t have been hearing about this from Aggie days after my new residents had moved in. I’m sure the Bobcat or the Coyotes—or even the Owls—would have expressed an opinion in a way that was unmistakable.
Which suddenly made me wonder if they had been among the terra indigene who had shown up for the story hours and had moved into the cabins to be nearby. The sites for the four guest buildings had been chose
n to provide a sense of privacy—or as much privacy as you could have when each building was made up of three connected cabins—but none of the buildings were more than a quarter mile from the main house, and the renovated cabins were within sight of both the lake and the main house—or would be if the bushes and trees between the house and cabins didn’t provide a natural privacy screen.
“The humans are here,” Aggie said.
“I didn’t hear the cars.” I touched my hair, hoping all the effort I’d put in that morning to look professional hadn’t gone to waste. I could easily end up looking like Electric Shock Lady when I greeted my guests.
“Eddie just told me that Cougar moved the chain across the road to let them through. Eddie says the humans have fancy cars, but not as nice as the ones the Sanguinati drive.”
“Of course their cars aren’t as nice.”
She grinned and followed me to the front door to wait for these visitors, now more curious than tense about what kind of human would come to The Jumble.
I was curious about that too. But I can’t say I wasn’t tense.
CHAPTER 43
Aggie and Ilya
Firesday, Juin 30
Aggie flew across the lake as fast as she could. This was bad. This was very, very bad, and she was going to make sure the Sanguinati at Silence Lodge knew how very bad it was because those . . . humans . . . made her so angry.
When she reached the lodge, she perched on a railing for a moment before hopping down to the deck and shifting to her human form. Then she turned and stared at The Jumble’s beach on the other side of the lake.
“Since Miss Vicki has human guests and you look human, you might want to put some clothes on so they don’t see more than they’re used to seeing,” Ilya Sanguinati said as he stepped out of the lodge and joined her on the deck. “Not that they could see this far across the lake without binoculars, but humans often carry such things when they’re in the wild country. Or so I’ve been told.”
Aggie turned to face the vampire, whose lips were curved in a hint of a smile. “If the Crowgard peck out their eyes, they won’t see anything.”
The smile faded. “What happened?”
“They were mean to Miss Vicki. They made her cry!”
No amusement now. Ilya stared across the lake, then took a seat in one of the chairs. “Tell me.”
* * *
• • •
Aggie and Miss Vicki watched three shiny cars drive up to the main house. At least, she thought they were cars. Miss Vicki had called them utility vehicles and said they were a good choice for camping and rougher roads. The humans got out and looked around, the females wrinkling their noses like they had smelled a wheelbarrow of poop—which they couldn’t have because Cougar hadn’t buried much poop in the flower beds at the front of the house since he had been careful not to dig up the flowers Miss Vicki had planted.
The humans were called Trina and Vaughn, and Darren and Pam-EL-la. They were staying in the main house with Miss Vicki. Hershel and Heidi were staying in the cabin next to Aggie’s.
The humans didn’t say much while Miss Vicki did the registering thing, took the payment, and told Hershel and Heidi that she would walk down to the cabin with them and help with the luggage because there wasn’t a track to the cabins wide enough to accommodate anything bigger than a donkey cart, which she didn’t have. Well, she had the cart, which was in pretty good shape—Conan had found it in the big shed with the tools—but not the donkey.
No, she hadn’t told Miss Vicki about the herd of donkeys that lived in The Jumble. There had been no reason to say anything since the donkeys weren’t terra indigene and Miss Vicki hadn’t said she wanted a donkey; she just explained to the guest humans that their cars wouldn’t fit on the track to the cabins.
They used the footpath between the main house and the cabins since that was shorter than using the track. The Heidi human carried her own carryall, but that Hershel gave the heaviest bag to Miss Vicki instead of carrying it himself. Once they reached the cabin and went inside, Miss Vicki returned to the house, intending to bring the guests a basket of fruit and treats, since Darren and Pam-EL-la had gone down to the cabin as soon as they dropped off their luggage in their suite. And Miss Vicki did bring the fruit and treats. But when she got back to the cabin, she heard the four humans talking and . . .
* * *
* * *
• • •
“And?” Ilya Sanguinati said. “What did they say?”
“They said Miss Vicki was as pathetic as they’d heard, and they were going to say so in their reviews, and The Jumble wasn’t rustic or quaint; it was decrepit and wouldn’t amount to anything—and these were the cabins she claimed were renovated when it was clear to anyone who bothered to look that she’d barely done anything at all. And then that Pam-EL-la said . . .”
Flight feathers sprouted from Aggie’s arms and smaller feathers framed her face as she remembered the wounded look in Miss Vicki’s eyes.
“She said Miss Vicki should hire someone presentable to deal with guests because no one with any social standing would want to deal with a person who looked like she’d been dragged through a bush backwards.”
“This Pam-EL-la female is the one who said that?” Ilya asked mildly.
Aggie rounded on him, forgetting caution in her desire to remind him that Miss Vicki had been the first human to act as Reader in The Jumble for a long, long time, and she was nice and . . .
When she looked at him, she realized Ilya’s mild voice hid the same burning fury that she felt.
“Yes, she said that.”
Ilya thought for a moment. “Humans say unkind things about each other all the time when the person being . . . pecked . . . with words isn’t around to hear.”
“They knew she was there. Eddie Crowgard heard them talking before Miss Vicki came back to the cabins with the treats. They were waiting for her, watching so they would be sure she heard them.”
“I see.”
She was certain that he did see, and whatever happened to these humans would be a reflection of that seeing.
Aggie hesitated, but if the Sanguinati were going to take vengeful payment for the humans being mean, she should mention the one human who hadn’t been mean. “The Heidi human . . . After Miss Vicki left the treats and went back to her nest to cry, Heidi said that maybe they shouldn’t have let Miss Vicki believe they were reviewers from important travel magazines who were here in-cog-ni-to to tell other humans about The Jumble. But even her mate said she was being softhearted—or softheaded—and the sooner Miss Vicki was out of the way, the sooner their own deal could go through.”
Ilya stared at her. “Out of the way. Is that the exact phrase they used?”
She nodded.
They said nothing for several minutes, just stared at the other side of the lake.
Finally Ilya stirred. “Who among the Crowgard here can take a human form well enough to pass for human?”
The answer was simple, but Aggie thought about it, trying to figure out why he would want to know. “Besides me? Clara. Eddie. Jozi.”
“Eddie and Jozi are closer to your age, yes?”
“Yes. Why?”
“They’re going to stay at the cabin with you. The three of you rented the cabin for the entire summer. The girls sleep in the bed and Eddie sleeps on the sofa.”
“But Miss Vicki didn’t rent it to three of us,” Aggie protested. “We all decided that I would be the lodger.” The Crowgard had discussed it and squabbled over it and finally voted on it, and she’d been so proud to be the one the rest of the Crows had selected for this important first contact with the human who had been working to repair The Jumble.
Ilya rose from his chair. Aggie tried not to flinch. In Crow form, she could fly fast, but the Sanguinati, in smoke form, could move even faster, could wrap around their pre
y and draw blood through the prey’s skin. In human form, she didn’t stand a chance against him.
Then again, neither did humans.
“You need to stay close to Miss Vicki and help her—and report to me everything the humans do and say around her. But these are dangerous humans, Aggie, and a lone Crow is vulnerable. I don’t want you to be alone with those humans living so close.”
“My kin live all around The Jumble.”
“But not seen—or not understood for what they are. Three Crowgard in human form staying in a cabin? Better odds. Knowing there is a young male present, one who claims kinship to you, will discourage the males from being . . . inappropriate.”
“Who is going to stop them from being inappropriate with Miss Vicki?” Aggie asked.
Ilya smiled, showing his fangs. “I will.”
It wasn’t until she was flying back to The Jumble that she remembered that, in the thriller books she liked to read, “out of the way” usually meant dead.
* * *
• • •
Ilya watched the Crow fly across the lake as he considered the information she had provided. Humans arriving at The Jumble under false pretenses, using words to open wounds. They knew each other, had come here as a pack. Had come incognito.
“Problem?”
Ilya glanced at Boris, who usually filled the role of chauffeur, insisting that a human who had a driver had more status than one who drove himself. Ilya wasn’t sure that was true, but driving the car pleased Boris, so Ilya didn’t argue about it. Besides, a chauffeur was considered to be in a different social class than an attorney, making it easier for Boris to talk to shopkeepers and flirt with—and feed on—the women who worked at the diner or the Pizza Shack.
Of course, feeding in Sproing might be more difficult now that the Sanguinati had taken over the bank, forcing the citizens to acknowledge their presence. All the more reason to protect the places that provided shelter for transient humans—like The Jumble and Ineke Xavier’s boardinghouse.
