by C. T. Adams
The clinic disappeared.
Cool.
There was a weight in my head now, similar to sinus pressure, but I was pretty sure I could manage it. Nothing hurt, but I had to blink more than once and I realized I was pressing my hands flat against the front of the dash. The plastic was dented from the effort I’d used. Oops.
Lucas had a road map open over the steering wheel, effectively blocking us from the view of anyone who exited the restaurant.
“Okay, we’ll see if that’ll hold. I’ve never tried to block two sources of energy before. Never had to worry about it until now. With the full moon, it’ll be . . . interesting.” I had to talk over the crinkling of paper as he refolded the road map with apparent ease. I always get the folds wrong and wind up with a lopsided square that doesn’t fit the glove box, instead of a neat rectangle. Naturally, Lucas made a neat rectangle. I snorted as he handed it back to me to put away. “Show off.”
He didn’t reply, but his eyes twinkled just a bit before he turned his head and opened the door.
As we walked toward the entrance, I tried to come up with a good way to bring up the subject of the water tower, but it turned out I didn’t have to. A group of men were seated at a round table in the corner. From the litter of plates, cups, and empty sugar packs, it was obvious they’d been there for hours. “I’m not kidding! That Kendall girl is dangerous.”
Lucas flicked his eyes my way as he slid into the booth and I nodded to show I heard. It was hard not to hear since the short stocky guy under the John Deere cap had a voice like a television announcer—all midtones and loud.
A tall, thin guy with sleeve tans so dark I was pretty sure he was a farmer or rancher shook his head and leaned back in his chair until it was tipped on two legs. “Oh, come on, Earl. Just because she read that good-for-nothing brother of hers the riot act for the way he’s been running the store? You think Paul wouldn’t have already tanned his hide if he wasn’t still abed? You’ve seen the place, just like I have. Rats in the grain, bugs in the hay, and half the implements allowed to go to rust.”
Earl just snorted, but another of the crew weighed in. “Mike’s right. I had to turn away two deliveries of round bales for the herd just last week, and I’ve cancelled my standing orders until Paul’s back in charge. The whole thing was moldy . . . every bale. Now, I don’t mind a turn or two of waste. That’s normal. But there’s no way his daddy would have even thought about delivering bales that bad. I don’t want to think about rodents in the grain I accepted, so don’t give me the details. Rats give me the willies.”
A younger guy who might be Earl’s son from the resemblance was shaking his head—tiny little movements that said something had really spooked him. “Yeah, but you guys didn’t see her. She wasn’t like that before she went off to college. Sure, she was always a hothead, but this . . . she didn’t throw bottles or nothin’ or even scream. But she looked just like those ladies you see on America’s Most Wanted before they go off and do something horrible. She had a look in her eye.”
The final man at the table, a tall thin codger who didn’t have enough teeth to keep his lips from curling under let out a little chuckle. “Spunk. That’s what little Lizzie’s got. Why, if I was twenty years younger—”
The waitress arrived at the table just then with a pot of coffee in one hand. She bopped the old guy on the head with her order pad. “Twenty years? Try fifty, ya old lech. Liz is just a baby, and in my opinion she had every right to go off on Frank. He’s a lazy lout who doesn’t deserve to inherit that store. Paul really ought to give it to Liz. She’d run it right.”
Mike shook his head. “Nah. She’s got her fancy new diploma, so she won’t be staying around this dump. Already has a job offer back East from what I hear . . . designing landfills and such. Good money in landfills.”
Earl gave a grudging grunt even though he didn’t uncross his arms from where they were tight across his chest. “Girl has a good eye for dirt. I’ll give her that. I never would have thought to check the west section for that special sand they use for telescope glass if she hadn’t walked me out there. Now I’ve got a lease on it from a German group. The royalties will put Becky through college.”
I’d been staring at the menu blindly while listening to the conversation and was so involved that I didn’t even notice the waitress until she popped her gum and said, “What’cha have, hon?”
My stomach knew what it wanted without even searching. “Steak and eggs. Rare and over easy. White toast and coffee.”
Her pen paused over the pad and her eyebrows rose, making the careful makeup she’d used to cover the crow’s feet at the edge of watery green eyes crack just a bit. “Which kind?”
Of coffee? “Um . . . regular? Caffeinated.”
She rolled her eyes and tapped the pen on the single-sheet, plastic-coated menu in my hand. Her natural scent of fresh kindergarten paste blended with just the lightest touch of burnt metal from frustration. “Which kind of steak?”
I finally looked at the menu. It was the first I’d ever seen that gave a variety of steak for the steak and eggs. Wow. None of those wimpy paper-thin slices of breakfast steak here! There was T-bone, sirloin, strip, and even filet to choose from, plus two sizes of each. Ah, cow country . . . best friend to the carnivore, and a town after my heart. The gland in the back of my jaw started secreting enough drool that I had to swallow or risk dripping on the table. “T-bone. Sixteen ounce. And rare.”
She nodded. “Got the rare part. How about you?” She pointed the pen tip at Lucas. “Say, you look familiar. You from around here?”
If the question bothered Lucas, he didn’t show it. He just smiled. “Nope. I’m from near Denver. We’re staying out east of town with my uncle for a few days.”
Her shoulders dropped, and she opened her mouth in that universal acknowledgment of surprise. The sour milk scent of disbelief rose into the air, so it wasn’t faked. “Well, for heavens sake! I thought I recognized you. You’re Dave and Caroline’s boy?” She called out to the table of men before Lucas could even reply. “Look here, ya old coots! This is David Sampson’s youngest, Josh. He’s visiting Ralph. You here for some pheasants? Season starts tomorrow, you know.”
Hunting season starts this week? Well, wasn’t that just handy knowledge? We could walk around freely with shotguns while two Mafia members were looking for me, and hey . . . accidents do happen. My favorite time of year.
The men all gave a little uncomfortable wave, which we returned, but thankfully they didn’t head toward our table. They had moved on from talking about Liz Sutton-Kendall to the price of grain, so we were free to ignore each other. Lucas put his menu on the edge of the table. “I’ll have the same as him. But say, hearing them talk about that girl reminded me of something Uncle Ralph said. Wasn’t someone named Sutton caught in that tornado last month?”
The waitress, who had a name badge reading Jonyye—which I had no idea how to pronounce, raised her brows and put one hand on her apron-clad hip, ready to spill her guts. She had just opened her mouth to reply when a bright ding sounded from behind the counter. “Johnny! Order up!” Okay, good. I knew how to pronounce her name now.
She looked at the pad where she’d scribbled our order and raised one finger. “Let me put in your order and take this plate. I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared and while I would like to talk about all the revelations, I was probably going to have to wait until we were outside. But then a sharp pain formed in my forehead—a red-hot spike that made me wince. What do you think? The words appeared in my mind, almost as though painted across the surface. The voice was Lucas’s. I’d forgotten that, as a pack leader, he could communicate mentally like Sue and I do. That would make things easy, if I could stop myself from screaming in pain.
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my forehead to ease the pressure. I knew it’d be better in a minute, since he’d done this to me before. But that didn’t remove the knife from my brain right now. I hate it when you do th
is. Hurts like hell, in case you don’t remember my mentioning it the last five times. And I think we’re going to find out everything we need to know before I’ve half finished my steak.
I was right.
She didn’t return until she had our order and as she set them down, she set herself down, knocking hips with Lucas/Josh repeatedly until he moved over to make room in the booth. I couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the glare I got from him and the little stabby pain between my eyes.
I was surprised that Jonyye didn’t have a genealogy map tucked in one of her broad pockets. Not that she needed anything in print. She had the entire county’s family tree mapped out under her curly mop of bottle-platinum-blond that didn’t really cover the gray hairs. It just blended them in a little better. Not only did we hear, in vivid detail, about the night of the tornado, but about the entire Sutton/Kendall family tree. Liz’s mother was a Sutton, all right, and the rumor was she came from European money, which is why she insisted the girl have a hyphenated name. I’d figured she was adopted or was a stepkid, but no. She was Kendall’s own daughter, just with a different last name. I’ve heard of that before, but usually the kid winds up with a weird middle name to keep a nearly dead surname alive. Hyphens must be the new thing.
“So she’s really lucky to be alive, huh?” I swept up some yolk with my toast and waited for her to reply with another diatribe.
Another broad expression of her slender, muscled arms made Lucas duck his head before taking a bite of seasoned potatoes. The steak I started cutting was perfectly prepared—fork tender and well seasoned—and so far I wasn’t having to go through the obstacle course of Jonyye’s hands to eat.
Life was good.
“It was amazing! Buried under that rubble all night long, and not a scratch on her! She must have a guardian angel—” She paused and looked sad for a moment. “But of course, she does. Her sweet mother is probably still watching out for her, just like she always did before she passed on. Poor Paul really struggled with the three of them before he married his second wife, Tammy. Liz was probably twelve when that happened. Tammy’s been a saint, with the kids as wild as they were. All three really took to her, and she’s been every bit as good a mom as their real one. She’s been a real blessing to Paul, too, since his heart attack.”
Ah. That could be useful, a lever to get the girl to do the things that are going to be required of her. None of us really like doing all the stuff the council makes us do to protect the public and keep the secret of the Sazi. But we do them anyway, because people that matter to us could die without them.
After Lucas had finished his last bite of steak, he nodded and dabbed at his mouth with a surprisingly wide paper napkin. “We should stop by and pay our respects if he’s not well. Mom would be annoyed if I didn’t. I think she went to school with Paul, didn’t she?”
Jonyye thought about that for a second but then shrugged, just like she was intended to. “They might have been in the same graduating class. Or was that Ralph? I can’t remember. But they were definitely in school at the same time. And I’m sure Paul would like that. I don’t think he gets too many visitors anymore. Lots of folks stopped by right after he got out of the hospital, but you know how it is. People get busy.” She stood up and dusted imaginary crumbs from her apron. “I should get back to work anyway. Paul and Tammy live at the other end of town. You can’t miss their place. Just go to Twelfth and turn right. It’s the pale pink house. Not my favorite color, but Tammy loves it.” She reached out to grab Lucas’s shoulder with a smile. He tried to get out of the way, but there wasn’t anywhere to go. See, the problem with illusion is it’s just that. Lucas was broader across than Josh in real life, so if Jonyye did more than just touch him, what she felt wouldn’t match what her eyes told her. It could bother her for days.
Fortunately, she only put a light finger on the sleeve of his shirt. “You tell your mama that Jonyye says hi. She’ll remember me. I’ve been working here my whole life.”
She picked up our plates and balanced them in her hands as she walked off. Lucas and I were just starting to rise and scoot out of the booth when he sat down abruptly and motioned for me to do the same with a sharp downward movement of his finger. When he picked up his cup and started to sip while watching the door over the rim, I tried to find a way to see what was behind me while not turning in my seat and looking obvious. The convex mirror on the far wall was the best I could do, even though the images were skewed and distances weren’t easy to determine. I could tell from the careful placement of it midwall that it let Jonyye know when someone was coming out of the hallway to the bathrooms. I was betting there’d been more than one collision with her while holding full plates as she came out from behind the counter.
The bell over the door jingled. I wasn’t surprised to spot Ricky and Stuart walking into the place, along with a third man whose olive skin said he was from the Middle East. The copper-colored glow around him said he was Sazi. His scent roiled over the room and even those without supernatural noses noticed something odd about the man. They just didn’t know what was wrong. He smelled enough like Ahmad, except weaker, that I was betting he was a cobra. Now, what in the world were two Jersey guys doing with a Sazi snake? I glanced up and Lucas’s eyes were asking the same question. But the only way we were going to find out the answer was to stay and listen in.
I held up my cup and caught Jonyye’s eye. She nodded and headed our way with a half-full pot. She noticed the new arrivals just as she reached our table. Her sudden frown and the sharp sour scent said she’d encountered them before. “Oh, them.” She lowered her voice and bent forward as though sweeping up crumbs from the back of the table, then whispered words, her mouth barely moving. “You boys stay away from those men. They’re bad news. The sheriff has been watching them since they rolled into town two days ago. Don’t know what they’re up to, but it isn’t good. You mark my words.”
Lucas/Josh gave the only appropriate reply. “Yes, ma’am.” I nodded in agreement. I couldn’t think of anything I’d like more than staying away from those men. The trick was, that wasn’t going to be so easy. Having a snake with them meant that illusion wasn’t going to help much. He’d taste us coming.
The scent of cherries makes Mustaf quite ill. I blinked. Now where did that thought come from? I glanced at Lucas, but he was busy watching the men over Jonyye’s shoulder. He didn’t give me any sort of look that said it had been him talking, and it hadn’t been his voice I’d heard. It was my own voice—well, as much as you have a voice in your own mind. It was weird, but most of my life is pretty weird right now. If I was going to be living in an X-Files world, I might as well run with it.
“You got any cherry pie, Jonyye?” She turned her head and looked at me with an odd expression, so I shrugged. “Got a sudden craving. You know how it is.” And apparently she did, because she smiled.
“Best in the county. Make it myself. You wait right here.”
I raised my hand and gave her a pair of fingers. “Bring two. I know Josh. He won’t say no.”
Lucas waited until she was back behind the front counter, taking a tall glass dome off a plate of pastries before he spoke under his breath. “Actually, I will say no. I don’t like cherry pie. In fact, I hate it. And we just ate enough for four people. What’s up?”
I repeated the words that had appeared in my brain. “The scent of cherries makes Mustaf quite ill.” That caused a raised brow. “Hey, don’t know where the thought came from, but I’m game.”
My hands clenched suddenly from the sharp pain as he drove his thoughts into my skull. You know the snake?
It’s tough to have a conversation without appearing to, so I spent some time dusting nonexistent crumbs from the picnic table–patterned red-and-white cloth. Never seen him before. But maybe I’m still picking up from Ahmad. He probably has a dossier on every snake in the world. Either way, it’s worth a try. He hasn’t spotted us yet as far as I can tell, but look how fast his tongue is licking his lips.
It won’t be long before he zeroes in on us. We’ll find out soon enough if there’s anything to it.
Jonyye appeared just then with two plates that had light steam rising from them. The scent of sugared warm cherries filled the air and suddenly I really was hungry again. She set down the plates and forks with a look of pride. “Warmed it up for you. Pie’s no good when it’s cold. Just tell me if that isn’t the best pie you’ve ever had in your life.”
Lucas managed to fight down his revulsion at the scent pretty well, considering. He smiled, but it was shaky. “Afraid I’ll have to make some room if I’m going to have that. It sure looks good, but mine needs to cool a little anyway.” It did look hotter, nearly bubbling, so when he scooted out of his seat, Jonyye didn’t stop him. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” In my mind he continued. I’ll be listening in from the restroom. We can’t just sit and make no noise without being noticed. Now you can just sit and nobody will expect you to talk. Feel free to steal my pie. I promise I won’t mind.
He looked at the pie again as he turned and shuddered a little as I cut my first forkful and stuffed it in my mouth with actual enthusiasm. One bite was enough not to have to fake it to say, “Suit yourself. But don’t be surprised if yours is gone by the time you get back. Jonyye makes a mean pie.”
She beamed and I was suddenly her golden boy. Never a bad thing for future needs. I made a very deliberate point of holding up my fork and blowing on the next bite. I angled my mouth so it pushed the scent of hot cherries right into the faces of the three men sitting at the table nearby. The snake’s tongue went from thoughtfully licking to that same expression a kid makes when they take a spoonful of cough syrup.
Pleased to meet you, Mustaf.
Another slow, deliberate breath followed by a burst of air toward them and it was all she wrote. Quite ill was a bit of an understatement, because Mustaf the snake suddenly held a hand to his mouth. His cheeks puffed out and he clawed his way out of the booth, looked around frantically, and then raced out the door. More than one of Earl’s crew got a delighted expression and raced to the window to watch the foreigner heaving his guts out next to the Shasta daisies. Mike elbowed Earl’s son in the ribs.
