He shrugged. “Well, some think it’s polite to tell me when things happen in my town. Not everyone, mind you, but some people.”
“Oh, don’t give her grief,” Gunner snapped. “It’s not her fault that you constantly walk around with a stick up your ... .”
Stratton cleared his throat and cut Gunner off. “You probably don’t want to finish that statement, son. It won’t go well for either of us if you do.”
Reality smacked me across the face — hard — and things slipped into place. “Holy ... you’re his father!”
Stratton slowly turned his gaze back to me, amusement curving his lips. “You’re just figuring that out?”
His tone bothered me as much as that of his son’s. “I guess the last name should’ve been a hint. Gunner Stratton. Chief Stratton. In a town this size you would have to be related.”
“And here we go complaining about the town again,” Gunner muttered.
“I’m not complaining.” For some reason, I wanted to poke him ... with a big stick, or an ax. “I was simply stating a fact. You can’t get uptight every time I mention the size of the town. If you do, we’ll be fighting nonstop. Is that what you want?”
Instead of responding with a “no” as I expected, he merely shrugged. “I’m fine with fighting. You look as if you can hold your own.”
“Ugh.” I slapped my hand to my forehead as I groaned. “You’re going to drive me insane. I can already tell.”
Chief Stratton took me by surprise when he chuckled. “Oh, geez. Is this you guys’ version of foreplay or something? If so, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
Gunner scowled. “Don’t add to this madness.”
“I’ll add to whatever madness I want, Graham,” he snapped, drawing out the name and causing me to tilt my head to the side.
“Graham?”
“Don’t!” Gunner extended a warning finger in my direction. It was too late.
“Is that your real name?” It made sense now. He didn’t like his name, and they both started with G. Although ... Graham sounded less ridiculous to me than Gunner. “Why don’t you like the name Graham?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he replied, his eyes flashing. “I simply don’t respond to it.”
“He doesn’t like it because his name is Graham Stratton Jr.,” the chief volunteered, dragging my gaze back to him. “He’s got a complex about sharing his name with me.”
Ah, and there was the rest of it. That made so much sense. “I knew he had a complex,” I admitted. “I didn’t know it was about his name.”
Stratton snickered. “Yes, well, my son is nothing if not ... stupid.”
I straightened, surprised by his tone. “It’s just a name.”
“It’s more than that.” Stratton’s gaze landed on his son before he turned to the body. “What do we have here?”
“It’s a body,” I answered automatically.
“Really?”
My eyebrows drew together as annoyance flowed through me. “Then why did you ask?”
“It’s not so funny now that you’re getting to know him better, huh?” Gunner challenged. He’d moved to lean against a nearby tree, arms folded over his chest.
“I’m not sure what to make of any of it,” I admitted. “I’ll get back to you once I’ve settled.”
“I’m waiting on pins and needles.”
Stratton’s gaze bounced between us before he shook his head and turned back to the body. “This isn’t normal.” He sounded as if he was talking to himself rather than us. “I mean ... it can’t be.”
“Oh, really?” Gunner’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “What was your first clue? I’m guessing it was the lack of a face.”
I never had a father — at least that I remembered — but the look on Stratton’s face now was straight out of a how-to book for fathers. It was hilarious enough that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“The missing face is definitely a hint,” Stratton shot back. “I mean ... especially since it was removed by magical means.”
Even though I was enjoying myself despite the surreal situation, the words knocked me for a loop. I looked to Gunner for leadership on how to handle the situation — in Detroit, you never used the M-word with people not in the club — but he was so focused on his father he barely looked at me.
“How do you know it was done magically?” he asked after a beat.
Stratton pointed toward the man’s profile. “There are no jagged cuts. If this was done with a knife, then the tissue would be an absolute mess ... like wet dog food or something.”
My stomach turned at the comparison as Gunner tilted his head and stared at the smooth area that rested beneath the blood.
“I can see that.” Gunner dropped to a crouch to stare at the body. “What about a laser? There are things like laser scalpels, right?”
“There are, but I don’t see how anyone could get one out of a hospital,” Stratton replied. “Of course, even if we overlook that, this isn’t one big wound as much as an absence of flesh.”
“Really?” I wasn’t squeamish but the turn of that particular phrase was enough to make me swear off meat for the foreseeable future. “Do you have to put it that way?”
Stratton chuckled. “You’re going to be fun. I can already tell.”
“No, she’s not,” Gunner shot back. “She’s going to be a pain in the you-know-what.”
“Maybe.” Stratton was momentarily thoughtful as he regarded me before turning back to the body. “This was definitely ritual. I mean ... look at his wrists. There are symbols carved into them. The face has been ripped off, but it wasn’t done physically. This is definitely magic.”
All the signs were there. I simply hadn’t put them together. I felt like a dolt for missing what should’ve been obvious.
“So, the question is, what manner of creature can make something like this happen?” Gunner mused, rubbing his hand over his chin as he regarded the body. “You don’t have any ideas, do you?”
It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. “Definitely not.” I vehemently shook my head. “I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life. Heck, I hadn’t seen anything like that spriggan either. It’s starting to become obvious that I’m out of my depth.”
“Spriggan?” Stratton lifted his chin. “Is that the thing I saw dead in the woods? I couldn’t be sure if it used to be something or if kids were just out here setting fires again. I was going to ask you about it.”
“It’s a spriggan,” Gunner replied. “I was going to take it out the normal way, but Scout here had other ideas.”
“I see.” Stratton’s gaze was heavy when it landed on me. “What kind of name is Scout?”
I shrugged. “What kind of name is Graham?”
“A family name.”
“Well, Scout isn’t. I was named by the firefighter who found me when I was a kid.”
Stratton looked to his son for further information but Gunner merely shook his head. “It’s a long story,” he said. “You can ask her about it later. We have a bigger problem.”
“You mean the guy without a face?” Stratton gestured toward the body again and shook his head. “Yeah. He’s definitely a problem. First, we have to find out who he is. After that, we have to figure out who did this. Then, after that, we’ll have to put the public at ease without telling them the truth. It’s going to be a lovely couple of days. I can already tell.”
“Not just that,” Gunner countered. “If some manner of creature is strong enough to let loose a spell that can do this, that means we’re dealing with a dangerous individual. I’m guessing jail won’t be an option at the end of this tale. That means we’ll have to eradicate whatever it is.”
“I don’t want to hear about that.” Stratton held up his hand to silence his son when Gunner started to argue. “I’m serious. I can’t sit here and listen when you’re talking about murder.”
“I’m not talking about murder. I’m talking abo
ut protection for the town. We can’t have this happening over and over again. It’s ... an abomination.”
“It is that,” Stratton agreed. “I’m not the type who thinks an eye for an eye is always the correct response, though.”
“Is that what you think I’m suggesting?” Gunner’s temper was back on full display.
“I think that you’re feeling the need to wreak havoc,” Stratton replied without hesitation. “I’m here to tell you that I don’t agree.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
Stratton shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to see how things play out.”
The way the two men eyed each other told me things were hardly settled. If this was a truce, it was an uneasy one.
Well, great. If we didn’t have enough on our plates, what was one more little problem?
Four
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
By the time we got back to the Cauldron, news had spread around town that a body had been found in the woods. Rooster was happy that Gunner and I were on the scene so we could explain the disposition of the body, but he looked as flummoxed as we felt after we described what we’d discovered.
“There’s no way a spriggan did that,” he mused, a glass of bourbon clutched tightly in his hand. The bar was dead, although that wasn’t a surprise given the time of day. I had a feeling things would pick up later in the evening.
“I’m not familiar with spriggans,” I admitted, taking a seat on the stool next to him. “What are they?”
“They’re old and of another world. They originated in Ireland — and weren’t always dangerous — but they moved to the New World during times of mass immigration. Once here, once in the wilds of a new world, they took on a life of their own.”
That wasn’t really an answer. Or at least not as much of an answer as I wanted. “How many of them live around here?”
“Enough that we have to watch things closely during hunting season ... and morel season ... and camping season ... and snowmobile season.”
“So ... year-round?”
He snickered. “Pretty much. They’re not very bright, so it’s not hard to catch them. Still, setting it on fire was a dangerous proposition. It’s the dry season. What would’ve happened if it ran into the trees after the initial attack?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting the attack. I guess next time I’ll know to try something else.”
“Just keep it in mind.” Rooster downed the rest of his drink and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. I should probably show you to your new digs and let you get settled. I didn’t mean for you to be plunged into a big job so quickly.” He flicked his eyes to Gunner. “I expect you to touch base with your father later, get whatever information we might need to start looking for our culprit.”
Gunner didn’t appear happy with the suggestion. “He doesn’t enjoy sharing information.”
“Yeah, well, in this case I don’t see where he has many options. He can’t handle it himself.”
Gunner obviously agreed, because he didn’t offer further argument.
I FOLLOWED ROOSTER OUT of town. The road to my new lodging was dirt, which meant ruts. I paid close attention as I traversed it, although Rooster appeared more comfortable with the route, barely glancing down as we chewed up miles. I figured I would eventually get comfortable with the road, that is if I stayed long enough.
Once we stopped, I immediately wanted to turn around and flee back to Detroit. The mystery and intrigue of faceless bodies and spriggans aside, the cabin he led me to was not what I would call comfortable. In fact, it looked straight out of a horror movie.
“Oh, well ... .” I didn’t know what to say so I merely stared.
More amused than contrite, Rooster shrugged. “It belongs to the company. If you decide to stay after your initial placement, I’m sure you can find something that’s up to your standards.”
He made me sound like a snob. As someone who grew up in a bevy of foster and group homes, that wasn’t the case. Still, this wasn’t what I was used to.
“Are you sure the roof is going to hold?” I asked, dubious.
“I have no idea. If you want to fix it up, I’ll pay for supplies. You’re in charge of the labor, though.”
It was better than nothing ... which wasn’t saying much. “I’ll take you up on that.” I was fairly handy when I put my mind to it. “Where can I get supplies?”
“There’s a lumberyard on the north side of town. Just tell them you’re with me. If they have a question, they’ll call to confirm. Get whatever you need.”
I nodded. “Okay, well ... are there keys?”
“You’re a witch,” he reminded me. “You don’t need keys.”
That might’ve been true, but I was used to being able to lock my doors to keep humans out once I was safely inside. It was simply one less worry. “So ... I should get new door handles, too. That’s what you’re saying, right?”
He choked on a laugh. “If you feel the need. You’re perfectly safe out here. The perimeter has been salted — at least for the most part — which means that most creatures wouldn’t dare cross the boundaries. If they do, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.”
He sounded far more convinced of my abilities than I felt. “What time should I report for work tomorrow?”
“Take the day to look around, do whatever you want around the cabin,” he instructed. “If you have questions, you have my number. If you need help, don’t hesitate to call.”
He said the words, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he meant them. Obviously I was the outsider here, not part of the crew. I would either have to fix that or suck it up. I wasn’t sure which option was more appealing.
“Well, I’d better get to work.”
“I was serious about helping. All you have to do is ask.”
That was harder than he realized. “I need to look around first. I’ll let you know when I have a better handle on things.”
“Good enough.”
I SLEPT BECAUSE I WAS exhausted. Otherwise I’m not sure I would’ve been able to close my eyes for more than twenty minutes at a time. The cabin had good bones, but that was all that could be said about it. Whoever lived in the space before was a pig ... and that was putting it nicely.
I spent hours cleaning the living room and kitchen before ceding to the wishes of my body and passing out. By the time I woke the next morning, all I wanted was a shower. That meant cleaning the bathroom, because I was too skittish to shower in a space that reminded me of a bad Friday the 13th movie.
The bathroom project took the better part of the morning. By the time I was finished (and showered), I was already feeling aches and pains that caused me to make a mental note to track down a pharmacy later to get some Advil.
I had my breakfast on the front porch, which also needed to be cleaned, and munched on a granola bar as I surveyed the cabin. In truth, it could be cute with some work. The amount of work for that to happen, though, was mind-boggling. Most everything I could do myself — including roof repair and plumbing tweaks — but I couldn’t decide if I wanted to put in the effort.
When the assignment came up, no one wanted to leave the comfortable confines of Detroit to volunteer his or her time in the sticks. That’s why the boss insisted we draw straws. I put on a brave face when I lost, but moving wasn’t high on my to-do list. Still, here I was. If I didn’t put forth the effort I would essentially be proving to Rooster that my heart wasn’t in the gig. In truth, the Hawthorne Hollow assignment offered me a chance to learn about creatures I’d never come in contact with ... and I was always up for learning.
“Good morning.”
I jerked my head up at the greeting, frowning when I recognized Raisin’s red head. She’d managed to sneak up on me thanks to a generous tree line, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d taken the time to watch me before making her presence known. I didn’t like the thought.
&
nbsp; “Hey.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand — there were no napkins inside, so I had another thing to add to my shopping list — and watched the girl approach. “Where did you come from?”
“I live over that way.” Raisin’s wave was vague. She could’ve been pointing in almost any direction. “Rooster told me you would be living here, so I decided to play a hunch and see if you needed any help.”
The girl almost looked hopeful, which instantly made me suspicious.
“Help with what?”
Raisin shrugged. “Whatever needs to be done around here. The last person who stayed here really let the cabin go.”
That was an understatement. “And who was that?”
“Her name was Rain and she had a personality like burnt toast.”
“Crunchy?”
“Stinky.”
I bobbed my head, amused. “Well ... I’m sorry she wasn’t friendly.”
“She wasn’t unfriendly,” Raisin said hurriedly. “She simply didn’t get how hard it is to live out here, what with all the monsters and everything.”
I was instantly suspicious. I didn’t sense a whiff of witch on the girl, yet she obviously knew the Spells Angels were more than they appeared. “What kind of monsters?” I asked, testing a theory.
“All kinds.” Raisin warmed to her subject as she sat next to me on the porch without invitation. “There are spriggans ... and werewolves ... and ghosts. I mean ... a lot of ghosts. Have you seen how many cemeteries we have?”
“Yeah. A lot.”
“There are also wendigos, Bigfoot, the Mothman and Hellhounds.”
I pressed my lips together, unsure how to proceed. “Bigfoot, huh?”
“Oh, I know that some people don’t believe he exists, but I know he does,” Raisin replied. “I’ve felt his presence outside my house. He likes to lurk, be on his own, but he’s out there.”
In other words she’d heard a lot of talk but had no idea what to make of it. That made sense. She was a young girl trying to get a foothold in a world she didn’t understand. Of course she talked big. She might even have the guts to back up her words. That didn’t mean she understood what was happening around her.
Bad to the Crone Page 4
