Indie Saint: An Urban Fantasy Adventure

by VK Fox

Jane stuck her hands in her pockets to keep from fidgeting. The walkways by the boarding areas were bustling, so she just tried to keep pace with Dahl. “Ian made it sound like being in Sana Baba and having power is a vocation, like an undeniable calling.”

  “Yes, he thinks of it that way. People who have been in Sana Baba since birth usually have a vocational outlook. It’s part of the reason we decided I would be a better teacher for you. I remember life before being part of all of this. I remember having plans before everything went sideways. I have a better idea of what you’re going through. A couple of areas in my training were poorly handled, and this was one of them. We’re trying to do better by you. If we were going to Sana Baba, you’d be assigned someone else, but we’re not, so you get either Ian or me. I’m sure I’m not the ideal person, but of the two of us, I’m the better choice.”

  Jane followed quietly for a minute before breaking the silence. “So where are we going? What’s this lead we’re following?”

  Dahl unwrapped a candy bar and broke off a piece. “We know there’s another wild talent, and we’re trying to locate her. We didn’t know about you. We thought we were tracking a middle-aged woman based on Ian’s dreams. She’s extremely unstable, so time is of the essence. Ian’s worried about what he saw in my last dream. He knows how to interpret visions almost instantly, but when he doesn’t talk about it and keeps trying to second-guess himself, that’s when I know it’s bad. He’s trying to believe he’s wrong. Innocent people are dying because of her. Some kind of unavoidable, violent confrontation is going to happen, and reading between the lines, I believe there will be at least one fatality.”

  “My God, are you kidding?”

  “This is the real thing, Jane. I know it seems frightening, but you can handle yourself. You haven’t had any meaningful amount of training, but I did assess you over the last few days. You’re not hopeless. Your presence could save lives.”

  Jane closed her eyes for a second and tried to squash the twisting in her stomach. “Okay, I get it. Bad things are happening and we need to help. I’ll do my best. Where are we headed?”

  They were almost at the waiting area to board their plane. Jane could make out Ian taking up two seats and towering over the closest travelers. Dahl finished chewing before responding. “We’re flying to Philly and then driving for about an hour. Our final destination is a small town called Kennett Square, Pennsylvania.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The puppy in the third kennel was just so stinkin’ cute. His darling round ears were unclipped, Eileen was pleased to see. His tail was docked, though, barely two inches long and naked pink. He must have rubbed the hair off on the bars of the crate. He was larger than Eileen was thinking, but could she go too large, given her circumstances? Maybe ninety pounds? He was mostly fluff and sporting a long, wiry brown coat similar to an Irish wolfhound. He was a shedder, for sure.

  Eileen hadn’t planned to stop by the shelter today, but everything happened for a reason. She’d been walking . . . somewhere. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember where. Eileen sighed. Senior brain. Getting old was not for the weak of heart.

  Passing in front of the shelter, Eileen had been thinking about Baxter. Even after a year, the loneliness had an edge. With David away, Baxter gone, and her mother’s passing, the feeling gnawed constantly in one place or another. Constantly stumbling over cold, empty spaces that used to be filled by the people she loved was exhausting. A dizzy spell had hit, and Eileen was sure a small ball of light raced along the ground and into the open window. She sat on the front bench next to the trash can and the complimentary bags for doggy doo, sipping her bottle of juice. Stars were still popping in her eyes when she thought, Why not? Maybe today was a good day for a new best friend.

  Eileen stooped to peer through the bars at eye level. “Hey, boy!” she crooned in her voice reserved for good dogs.

  He lifted his head and prodded the bars with an angular muzzle.

  “Aren’t you the sweetest! You wanna come home with me? I’ve got a nice kibble dinner all ready for a good boy!” His bright, dark eyes followed Eileen as he licked at her hand, the bars, and his nose.

  An hour later, they were home. Eileen wasn’t able to get much information from the shelter on the big guy. Unknown breed, picked up as a stray. They said he’d been rescued from the river, poor thing. Some beastly person had probably dumped him in the water when he wasn’t a little puppy anymore. Well, now he had a good home. Eileen named him Morty. The dog in her book club story had an unpronounceable name, so she’d mentally substituted “Morty” while she was reading. The name had grown on her.

  Eileen laid out his kibble and water and opened his crate. Kibble was a stopgap until she changed him over to the raw diet for dogs that had recently caught her attention, since doing so suddenly might cause indigestion. George might already have a little trouble adapting to her new friend, so she did not need canine indigestion as a cherry on top.

  Morty was all settled, lying in front of his food dish, rubbing his paws across his ears and face. What a smart boy! It would be nice if he groomed himself. Eileen turned to the fridge and pulled out dinner preparations: salmon, blackberries, bourbon, and a little butter. Real butter was high in cholesterol, but you couldn’t beat it for flavor in a sauce. Eileen added a dab and then finished with margarine. Her arteries would thank her later.

  Dinner was coming along nicely, and Eileen stepped away to make sure she’d remembered to lock the door. She peeked out the window into the darkness of the early night. The days were getting shorter. She loved the long, warm summer evenings and glared at the inky blackness settling over her neighborhood. Her door was locked; no one was on the street. Good. The blinking voicemail light caught Eileen’s eye on the way back to the kitchen.

  The first message was a hang up.

  Second one, hang up.

  Third one was a child’s voice saying, “Hello? Hello?”

  Eileen pursed her lips. She wished parents would not let their children play with the telephone. It was not a toy. What if they called 911? What if their call blocked another person’s actual emergency call? Bad behavior was a public safety hazard.

  The fourth message was the same little boy’s voice. Eileen was about to delete it when she froze. He’d said her name. Now that was odd.

  “Hello, Eileen?” Not Mrs. Kendle. He called her by her first name. Eileen’s eyes narrowed. “Eileen? Are you there? Listen, they know about you, about what we’re doing together. Be careful what you wish for. They’re trying to find you.” The message ended with a click. Eileen stared at the phone, her mouth slightly open. This was far beyond a prank call. She would have to tell the police.

  The young deputy from the sheriff’s department listened to the message and almost managed to suppress his condescending smile. Eileen gave him her best frosty glare.

  “All right, Mrs. Kendle, I can see you’re upset, but it’s nothing to worry about. I know it’s annoying, but there’s no real harm in it.”

  Eileen crossed her arms. “He’s threatening me. He’s saying if I’m not careful, someone is going to come after me.”

  “Mrs. Kendle.” The deputy raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “The kid sounds young. Probably someone’s younger brother on a dare. You’re not in danger from a ten-year-old.”

  Eileen’s pager vibrated: 411, the information code. Well fine, if the police weren’t going to help her, she’d figure it out herself. The deputy was taking out a card. “Here’s my number in case anything else comes up. You have a safe evening, Mrs. Kendle.”

  After making sure the door was locked behind the useless deputy, Eileen hurried upstairs, biting her nails as she waited for her modem to connect. On the First Alert board, she poured over articles about the Jersey Devil, the Leeds Devil, and Mothman. Any one of these monsters could have eaten Major and Athena. She’d known living in the woods was dangerous. There were bears, coyotes, cougars, hunting accidents, and now she was learning about the top p
redators lurking in the pines: the ones who would prey on pets, livestock, and people.

  The internet session crashed when stupid call waiting bumped her off. Eileen smothered her annoyance by taking a deep, steadying breath. Salmon and blackberry bourbon smells drifted from the kitchen. The scent of her son’s room reminded her of happy times. Morty was adding his own distinct odor to her home’s potpourri. Eileen frowned slightly. He might need a bath.

  The phone rang again, and Eileen’s annoyance was undercut by a chilly stab of fear. No use hiding. She’d have to face whoever was on the line. No one could hurt her through the phone, anyway. They were calling her in her home. She was not going to allow herself to be afraid of her own telephone. She grabbed the receiver of the old rotary on her desk.

  “Hello?” Eileen did her level best to sound cheerful and carefree. That would show them.

  “Eileen, it’s Betty.” Her voice was tight. “Can you come over? Something’s been in my backyard again.”

  Eileen and Morty hurried to the front walk. His leash manners needed work. He ambled about with no sense of direction, sniffing this, nibbling that. The collar kept threatening to slip off when Eileen tried to hurry him along. He wasn’t shaped right for a regular collar. Eileen would need to buy one of those body harnesses, if they made them in his size.

  Betty opened the door before she’d had a chance to ring the bell, worry etched on her tan features. “Thanks for coming.” Betty’s gaze fell on Morty, who had his nose skyward, sniffing the air, long whiskers wiggling.

  “My goodness, who’s this?” Betty used a crooning tone, but checked herself when she reached out to touch him, eyeing the teeth protruding from beneath his front lips. He needed some dental work.

  “He’s a good bit larger than Baxter, Eileen! Did you get him today?”

  Larger than who? Eileen didn’t know who Baxter was, so she pressed on. “I just brought him home from the pound. Isn’t he marvelous? I named him Morty. I’m sorry it took me a minute. He hasn’t been leash trained, so we were all stop-and-go on the way over.”

  Morty was getting antsy. He’d obviously caught a scent. His nose was twitching, and he was pulling hard toward the backyard.

  Betty eyed him. “We’re headed to the backyard, anyway. I’ll grab my boots and meet you there.” She ducked back inside.

  Morty pulled Eileen into an undignified trot, past Athena and Major’s memorial sign that Betty had placed in the front yard a few days ago. Past the paint-splattered grass where the concrete mushrooms had stood, now moved over to the festival grounds. Past Betty’s sign offering a reward for information leading to the capture of a large, predatory animal.

  Around the back of the house was the cats’ grave. The flowers on top had been disturbed, fresh earth thrown around the yard and mixed with something rank that Morty was sticking his nose in. Betty’s concrete back patio was painted with the word “cats” crossed out using the circle-slash symbol that indicated such things were banned. The remainder of the paint cans was dumped around her yard and thrown in the woods. Eileen shook her head and bent to see what Morty was licking. Ground beef. Pounds and pounds of it strewn around. What a waste.

  “Oh, Betty, I’m sorry. This is beastly.”

  “How did this happen?” Betty was pale, and her lip trembled slightly. “At first I thought an animal had dug up the grave, but then I saw the writing.”

  “It’s worse than animals. Teenagers did this.” Eileen put a conciliatory hand on Betty’s arm as her sweet, thoughtful neighbor covered her face and cried. Teenagers were such little beasts. All the capabilities of an adult without any of the wisdom or perspective. If Eileen could change one thing about Kennett Square, it would be fewer rebellious, hormone-driven monsters tramping all over decent folk on their journey of self-discovery. Someone needed to teach them a lesson. Prank calls and vandalism were the fruits of soft, incompetent parenting. She took the deputy’s card from her pocket, nearly crumpling it as her hand clenched in a sudden surge of vertigo, a small bead of light snaking away into the woods. “This young man is on duty tonight. Give him a call. You need to report this.”

  By the time Eileen dragged Morty bodily away from the beef feast and back to her house, her arms were trembling and her blouse was damp with sweat. She fumbled with her keys as the leash handle jerked violently. The phone was ringing, and she wanted to get to it before the machine answered. It would be super convenient if George worked late tonight. Or maybe he would suddenly be sent on an emergency appointment or some other non–life threatening but urgent matter that would occupy him until she got her ducks in a row.

  Eileen sat until the vertigo passed. Second time today. Or was it the third? This was more than low blood sugar. Maybe she should stop by an oxygen bar. Toxic buildup in the human body could cause a whole host of issues. Eileen held her head in her hands, waiting for the world to right itself. Morty, bless him, had stopped pulling and was distracted by gnawing on her front porch rocking chair. What if she became dizzy while driving? What if she slipped and fell in the shower?

  Incessant ringing of the phone snapped her out of her “what ifs.” Eileen stood slowly and slotted the key into the lock. She ushered Morty inside with moderate effort and grabbed the receiver.

  George’s voice was on the other end. “About time. I was almost out of quarters.”

  “Sorry, sweetie. I ran over to Betty’s and just got back. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Everything’s fine.” George did not offer additional details about why he was repeatedly calling from a pay phone.

  “Okay! Salmon for dinner tonight,” Eileen promised.

  “I have to go to the hospital.”

  “What?” Eileen couldn’t believe her luck. She mentally reprimanded herself and affected her voice with deepest concern. “Darling, what happened? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” George sounded irritated because she’d prompted him to repeat himself. Well, if he was so fine, why was he calling from a pay phone on his way to the hospital? He paused, then said, “I have a spider bite.”

  “Oh, George! Was it a black widow? Or a brown recluse? You do need to go to the hospital, hurry. But drive safe. But hurry. Maybe call 911 and have them pick you up.”

  “For crying out loud, Eileen, I’m not going to die. It wasn’t a venomous spider.”

  Eileen lapsed into puzzled silence again.

  George concluded in a rush. “It itches like crazy. I think eggs may be hatching. Anyhow, I have to go now.”

  Click.

  Eileen stared at the receiver for a few seconds before returning it to the cradle. Well, how about that? Hopefully things would be back to normal soon, but Eileen couldn’t help a little smirk. She’d warned him about something similar last week, and he’d laughed at her and said the story went round every five years and it never got any truer. Well, who was the gullible idiot now? The phone rang again before her hand dropped, and she answered with, “Yes, George?”

  A little boy’s voice responded. “They’re getting on an airplane. They’ll be in the city by this afternoon. They know where you are. Get out, Eileen. Run!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The flight was over too soon. Jane sat by the window snuggled next to Ian, who easily filled two of the three seats in the row. While boarding the plane the attendant had scrutinized Jane’s face, checking it against a printout she couldn’t quite see but guessed was a picture of her. Jane glanced to Dahl, expecting him to spring into action, but before he could, the young woman shook her head in confusion and waved them through.

  Jane watched the runway speed by faster and faster until unbelievable freedom and excitement overtook her as they became airborne, the ground rapidly dropping away. The roads and cars and city shrank to miniature while Jane imagined millions of people below going about their day while she flew overhead. Now that was magic.

  Ian held her hand and they talked about nothing. Jane forgot they were anything other than two people who liked each
other, eager to find out more about one another and say funny, interesting, and wonderful things to see the other’s reaction. Ian kept gently rubbing her hand with his thumb, and Jane was torn between gazing out the window at the beautiful world below and his gorgeous, smiling face.

  Then they landed, and life returned to a rush of things to do and places to be: get off the plane, hit the bathroom, rent a car, grab food to go. They drove out of Philly and headed toward an upscale hotel just outside of Kennett Square. Ian had booked rooms from the airport pay phone, and he was happy to be able to get three. Apparently, a local mushroom festival was drawing a lot of tourism, and the nationally famous gardens were having a fountain show. Jane was pretty excited. Not that mushrooms were a particularly big deal or that she frequented garden shows, but a fancy hotel and any kind of festival put a silver lining on things. Then she remembered someone was going to die before all of this was over, and some of her enthusiasm bled away.

  Dahl called shotgun, put on his Walkman headphones, kicked up his feet on the dash, and closed his eyes during the ride. He could have slept, perhaps more easily, in the back seat, but his nap did leave Ian and Jane with some privacy, so she tried not to be too salty. Jane was wrapping her head around what things would look like once they arrived.

  “We’ll try to get the lay of the land as quickly as possible,” Ian related. “Time is important in this situation, and I don’t know as much about this going in as I would like. You and Dahl will get a feel for the locals: check the papers, talk to anyone who appears relevant, that kind of thing. I’ll chat with the local wildlife.”

  Both of Jane’s eyebrows went up. “I’m sorry. You’ll what?” She held back a giggle.

  “Speak with the animals in the area. The more observant and communicative ones anyway: crows, dogs, starlings. Ask what they’ve seen.”

  Jane had a sudden mental image of Ian standing in a floral meadow, a crow perched on his hand, wind blowing his hair like a scene from a princess movie. Laughter bubbled over. She couldn’t help it. This was not what she’d expected of his magic.