Jerrod tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm to a song in his head. “So, tell me, were Mooncussers and Paladins oft-times lovers?"
"Mooncusser sons and daughters were betrothed to Paladin sons and daughters to keep the secrets and preserve the way of life."
"When you were a kid did you ever sit on the front porch of the manor and neck with a Paladin's son?” Jerrod asked.
"Most of the Paladin kids my age were afraid of me. They thought I was the reason the kin were cursed.” Vesper stopped, thinking. “You know, growing up I thought the curse was my fault, too—for not going with the captain, but those were a child's fears. We were cursed when my uncle put a torch to the wreck. The curse was in the smoke. It filled the air, and our destiny."
"The captain who gave you the curse...” Jerrod said with an ominous tone. “What was his name?"
Vesper sighed. “I don't know. His ship was the Sea Shadow. He wanted me as compensation for the wrecking, and he said when he came back to make repairs, that I'd better go with him. Uncle torched the ship. The captain never returned. And the curse goes on."
He reached over and squeezed Vesper's left hand. “You're waiting for him, aren't you?"
"Yes. And when he returns, I'm going to get him to lift the curse. Every now and then there's a sighting."
"And you know this how?"
"Our website."
"Modern day incubi have a website?"
"Of course. The vampires have one. So do the lycanthropes and the magic users. Why not us?"
Jerrod guessed at the URL. “www.incubus..."
"No. ShadowLovers.org,” Vesper corrected.
"Who's the webmaster?"
Vesper shrugged. “I don't know."
"Then how do you know that the information you read on the site is accurate?"
"I know. We don't lie to each other. We don't seek to sensationalize events—we are sensational events. Our existence is extraordinary."
"How many of there are you?"
Vesper shook her head. “I can't say."
"Can't, or won't?"
"Can't. I don't know. I have six sisters, a mother, three aunts, three uncles and dozens of cousins. At least that was the count when they left the beach. I don't know how many more Shadow Lovers there are."
"Do only your kind view the site? Can only your kind become members?"
"You're asking a lot of questions, Mr. Castaneda. But to quell your inquisitiveness, yes, anyone can view the site, but no, anyone cannot join and post. The webmaster rejects posers—you know ... mortals who've figured out that our kind exist and try to infiltrate behind the veil of internet privacy."
"Shadow Lovers have groupies?” Jerrod continued.
"It's that envenomation thing. Just another cycle of addiction for mortality to deal with. Only we don't get school programs and celebrity spokespersons."
"Well, I want more of you, but I don't think it's because I'm addicted,” Jerrod replied.
"You're not addicted. You're horny. Thank God. I need someone like you."
Jerrod turned his head. “You know, I need you, too. Just what the doctor ordered. A gorgeous touchstone to help me find my way home and the memories I lost along the path."
Chapter Twelve
Marshes Coomb looked like a castle beyond a moat, both sides of the road into town being flanked by thick reeds and marsh grass. Designated wetlands. Mostly because nothing could be done with it. Too wet. Too vast. Too many damned ducks and gulls and critters of all sorts making their home in the muck and reeds.
"It reminds me of driving through Nebraska as a kid. The road had cornstalks a good ten feet high on either side,” Jerrod remarked.
"Ah, a memory resurfacing?” Vesper asked.
"Just like with the lyrics to ‘Witchy Woman.’ It's all coming back to me. I wonder if a kid has ever gone out to catch frogs and just sank to the bottom, vanishing forever."
Vesper nodded. “Two or three over the last hundred years. There's one in every generation who won't listen to reason and catch frogs along the creek instead of sloshing into the marshes."
"That's sad, Vesper. Children are precious little creatures."
"The townies blame the disappearance of their runaway cats and dogs on the kin. We're relegated to ghost stories and fantastic tales now,” Vesper replied.
"Do they know who you are? I mean, as a woman—a person,” Jerrod asked. Do I know who you are?
"They know who I am. I am old blood around here. At least my family name is. I buy my groceries and rent the occasional DVD—and order take-out—but that's it. I don't go to the socials or picnics or Fourth of July celebrations. I've survived because I kept to myself. I had no one to watch my back."
"You needed a Paladin."
Vesper answered softly, “I needed a Paladin. Welcome home, Jerrod. Ah, cometh Stepford. You'll want to take a left at the corner."
Jerrod's eyes met fleetingly with the eyes of an old man sitting on a park bench next to the large “Welcome to Marshes Coomb” sign. “Is it the car? People are staring at us again, Vesper."
"In this town if your shoe laces are untied you're likely to make the morning news."
"Ah, I see. Well, grocery shopping with you should be lovely."
Vesper tapped Jerrod's shoulder. “The Public House. Breakfast."
"Perfect.” He pulled the Woodie up behind the delivery truck and turned off the ignition. Vesper began to open her door. “No. Allow me!” Jerrod ordered. He dashed around the front of the car and opened Vesper's door. He extended his hand.
"Such a gentleman,” Vesper whispered as Jerrod helped her from the car.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “Shall we? Dare I say I hear the soft song of sizzling bacon and cheesy hash browns calling to us?"
"Thank you, kind sir,” Vesper said, exiting her Woody. “Let's hurry inside. I know the town is quaint and charming, but I swear the eyes on my back are going to be the death of me every time I show up to buy so much as a box of tacks. Thank God for internet shopping, is all I can say."
Jerrod opened the door of the Public House to allow Vesper to enter. “Darling,” he said as she passed, “A beautiful, mysterious woman with an antique car or a motorcycle worth more than some of the houses around here is worth staring at."
"I've never liked being noticed,” Vesper whispered, heading quickly across the restaurant to the counter. “And value has little to do with why they stare at me. Some of the ocean-view houses around here are worth millions."
Jerrod slipped onto a padded bar stool next to Vesper. A fresh-faced waitress chewing a wad of pink gum pulled two thick ceramic mugs out from the counter and poured black coffee into each. “Know what you want, miss?” she asked with a smack of her chewing gum.
Vesper turned to Jerrod, who had opened a menu resting behind the napkin dispenser. “What the Hell is this? How old is this menu? It's ... disgusting."
Vesper laughed. “May I order for us? It might be safer that way. We don't really order off the menu here. We order what we want."
"Yes, please,” Jerrod replied. He looked up at the waitress, pointing at an item. “How are the chilled celery logs today?"
The waitress smacked her gum and with a droll expression replied, “They're buried out back with the frankfurter casserole. You want I should reheat some for you?"
Vesper looked toward Jerrod. “Do you keep kosher?” she asked.
Jerrod shrugged. “I suppose so. I don't recall.” He frowned. “Nope, that memory is lost. I only just recently remembered that I was raised Jewish."
The waitress shot Jerrod a 'you gotta be kidding me' glance. Vesper interceded by ordering. “I'll have bacon and eggs, scrambled, with cheesy hashbrowns, wheat toast and fresh tomato slices. He'll have the Denver omelet, without diced ham, and all the sides. Add cheese to his hashbrowns, too."
The waitress tried to remove the menu from Jerrod's hands. Jerrod resisted. “Oh, no. You can't have this back. I'm keepi
ng it. A souvenir from Marshes Coomb. It's like reading a bad novel from the ‘70s. I just can't put it down. Do you really serve mackerel mousse ... with egg? I mean ... really?"
"Is he for real, miss?” the young waitress asked.
"He's new here,” Vesper apologized. “Jerrod, quit sniggering. The Public House menu is an institution here in Stepford ... oh, I mean Marshes Coomb."
The waitress giggled and slid the order ticket over the stainless counter to the waiting fry cook. “He can keep the damned menu if he really needs to. Trust me, with items like mackerel mousse on the thing, we still have a case in the back room collecting dust since nineteen seventy-two when my mother was my age. Better we should have a bonfire and get rid of the things before they spontaneously combust under their own weight. I hear the chicken-liver bake was smokin’ back in the day."
"Thank you. I'll cherish this forever,” Jerrod called. He nodded toward the grimacing old cook. “How long has he worked here? He looks like a shar pei."
"Mr. Moretti has been cooking here since he was sixteen. I think he's ninety-seven now,” Vesper replied, stirring cream into her mug.
Jerrod took a sip of coffee. “All righty, then. I hope his heart holds out long enough to cook my eggs."
"If you ever need to hire help around here, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum are in the bar. They take direction well. Just don't leave them to their own devices,” Vesper said.
Jerrod scanned the room. “There's a bar?"
"The back two tables. See the red line painted on the floor? That separates the bar from the restaurant."
"Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go make friendly with the natives.” Jerrod strolled across the hardwood floor, trying not to laugh as he crossed the “line” between restaurant and bar.
"Hi, I'm Jerrod Castaneda.” He held out his hand.
"I'm Arthur DeSalvo, and this here is my kid brother, Billy. What can I do you for?"
"I'm handyman for the Mooncusser Cove bed-and-breakfast. We want to put up a deck over the beach. Can you steer me to the lumberyard?"
"Bed-and-breakfast at the cove? Nevah heahd of it. No mattah.” Arthur pulled out a business card from his pocket. “You give me a call, and I'll come out and take a few measurements and get the lumbah out to you."
"Excellent. You boys busy this afternoon?” Jerrod asked.
"We can come out a bit latah,” Arthur replied. “The cove you say?"
"I'm going to do some shopping and check out of the hotel, so say, two or three hours?"
Arthur DeSalvo took a long swig from his draft beer. “Ayuh."
Jerrod smiled and strolled out of the bar and back to his waiting breakfast.
"So, you have some history with old Arthur DeSalvo, Vesper?” Jerrod asked. “He was looking over my shoulder at you the whole time. I asked them to come out and give me a materials estimate for your dock."
"I hope this won't bother you too much, but I have a bit of history with nearly every member of this town. I've been around for awhile, you know?"
"Yeah, but did you sleep with him?” Jerrod asked.
"Jealous?” Vesper teased.
"No. Curious."
"Well, then—no. I didn't sleep with him. I had only to flirt with him to feed. The poor man has a dirty mind and no outlet for his sexual frustrations. He still lives with his mother!"
"Thank God,” Jerrod replied.
"I've tried that,” Vesper said before taking a sip of coffee.
"What? Thanking God?” Jerrod asked.
"He wasn't in a forgiving mood that day. I'll try again at some point. Right now, however, I'm going to eat my eggs, get another cup of this delicious coffee and make out my shopping list.” Vesper took a bite of her eggs, then continued, “I've been making a list of items I need to put the finishing touches on the manor house, too. New linens, bar glasses..."
Jerrod interrupted. “A liquor license?"
"Already have that. It's grandfathered in with the rooming house license. I love old blue laws. Perfectly legal and way too much work for the city fathers to change,” Vesper replied.
"Condom vending machine?"
"No ... I'm going to put those in with the toiletries—along with some extra mouthwash and KY."
"What? No Spanish fly and oysters?"
"Oysters will be on the supper menu,” Vesper said through a fog of note-taking onto a slip of paper from her handbag. “And Spanish fly is poisonous."
Jerrod chuckled. “You are certainly tenacious, Vesper Adaire."
"My ad should be in the Times and a few travel magazines really soon. I should start booking rooms for summer shortly. My fax machine and website reservations forms are up and running. My ad is fantastic."
"Have a copy?"
"After we eat we can check the newsstand,” Vesper replied.
Jerrod took a bite and immediately realized how hungry he was. The first taste of cheese-laden hashbrowns dotted with finely chopped green peppers and onions sent a wave of gastronomic pleasure from his lips to his toes. “This is good."
Vesper looked up from her paper. “This is the best the Coomb has to offer.” Vesper cringed. “They're staring at me again—through the windows. Being in town unnerves me a bit. I really need to back off this place for a century or so."
"Wrath of an angry mob with pitchforks and torches."
"They haven't done that in centuries around here. It used to be that they'd forget about me until they saw me. I'm lingering more in their minds now. Like burnt toast. Ya know? I thought I'd worked hard not to infect the village to any great extent. But over time, I guess the cloister has been breeched."
"Oy vey. I'm not so relieved that you have a Brigadoon effect on the township. I've worked so hard to recover my memories. Please don't tell me I'll come to think of you as only a fleeting memory or an itch to scratch,” Jerrod teased.
Vesper flicked her long fingers with their medium-length, well-manicured nails at Jerrod. “I have an itch, Jerrod. Wanna scratch me?"
Chapter Thirteen
Jerrod paid the bill for their breakfast and escorted Vesper out of the Public House. “It's not far. Can we walk up to the hotel? Maybe I'll take a quick shower before checking out."
Vesper looped her arm inside Jerrod's. “Want company?"
They strolled up the street, dodging glances. “I feel like I have a giant scarlet ‘A’ pinned to my chest and that a little drummer boy is following me around. They've never stared so before,” Vesper whispered.
"Not much longer, Vesper. Not much longer,” Jerrod replied.
"You're good for me, Jerrod."
"Each time you touch me I feel more whole than I have since the accident. I really don't care if your tale is true or not. I want to be here. I want to be here because my father left unfinished business here. I want to make claim to the land he abandoned."
Vesper giggled. “You already did."
They walked into the hotel, past the gruff desk clerk without more than a nod of the head. Jerrod's room had been cleaned. He hadn't unpacked his bag.
"I'm going to take a quick shower and change.” He paused. “Coming?"
Vesper stripped off her clothing. “God, I hope so!"
The shower was spacious for a hotel room. Jerrod and Vesper slid together, enjoying the hot spray and citrus-scented soap.
"Even in a locked hotel room, behind a closed bathroom door and within the confines of a crackle-glass shower door, I still feel their eyes on me. I've never felt comfortable while in town,” Vesper turned to allow Jerrod to massage soap into her back. “But this is different."
"Their drummer boy is following you everywhere you go.” Jerrod ground his pelvis against Vesper's rear-end, making a ratt-a-tat-tat sound in her ear in rhythm to the sway of his hips.
Vesper opened the sliding door on her side. “I'm hopping out. There's a damned drummer boy in here. Pain-in-the-ass kid."
She stepped out and wrapped herself in a large, distinctly hotel white, utilitarian-grade towel.
Jerrod wrapped a second around his waist.
Vesper flashed Jerrod a bit of thigh and jumped onto the hotel bed. “This is nice. I wonder what kind of mattress they're using. It's a California King, isn't it? This is huge."
"Lay back. Open your towel,” Jerrod commanded.
Vesper rolled onto her stomach and slid her body over the side of the bed. She lifted the comforter and sheets. “Where's the damn brand name?"
Jerrod climbed onto the bed. He slid his hands under Vesper's towel. With one strong move, he grabbed her legs and rolled her onto her back, sliding her fully onto the bed. Vesper tried to slink away. “Stop that!” Jerrod cried.
"I'm all clean,” Vesper whined.
"Yes, you are. But what I'm going to do won't make you messy.” Jerrod paused to pry open Vesper's legs. He put the palm of his right hand over her mound. “Relax, will you? Or can't you do it if you don't initiate it?” Before Vesper could answer, Jerrod buried his face between her legs.
She moaned softly as he traced his tongue around her clitoris, teasing it, tempting it to come out and play. He flicked upward, catching the hilt of her labia just above her clitoris, letting his tongue fall back against her bud with each pass. Vesper gripped the comforter, no longer interested in knowing the brand of the mattress.
Jerrod lifted her hips and pressed his tongue into her, using the bridge of his nose to continue pleasuring her clitoris. Vesper shuddered and came softly against his face, trying not to scream, mindful that she was on unfriendly soil.
He backed away as her body relaxed. “Where are you going?” Vesper asked.
"Shopping,” Jerrod replied.
"Don't you want to..."
Jerrod laughed. “Nope. That was for you. Now, get dressed."
* * * *
Jerrod checked out of the hotel. Vesper hovered in the foyer, trying to stay out of sight. Never one to be a shrinking violet, she now wished she were safe at home.
She clung to Jerrod as they walked down the street to the grocery store. The bright orange and harvest-gold grocery store. He'd felt very manly and important holding her arm as they strolled Front Street (as opposed to Side Street or Back Street—which were a few blocks over, Vesper explained) ... until the sight of the store's color scheme zapped him out of his happy place and into a very harshly-hued reality.
Mooncusser Cove Page 11
