Treasure Tides (The Coins)

by Greene, Deniece

  “Don’t be mean to him when you see him tomorrow,” Natie begged. “I love you, and I’ll text you when I’m done with my pedi. Night.”

  “Night, call me if you need me.” What a total jackass, Becki thought as she ended the call.

  Landon strolled down the pier; pushing a cart in front of him, “Success!” he bragged, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

  “It’s about time,” Becki replied, glancing around. “Did you see anyone else close by?”

  Landon frowned, “No, why?” he asked, breathing deeply. If anyone were around, he would know it. He did not pick up the scent of anyone close by. “Is your imagination working overtime, scaredy-cat?” he teased, as he maneuvered the cart as close to the boat as possible.

  “Oh, kiss my ass. Why would I be scared with a big strong bonehead like you to protect me?” Becki asked, fluttering her eyes in mock adoration.

  “Exactly,” Landon made a fist, showcasing his “guns”. “Now let’s get this loaded so I can get home before the sun comes up.”

  As if it mattered, sunlight did not bother him in the least, unlike Vamps who dealt with daylight limitations. In recent years, their “daylight allergy” had become less of an issue due to new breakthroughs in technology. In Landon’s opinion, Vamps were bad enough at night without technology enabling them to roam during daylight hours. Progress was not always a good thing.

  “Whatever,” Becki said, moving to the opposite side of the crate. “You were the one who had to go find Jack so you could use the cart. Let’s get this show on the road, my feet are killing me.”

  It had been a long day with Natie and Jonah and an even longer night at work. The kitchen was backed up, customers were grouchy, and two waitresses had called in sick. The approaching tropical storm didn’t help anyone’s attitude. Hurricane Hugo had devastated the area years ago, so everyone watched tropical storms pretty closely now.

  Landon gripped his side of the crate. “Now, when I say lift, we lift and walk toward the pier and set it down close to the cart. Ready? One, two, three... lift.”

  Royce braced himself, certain that he was about to be dropped. Oh shit, here we go.

  Landon made sure to support the bulk of the crate, but let Becki think she was helping. Soon it was loaded into his truck, and they were on their way to Becki’s house. Shaking his head, he watched Becki take a corner at warp speed; she was practically on two wheels. Fast was the only way she knew how to drive a car. Why her parents ever bought her a sports car, he would never know. She really needed a Sherman Tank. She was already trudging up the steps to the front door when he pulled in the driveway. Landon knew she had been out on the water today and then worked a full shift. She looked like she was dragging.

  “I’ll get this,” he said, when she started back down the stairs to come and help him. “You go in and sit down a minute. I’ll come through to say goodnight before I leave.”

  “Deal,” she answered gratefully, “I’ll let you in the back door.”

  Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he slid the crate out of the truck-bed. Once on the ground, he strapped it to the cart, wheeled it into the back yard, and placed it on her deck.

  “‘Night,” Landon called as he walked through the living room on his way out the front door to Becki’s house. “I put the crate on your deck. Lock up when I leave to keep the crazies out.”

  “I think it’s too late,” Becki laughed, “one already got in.” Following him to the door, she handed him a glass of sweet tea to-go. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for rescuing this damsel in distress.”

  “Any time darlin’,” he said stepping through the doorway and pulling the door closed behind him. He stood waiting until he heard the lock click into place. “Get some sleep!” Landon called as he stepped off the porch and walked silently to his truck.

  He would make someone a nice catch Becki decided. She would start keeping her eyes open for someone she thought might be good for him.

  #

  “Sean,” Royce whispered, “they have moved me to a new location.” “I’ve got you,” Sean responded immediately, “and you will never believe where you are.”

  “You are talking to the guy who just spent two years ‘swimming with the fishes’,” Royce responded. “I’ll believe just about anything.”

  “Let’s not dwell on the past.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “You remember Ryker’s house on Isle of Palms?” Sean quickly diverted, “It looks like you are on his deck.”

  “No shit? Come and get me,” Royce growled, “I think my spleen is bruised from being pushed out of the truck bed.”

  “I’m en-route now Boss; I should be there by mid-morning. I’ve talked to Joanna who said the moonlight should have triggered the unlocking sequence associated with the spell. It looks like they vaporized your body, but she said everything should return to normal when the crate opens,” Sean reassured him, then added slyly, “with little or no side effects.”

  “This son-of-a-bitch is still locked up tight,” Royce said as he tested the top and sides of the crate again with his fists. “I guess I’ll sit tight, and I do mean that literally, for the next few hours. Tell Joanna she had better be right about this.”

  “She is working on a contingency plan, just in case,” Sean said cheerfully. “I’m getting ready to go through the mountains, so I may lose you.”

  “Alright, just hurry,” Royce urged. Thinking back to what Sean had said earlier, he asked, “What ‘side effects’ are we talking about?”

  Of course, there was no immediate response.

  “Sean? Sean! Damn it, this is not funny.”

  “Sorry Boss, just kidding.”

  Royce heard rustling sounds from Sean’s end of the conversation. He was multi-tasking; Sean could never do just one thing at a time. He had too much energy. It wore a man out trying to keep up with him.

  “I’ve got to take this link from the council. I’ll see you soon,” Sean said in a rush, disconnecting before Royce could get a straight answer about the possible “side-effects” Joanna had mentioned.

  What the hell is going on with the Council? He needed a full update on the status of all missions. He also needed this damn crate to open, his body was becoming more solid, and the son-of-a-bitch was getting tight. Why were the Witches involved, Royce wondered, and why did they care about the coins? He could not believe they had done this to him. He had known the majority of all practicing Witches for most of his adult life, counting them as friend, not foe. It didn’t hurt that his sister was half Witch, which probably explained why they hadn’t just killed him. He might as well try to get some sleep while he waited for the moon to work its magic. As he closed his eyes, trying not to dwell on how hot it was getting inside that box, he wondered what morning would bring.

  Inside the house, Becki turned out the lights and headed to bed. Before putting her phone on the charger, she sent a quick text to Kurt; Stop by tomorrow? Need ur help. Nothing wrong! Night love u B. She added the part about there being ‘nothing wrong’, because she didn’t want him to jump in his truck and drive over to her house the second he was conscious enough to read the text message.

  Kurt was very much like his father, Becki’s grandfather. Both men were fiercely protective of their girls and worked hard to keep them all happy. Papaw always said he could “fix anything but a broken heart”. He could too, she thought smiling. The world needed more men like that.

  Becki thought about the crate, imagining what might be inside. Just before sleep claimed her, she felt a shimmer of unease crawl down her spine and prayed she had not found Pandora’s Box.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER TWO Kurt knocked, well actually pounded for the third time, while continuing to press the button that activated the doorbell. “Becki, what is going on?” he yelled, “open the door!” That girl ran full-steam ahead, and when she crashed, she was hard to wake up. He dialed her cell number hoping that if he could make enou
gh noise, it might just wake sleeping beauty. Actually it would be more like waking a sleeping beast as she tended to be extremely grouchy if her eyes were forced to open before noon. Kurt didn’t have a choice today; he had to meet subcontractors at the jobsite this morning.

  Pressing the doorbell button with his left hand, while beating on the door with his other fist, did not seem to be electing a response. He was about two seconds from taking the door off the hinges but yelled one last warning, “Becki, if you want to keep your front door intact, I suggest you open it.”

  Big chocolate-brown eyes peeked out through the door still glazed with sleep. “Did you have to come this early,” she grouched, opening the door to let Kurt inside, “I just got to bed a few hours ago,” she complained with a glare. Becki absolutely hated being woken up before the sun shined directly overhead. There was nothing on earth that had to be taken care of prior to twelve noon, at least nothing she could think of.

  “You said ‘stop by,’” Kurt defended with a shrug, “I’m stopping by. Now, what was this about needing my help?”

  Becki rolled her eyes and said, “I’m just sure I added ‘nothing is wrong’? Meaning you did not need to come straight over here first thing this morning.”

  “You think I don’t know by now? You would say that, even if there was something wrong.”

  Ok, he had a point there. Without giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging the accusation, she explained, “I found a crate yesterday when Jonah and I were diving; I wanted to see if you could open it for me.”

  “Let me take a look at it. I don’t have a lot of time this morning, but I can work on it later.”

  ‘Later’ would have been just fine to begin with. Shooting him one more narrow-eyed glare, Becki turned and stomped toward the patio door located in the kitchen, pausing to turn on the coffee maker as she passed by.

  After sliding the patio door open with more force than necessary, she pointed toward the crate. Kurt moved forward, frowning as he spotted symbols etched into the top of the crate, outlining the parameter of the lid. A heat advisory had been issued for today; the temperature was already nearing ninety degrees. Kurt, however, was suddenly chilled to the bone.

  “Where did you say you found this?” he asked, moving closer to the crate.

  “I found it in the cove yesterday when Jonah, Natie, and I were looking for sharks’ teeth. Well, Natie wasn’t looking for teeth, you know she won’t step foot in the water. She lounged on deck and caught some rays.”

  Kurt tested the weight of the crate. Damn, it was heavy. He wanted to load it in his truck and remove it from Becki’s house as quickly as possible. Truthfully, he wanted to get it far, far away from Becki as quickly as possible.

  “It seemed a lot lighter when I pulled it out of the water yesterday,” she remarked with a perplexed expression on her face. She shrugged and continued, “I don’t know, it must have been that buoyancy thing. Either that, or you and Landon are getting weak with age,” she added, still not over the fact that she had been awoken far too early.

  “Landon?” Kurt prompted, running his fingers over the symbols etched into the crate’s lid. The symbols were very intricate, the lines clean, indications that a powerful force had crafted this container.

  “Yes, Landon!” Becki confirmed, rolling her eyes. “He helped me move it home from the boat last night. It wouldn’t fit in my car,” Becki explained.

  As Kurt scanned the markings on the lid, hoping to find something he could interpret, Becki suddenly moved in for a closer look.

  “I don’t remember seeing those yesterday,” she said with a frown, “but then again, it is hard to think straight with Natie and Jonah around.” Abruptly turning to make her way back inside, she called, “I need caffeine; do you want a cup of coffee?”

  “Huh?” Kurt responded, still concentrating on the crate. “Coffee, do you want coffee?”

  “No thanks. I’m trying to quit,” he answered quickly.

  Becki liked her coffee strong and sweet. Her favorite recipe consisted of one part coffee, strong enough to stand a spoon in, added to an equal part of cinnamon creamer. As if that were not enough to eat the lining of a person’s stomach, she topped it off with whipped cream, from a can.

  “What the hell is going on?” he muttered, as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Kurt’s stomach was already churning, and the last thing he needed was a cup of her coffee. He had seen designs like this only once before during a top-secret mission in the Middle East. As he punched in Landon’s number, he wondered how the crate had ended up here, of all places. Good Witch? Bad Witch? It was hard to tell, but most definitely the work of a Witch.

  The call went straight to Landon’s voice mail. “Landon, we’ve got trouble. It’s about that damn box you brought to Becki’s last night. Didn’t you sense anything? Find me as soon as you get this message. We may need to call in some markers.”

  Pressing the ‘end call’ button, he mentally rearranged his day. He would call Roger to meet him at the job site, hand off the punch list, then find Landon. They had to move this crate as soon as possible if they were to protect Becki from whatever might be inside.

  “Can you get it opened?” Becki startled him as she spoke.

  “Not now. I don’t have the right tools with me,” Kurt lied without hesitation. “I’ll get things started at the jobsite and then come back to pick it up. I have something at home I think might work to pry the lid off.”

  “Ok, sounds good. I’m going to drink my coffee and work up the courage to face the day,” she said with a grimace.

  “Go back to bed,” he urged forcing a grin. “You know you want to. I’ll walk around through the gate and grab it a little later.”

  “Ok, but don’t go through it without me,” Becki stipulated.

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you out of it,” Kurt promised as he opened the patio door, motioning for her to precede him into the house.

  There was no way in hell Becki would be allowed anywhere near that crate once it had been opened. Kurt would simply tell her the crate had been empty and it had fallen apart from being sea-logged. The dumpster was being emptied tomorrow so he had disposed of it at the job site. He only hoped it would be that simple.

  As Royce listened to their conversation, he surmised that Becki’s visitor knew more than the average civilian. As their voices drifted away, he pushed against the top of the crate once more hoping to force it open. Sean said the moon would trigger an unlock sequence, since it was now daylight, he assumed the crate should be opening soon. He only hoped it was soon enough.

  “Sean! We have a problem,” Royce whispered urgently.

  “I’m on it boss,” came the immediate reply.

  # Kurt wracked his brain, as he drove toward Charleston trying to remember what the symbols on the crate stood for. Most of them he could not decipher, but one appeared to resemble the moon. He had tried to pick the crate up, hoping to take it with him, but there was no possible way of moving it himself. Regardless of what Becki said, that damn thing was heavy.

  Pulling his cell out to dial again, he waited for Landon to answer. Voice mail, again! Where the hell was Landon, and why was his phone going to voice mail?

  “Call me as soon as you get this message,” Kurt barked into the phone, after dialing for the third time. “Did you notice markings on the lid of that damn crate? We are in real trouble here.”

  Kurt slammed on the brakes as traffic stopped in front of him. “Great,” he muttered seeing traffic backed up half-way across the bridge.

  Thirty minutes later he had not moved a single inch. Giving up the thought of moving off the bridge anytime soon, Kurt tried to call Landon again. This time, his call didn’t even go to voice mail. What the hell? He checked the display on his cell phone, no signal? What else could possibly go wrong? And then, with a certainty rooted deep in the pit of his stomach, he knew; Witches.

  “Holy Mother of--,” he said leaping out of the truck not bothering to lock the
doors. Feeling panic race through his body with every beat of his heart, he ran.

  # “It’s about damn time,” Royce muttered as the final strands of the spell floated away, taking with it the crate that had been his jail for the last two years.

  The moon had worked magic during the night, as anticipated. Surprisingly the moon had triggered not only an unlocking sequence but had also included a self-destruct finale. It was a pretty clever way to tidy up, Royce acknowledged. By ending with a “self-destruct”, the spell had effectively eliminated any and all evidence of Witchy-meddling.

  His body soon adjusted to the climate and pressure of the atmosphere, transforming him into a solid mass of lean muscle and strength. He stretched working out the kinks. God that felt good. Side effects my ass, Royce thought. He made a mental note to get even with Sean. After spending two years in the same clothes, the first order of business was a long hot shower.

  Royce entered the house, sliding the patio door silently open. Didn’t the girl know to keep her doors locked? He moved quietly in the direction of the bathroom, stopping abruptly as he spotted a mound of blankets piled on the couch. The mound began to move; one incredibly long leg, toes pointed, poked out for a brief moment, and then ducked back beneath the covers.

  Was something written on her foot? The blankets shifted again, he held his breath as a wild mass of tangled black hair and the face of an angel emerged. Her eyes were still firmly closed, and he found himself wondering what color they might be. A sprinkle of freckles covered her nose. He loved freckles and wondered where else they might be hidden. Royce resisted the urge to unwrap whatever present might be buried in that pile of blankets.

  A cell phone, lying on the coffee table, began to ring. A hand suddenly appeared from beneath the blankets to silence the ring and disappeared again just as quickly.

  The ringing cell phone snapped him back to reality. What was wrong with him? He’d clearly been without a woman too long.

  # Royce stepped out of the shower and reached over to snag the small white towel hanging beside the shower door. Unfortunately, there had been two clean towels in the cabinet; neither was made for a man of his size. Wrapping the miniscule towel around his waist, he moved toward the sink, looking forward to the extra toothbrush and disposable razor he had located in the medicine cabinet. Talk about a five o’clock shadow. As he filled his palm with heavy, floral scented shaving cream, he fervently hoped the scent would not linger.