by Calinda B
“What point is that?”
“You’ll see,” he said again.
Her stomach pitched another fit. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat, do you?”
“Nah. Had a fine omelet after you left the café this morning. Followed by a romp in the hay with—”
“Never mind, Cecil, zip it.” She jacked the steering wheel to avoid a herd of musk oxen, in no hurry to get out of her way. “How far?” she asked.
“All the way to the glacier.”
“What are you going to show me?”
“You’ll see,” he said, cryptically.
When they reached their destination, Cecil said, “Okay, here’s the spot. Park the car and let’s get out.”
Chia headed for the edge of the lake as if pulling into a parking spot, out of habit—no one would come out this way—and trekked in the direction Cecil indicated. The hard-pack, end of season snow crunched and cracked beneath their boots. “What are we looking for?”
“You’ll see,” he said again.
They rounded the bend and continued their hike. Her ghosts rocketed to the ground, not wanting to be left behind. They spun around her shoulders, while she batted at them, her hands simply moving through them, as if they were puffs of smoke. It felt like a cluster of wispy cats rubbing against her, coming at her from every direction.
“You know, very few, as in one or two people can see your ghosts, right?” Cecil said. “And when you bat at them, it makes you look crazy.”
“Thanks. If you were in my place, you’d bat, shake, and try to dislodge them, too. They feel like bursts of buzzing energy, they get in my way, they obscure my vision…total pests.”
Cecil gave her an enigmatic stare. “You might want to do whatever it is you don’t want me to know about to get rid of them. Just a thought.”
She fluttered her hand at him, dismissively. “Show me why we’re here and mind your business.”
He lifted his hand to point at something. “Here’s the first one. Under that outcropping, there.”
Chia gasped at the scene before her, not believing her eyes. One of the shifters—one of her shifters, a fond friend from town—lay dead, his bloody, torn lower limb trapped in a steel-jaw leg trap. His legs still in the visage of a wolf, half his torso naked and human, his mouth open in an endless scream, it looked like he’d died an agonizing death. “What the holy hell happened?” Chia asked, her hand flying to her mouth to trap the sob inside.
“I think you can see for yourself.” Cecil smirked.
“Yeah, but I mean why? And why didn’t he shift back and free himself?”
“You know a shifter in agony or under duress has no control. Hell, he probably started to shift back as he died in some sort of instinctual impulse to return to his form of origin.”
“How would I know that?” Chia snapped, clearly distraught. “I don’t shift.”
“It’s common knowledge, Ms. Manager.”
“Not to me it isn’t.” Chia struggled to hold back the rage and tears. “This violates city law six zero five, prohibiting the use of animal leg and body traps,” she said, sadly, softly, as if to herself. The laws she’d fought for, tooth and nail, were in place to protect the shifters and animals alike, and to keep the residents of Charming safe.
Two of her ghosts, the broken hearted spirit and the rage-filled one circled her head. The broken hearted ghost pulled on her, making her feel weighted and heavy. The rage-filled ghost buzzed like an angry hornet, pissing her off even more. She waved her hands frantically, shooing them away. “What do you mean the first one?”
“First of many, I’m afraid,” Cecil said, hands on his hips.
She dropped to her knees beside him, crushing the icy, brittle snowbank. She gently closed his wide, frozen in fear eyes. “Oh, Michael. Looks like you died a violent death.” She leaned closer to examine the trap. “This looks like one of the traps I confiscated a couple years back. Remember that? When I ordered everyone with a trap to hand them over? I locked them in my barn. What the hell?”
“Don’t know about the traps, but what I do know is Red did it. Either him or Dick. This whole passage into the glacier is Hung’s place of exit, right?”
“It’s usually the way he enters and exits, true.” Chia often fantasized of him making a beeline right for her house when he entered via the glacier gate. Skip the trails heading for town. Land on her doorstep with a naked smile, having shifted out of whatever form he arrived in. We’d share some skin, swap some spit, get busy, get it on, and then I’d kill him. “It’s the safest passage for him since no one comes out here. Superstitious humans and all. Why wouldn’t Hung have seen him? He must have been here for days.”
Cecil lifted one of his shoulders and let it fall. “Who knows? Maybe he scented it and thought it roadkill. Man on a mission wouldn’t stop for roadkill.”
She cast her gaze at the glacier up ahead. Known as a valley glacier, it spilled between two mountains, like a waterfall of non-moving water. The dome on the right gave the glacier its name. The top of the craggy rise looked like the back of a grizzly bear, including the hump. Smaller protrusions served as ears, leading down to a slope of a bear nose. As many had died trying to cross this passage to get wherever they needed to go, the name Haunted Bear glacier had stuck for centuries. “Why are you asking about Hung?” she asked, still horrified.
“You know that woman you didn’t want to hear about? My after brunch fuck?”
“Jesus, Cecil.” Chia shook her head at him.
“You sure can be a prude sometimes, Ms. Manager. What do you call it?”
“I call it…I call it…I don’t know, I call it fun when and if you can get it, let’s move on. What about her?”
“Her uncle hunts out here. Said he came across poor Michael yesterday. Left it alone for you to see it. He found lots of other traps set out here. Suspects there’s even more. Said they’re going to catch a mess of innocent animals, shifters, and hopefully Hung Durand, which is stupid because we know most people are scared of this place. That’s why I brought the map.”
“Except for the shifters,” Chia said, sadly. “They don’t care.”
Cecil dusted the snow from a flat boulder, unrolled the map and said, “Look here. Here’s our town.” He stabbed the parchment with his grubby fingertip, indicating Charming. The population of six-hundred-ninety-five was scribed along the map in elegant letters. “We’re bordered by a wilderness preserve to the north. The Bering Sea to the west. Tribal lands to the south, spreading out southwest along the Contrary Islands.”
“Yeah, what are you telling me that I don’t already know?”
“The only way in and out of Charming is by bush plane, boat, from the south if you’re granted passage through tribal lands, through the wilderness if you want to take your chances, or through this passage.” He pointed to the valley glacier. “There’s one narrow passageway to the east people use during the thaw but basically, we’re in our own little world out here.”
“I’m still not following.”
“Think about it, chief. Red and Dick putting traps in Hung’s only traversed path in and out means easy pickings. I know you want him dead but I also know you have a soft spot for him, too.”
Chia’s face burned with heat. “Not really. No soft spots here.”
Ignoring her, Cecil continued. “Lord only knows what Michael was doing out here.”
Chia got to her feet, brushing the snow from her calves, and grimaced at the stiff male lying on the ground. As much as she wanted Hung’s hide, she wouldn’t wish this kind of death on anyone. “Okay. Let’s make a plan. Can you contact the wolf clan? We’ll have them conduct a burial ceremony to consecrate Michael’s life. I’ll get in touch with his family. That’s going to suck,” she murmured to herself.
“All right, I can do that. But, there’s more.” Cecil propped his hands on hips once more, surveying the scene with disgust.
“What? Spill it.”
“My fuc…the person
I shared sex with this morning, said her uncle suspects traps in every known area surrounding Charming. This could cause a lot of deaths, Ms. Manager. A lot of deaths. Your reputation could take quite a few hits.”
“Come on, I’m not responsible for this.” Chia threw her hands in the air. “Why would my reputation take the hits?”
“You’re the manager. I’m just reporting back. Telling you what I heard.” He looked at her, his eyes suddenly dancing with mirth. “Fawn was right. You look like a little bitty chocolate cupcake, full of spitfire.” He began to laugh.
“Quit it.”
He laughed even harder.
“Stop it, Cecil, I’m not in the mood.”
“Itty bitty pink frosted cupcake,” he hooted.
Without warning, she barreled into him with all the force she could muster.
Cecil lost his footing and fell backward, with her on top. The air whooshed from his lungs and for a moment, he looked like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Finally, his chest expanded like a bellows and he took several restorative gulps. “Damn, girl. Where’d that come from?”
“I’m not in the mood for being today’s topic of humor,” she said. Balling her hand into a fist, she slugged his ribcage.
“Ow, stop it.” He curled his broad palm around her fist, pushing her hand away from him.
She sat, breathing hard, straddling Cecil’s hips.
He lay, breathing hard, looking at her intently.
When she felt the stirrings beneath her crotch, she knew why. “Oh, no, you don’t, Cecil, you’re not going to get a boner with me, buddy.”
“You’re so cute, how can I help it? How can any guy help it? Better than dwelling on death.”
She paced from him, furious her body had begun to respond. Oh, my aching ovaries. My hormones are working overtime. Apparently excited, the ghost of sexual transgressions wound its way up her leg like a snake. She slapped at her thigh. “Get off of me.”
Cecil got to his feet, shook his hair out with both hands, and straightened his jacket.
She regarded him for a few seconds. Yep, if he bothered to comb his hair, the man could be considered sexy. Strong jaw, super smile, square shoulders, muscled chest… “Uh, let’s head back. I’m famished.” She didn’t dare look at him, focusing on the dead shifter instead. Her temper flared at the act of violence before her. The ghost of past angry misconduct taunted her, his silvery form turning a bright, blood red. She felt unnatural anger course through her body. She brushed at her torso, feeling as if attacked by bees.
Cecil, once again standing with his hands on his hips, gawked at her. “If I couldn’t see those damn ghosts, I’d think you were touched in the head, Ms. Manager.”
“Thanks, Cecil. I’m fine. Let’s get rolling. I’ll buy you lunch, what do you say?”
“Thanks, but if you can give me a few dollars for the bar tonight, I’d appreciate it.”
“Seriously? You want me to pay you to get drunk?”
He shrugged. “I can get the money in other ways, but…” He trudged in the direction of the truck. “You offered.”
She stomped away from him, making him step up his stride until he quickly caught up with her.
“You’re sure in a snit today. Are you certain you don’t want to…you know? The word you don’t want me to say? It does wonders to ease tension. I can have you back to happy in no time at all.” He looked at her with complete sincerity, as if offering to help her weed her garden.
“Thanks, Cecil,” she said, almost laughing. “You’ve got the best heart of anyone I know.”
“It’s not my heart that’s the good part. It’s my—”
“Got it. Thanks again, but it’s a no.” She strode silently back to the Jeep. Once she and Cecil were in their seats, she rummaged in her purse, pulling out a ten. “Here. It won’t get you drunk, but it will get you a good buzz.”
Cecil brightened. “Thanks, Ms. Manager, but you didn’t really have to do that. You know I do odd jobs and such.”
“Take it. You’ve done a good deed today by taking me out here. It’s the least I can do.”
“Well, I’ll let you know if any more information comes my way. I’m telling you, the ladies are so pleased when I’m done with them, they talk to me. They tell me things.”
For a split second she wondered what it would be like to try Cecil. That thought was shoved away by memories of Hung Durand breathing on her neck in the SUV a while ago. His lips had been so close. Thinking of his arm wrapped around her chest made her nipples ache. Oh, Lord, I want that man. And then, God help me, I want him dead.
Chapter Six
Chia arrived home after dark, at around six p.m., exhausted. All she wanted was a long bubble bath, bottle of wine, and a good romance novel. Pure heaven. She dragged herself up the front steps, pausing for a moment to listen to the gurgling creek that ran adjacent to her property.
Bordered by a beautifully rusted iron fence with abundant viewing cutouts, the whole setup designed to re-route the bears while allowing her to take in the creek’s majesty, the bubbling water often served as solace. Today, since the day had been so horrid, it only served as mild distraction.
Sighing wearily, she stepped through the massive timber front door. She hung her coat on a hook, turned, and stepped unaware into a pile of slimy, slippery, red, gooey something-or-other that made her do the splits. She landed, with a curse and a thud, the crotch of her jeans split.
“Oh, you’re home,” said D’Raynged, stepping out of the kitchen holding a wine glass filled with deep red liquid—probably not Cabernet. “I see you found my hairball. Something in my throat.” He placed an elegant hand on his elegant neck and made several elegant voice clearing sounds. “Yep, I think I got it. I knew you wouldn’t mind since the place looks like…” His lip curled in derision. “Like this.”
“You did this on purpose!” She lifted her smarting hands, covered with his bloody stomach projectile. “You yakked on the floor! This is disgusting! I can’t believe you did this.”
“And I can’t believe you choose to live in a pig pile of trash and remnants of your human encounters. I almost slid to the floor when I stepped on a jizz-filled condom next to the dining table. Your living room stinks of weed, cheap beer, and even cheaper tequila. There are filthy dishes in the sink…Puh-lease, child, you test my good nature,” he sniffed.
“I’m a busy woman,” she snapped. She got up from the floor, shaking her hands free of crimson slime. Her ghosts simply hummed and swirled along the ceiling, watching.
“When are you going to do something about your apparitions?” D’Raynged said.
“You can see them?” she asked, distracted by the bloody mess on the floor, on her pants, on her hands and splattering her shirt. “You’re a dead man if these stains don’t come out.”
He chuckled. “I’m already a dead man.” He strode into the front room, looking every bit like a GQ cover model—The Southern Edition. He wore a pair of crisply ironed pants and a linen shirt. About six foot four with dark blond wavy hair, high cheekbones, a roman nose, full lips and green eyes—when they didn’t glow red—he held himself tall, as if he expected heads to turn and ears to listen to his every word.
The man had turned vamp in the mid-1700s in Connecticut when a group he headed, as a staunch, prominent abolitionist, suffered brutal attack by their slave loving counterpoints in the south. Born and raised to a wealthy family on a plantation in South Carolina, he’d moved north, and fought valiantly and tirelessly to abolish transatlantic slave practices.
Once turned vamp by his maker, he took solace in knowing his former self had been the poster child to the cause. “At least the cause lived on though my handsome face,” he’d told Chia early on, when she interviewed him for the vacancy in her house. “And as vampire, I easily took care of more than a few of my detractors.”
Watching her, an amused expression on his handsome face, he let out a low laugh. “Do you want to know the answer to your question?” he as
ked, settling down with his glass of…dark red whatever.
“What?” she asked, hurrying to the kitchen to retrieve cleaning supplies. She returned a few minutes later, wearing latex gloves, carrying a bucket filled with Murphy’s wood cleaner and hot water, paper towels, and a sponge. Her pants and shirt were wet where she’d tried to remove the splatter stains.
“Your question. You asked, ‘can I see your apparitions?’ I’m surprised you even have to ask. Dead man over here, remember? Supernatural abilities? Ring a bell?”
“You’ve never mentioned them before,” Chia said, dropping to her knees and attacking the bloody smears. First, she wiped up the chunks and big stuff with the paper towels, fighting to keep her dry heaves from becoming wet heaves, adding to the pukey mess. Next, she scrubbed with the wood cleaner. The ghosts dipped and dived in front of her face as if playing a game. She had to keep waving her arms to get them out of the way so she could see what she was doing.
“You honestly don’t think your every move is all that interesting to me, do you?” He sipped at his beverage.
“I’d think something as odd as six ghosts would qualify as interesting,” she said, scrubbing hard.
“I’ll give you that,” he said. “But try abolishing slavery. Now there’s an interesting topic. Something I gave my life to, quite literally.” He nodded, as if in self-congratulating appreciation for his good works. “Moving on, I believe you wanted to have a chat with me. Let’s get it over with so I can get on with my date with Sultana.”
Hearing the female vampire’s name, she stiffened, the brush suspended mid-scrub, dripping Murphy’s scented water. Sultana. That’s Hung’s next hit.
“What’s the matter, my pet?” D’Raynged asked. He cocked his head and studied her, eyes narrowed.
“Nothing, except for this mess. Almost got it.” She finished cleaning, then used a few fresh paper towels to get the remains. “There. You’re safe now. I won’t kill you.” Smiling sweetly, she got to her feet, grabbed her supplies and headed to the kitchen.
“Stop,” D’Raynged stated, eyes aglow, doing one of his vampire tricks.
