by Molly Harper
Dani threw her head back and laughed. “You know how weird it is, to cite that experience and be able to prove it’s not bullshit, right?”
Jillian pursed her lips. “I’m aware.”
“I’m assuming that the sea sprite never saw the error of her ways and came swimming back to the good captain?”
“Nope, she continued back-stroking through the swamp, breaking hearts left and right. Worthen met a local lady, a healer, who thought he was everything that was amazing. She married him, kept him fat and happy and gave him six children. Lottie was the last of their descendants, and the local healer, a very popular woman among her neighbors. Despite the house being so old, they couldn’t bear to just let it fall down, so the residents of Mystic Bayou do little repairs whenever they can. And they rent it out to drole like ourselves, whenever the need strikes.”
“Drole?” Dani repeated the strange word, letting it roll over her tongue.
“A term you better get used to. It’s sort of a blanket word that applies to anything funny, strange or ‘other.’ Anyone who didn’t grow up here, basically. It’s not an insult. I’ve been accepted, thanks to Bael, and I’m still drole.”
“Eh, I’ve been traveling around long enough that I’m sort of used to being the outsider,” Dani said. “Doesn’t bother me. So, I’m assuming your assignment here in Mystic Bayou is going to be long-term?”
“Most likely permanent, considering the resources the League is investing here,” Jillian said.
“Isn’t that sort of unusual for the League?”
The kettle whistled and Jillian rose to grab it from the burner. “Incredibly. But, I’m fortunate in that I impressed the right people at the right time. It wasn’t that difficult, really, considering I’d been brought in at the last minute to replace a unicorn fondler.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Jillian waved a free hand dismissively. “It’s a long story, better told over tequila. Out of Zed’s earshot. How long have you worked for the League?”
“Off and on, freelance, for three years. Mostly traveling around, recording energy anomalies and making ‘adjustments’ where it’s appropriate.”
“I will admit, I envy you that, just a little bit,” sighed Jillian. “I was on my way to my very first international assignment in Chile when I got re-assigned here at the last minute. I mean, I love my life here, but I was looking forward to seeing a bit of the world, you know?” Jillian poured hot water over the tea bags in her colorful mugs. “So, if you’ve been traveling, I’m assuming you’re not familiar with the political nightmare-scape that is the League’s office in DC?”
Dani snickered. She had intentionally written her contracts so she never had to visit the DC offices. Oh, sure, on paper, the International League for Interspecies Cooperation was a benevolent collective that was founded centuries before by a particularly open-minded group of shifters and humans, striving to promote understanding and peace between all creatures. It was a lovely party line.
The League wanted to show humans that there was nothing to fear from the otherworldly. That shifters and fae and other creatures had lived among them for centuries and for the most part, humans had been unscathed. But somehow, the hippie genes from Dani’s father just wouldn’t allow her to trust a shadow government organization with seemingly unlimited resources and influence.
Dani didn’t mind working for them, when she thought the project was an appropriate use of her skills and unlikely to do any harm. That didn’t mean she wanted to be under their permanent control. She was approaching this job with the cautious optimism she applied to all of her League jobs, while carefully keeping her eye on the exits.
Dani had done her research on Jillian, just like she’d done her research on Mystic Bayou and its history. Jillian Ramsay was a new voice in the field of paranormal anthropology, but that voice was bright and strong. She trusted Jillian. She could practically feel the good intentions rolling off the good doctor in waves, along with some “other-ness” that she couldn’t quite name. From her background reading, Dani knew Jillian was born human, to humans. But somewhere along the way, her very being had been changed into something more . . . and never thought to mention it in her work. Dani respected that. She was a fan of boundaries and personal integrity.
“No, I have been very careful to avoid the DC office,” Dani said.
“That just proves how smart you are. All I can say is that as long as you can do your job without pissing off the higher-ups, you’ll be better off. I’ll help you there, wherever I can. I don’t like the in-fighting and position-jockeying, particularly when it distracts from the point, which is the work we’re supposed to be doing. Keep your head down and your job done, and you’ll be fine. Do you have questions for me?” Jillian asked.
“Oh, just a few dozen.”
Jillian sipped her tea, despite the boiling temperature. “I have time.”
After tea, considerable answers from Jillian, a sponge bath, and change of clothes, Dani took out her phone and dialed her aunt’s number. Trudy Timmons was only twelve years older than Dani, a surprise! baby for her grandparents. She’d been more of a sister to Dani than she’d ever been to Dani’s father, and was one of the few people Dani trusted absolutely.
Still, her hands shook slightly as Tru’s “ring-back” song played. She loved Tru, but her predilection for the BareNaked Ladies after all these years was deeply concerning.
As soon as All Star stopped playing, she sighed, “Hey, Tru, what’s the damage?”
“Oh, hon, you don’t want to open the conversation that way.”
The corner of Dani’s mouth lifted. While she’d never been in Wisconsin long enough to pick up the regional accent, she always found it comforting in Tru. That “doncha know?” tone meant home to Dani. It meant Gramma’s apple crumble and riding the orchards with Grandad. It meant staying up all night giggling over magazines with Tru. It meant she was loved.
“Hi, how are you? How’s Grandad? Is his hip still acting up? How’s the weather? What’s the damage?”
Trudy sighed on the other end of the line. “It’s bad, hon.”
Dani’s heart sank.
Her father had been born John Mason Nilsson III in Elkhorn, Wisconsin. But by the time he’d met her mother on a cold desert night in 1987, he’d changed it to “Journey Windsong.” He’d missed the hippie era by about twenty years, but Journey was a big proponent of free love and free spirits and well, anything that was free. He’d never quite figured out that what was “free” for him usually ended up costing someone else—usually his parents.
While Trudy had been a much-cherished baby, Gramma Nilsson had spent several decades spoiling her golden boy. As much as Dani loved her grandmother, it was not a mystery as to where Journey got the impression that there would always be people just waiting to hand him whatever he wanted, all while he proclaimed that he didn’t need to work for a living because “the universe would provide.” When Dani was twelve, she asked Gramma how she felt about being called “the universe.” Dani got grounded for the weekend.
Dani felt fortunate that her parents knew themselves well enough to leave Dani with the Nilssons for most of her childhood. Her mother, Susan, was certainly more financially responsible than Journey, but her academic research meant a lot more to her than parenting. Oh, sure, they took Dani on summer jaunts across Asia or northern California or Bolivia, but as soon it was inconvenient to have a minor around, Dani was sent right back to Wisconsin. It could have been worse, she realized. Her grandparents made sure she went to school, got braces, went to the prom, and did all of the things that normal teenagers with involved parents got to do.
It was when she was in college that everything started to fall apart. Trudy had married the nicest cranberry farmer you could ever meet and moved to his bog. Grandad and Gramma seemed fine at first, tending to their empty nest. When Dani called from school, Grandad told her everything was “peachy keen, jelly bean.” Sure, Gramma was getting a little more confus
ed as she got older, and lost her keys more often, but little old ladies earned a bit of dottiness in their later years. Other than that, Grandad insisted they were the picture of health.
Grandad didn’t mention that her father was visiting the farm more frequently; or that, on more than one occasion, Grandad had walked into the kitchen to find Journey sweeping paperwork into his backpack. Oh, sure, Grandad knew that Gramma was slipping some cash into Journey’s pockets. Living a nomadic life was surprisingly expensive. Love and peace didn’t pay for food or laundry or hostel stays. Or the child support from the handful of Dani’s half-siblings whose mothers were smart enough not to let them near Journey.
Grandad had known that Gramma had been wiring him money for years. Grandad didn’t know that now that Dani was “grown,” (at thirteen), Journey decided he was no longer content to drift around. He wanted to feel a “part” of something bigger than himself so over the years, he decided to invest in an artist commune in Oregon, an alpaca farm in Texas, an organic carrot cooperative in Georgia. The problem being that he had no funds to contribute, so of course, every time he came across an opportunity, he went to Gramma for a “loan.”
Journey’s investments never prospered. Well, except for maybe the alpaca farm, which had looked promising until an infestation of llama mange had taken out the herd’s wool yield.
As Gramma got more “confused” over the years, it became easier for Journey to get her to agree to home equity lines, credit cards, loans to fund Journey’s grand visions. The family had no idea what was happening until Gramma had passed the previous fall and Tru started finding financial papers stashed all over the house. Tru and Grandad had met with a forensic accountant earlier that week just to figure out how much debt was totaled in their name. Journey had, predictably, disappeared to a remote ashram in India for a “silent yoga” retreat of indefinite length.
“How bad?” Dani asked.
Trudy sighed. “The farm’s been mortgaged twice.”
“But the farm’s never been mortgaged!” Dani exclaimed. “It’s been in the family for six generations without so much as a promissory note.”
“Well, when the deed to the farm is in the name of John Mason Nilsson and Abbigail Nilsson, the bank doesn’t spend too much time checking to see whether it’s the correct John Mason Nilsson signing the paperwork.”
Dani gasped, sinking into the nearby kitchen chair. “He never did a legal name change. He said the fire ceremony was legal enough for him. I’m assuming he drove her to the bank to get the mortgages, when Grandad was out working?”
“Twice, according to the security footage,” said Trudy. “Which the bank was somewhat reluctant to give, considering their screw-up. He also very helpfully drove her to two other banks in town to secure home equity loans.”
Dani wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. But somewhere, deep in her chest, something broke. She’d always told herself that her father might be lazy and self-centered, but he didn’t seem to have bad intentions. He seemed to truly believe in the principles of love and truth and openness. He just wasn’t good with the whole “responsibility” and “work ethic” thing. He lived in the now, to the point that he never really grasped how his actions affected other people. But this? There was no way to explain away what he did. This was fraud. This was theft. Her father had taken advantage of his own mother’s illness for his own financial gain.
And for him to go after the family farm? How typical of her father to assume just because he didn’t care about it, that no one else had any attachment to it. He probably told himself he was doing the family a favor, taking something he considered a “burden” off of their hands.
If she ever got to India, there would be no silence in his yoga. Only missing teeth and Journey unintentionally putting his legs behind his head.
“Just give it to me straight, Tru. How much?” Dani sighed, slumping to the table as Trudy named a number that—while not astronomical—was certainly well beyond the limit of all of Dani’s credit cards combined.
Dani closed her eyes, breathing very carefully through her nose. Rage boiled up from her belly, settling around her heart like acid. She blew out a long breath through her mouth and inhaled deeply. She had to calm down. Getting this upset was terrible for her talent. She wouldn’t be able to work for days if she kept this up. And she had to work. She had to impress the hell out of Jillian and the other League muckity-mucks with her amazing work on the rift. She had to earn her full fee, plus the built-in contract bonuses for working effectively and quickly. She had to kick ass, while staying very calm and collected and not rushing through and hurting herself.
Right, no problem.
“I’ll get it, Tru. This job I just started, the contract is pretty big. With that and my savings, I’ll be able to pay it in a few months.”
Trudy clucked her tongue. “Oh, hon, I think I can talk the bank into a payment plan if we can pay off a little bit now. But it won’t be just your money. Grandad has agreed to sell off some of the older farm equipment, the stuff he doesn’t use as much anymore. Jim and I have some savings.
“No, Tru, that money is for taking care of your kids, the kids I can hear yelling in the background for fruit snacks. They’ll need college tuition and braces and a never-ending stream of expensive shoes they’ll outgrow after two wears because you chose to have five children with a half-Viking with enormous feet.”
Trudy snorted on the other end of the line. “The girls’ feet are growing faster than the boys. It’s terrifying.”
Dani snickered. “I’ll wire you the money for the down payment as soon as I can get a dependable internet signal. This is my father’s debt. He made this mess. And I’m going to take care of it. It’s the least I can do for Grandad, for limiting how much damage that jackass was able to do to my life.”
“That’s not how Grandad would want you to think of it.”
Dani pointedly ignored that and asked, “How’s Grandad handling it?”
Trudy sighed loudly on the other line. “He’s quiet. Real quiet. He misses you, but . . . honey, I think he’s just a little too upset to talk to you right now.”
Dani covered her face with her hand and willed the hot tears welling up in her eyes to go away. She sniffed, standing and crossing to the ancient stove to heat another potful of water for tea.
“I’ll FaceTime him this weekend,” Dani said.
“I’ll let him know to watch for your call, hon. So, where are you again? Is it still Hungary? Taking pictures of those old churches?”
Dani cleared her throat, a habit she’d never been able to break right before she lied. Trudy didn’t know about her talent. No one in her family did. For years, she’d excused her extensive travel by telling them that she was a photographer for a stock photo company that specialized in travel photos for brochures and advertising. And she definitely didn’t tell them when she was sent to the outer reaches of the known world, instead substituting pretty stories about picturesque tourist spots. She hated misleading them, but it was a lot safer than them having any knowledge of the League. The only problem came when they asked for shots of her enjoying these exotic tourist destinations. Dani had gone to some pretty extreme lengths to fake pictures of her on the beach in St. Martin or visiting the moors of Scotland.
“Nope, I wrapped that up last week,” Dani said. “I’m back in the States as of yesterday morning.”
“What?! Where?”
“My editor asked me to move on to Louisiana. The agency would like me to take some French Quarter photographs.”
“Topless ‘wooo’ girls are a little outside of your usual subject matter, aren’t they?” Trudy asked dryly.
“There will be no ‘wooo’ girls. I’m talking tasteful French Quarter photographs. Fancy restaurants and courtyard bars with fountains and flowers. Wrought iron beds, café au lait and beignets. There will not be a plastic bead in sight.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Trudy said. “Are you staying in the decent part of town? You’re
staying safe?”
Dani glanced around the house. This was probably the safest place she’d stayed during the last five years.
“Always. And the place they have me staying in is really nice. More of an Airbnb situation than a hotel. Very quaint. Quiet.
“Quiet? In New Orleans?”
Dani cleared her throat. “It’s pretty far off Bourbon Street.”
“Well, remember to have some fun, sweetheart. Maybe meet somebody. Settle down somewhere in this hemisphere so we can see you every once in a while.”
“I’ll come home after this assignment. I promise,” Dani swore.
“I’m holding you to it.”
“Love you, Tru.”
“Love you, too, hon. And that conversation about you carrying all of the debt. It’s not over.”
“Sorry! Can’t hear you! Signal’s breaking up!” Dani called while she made static-y “shhuurh” sounds.
“I know that’s bullcrap, what with your fancy space phone! You can hear me! Danica Hubble Teel!”
Dani snorted as she hung up the phone. “That never gets old.”
3
Zed
Zed intended to enjoy every minute of his ride into town. He didn’t get to ride his bike nearly enough to suit his passion for it. And he never seemed to make it out of town long enough to do a distance ride.
He had plenty to do that day—meeting with Jillian and his maman to finalize plans for a “welcome boil” for the League employees, meeting with Theresa to plan further expansion of the “trailer village” of temporary League offices, plus holding a meeting with all of the locals renting property to the League employees about which amenities were guaranteed to those employees through their contracts. And to remind those locals that they were not allowed to shift into their magie form to intimidate the drole into not complaining about the lack of amenities. Those drole who could not rent their own places would be stacked like cord wood in the temporary housing trailers, so complaints would be given.
