by Candace Colt
"How does that become my fault?" A rogue grain of rice dropped from his hair and into his cup.
"You were the one who said I needed a job."
"You can't wander in the woods forever. This job seemed a good fit."
Perhaps it had been her cat woman eye makeup she never washed off. Or her refusal to wear anything but animal hide clothing. No. Those put her in the hiring plus-column in Nocturne Falls.
Perhaps it was her bold brash mouth.
Everyone has a different way to handle grief. Ian missed their parents and other siblings as much as Elle did. They'd outlived all of them. The last, a brother, died over thirty years ago. The difference between him and Elle was she had chosen to manage grief through anger.
Neither of them showed their real age, but in Elle's case she didn't act her age.
Loveable only to those she'd never met, her anger streak was more than enough to get her kicked out of any Miss Congeniality contest, let alone allow her to keep a job.
"So, what happened this time?" He asked.
"Apparently my gift for candor isn't appreciated," she said.
"You told off someone."
She shrugged. "I was just expressing an opinion. To my boss."
"I'd hoped a job would help you. You need to socialize more. You're alone in the woods too much," he said.
"We don't need the money. And besides, you work," she said.
"That's different."
She choked a laugh. "How?"
He loved the solitude in the hidden woods behind Solange Ford's home. But he needed to be around people, too. Otherwise, he'd quickly turn into a crotchety old troll.
He glanced at his sister and shuddered at the comparison. She sat in the chair, stiff as a board, in perpetual fight mode, well on her way to troll-ville.
He'd finally found acceptance in Nocturne Falls. Something he'd looked for most of his life. And why he had convinced Elle to move here.
Unlike her, he'd found a balance between his need for privacy and being around people. But despite Echo, he had no interest in looking for a consort.
"I work because I like people," he said.
"Pfft. I'll stick to my woods animals. They can be trusted."
"Not all humans are untrustworthy."
Elle put her cup in the sink and picked up her quiver and bow by the front door.
"Take care of yourself," she said.
She looked around the room again. "I am sorry I pitched the fit. But it felt so good to throw the bag at somebody. Too bad it was you."
She saluted her brother and disappeared into the darkness.
If Elle channeled her wild energy somehow, the world would be better, and safer, for it. Even though it was late, he knew she would be fine in the woods by herself. It was the only world she knew.
Someday she might break down and tell, or better yet, show him where she lived.
But that secret remained locked inside her heart.
The one he could never read.
FIVE
There it was again. A woman's scream.
Bile rose in Rachel's throat as she reached under the pillow.
Her hand gripped soft cotton sheets, not the knife she always kept there. Damn. How programmed was she? This was Georgia. The knife was in London.
She was still half asleep. Those screams must have been part of a dream. But it sure sounded like a woman.
"Help."
"Help."
That's no dream. Someone was in trouble.
She pulled on her jeans and T-shirt, put on her shoes, and ran out the slider to the small patio.
Again, the shrieking call.
She ran the perimeter of the solarium, barely noticing how the dew sparkled in the morning sun.
What did she expect to find? And who was screaming? Was it Solange? Or Jess?
Slipping twice on the wet grass, she regained footing and made the turn to the large Ford patio.
She froze. Her heart stopped. Her jaw dropped.
Standing a spit's distance from her were two male peacocks, feathers unfurled into exquisite fans.
All she remembered was never look wild animals in the eye.
Did it apply to birds, too? Were these technically birds? Or were they fowl? She was a bird, for God's sake. Why didn't she know?
Behind the exhibitionists, a female let out another blood-curdling scream. Surely the peahen didn't see Rachel as competition?
Holy bloody Sunday.
Had they sensed she was a falcon?
The rules of engagement just changed.
"Don't worry, pretty birdies. I'm no threat. No harm, no foul." No foul?
From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Solange seated at a patio table, coolly observing.
With some degree of relief, she realized these peacocks weren't scared of falcons.
"Folks, carry on. I'm just passing through."
Her decision now? Moonwalk back to her room or shift and fly away.
"Good morning, Rachel. Care to join me?" Solange called.
Rachel scrunched her eyes. Her choices narrowed to one.
"Thanks, Solange. I'd love to," she said.
Someone else must be expected as there were other place settings on the table.
"Do you take anything in your coffee?" Solange poured a cup for Rachel.
"Black is fine."
Rachel was mesmerized by Solange's bloody red nails. They would be intimidating talons.
"Help yourself to a scone. They come from Delaney's Delectables in town," Solange said.
With one eye on the peacocks, Rachel slathered butter on the scone and took a bite. "Umm. Oh, goodness. These melt in your mouth."
Had she just spoken with her mouth full?
Unconcerned, Solange continued. "Glad you like them. One of your duties will be shopping for me including Delaney's Delectables for lovelies like these. Hope you found your accommodations acceptable?"
Still chewing, Rachel nodded her head and sipped coffee. Another squeal nearly caused her to spit.
She looked around at the meandering flock. "Are they yours?"
"They free range everywhere in the neighborhood. They get a bit randy during mating season. Hope they didn't wake you."
Why else would Rachel have run until she was out of breath from the apartment to this patio?
"Not at all." She lied. "Are these real birds or are they—" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Shifters?"
After Solange studied Rachel's face for a moment, she broke into a deep and throaty laugh. "You're serious, aren't you? No, they aren't. But it's a good question. You aren't familiar with everyone. Either myself or my children can help sort out who's who. For starters, the bakery owner, Delaney is a vampire."
"A what?" Crumbs tumbled from Rachel's mouth.
"Relax. No need to hang garlic over your bed or sharpen a wooden stake. Nocturne Falls vampires are quite cosmopolitan. In fact, Delaney married into the town's founding family. All the Ellingham's are vampires. And that reminds me, we need to discuss the Nocturne Falls expectations."
The word bristled Rachel's spine. She wasn't one to follow expectations.
"So many things to go over. Let's make time say in an hour? We'll meet in my office," Solange said.
"Works for me. Thanks for breakfast."
As Rachel started to leave, Jess and Ryan joined them, each holding a chubby baby. Jess handed one to Solange and Ryan held the other to Rachel.
Wait. Adorable yes, from a distance. Did he expect her to take the child? Rachel hadn't touched, let alone held a baby in months.
"Oh, uh, my hands are sticky. My goodness Delaney's bakery makes some wonderful stuff. I have to find it." Rachel hoped a peacock would bail her out with another scream, but they'd wandered off.
"Sticky hands don't bother us." Ryan handed the baby to Rachel, sat down and poured coffee for himself and Jess.
Rachel watched Solange wa
lk with the other, bouncing it gently and cooing to her. Simple enough.
Realizing she still held the toothless child at arm's length, Rachel pulled the baby closer, modeling Solange. Thankfully, the little thing didn't mind a stranger. And she smelled of rose and vanilla. Keep it this way.
Rachel wasn't good at guessing baby ages. Maybe they were four or five months old. Were they little humans? She and her siblings didn't exhibit traits until they were around eight, but both of Rachel's parents were full falcon. These little ones were half-falcon.
What would it be like for these kids? It was hard enough to be full-blooded. It took courage to raise a child like this.
At least the girls would have each other. Rachel's best friend in the world had been her younger sister. Until she died.
Growing more comfortable with the little charmer in her arms, Rachel walked around the garden a while longer, slipping into baby talk with her. What was the child's name again? Or had she heard it?
If she was going to be a successful P.A., she better commit those names to memory, and soon.
With the baby's head in the crook of her shoulder, Rachel patted her back as she stepped up to Jess and Ryan.
"Excuse me, please remind me again who's who." She said.
Ryan's answer was lost in the baby's earth-shattering burp followed by a stream of warm and gluey liquid running down Rachel's neck and onto her shirt.
"I'm delighted," Solange said. "You've started them on solid food. Did you try the rice cereal I recommended?"
Jess stepped forward and took her daughter from Rachel. "Yes. But, I think we may have overdone it on the first day. I'm so sorry, Rachel. We forgot to hand you the burping towel."
Rachel smiled away Jess's apologies. Roses and vanilla were long gone. She worked hard to hold back her own wet burp.
"No worries." She sidled away, baby cereal and formula trickling down her back.
Once inside her apartment, she stripped off the shirt, gagging twice.
Realizing last night's laundry was still in the washer, she threw the shirt in the sink and herself into the shower.
Babies are adorable, yes.
But owning one?
Never.
SIX
Bark worse than her bite. Bark worse than her bite.
Rachel repeated the mantra in her mind as she stood at the threshold of Solange's office. Seated at her desk, Solange stared holes into the computer screen. Outdoors, this woman was cordial and downright grandmotherly when she held the baby.
This version of Solange was all business.
The wooden desk, leather chairs and sofa were more masculine than what Rachel would have guessed. Forest green walls coordinated with the parquet floor. A small, very uncomfortable looking chair, sat in front of a desk capturing Rachel's attention.
If it was what she thought, this table was worth a bundle. If not, it was one heck of a knock-off. Her fingers itched to touch it.
"You don't need an invitation to enter," Solange said without lifting her focus from the computer.
"I didn't want to interrupt," Rachel said.
"Come in anytime my office door is open." Solange pushed her laptop to the side and interlaced her fingers on the desk.
Solange's gaze traveled from Rachel's head to her toes, and back again.
"A little warm for a buttoned-up jean jacket, isn't it?" Solange asked.
Not if everything else was in the dryer. Or a little risqué for this household.
"I'm fine," Rachel said.
"I've noticed you tend to favor black." Solange raised a long finger to her cheek. "Quite a bit."
Tend to favor? This woman was a stitch. "My signature."
Solange flashed her open palm toward Rachel. "So be it."
While Solange opened a file cabinet behind her, Rachel breathed a quiet sigh. Had she scored a victory? Or did Solange plan to pounce later?
While Solange's back was to her, Rachel ran her fingers over the gilt bronze ornamentation on the violet wood desk. She glanced down at the curved feet. The leather desktop confirmed her guess.
"This is an original Francois Linke," she said.
Solange pulled something from the file and spun back around. Her eyebrows raised two inches. "You're familiar with Linke?"
"I saw his work in a museum in Paris. This is an exceptional piece. And rare to see outside of Europe."
"It is a Linke." Solange splayed her fingers and caressed the leather top. "This was a gift from my late husband and my prize possession. I must say, you have an exceptional eye."
Rachel wanted to follow up with a comment about how all falcons had keen visual acuity, but held her tongue. Even though she was a falcon, Solange didn't appear to be a joking kind of woman.
Solange slid the portfolio across the table. "Inside this are points I need to review with you."
Rachel looked at the leather folder, extravagant for an office file. "This is beautiful."
Solange seemed pleased. "A welcome present from us."
Rachel ran her fingers around the smooth edges and the perfectly even hand-stitching. In the center of the cover flap was a tooled mandala with her initials in the middle.
Rachel held back tears. "I don't know what to say."
"Good. You like it. Now, let's review the contents."
Rachel gingerly unhooked the small brass fastener and pulled out a quarter-inch thick bound document.
In bold font on the cover was one word: Expectations.
Apparently, everything here comes with a price.
~~~
Ian popped up the skateboard, tucked it under his arm and walked the last block to the Poisoned Apple Pub. It was his turn to open. At least he'd had the good sense to beat the crowd. Skateboarding through humans dressed in Halloween costumes wasn't the safest plan, or the smartest thing for someone his age.
He borrowed Echo's truck for out-of-town trips. The skateboard was his transportation method in town.
Anyway, age was just a number in his ancestral line.
Thanks to good genes and a healthy lifestyle, Ian's metabolism always ran high. He'd had a few falls but mostly back when boards had metal roller skate wheels and caught on sidewalk cracks. Until age finally caught up with him, he'd keep riding.
Inside the Pub, Ian stowed the board and began an inventory of liquor and draught taps. Someone had washed the glasses last night. He laughed. About time the night crew stepped up.
He braced for a long day and night. The annual Nocturne Falls Panic Parade always brought a flood of tourists in here dressed in every zany costume imaginable. The town's festivities took May Day to a whole new level.
At eleven, he unlocked the front door and went back to preparing fresh fruit for his Fru-tinis and Fruity-ritas.
The first two customers, one dressed as Robin Hood and the other as Friar Tuck, ordered beer. As he chopped mangos, passion fruit, and strawberries, he politely addressed each one of their endless questions about the parade.
A slightly obese man dressed in a bumble bee costume wriggled onto a barstool next to Robin Hood. "Remember me from yesterday?"
Who could forget this guy? "Welcome back."
Bee looked toward the front door. As he swung his head back, his antennae slapped his temples and he batted them like gnats. "You haven't seen my wife yet, have you?"
Long ago Ian had learned to control the urge to roll on the ground laughing at these human get-ups. It was all good clean family fun. Nocturne Falls was a no judgment zone if costumes were tasteful. Ridiculous was fine. Lewd or crude, no.
But it was still hard to stifle laughter when carrying on a conversation with a bee-husband looking for his bee-wife.
"Haven't seen her," Ian said.
"She's supposed to meet me here." Bee turned his head to the door again and the black ping-pong ball attached to the end of one antenna flew off and landed in Tuck's beer, unnoticed to anyone except Ian.
Good morning, Nocturne Falls.
Ian drew a fresh beer for Tuck, dried the ping pong ball on a towel and handed it back to Bee.
"Again? This is the third time," Bee grumbled. "My wife wanted me to superglue it, but I said no. Guess she was right."
Mrs. Bee, nearly the same size as her husband and dressed in a matching yellow and black striped costume, climbed onto a barstool, juggling her packages. "Right about what?"
"My antenna." Mr. Bee held the ping pong ball in his open palm.
"Pfttt. I warned you." She tossed the ball into one of her shopping bags. "Now, I'd like another one of those fruity drinks like we had before."
After deliberating over their choices, Mrs. Bee chose a Boris Karloff Kiwi-tini. Mr. Bee, sporting mismatched antennae, ordered a frozen Lon Cheney Loganberry Fruity-rita.
By one o'clock the pub was full. Robin, Tuck and the Bees had moved on an hour ago. In their place and throughout the pub were enough characters to film a remake of the Cantina scene from Star Wars. Thankfully without the mayhem.
Grateful when help arrived, Ian hadn't caught a breath or had an opportunity to walk away from the blender in the last forty minutes.
"IPA keg's empty, Ian," the second bartender said.
Ian, undoubtedly the strongest of the two, and perhaps in the entire pub, went in the back, hoisted a full keg on his shoulder, and returned to the bar.
He had the new one installed in minutes. While he checked the first draught, he heard a woman's voice behind him.
"You carried a keg out here by yourself?"
He turned around and fixed on Rachel Ortega's bright blue eyes. "Hello. Didn't see you come in."
"A full one weighs a hundred and sixty pounds," she said. "Usually they're carted in."
Ian muffled a laugh. "Bravo. Insider knowledge."
"Told you, remember, I've bartended, among other jobs."
In a low voice, he asked, "How do you feel today?"
Her face turned crimson. Had he embarrassed her?
"Was I blithering last night?" She asked.
"Not at all. I should have warned you about the drink."
"On the upside, for the first time in weeks, I slept like a rock. But if you don't mind, I'll just have water."
She took a leather portfolio out of her backpack and set it on the bar. "Isn't this gorgeous? Solange gave it to me this morning."
