by P. G. Forte
* * *
“Hello, Lucy. How’ve you been?”
At the sound of the cool, familiar voice, Lucy felt an instant surge of dislike. She closed her eyes briefly, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve the week she was having.
“Just fine, Paige,” she answered through gritted teeth, as she turned to face Oberon’s most tenacious news reporter. “And you?”
Paige Delaney’s smile was the very picture of serene, but her inquisitive gray eyes glinted speculatively. Lucy suppressed a sigh. She wasn’t really sure why she disliked Paige so much; the woman had never done anything to her, so far as she knew.
Maybe it was something about the way she always looked. So sleekly professional, every glossy hair perfectly in place. Standing next to Paige, Lucy knew she’d feel underdressed on a clothing-optional beach. Just thinking about the woman brought out an atavistic desire for a really sharp knife. Or maybe a set of talons. Shit. I so do not need this. Especially not now, with Scout still at large, somewhere in the vicinity. And Nick due to arrive any minute to pick up Kate.
“I heard there was a little commotion over here earlier. A fight of some kind. Anything I should know about?”
Like her or not, Paige’s talent for picking up on every stray rumor or trivial event was absolutely wasted here in Oberon. Lucy shook her head in disgust. In a perfect world, Paige would have long ago departed for some big city where she could play Brenda Starr to her heart’s content. Unfortunately, as far as Lucy could see, the world was not that perfect.
For just a moment, she gave serious consideration to the idea of siccing Paige on Scout. But she quickly came to her senses. She wouldn’t have a prayer of keeping the news of Scout’s return from Nick once Paige got wind of it. She didn’t think the two of them were still seeing each other, but no sense taking chances.
“Nothing going on here, Paige. Just the same old, same old.” She turned her back on the conversation, hoping it would die from lack of interest, but no such luck. The most evil and twisted of all Nick’s old girlfriends leaned in closer, grinning her hallmark evil and twisted grin.
“Come on Lucy, you know better than to try and sell me a line like that.” But whatever else she had to say was lost on Lucy, who had been struck, belatedly, by a realization.
If Paige was the most deplorable example of Nick’s poor taste in women, then Scout... was not?
However much she hated the idea of letting Scout off the hook for anything, Lucy was forced to admit that, whereas Paige had apparently been born this way, Scout had – perhaps – only become cruel and vindictive as a result of what she and Marsha and Lisa had done to her.
Damn.
“Paige,” Lucy interrupted the flow of questions she hadn’t even heard with her best imitation of her Aunt Lillian. “I have no time for this nonsense. Go snoop someplace else.”
Paige opened her mouth to respond, but in that instant, they both heard Dan’s voice booming over the noise of the crowd. With a profound sense of relief, Lucy turned to watch her husband stride purposefully toward the booth. He swooped down on her, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. There was a strange, excited gleam dancing in his eyes.
“Luce. You gotta help me out with something,” he said with a grin. Then he turned toward Paige, all the warmth instantly evaporating from his voice as he said, “If you’ll excuse us, Paige, I’d like to talk to my wife.”
Lucy was not particularly surprised when Paige turned and left without another word. She’d never understood the curious effect Dan seemed to have on the woman, but as she contemplated her retreating form with grim satisfaction, she was damned glad for it just the same.
“Luce.” Dan’s voice held a note of urgency. “You got any of that special herb soap of yours around? You know, the really good stuff?”
Soap? Lucy stared at him in surprise. “Now?” she choked out, suddenly aware of the strength in his muscular arms, how tightly they held her, how very easily he could pick her up and –
“Here?” She felt her face turn crimson. Her heart pounded as she glanced nervously at the crowds of people surrounding the booth. Heated memories set her blood to thrumming in her ears. “Dan,” she whispered fiercely. “What are you thinking?”
He chuckled knowingly and shook his head at her. “What am I thinking? Jesus, get a grip on yourself, woman. I just need it for your brother’s mouth. For some reason the guy can’t seem to stop himself from cussing in front of Mandy and Kate.”
Lucy frowned. That wasn’t like her brother. “Joey? What’s up with that?”
Dan told her.
“Oh, fuck!” said Lucy.
* * *
The clouds in the night sky glowed red, reflecting the light of the balefire. From the fairgrounds below, Scout could hear the noise and the music and could just make out the swirling shadows that were people dancing. A light fog crept slowly down the hills toward the valley floor. She could smell the rich scent of damp earth rising from the ground beneath her, mixing with the heady spiciness of the bay trees that towered all around. A familiar scent, and one that had always reminded her most poignantly of home.
“There you are.” A voice spoke quietly in the darkness, and then Marsha appeared at her side. “So. What do you think of it all?”
“I’ve always wanted to do this, you know,” Scout mused, her eyes straying back to the spectacle below. “But I never got the chance before.”
“It’s neat, isn’t it?” Marsha grinned at her. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Scout smiled. She found that hard to believe. “Yeah? So, what are you anyway, a masochist? How’s your face?”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Marsha sat down beside her. “How does it feel to be back?”
“I don’t know. Strange, I guess. Especially with everything that’s been going on. Real strange. I guess I forgot how weird this place can be.”
“But that’s part of its charm. The weirdness is definitely a selling factor.”
“I suppose. I don’t know if charm is the word I’d use.”
They sat for a while in silence. Until Scout asked, “So what’s up with Robyn? Lucy tells me I may be losing a house mate.”
“Ohh, I don’t know that I’d go that far.” Marsha shook her head a little wearily. “Celeste is actually a pretty good psychic, but lately she’s been seeing death in at least half of her readings. Especially with the cards. And just when I thought she was getting a little bit of control, too.”
Marsha broke off, seeming to sink into thought for a few moments. “I don’t know what’s up with that, but I wouldn’t go taking out an ad to find yourself a new roommate just yet. Anyway, listen, I’m going to go down and catch some sleep, now. What about you? Do you have a place to crash?”
“No. I’m fine, though. I haven’t been sleeping much lately, anyway. What’s one more night?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Scout. You’ve had a lot to deal with today. And we have plenty of space in the tea tent. I think you should—”
“No. I just... I need to be alone for a while, Marsha. I don’t want to sleep.”
Marsha studied her in silence for a few moments before sighing and rising to her feet. “Okay. But if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
Scout watched as Marsha made her way back down the hill. She dug around in her bag until she found the fresh pack of cigarettes she’d bought on the way over this morning, and then shook one out.
She lit up and inhaled greedily. She’d never realized before how truly addictive tobacco was. All it had taken was one good, deep drag and now she couldn’t get enough. She wondered if she shouldn’t be trying a little harder to resist? It had been years since she’d smoked, and she hadn’t really planned on taking it up again, but oh, what the hell? She needed something to help her cope with the stress of being back in Oberon. And she certainly couldn’t go around hitting people. At least this way, she’d only be hurting herself.
She sighed. The end of her cigarette glowed red in the dark chasm of the night. As red as the balefire on the fairgrounds far below. She took another hit. Felt the smoke curl, sharp and dry, against the back of her throat. Felt the ache of wounds that should have healed years and years ago. Wrapping her arms around herself, she hugged the old hurts close.
* * *
“You saw something, didn’t you?” Heather’s voice was gruff and hesitant. Her hands clutched nervously at the arms of the antique leather armchair. “In that teacup yesterday. The one you broke.”
“Did I?” Ginny did not look up from the quilt she was working. It was a small quilt, a gift for a friend who had just had a new baby, and she was working it without a frame. She carefully laid down a few more stitches, while she thought about what she should say. She should have known that Heather would figure it out sooner or later. She should have planned for this.
“Yes. You did,” Heather insisted, her eyes were dark with worry. “Didn’t you?”
“What do you think I saw then?” The best way to handle things like this, or so she’d been taught, was to give as little attention to the events you hoped to avert, as possible. To say nothing about them to anyone, and to dismiss them entirely from your thoughts.
“How the hell should I know!” Heather muttered in frustration. “But if something’s going on here, I think I ought to know about it, too.”
“Something is going on,” Ginny said calmly, as she folded the quilt and placed it neatly on top of her sewing basket. “The festival.” She didn’t like keeping secrets from Heather, but in this case, it was for her own good. “It’s getting late now. Time for bed.”
“You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?” Heather mumbled resignedly. She raised her eyes to meet Ginny’s gaze.
“You know what your problem is, Heather?” Ginny smiled at her and shook her head. “Sometimes your imagination just runs wild. It comes from reading too many thrillers, I think. You might want to watch that. C’mon now, we have a busy day tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”
* * *
Marsha curled up on the mattress in the back of her van. Outside, she could hear the sounds of the festival continuing around her, but she put them out of her mind. She had other things to think about.
It never ceased to amaze her how events worked themselves out. The mysteries of karma and dharma, cause and effect, the law of threefold return, they never failed to leave her feeling humbled. Whatever name you gave it, whatever form you imagined it to have, the universe was ruled by a force so vital, so perfect, it almost demanded your recognition of it. And more than recognition. It commanded allegiance. Devotion. Awe. Marsha had no doubt that the sentient heart of creation was aware of her every step, her every word, her every thought. She was being guided now. She knew it.
She thought over the curious events of the last few days. Scout Patterson. Damn. She really should have seen that one coming.
Oh well, she thought as she pulled the sleeping bag up around her shoulders, she had missed signs before and probably would again. But for right now, the universe had certainly found a way to get her attention.
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Eight
* * * *
Scout wandered through the deserted fairgrounds early the next morning. The fog that had seeped into the valley the night before lay thick on the ground, giving the empty pavilions a dreamlike quality. People passed like ghosts through the pearl gray mist.
A solitary piper, half hidden in the shadows, played a haunting, mournful tune. Scout felt a melancholy longing steal through her. The wheel of the year was turning. The days would grow steadily shorter now. Last night, the Oak had fallen; the Holly King’s reign had begun. She shivered, her heart filled with grief at the loss of the sun, until a passing breeze brought the welcome fragrance of fresh coffee to her nose.
She breathed it in gratefully. The scent evoked those tropical climes where the days never grew short. That was what she needed. The hell with this other nonsense. She changed directions abruptly, moving away from the sorrowing pipe. What the heck had she been thinking? It was the height of summer. The sun was rising, even now, and would soon warm the earth and burn off the fog. It would be months before the nights were much longer than the days.
Besides, this was Coastal California, where winter meant, at worst, a few weeks of rain. She could handle that, couldn’t she? A little rain, a little mud, a little bit of wind, perhaps. No big deal. She’d have no problem with winter here.
“C’mon, dog.” She smiled at her companion. “Let’s go eat.”
The dining pavilion was mostly empty, only a few of last night’s diehards and a handful of early risers had gathered for coffee or tea and a light breakfast. When Scout emerged from the line with her tray, she saw Celeste sitting alone at one of the tables. She hesitated for a moment, then headed in her direction.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
Celeste raised weary violet eyes to her face. “Oh. Hello, Scout. Please. Sit down.”
Scout sat, and the dog sat at her feet.
Celeste smiled as she bent to stroke the dog’s head. “And aren’t you a sweetheart?” she crooned as she offered the dog a scrap of toast. “Have you had her long?”
“No.” Scout sipped her coffee. “And I’m not really sure I have her now, either.”
“Of course you do!” Celeste looked really shocked. “Anyone can tell just by looking that she’s your dog. What’s her name?”
“I’m afraid she doesn’t have one yet,” Scout replied. She was surprised when Celeste burst into a peal of silvery laughter.
“Oh, my. Sweetie, they all have names. You just haven’t discovered what it is yet. But don’t worry. You will.” Celeste smiled down at the dog again. “Oh. I have something for you. I knew I was supposed to give it to someone. Obviously you’re the very one.”
She removed her satchel from the back of her chair and began rummaging through it, finally emerging with a little brass medallion that she attached to the dog’s collar.
“It’s a protective amulet,” Celeste explained. “In ancient times actual blessing rituals were performed at these festivals, you know. People would bring their animals to be cleansed by being passed through the smoke from the bale fire. It’s still a powerful time of year for working protective magic. Especially for animals.”
“Mmm,” Scout murmured neutrally. She found herself growing annoyed with all the magic mumbo-jumbo. “So how long have you been involved in this, uh, stuff? You know – amulets and tea leaves and all that kind of thing?”
“Ohh, forever, really,” Celeste said with an airy wave of one graceful hand. “I learned to read the tea leaves from my grandmother. And palms, as well. The cards, though.” She shook her head and gave Scout a small, rueful smile. “I’m still working on those. Would you like me to do a reading for you? I could use the practice.”
“Thank you, but no.” Scout spread fresh strawberry jam on a scone. “I’m not interested.”
Celeste’s eyes glittered. “You’re afraid. Now why is that?”
“I’m not afraid! I just don’t believe in that stuff.”
“Well, that’s what's so nice about it, isn’t it? It doesn’t require Faith. It works whether you believe in it or not.” Celeste dipped into her satchel again and removed a small red velvet bag, from which she slid a deck of cards.
“Really, I’m not—” Scout began, but Celeste laid a hand on her arm.
“Please. Humor me.” She smiled at her. “Pick one card. Where’s the harm in that?”
Reluctantly, Scout turned her attention to the fanned deck. Her hand hovered irresolute, and then settled on one card. She drew it from the deck and laid it on the table.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Celeste teased. “Let’s see... ahhh. The Lovers. Well, that’s always nice isn’t it? Of course, it is reversed, which suggests some sort of difficulty. Let’s see if we can’t find ou
t what the problem is. One more.”
With a sigh, Scout picked another card at random and slapped it down.
Celeste nodded. “Uh-huh. See now? The Knight of Wands. Someone fiery and impulsive and I’d say, tending to be rather single-minded in his pursuit of you.” She cocked her head at Scout and smiled. “Sound like someone you know?”
A shadowy figure loomed over Celeste’s shoulder. “Scout? Can I talk to you?”
Scout frowned up into Glenn’s face. It was gray and pinched. Probably from partaking in last evening’s debauchery, she supposed.
“Hello, Glenn,” Scout said, striving to keep her voice neutral.
Celeste gave a quiet cough and, when she had caught Scout’s eye, tapped gently, but meaningfully, at the card Scout had picked out.
No, Scout mouthed, with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Celeste, this is an old friend of mine, Glenn. Glenn, Celeste.”
As the two shook hands and mumbled polite greetings, Scout sank back into her chair and thought about how much she hated Oberon. She hated the mystery and the magic. Hated that she could pick a card called The Lovers out of a deck of cards, and a moment later have Glenn materialize in front of her. Jesus. What is up with this card shit?
Belatedly, she realized that Glenn was addressing her.
“I said, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to stay home last night?” he repeated angrily. “I thought we’d agreed it would be a good idea for you to be careful while you’re in town.”
“I was careful,” Scout snapped at him. “And anyway, we didn’t decide any such thing. Like I already told you, Glenn, much as I’d love to believe that Caroline had only my best interests at heart, I really doubt that was the case.”
“So you’re still determined to go through with this ridiculous plan of yours?”
Ridiculous plan? “You mean, am I still going to keep looking for Lisa? Of course I am. Absolutely. But what do you think? This being Oberon, and all, maybe I should start by getting a reading done on the subject? Maybe see what the cards have to say?”
