by P. G. Forte
“Hurts.” Paige shook her head again and took another sip of her scotch – it had to be at least her third or fourth. She was really putting it away tonight.
“The lousy bastard!” Paige erupted with sudden anger. “If he was going to marry someone, why not me? I even told him I was pregnant, ‘cause, like an idiot, I thought that would make a difference. But you know what he did? The sonofa-bitch laughed. “Jesus Christ, Paige, how many pregnant women do you think I can marry at the same time,” he said. Do you believe that? The big jerk. Like there were so many of us.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “There weren’t, you know. Just the two of us. But of the two of us, he sure didn’t want me.”
“Yeah, well, it happens, I guess.” Darcy slipped off the barstool and downed the rest of her beer. She was not in the mood for sharing girlish confidences tonight. And especially not with Paige. The last thing she needed right now was to start feeling sorry for the woman. “You know what they say, life’s a bitch and then you die.”
“Yeah, it’s a bitch, all right,” Paige mumbled morosely.
Darcy had to lean in close to hear her next words, but even then, the words were too slurred to get much sense from them. “Greco.” and, “That fuckin’ bitch.” were about all she could make out. Paige’s eyes were mere slits now, but as they focused on her face there was such an expression of craftiness in them that Darcy felt a momentary thrill of unease. Drunk or sober or fast asleep, she wouldn’t ever again make the mistake of underestimating Paige Delaney.
She straightened up and leveled a long, last look at her. “Via con Dios, Paige. I’ll be seein’ ya.” Then she turned and walked back through the bar and out into the night.
The cool, crisp air did a lot to clear the fog from Darcy’s head. As she walked down the street to where her car was parked, she inhaled deeply several times, enjoying the freshness of the air. It really was nothing like the air in LA, she thought. She began to cough violently, and belatedly remembered exactly why it was that she’d quit smoking.
Shit. I hate this fuckin’ town. She’d learned to loathe Oberon in the years since she’d been gone. Now that she was back, she hated the way she had gotten sucked into all her old habits in no time at all. She’d changed a lot since she lived here, but you sure wouldn’t be able to tell that by looking at her now.
She spared one, fast, fleeting thought of regret for Paige – with all her plans and vain dreams for the future – but only one. If the woman had really wanted to leave Oberon, she should have done it years ago. And saved everyone a shit-load of grief.
As she got to her car, Darcy glanced up to see a tilted wedge of half-moon floating in the dark sky above her head. It looked exactly like a gigantic slice of lime, she thought, with sudden hunger. She’d have given a lot to be back at home in LA already, or better yet, down in Baja. When this was all over, she’d deserve a nice, long vacation.
She opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, thinking longingly of brutal heat and hard white sand and the sweet, fiery taste of tequila and lime juice pouring down her throat, obliterating time and erasing memory.
Soon, she promised herself as she eased the car away from the curb. Very, very soon.
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Five
* * * *
The morning sky was clearing when Marsha arrived at the staging area for the Coastal Cleanup, in the lot behind Beach Hoppers. Siobhan and most of her crew had already arrived. The dumpsters and the porta-potties had all been set in place. Marsha pulled her van in directly behind her sister’s. Both vehicles had been loaded the night before with most of the supplies they’d need for the event. Situated as they were now, the two vans would form an organizational nucleus for the day’s activities.
“Marsha. Good. You’re here,” Siobhan began as soon as she saw her. “Let me have your keys so we can get you unloaded. And then why don’t you grab a couple of the guys and get your tables set up, okay?”
“Here ya go, Vonne.” Marsha tossed her sister the car keys. “Just give me five minutes to get a cup of tea first, ‘kay? You want anything?”
Siobhan frowned, her mouth tightening nervously. “Couldn’t you have eaten at home?”
“A latte, maybe?” Marsha persisted.
Siobhan sighed, her exasperation obvious. “Fine. Whatever. Just hurry back.”
“You got it.” Marsha headed toward the cafe and deli located in the small stand of trees at the far side of the parking lot. The gravel crunched loudly beneath her sandal-clad feet, and the thin cotton of her long skirt billowed around her legs. Sandals and a skirt were, perhaps, not the smartest choice of apparel for an event that was set in a dusty parking lot, but she wore shoes only when absolutely necessary. Manning a sign-up table and handing out maps to perhaps a couple hundred people on a clear, sunny day did not, in her mind, constitute a necessity in the way of close-toed shoes. The skirt was just plain comfortable, plus the colors went well with the Coastal Cleanup T-shirt which she and all the other volunteers were wearing. She looked around. It was just after eight, and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. The night’s fog had not yet completely dissipated. Objects along the horizon were silhouetted in various shades of gray – from dark to light – like badly reproduced photographic prints, fading in the distance into the palest of ghost images.
Even this early in the day Beach Hoppers was crowded, mostly with weekend fishermen stocking up for lunch. As Marsha passed between the yucca and dwarf lemon trees that ringed the patio, she couldn’t help but notice how lovely the patio was looking. Not quite as nice as her own terrace, of course, but still very attractive.
Peruvian flute music wafted from the store’s speakers. Dark, spicy scents of cinnamon and espresso filled the air. Bright Mexican blankets hanging on the thick, white, adobe walls added to the contagiously cheerful atmosphere.
Not that Marsha needed cheering. She had woken up this morning in a gloriously good mood. Yesterday’s gloom had lifted, and in its place an unfamiliar feeling of anticipation vibrated through her. Instead of her usual, stimulating yerba mate-green tea blend, she chose a more soothing lemongrass-chamomile combination. But today even that seemed to act like an intoxicant on her system. It was only as she passed through the parking lot on her way back to the staging area that, for just an instant, her euphoria faded, replaced by a dark, almost violent, irritation. She had to stop for a moment to catch her breath.
At the edge of the parking lot, where thick mats of crabgrass ate up the gravel, a seemingly impenetrable tangle of vegetation grew. Concealed within the bushes of creosote and chemise, a narrow path led to a small picnic area, hidden within a ring of pampas grass and jacaranda trees. Beyond that the path continued winding its way down to the beach.
Somewhere within that vast, green mass a darkness hovered. Waiting.
Marsha considered investigating the anomaly, but Siobhan’s impatience was by far the stronger lure. If she didn’t get the waiver tables set up soon, her sister’s nervousness would make her crazy.
By the time she had gotten back to the vans and delivered Siobhan her latte, her uneasiness had been forgotten, buried beneath the cheerful enthusiasm generated by the other volunteers.
Within minutes, Marsha was hard at work attaching signs to the tables that had been set up for her, readying waivers, pens and maps. Between nine and noon, scores of people would arrive to participate in the cleanup, most of them local residents, and many of them children. All of them would be processed through the two tables allotted to Marsha’s station. There were two types of waivers to be signed. The children’s waivers, which had to be signed by an accompanying adult, required a single page for each child. Adult waivers, on the other hand, could hold up to fifteen signatures per page. Once, years earlier, several pages had been lost. They’d been forced to estimate how many people had participated and Siobhan had gone nearly insane. Ever since then, Marsha had been obsessed with the task of perfecting her organizat
ion of the waiver forms, ensuring that that kind of mix-up would never again occur.
Shortly before nine, participants began trickling in. By nine-thirty the trickle had become a steady stream. Siobhan had assigned one of the new volunteers to work with Marsha this year, a University student named Erin. The two women were kept busy greeting new arrivals, handing out maps and directions, and witnessing signatures. So absorbed was Marsha with her tasks, that the uneasy conviction she was being watched took a while longer than usual to register in her consciousness. When it finally did, it was accompanied by the realization she’d been blocking similar sensations all morning. She looked up in alarm. From several feet away a rather striking looking man, dressed all in black, was staring at her with an odd, intent expression in his eyes. And an even more odd, rather bemused smile playing about his lips.
He looked happy to see her. Surprised to see her. He looked as if he knew her.
Something about his appearance struck a faint chord of recognition, but it was gone before she could track it down. She was sure she had never seen him before, and she did not know how to account for the curious warmth that seemed to steal through her as she returned his smile. Embarrassment followed hard on the heels of the warmth, however, for surely this smile was too friendly, too intimate, to be meant for her. She turned her head, certain that there must be someone behind her for whom the smile had actually been intended – but there was no one there.
And then, when she turned back around, she found her mysterious stranger was no longer there, either.
“Hey, Marsha.” Scout’s voice penetrated through the haze of her disappointment. Turning once again, she saw her friend, accompanied by Nick, his daughter Kate, Lucy’s daughter Mandy, and both the families’ dogs.
“Hey. Good to see you. How are you feeling, Scout?” She winced as the words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Fine,” Scout answered, her expression suddenly wary. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, uh... you know,” Marsha stalled, improvising wildly. “We’ve had all this fog lately, and what with the weather here being so changeable, and you being used to LA weather and all—I was worried you might be coming down with a cold, or something.”
“Oh.” Scout shrugged. “No. Although, actually, now that you mention it, I have been feeling a little congested. But otherwise, like I said, I feel fine.”
“Well, good. That’s great.” Marsha smiled. “I mean, I was just thinking of the wedding pictures. It would be such a shame if you had a runny nose, or something and, you know—”
“Oh, are you coming down with a cold?” Erin interjected. “There’s a great goldenseal-kombucha tea blend I take whenever I feel something coming on. Stuff works wonders. If you take it early enough, you can maybe avoid getting sick at all.”
“Oh yeah?” Scout looked interested. “Maybe I’ll pick some up this afternoon.”
“No! Don’t do that!” Marsha gasped, appalled by the suggestion. Scout shouldn’t be taking either of those herbs right now. She struggled to keep her voice light as she added, “I mean... don’t be silly, Scout. No point in taking anything like that if you feel okay. If you want some herbs, come by the store Monday and I’ll fix you up with some echinacea and ginger. That would work just as well and… it, uh... it really tastes so much better.”
Erin looked at her in surprise. “Do you really think so?”
“Girls, why don’t you show Scout where we have to go to get the bags and things?” Nick interrupted smoothly, without looking up from the children’s waiver he was filling out.
“That okay with you, hon?” He smiled at Scout then, and Marsha couldn’t help but notice the tenderness in the glance he gave her. “I’ll be right with you as soon as I finish with the paperwork here.”
“Yeah, sure.” Scout smiled too, obviously relieved to be leaving. “I’ll see you later, Marsha.”
“I’ll be here.” Marsha breathed a sigh of relief herself as she watched them head across the lot.
“Here you go, Marsha.” Nick handed her back the clipboard with the signed waivers. He leaned in close, and lowered his voice. “And, by the way – nice save.”
“Oh, uh, thanks,” she answered with a sheepish grin.
He straightened up and fished his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket. “So, what else does she want to stay away from?”
She thought for a minute. “Chamomile, for one thing. And both dong quai and ginseng, for sure. Fenugreek. St. John’s Wort Oh, and you know, even excessive amounts of basil can be a problem. So you want to be careful at Lucy’s brunch tomorrow.”
“Got it.” Nick nodded, putting on his glasses. “Skip the pesto.”
Marsha sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “So, how long we gotta keep this up for, anyway?”
“Just until after the wedding, I hope” He shrugged. “Personally, I think it’s a waste of energy, but... you know how it is.”
“Yeah,” Marsha said, dryly. “Actually, I do. It’s just like Lucy.”
Nick grimaced. “Shit. I’d forgotten about that. Christ, what a mess.” His eyes strayed over to where Scout and the girls were picking up bags, and Marsha watched the slow, satisfied smile that crept across his face. He had the contented look of a man who had everything he wanted in life. And knew it.
As she watched him saunter over to join his family, Marsha couldn’t help thinking that Scout was a very lucky woman.
* * *
“Wow. That was pretty intense,” Erin said, when the rush of people had at last died down.
Marsha looked up from the pile of waivers she was filing and smiled. “Yeah, it looks like we’ve got a good turnout this year. I’m glad the weather’s cooperating.”
Erin clasped her hands together over her head and gently stretched from side to side. “I’m thinking I want to run over to the cafe and get a coffee – you want anything while I’m there?”
“Actually I’d love a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.” Marsha admitted. “And then... since I don’t think we’re gonna get many more people showing up at this point, I think I’ll go ahead and start breaking some of this down. People are going to start returning, in a little while... we might as well get ready to start collecting the data sheets now.”
She had just finished packing up the last of the waivers, when a low honking noise made her look up. She watched as, wings extended, a flock of maybe half a dozen geese veered through the parking lot, passing right over the heads of the observing crowds, rising just high enough to clear the tops of the trees by scant inches, before dropping out of sight below the tree line.
“Why do they do that?” a voice behind her asked. It was an unfamiliar voice. A dark, rich, rumble of a sound, she felt the vibrations from it settle deep in her solar plexus.
“Do what?” she asked, unable to suppress a mischievous smile “Fly? They are birds, you know.”
She turned around, still smiling, and found herself face to face with the man she had noticed earlier. He was even more striking up close. His gray eyes gleamed like hematite; a dark, gunmetal shade, overlaid with an almost metallic sheen. She felt her smile falter. Amusement was replaced by a faint wariness. She had seen eyes with that peculiar luminosity only a handful of times, and always in people who commanded great personal power. But it was not the prospect of coming face to face with a wizard that unnerved her so much as the unexpectedly warm expression in those eyes.
“Yeah, thanks, doll. I’d figured that much out by myself,” he drawled, his smile robbed the words of their sting. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they’re coming from, though, would you? Or where they’re going? This is the second time I’ve seen them barrel through here like that.”
His smile was at least as unnerving as his eyes. Marsha took a deep breath and tried to relax. It wasn’t easy. He had a real wolf’s smile. Big, bright and deadly. The next words out of his mouth should be the better to eat you with.
“Oh. Well, actually, a lot o
f the wildlife preserves in the area maintain regular feeding schedules,” she told him. “So these guys just figure out the timing, and then they make the circuit.”
“You mean to say they can tell time?” the man asked, clearly incredulous.
“Well, the change to daylight savings time confuses the hell out of them for a while each year. But ordinarily, yeah, it sure seems like they can.”
“Uh-huh.” He studied her suspiciously for a moment before asking, “And the commando flying techniques? What’s that all about?”
She laughed at the description. “Oh, you know, I think they just like to throw their weight around, and maybe show off a little.”
“They do a good job of it.”
“Yeah, don’t they just?” She glanced at him once more, briefly. Trying to absorb as many details as she could, without staring, and then turned her eyes back to the now empty sky. He was just a little under six feet tall, with a lean, muscular build. His rather large, beak of a nose was bracketed by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, and by thick, elegantly arched eyebrows – all a slightly darker shade than the burnished steel gray of his hair. He was dressed all in black. Leather jacket, jeans, t-shirt and boots. With a single black-and-silver stud earring in his left earlobe and a heavy silver and turquoise pendant hung around his neck.
Well that figures. Her thoughts raced to make sense of what she was seeing. Anyone with a lot of power would instinctively think about defense, and black was, after all, just about the most defensive color there was. Unless she was mistaken, turquoise was the stone traditionally employed in a variety of protection spells. And silver was widely used to either conduct or disrupt etheric energy. Which might very well account for the strange effect he was having on her senses.
In fact, when she thought about it, everything about his appearance made perfect sense. And the overall effect was—
“Very impressive.”
Marsha blinked. “I’m sorry... what did you say?”
