by Mia Marshall
I was ready to exonerate her. I had the door open and was ready to leave her and her family alone forever more, until I glanced at the shoe cupboard by the side of the door. It held all the family’s footwear, sneakers and flip flops and men’s hiking boots. A small pair of Mary Janes told me Diane had a daughter.
And, resting at the top of the stack, I saw a pair of comfortable, well-worn white shoes too large to be her daughter’s and too small to be her husband’s. They were the kind of shoes that belonged to only one profession, one that had access to the equipment that might have been used on the kidnapped teens.
Diane was a nurse.
CHAPTER 18
I wanted to sprint toward my car and immediately phone Sera, but neither of us had working cell phones. Instead, I walked with sure, steady steps across the wide, clean street. I opened the car door and climbed in slowly, and I waited a moment or two for the decrepit engine to warm up before I eased away from the curb and headed toward the entrance of the planned community. I followed the road away from the residential area, heading steadily toward the shopping district.
The sky was just starting to open up, dropping the light flakes that had been threatening all morning, though it was too warm for the snow to stick.
A large supermarket loomed before me, its enormous parking lot only partially filled at mid-morning. I drew into a compact spot tucked underneath a large maple whose leaves were just starting to return, far from all other shoppers. I turned the key, bringing the engine to a stuttering halt, made sure the windows were tightly closed, then proceeded to scream loudly while beating the steering wheel.
It wasn’t anger. I was coming to know the difference in my own body, to feel the water magic I knew so well weaken and pull away as the fire claimed me. There was no such change this time, because it was frustration coursing through me, coupled with a healthy dose of self-loathing.
I’d believed her. I’d believed Diane was innocent, that she couldn’t be involved in these kidnappings. And no, a pair of white nursing shoes wasn’t enough to convict her, but it sure as hell suggested she might not be entirely innocent.
I’d trusted Brian, too. I’d trusted my mother. I’d even trusted Josiah, as far as it was possible to trust an old one capable of destroying entire villages in a fit of pique. These were not people I’d ever expected to lie to me, and each one had, deliberately and repeatedly.
My mother and Brian had relied on my love for them, their belief that I would never closely examine their motivations. Diane was just relying on my gullible nature, my persistent desire to trust others and believe the best of them despite all evidence to the contrary.
I needed to toughen up. I’d spent the last several months surrounded by dead bodies and psychotic elementals, and now I was dealing with a mad scientist conducting experiments on shifter children. Believing the best of people wasn’t an option anymore.
My fire side knew that. It had happily watched Brian burn, reveling in the death of a man I’d once loved. It was time for the rest of me to catch up.
I took a swig of water to soothe my raw throat and stepped from the car, heading toward a pay phone on the corner, one that miraculously even held a phone book. Tightening my coat against the chill, I fished several coins from my pocket and phoned the hospital, asking for Vivian’s room.
Simon answered. He hadn’t heard from anyone else, but he was able to provide an update on Vivian. She was stable, though she’d spent most of the morning asleep. Simon’s voice was hesitant, the words heavy with exhaustion and concern, and he insisted she just needed to rest and be left alone for a few more days. I thought he might be trying to convince himself, as well.
I’d wanted to hear that a good night’s sleep had revitalized her enough that she’d taken back her despairing words from the day before. I couldn’t believe she would just walk away. Of course, that was the problem, wasn’t it? She nearly hadn’t walked away.
I arranged for flowers to be delivered, hoping a bunch of cheerful gerbera daisies said, “Sorry we almost got you killed again.”
Next, I phoned the cabin. No one picked up, and each unanswered ring fed my anxiety. I left a message, telling them what I’d learned at Diane’s, then hung up. There was nothing else I could do.
The concern I’d felt that morning threatened to overwhelm me, and I stubbornly beat it back. Sera might be small, but she was, almost literally, a walking firebomb. She could defend herself, and Mac wasn’t some innocent shifter child. He was a grown man well aware of the current threats.
I was being silly, I insisted, and even a little paranoid. I needed to stop worrying about my friends who could defend themselves and start worrying about the shifter children who could not.
Even so, I didn’t want to spend another hour out of contact with my friends. Across the street, I saw the bright logo of my cell phone service provider, and I crossed the road quickly, entering the pristine, warm shop. My purse was likely somewhere in the middle of Lake Tahoe by now, but I still had the cards connected to my trust fund. I’d been determined to avoid the temptation to use them, and so had kept them buried in a drawer for weeks now. For once, my stubbornness had worked in my favor.
As always, the American Express worked its magic. The store quickly arranged for a new phone with my old number.
While I waited, I weighed my options. There were still a few avenues we could explore. Mac was looking into the other shifters, and now we needed to research Diane’s employment history. Beyond a basic internet search, I had no idea what that involved.
I felt a sudden pang at the loss of Vivian. She wasn’t just a good friend. She was a vital member of our group. We might not have satin jackets with our names embroidered on the back—at least, not yet—but we were a team. They were my gang, the first one I’d ever really had.
With Vivian out of commission, Simon determined to remain at her bedside, and Sera and Mac incommunicado, I sharply felt the absence of those I’d grown to rely on.
I couldn’t just sit and wait for my phone to ring. I supposed I could ask Josiah what he’d learned about Brian’s Magic Deactivation cocktail, but that presumed I trusted a single word that came out of his mouth.
Someone knew about Brian’s drug mixture and was using it on shifters. I had to assume that person knew Brian, and while Brian’s work as a bartender ensured he had hundreds of acquaintances, I could maybe narrow it down through a Venn diagram of people he knew and our current list of suspects.
And the best way to figure out just who Brian had known was to hit the place where he’d spent most of his waking hours. Sure, it was barely noon, but it was time for a drink.
The Rat Trap was, without fear of exaggeration, the greatest dive bar in the history of the world. The fact that I’d spent most of my hours in that fine establishment a bit unsteady on my feet should not call that opinion into question. If anything, it should prove how truly awesome the place was, as I loved it despite the many hangovers I’d earned beneath its roof.
Located several hundred feet from the lake in Tahoe City, it had at one time been a classic dive bar, with a beat up jukebox in the corner, rickety wooden tables, and a scarred bar surrounded by stools with ripped faux leather upholstery.
In the 80s, the new owner decided that tiki bars were the wave of the future and introduced a tropical cocktail menu and a design scheme based on the Enchanted Tiki Room at Disneyland, all without removing any of the original decorations. Bamboo poles and snarling Tiki men were hung next to blinking neon beer signs, and piña coladas were served alongside generous glasses of bourbon.
When the Trap changed hands again in the 90s, the new owner displayed an unfortunate obsession with the indie film Swingers and installed a series of round booths covered in dark red vinyl, added a series of overpriced martinis to the drink menu, and filled the jukebox with rockabilly and swing music.
By the time Sera and I found our way through the door our third year of college, ownership had passed to Frank, a tiny and hirsu
te man in his forties who’d, remarkably, left well enough alone. He removed the designer martinis, but otherwise he was smart enough to realize he’d stumbled upon a charming sort of chaos that hipster bars around the country were desperately trying to replicate. He allowed the dive bar, tiki bar, and hipster swing bar to co-exist in unexpectedly perfect harmony.
Frank filled the jukebox with lesser known country and bluegrass from the past five decades to balance out the swing and classic rock left by the prior owners. If that hadn’t been enough to earn my undying patronage, he’d also hired Christopher, the man who’d become my de facto big brother. He’d also hired Brian, the man who’d murdered Chris, but I couldn’t fault Frank for that. Brian had fooled all of us.
The door closed behind me, shutting out the chill and leaving me in a different world. I stood in the doorway for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom and savoring the warmth.
A few die-hards ringed the bar, and a handful of college students filled a booth. I remembered those days and the glorious freedom of making our own rules for the first time in our lives. If we didn’t have class and we wanted to go drinking, we damn well could, regardless of what the clock said. I didn’t miss those carefree days—the party acquaintances I’d enjoyed in college had nothing on the friendships I now claimed—but I sometimes missed the easy certainty of being young and free of responsibility.
Even at noon, the place wasn’t quiet. Loud drunken voices swapped stories, and the clacking of pool balls punctuated the music pouring from the jukebox. Whiskeytown sang “16 Days,” a song that had been on the jukebox even before I left town. For a moment, I was convinced nothing had changed, and if I just stood there long enough, Chris would pop out with a big smile on his face, welcoming me back to town, and the last ten years would never have happened.
Instead, Frank looked up at me, and it was on his face that a slow, questioning smile appeared. “Aidan?” His uncertainty was damn near my undoing, and pulled me straight out of my reverie. I’d never seen Frank anything but confident and jovial, particularly when faced with a young woman. He was the sort of man for whom flirting was a joyous game, and he got away with it because everyone was in on the game, including his wife.
I hadn’t planned to come back here. Sera was still a regular, and she’d been the one to tell Frank that Brian wouldn’t be coming in again. Now that I was here, I was glad circumstances had led me through the door. The bar still felt like a tiny piece of home, the sort of place that could either solve or cause a whole slew of problems, depending on its mood at the time.
“Hey, Frank. It’s been a while.” It was weak, and I knew it, but too much time had passed for anything else. Frank nodded, seeming to understand. He might not know what had happened to Brian, but he was too sharp not to connect my sudden return to Chris’s murder and Brian’s disappearance. Sometimes, there’s just too much to say, and it’s better to gloss over it all.
Frank and I had never been close. I was a patron, and he was the charming bar owner who made everyone feel welcome. That meant caring about his customers while they were in the bar, but it also meant forgetting about them soon after they left his establishment. In a transient community like Tahoe, with a clientele prone to occasional binge drinking, it was probably best to maintain a certain amount of emotional distance.
Frank waved at one of the barstools, an expansive gesture that suggested he was offering me a seat on some treasured antique rather than on a bit of plastic. He grabbed a bottle and started pouring, not bothering to consult me. He still knew my drink, and a moment later he slid a glass full of whiskey toward me, lifting his own at the same time. “To old friends who magically appear out of nowhere, like the nymphs they so clearly are.”
I sputtered on my drink and covered with an awkward coughing fit. Frank was just flirting, the way he did. Still, considering how poorly I’d been keeping the elementals’ secret recently, he was hitting a little close for comfort. “How’ve you been, Frank?”
“Oh, you know. It’s a good thing I always hear men get better with age, or else I’d just think I was getting old.” He paused for a moment, just long enough for my obligatory smile. “So, what brings you by after all this time, fair Aidan?” He was still upbeat, but his eyes were sharp, watching for the tiniest detail that might give away my purpose. Or maybe he was just wondering why the last ten years hadn’t put a single line on my face.
“I understand Brian’s gone missing,” I said, telling the absolute truth. I did understand this. I also understood that he’d last been seen buried under the rubble that had once been my house, his spine broken and eyes vacant, but even I am sometimes capable of withholding information.
Worry scored Frank’s rough features. “Yeah, Sera told me he’d taken off, but she didn’t know where. He’s never gone like this before, Aidan. He just vanished.”
I looked down at the bar, letting my hair swing forward to cover my face. I hoped I looked overcome by concern, rather than like I was actively trying to hide my traitorous face.
Frank seemed convinced by my efforts, at least. “It’s been a tough couple months around here, Aidan. I’m glad to see you, but I’ve gotta admit I’m wondering why you’re here. Just felt like a midday drink, huh?”
I quickly found a story close enough to the truth that even my dubious acting talents might be able to pull it off. I tucked my hair behind my ears with one deliberately nervous gesture. “Brian... he was into some stuff.” I left it open, giving Frank room to read into that what he wanted.
“This is a bar, Aidan. I imagine Brian was into a lot of things. He never caused any trouble though.”
So much for keeping my face calm. The disconnect between Frank’s words and the truth hit hard, and tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them. “That’s not true.” The words were choked out, fighting their way past the lump forming in my throat.
Frank said nothing, but he filled up both our glasses. I took a moment to think of my car outside, and the need to remain sober enough to drive it, then decided that the drive home could wait.
I wrapped both hands carefully around the glass and pulled it to my lips, taking several long slow sips while I sculpted the truth into something Frank could handle. “He was giving drugs to girls.” I met his eyes, letting him see the pain and the story behind my words. “At least, he gave them to me.” Even as I spoke the words, a weight lifted from my shoulders.
I’d been trying to forget Brian’s actions at my house, avoiding speaking of him in any way. I hadn’t wanted to relive that day, and no one pushed me to talk about it. Once we returned to Tahoe, I’d only told the story once, letting Brian’s uncle know that his nephew would not be returning. Stephen Grant heard a highly sanitized version, though—not the truth. I’d seen no reason for that good man to suffer with the knowledge of what his ward had become. The result was that I’d ended up protecting someone who deserved no protection. Maybe I couldn’t tell the whole story, but I could damn sure tell part of it.
To my relief, Frank didn’t look doubtful or angry. He wasn’t a handsome man. He had a skinny build, heavy features, and eyebrows that put most mustaches to shame. He made up for it, though, with the permanent sparkle in his eyes and the way he had of looking at you as if you were the only woman in existence. With my words, that charm disappeared. He looked worn and empty, and when he finally met my eyes, he couldn’t manage anything more than a dull, confused expression.
“You know how, whenever some calm suburban man goes around the bend, the neighbors talk about how nice and normal he seemed? It’s kind of like that. I wish it wasn’t the case, Frank. More than anything, I wish I could tell you something other than what I’m telling you.”
He nodded, one terse nod, indicating I should go on.
“He held me against my will and drugged me. I’m okay,” I said quickly, when I saw the heat rising in his face. “Nothing happened, but I had help. I think others are being drugged the way I was, and they need help, too.”
> “You want to know if I know anything about the drugs.” He got right to the point. When you show up after not having seen someone in ten years, odds are good you want something.
“I don’t think you know anything about the actual drugs,” I clarified hastily. Frank might drink too much and smoke the occasional joint, and he definitely flirted with every woman who walked through the door, but that was as far as it ever went. “I thought you might know who Brian’s been hanging out with the last couple months.” I felt queasy speaking of Brian in the present tense, pretending he still lived.
Frank looked at the bottle, as if debating pouring himself a third drink, but he refrained. “I never saw him outside the bar, but he worked here for over a decade. I thought he was a nice guy, Aidan.” I didn’t point out that was what I’d told him he’d say. He needed time to get there.
His hand twitched several times, then he gave up and poured another drink. He topped mine off, though I’d yet to finish the second one. I was definitely going to need a taxi home. He leaned against the bar, his face heavy and weary. “You like to think you know someone.”
“He was just your employee. He was my friend. I really should have known. I guess life is full of surprises, huh?”
Frank tapped his glass against mine, an ironic toast. “Ain’t it just? I’m trying to think what to tell you. I don’t remember much unusual going on. Brian served drinks to the college students and the locals. He poured strong and got big tips. He flirted with the women.”
“He sounds like your mini-me,” I said.
“But not as handsome, right?” Frank wasn’t the sort to stay down for long.
