by Megan Derr
"Oh," Ferdy said again, and this time sounded like he got it. "Gremlins tend to spend a lot of time alone."
"That's because gremlins see metal or cogs or gears and get interested in that the way other creatures get interested in potential lovers," Brayton replied with a snort. "Then they forget everything else around them. Not the same thing."
Ferdy flinched, almost as though actually struck. "Um—yeah—Kerry said the same thing."
Brayton winced. That wasn't what he'd meant; even he didn't mean to be that much of an ass. "Baby, if Kerry couldn't drag you away from your shiny bits of metal, he was doing something wrong."
In reply, Ferdy only did his whole shrug and look down thing, but his cheeks were flushed, and some of the bitter unhappiness had faded from his scent. Good. Less aggravating to be stuck with someone who always smelled so miserable.
"So what do you fix?" he asked.
"Machines," Ferdy replied. "If it's a machine, and I can get the tools and the parts, I can fix it." He smiled suddenly, and it was a damned cute grin.
God damn it. There went that word again.
"Once," Ferdy went on, "this woman in town brought me her dollhouse, and I made all the tiny appliances actually work—fridge, stove, everything. Wired the house and even figured out how to do running water. It's a perfect little working replica. I thought about doing something more elaborate, like a castle or an entire city or something, but I mean it’s a dollhouse…" He shrugged.
Brayton smirked. "I can see where miniature would call to miniature. Whatever floats your boat, baby."
Ferdy flushed bright red again. "Stop calling me baby."
"Small, cute, and totally helpless," Brayton retorted. "Baby seems to work, you ask me. But 'itty-bitty' works too, if you prefer that."
"I have a name."
"Yeah, and if I were you, I'd pick 'baby'."
Brayton abruptly scowled at himself. Jesus H. Christ, was he flirting with the gremlin? That was definitely not an approved activity. Snack-sized gremlins were not his thing, and he was not flirting. That shit was stopping right now.
"I'm not a baby," Ferdy retorted and scowled at him, but it really was more of a cute pout—
Argh. Brayton really needed a damned cigarette.
Silence fell again after that until a house came into view. It was an older house, but well-maintained. He thought he saw an actual well off to one side, far back at the edge of the acre on which the house resided. It was painted a light, long-faded green with trim that had probably been white once but now seemed to be every color but. The porch was wide and wrapped around the house, empty save for some chairs, a porch swing, and a couple of tables cluttered with heaven alone knew what.
Well back beyond the house was a shop that could only be the workshop, and behind it were two bays, both currently empty. The modern-looking buildings were a stark, rather ridiculous contrast to the old-time house.
"My house," Ferdy said quietly. "Um. It's not much? But it's got everything you might need—at least, it did until I accidentally broke most of it." His voice had grown progressively tighter as he spoke, and Brayton shot him a look, but Ferdy wasn't looking at him, attention on fumbling his keys from where they were clipped to his belt loop.
Unlocking the door, he led the way inside, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on a coat rack attached to the wall. He dropped his keys into a little metal dish on a scuffed and battered little table that was cluttered with umbrellas, old key chains, old keys, and other such miscellany.
He shot Brayton a hesitant smile, then moved further into the house, into what proved to be the living room as Brayton followed him.
A nice living room, at that—really nice. That was the sweetest damned entertainment center Brayton had ever seen. Not a scrap of it looked strictly store bought either, but then, no self-respecting gremlin would have ever left well enough alone when it came to electronics.
There was a massive wrap around sofa taking up most of the free space; it was made of dark brown suede and had a matching ottoman in place of a coffee table that was piled with books and papers, diagrams and schematics, bits and pieces of some unknown machine.
Smells struck Brayton hard—metal, machine oil, all kinds of food, coffee, beer, and sex. The last irritated him, though he could not say why. Guess the ex hadn't been an ex very long.
All in all, it was a tidy two story house complete with living room, a study, a rec room, a work room, and four bedrooms upstairs. Everything was cluttered with the leavings of a machine-obsessed gremlin, though the piles of clutter were remarkably tidy, for all that. A relatively neat and tidy gremlin—who knew?
Brayton was toying with a gutted cuckoo clock when he heard a choked, muffled noise from the study. Abandoning the clock, he strode through the rooms to the study at the back left corner of the house.
Ferdy stood at a cluttered table, pushing with obvious misery at a pile of junk that looked like it had once been some manner of mechanical toy. The look on Ferdy’s face was one of abject misery; it was on the verge of tears, really. Ferdy must have touched the toy and caused it to fall apart.
It struck Brayton then, like a sucker punch, just how really and truly awful the curse must be for Ferdy. Gremlins couldn't help themselves when it came to machines and all. They needed to tinker and build the way vampires needed blood, the way Brayton needed … hell, he didn't even know.
Breaking everything he touched instead of fixing it must be a living hell for Ferdy.
He was across the room before he even really knew what he was doing, grabbing Ferdy and turning him, pulling him into a tight embrace. "We'll break the case," he said gruffly.
Ferdy said nothing, but his skinny little arms wrapped round Brayton's waist— And Low was right, there was a hell of a lot more strength there than the starving schoolgirl build implied. It was kind of hot, actually, but no way was he going there.
Suddenly Ferdy was squirming away, flushed with embarrassment. "You can sleep here, if you need a place. If you want to bring your car, there should be an empty bay out back—and I promise I won't touch it."
"Sure," Brayton agreed, because he really did not want to leave his baby sitting in that empty lot and staying here made more sense than wasting time tracking down an inn. "I'll be back shortly, then."
"I can order—" Ferdy broke off and looked miserable again. "I can go and get us pizza, if you want."
Brayton started to move forward, then realized he had every intention of kissing that misery away, and that would not do at all—what the hell was wrong with him? He shook his head at Ferdy instead and drawled, "You stay here and try to figure out why someone would curse you, baby. I'll get my car and the food."
Ferdy scowled at him. "My name is not 'baby'."
"I'm not calling you 'Ferdy', baby, so get used to it." He left the room, avoiding further attempts to discuss the matter. In the entryway, he cracked the door open. From the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a small bag that folded down to pocket sized, but opened up to a small bag perfect for things like his keys and wallet. Necessities stowed, he stripped down, neatly folding his clothes and leaving them on a clean bit of floor.
Then he shifted, shaking himself and growling as he settled into his wolf form. His fur was a brown-gold, same as his hair though much rougher and more varied in shading. His eyes remained green, the sage color of them nothing he'd ever encountered in another wolf beyond his father.
Nudging the door the rest of the way open, he carefully took up his travel bag in his mouth, and padded from the house and down the street, breaking into a brisk run once he reached the open road. He made it back to his car in good time.
Moving around behind it, out of the sight of traffic, he dropped his bag and shifted back to human form. Rolling and stretching his muscles, he fished his keys from his bag and walked to his trunk, unlocking it and grabbing a spare set of clothes. He dressed quickly, then slammed the trunk shut and went to retrieve his wallet, folding the bag up and shov
ing it back into his pocket.
Unlocking his car, he slid behind the wheel, closed the door, and started his baby up. She purred and rumbled for him, and he patted her affectionately before driving out of the deserted lot. His GTO was a honey; she’d been little more than junk when he'd found her, but he'd restored her to her true glory, and she never let him down.
Reaching town, he pulled into the parking lot of a local pizza joint and then simply sat, bemused by the scents flooding him. The town was rife with paranormals; more than he could completely track and pick out. He'd wager at least half the town was paranormal, and to glance about, it seemed the humans were completely aware and didn't give a damn.
He wasn't certain what to make of that. He'd never known such a thing to happen, not anywhere, and he'd been all over the fucking country and across the borders a few times. Humans were annoying, bar none. Well, bar almost none. There were a few worth tolerating.
Speaking of annoying humans, that reminded him. Pulling out his cell, he slid it open and punched one of his speed dial numbers. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as the phone rang and rang until, finally, an obnoxiously cheerful voice sang out an entirely too bright greeting.
Brayton growled. "You didn't tell me there were wolves here. Or a top vamp. Or that this town is weird. I suspect you very carefully did not to tell me anything useful at all, in fact, and I would like to know why right now, Carl."
"I thought I'd surprise you."
"You're an asshole. You know damn good and well wolves don't like me as a general of thumb. Were you just hoping I'd finally get my ass kicked?"
Carl laughed. "Nah. Low's not like that. He's mellow unless Stacey Cropper is stupid enough to show his face in Midsummer again."
Brayton growled again, this time with real threat in it, at the sound of that name. Stacey was bad news, end sentence. He was as crooked as the day was long and twice the asshole.
"Seriously," Carl went on."You'd like Low. Sally, too, though she's probably too happy for you."
"Shut up," Brayton said and pulled out his smokes. He lit one, rolling his window all the way down, and took a long drag. "I don't suppose you can actually tell me something useful about this mess you dragged me into? Itty-bitty swears up and down no one hates him this much, but a curse this cruel could only come from hate or fear—and a goddamn fly would not be afraid of that pint-sized gremlin."
Carl sniggered. "I knew you'd like him."
Brayton pulled the phone away from his ear and gave it a withering look. Putting it back in place, he said, "I have no idea what you're talking about." He very carefully did not think about the odd, elusive, but not unappealing, scent that nagged at him, or the way he'd hugged Itty-bitty, or anything else like that.
Snickering some more, Carl replied, "Whatever, man. Anyway, is it that someone is scared of him, or scared of what he can do?"
"Thought of that," Brayton said shortly. "After I eliminate the ex, I'll look further into it. It can't be coincidence that shortly after he started work on this clock tower he mentioned he lost any ability to do so. Does that tower have any special history?"
"Nah," Carl said. "It's remarkably free of such tales, oddly enough. If there are any skeletons in its closets, they've been long forgotten by even Sally."
"Hm," Brayton said absently. "Well, unless he's working on something else, I can't see what else would provoke someone to be that fucking mean to a compact-model gremlin. I just wondered if you knew anything useful for once."
"He's a quiet little guy. Could be filthy rich, but he does everything practically for free. That boyfriend of his—it kind of shocked everyone when he went for Ferdy."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Kerry is a bit of a wild card, and by a bit, I mean any town but Midsummer would have locked that sorry ass goblin up ages ago. I know Low wouldn't mind chomping him, but he seemed to chill out after he shacked up with Ferdy. Got together oh, all of a year ago? Give or take."
Hmm. That was possibly interesting timing. Could be coincidence; no need to make anything of it yet—but Brayton made note. "As usual, Carl, you know too much for a man who never stays anywhere longer than two days," he said dryly.
"People love talking to me," Carl replied.
"Something like that," Brayton said, finishing his cigarette. "Thanks. Anything else?"
"Ferdy doesn't deserve this, Brayton. He's a good guy. Lonely, grew up alone. He was another wanderer , like so many others in town, until he found Midsummer. Help him and kick the ass of whoever did that to him."
Brayton nodded unthinkingly, then said, "You know I will."
Carl laughed softly. "Yeah, I know. Don't get arrested doing it, lone wolf."
"Shut up."
"Later."
"Later."
"Oh! Wait! One more thing—"
"What?" Brayton snapped.
"He'd be good for you."
"What—what the hell?"
But the line had gone dead. Brayton snarled and growled softly, then slid his phone shut and shoved it back into his jeans. Muttering curses and obscenities that would make his mama blush and cuff him, Brayton climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut.
He strode into the pizza place, sneezing at the overwhelming flood of scents. Restaurants and all always did that to him. Sneezing again, he finally got control of it and strode up to the counter. A huge, heavily-muscled human stood at the counter, sporting the sort of annoying cheerful smile that drove Brayton crazy. It was not natural for people to be so cheerful all the time.
"You're Ferdy's wolf, aren't you?" the man asked abruptly.
"What?" Brayton said, almost barking the words. That was the third damned time someone had said he belonged to Ferdy. He was a lone wolf. He belonged to no one. Definitely not to some snack-sized gremlin ready to jump at his own shadow.
"I was talking to Peter on the phone, and then Bobby saw you driving past and called me and said—"
"I'm here to help Ferdy, yes," Brayton bit out, chafing at the busybody nature of small towns. It just…he didn't like it. Ferdy, really? It didn't suit, and he didn't like using it. "I need two pizzas."
"Breadsticks and soda, too, and the cinnamon sticks. I owe Ferdy, and least I can do to help out why he's cursed like that. Ferdy always gets the same thing—pepperoni, mushrooms, jalapenos. What did you want on the other?"
"Just pepperoni."
"Be about fifteen minutes. Want to wait, or I can just bring it out there."
"I'll wait," Brayton said and started to reach for his wallet, then remembered the guy had said he had it covered. "Thanks." Turning, he went outside and leaned against his car, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one up.
Then he stewed over the gremlin problem. He pulled a long drag on his cigarette, pondering. It was far too early to be certain of anything—to even make a guess as to anything—but the clock tower nagged at him. Looking up, he glanced around until he could see the top of it across town, a dull, tired looking building, the hands of the clock all hung down at six, too worn out to move elsewhere. The rest of the building was cluttered and covered and ugly, too busy being fixed to look good. Like his mama always said though, the only way to clean was to start by making a bigger mess.
Brayton finished his cigarette and stamped it out on the pavement. His to-do list for the night seemed to be run Kerry to ground, then go scope the clock tower. So much for sleep. Going back inside, he saw his food just being gathered together. "Thanks again."
"Sure. Tell Ferdy thanks for fixing my truck. This town would be lost without him, I swear."
Grunting some reply, Brayton gathered the food up and made to leave.
"Anyway," the man continued, "I hope you can help him?"
"I can," Brayton replied, then hesitated. "What can you tell me about this Kerry everyone keeps mentioning? Where does he live?"
"Wherever he falls," the man said flatly. "Ferdy was the best thing that ever happened to Kerry, but Kerry was the worst thin
g to ever happen to Ferdy."
"I see. So where am I likeliest to find him?"
"In a bar or the pool hall."
Brayton nodded. "Thanks."
He left, settled the food in the passenger seat, and drove back to Ferdy's place.
When he arrived, however, a new car was in the driveway. The scent that clung to it was passingly familiar,something, Brayton realized, that he'd already smelled before in Ferdy's house. One of the scents that had been attached to lingering traces of sex.
Brayton slammed the car door shut, leaving the food in the car for the time being, and stomped into the house. The first thing he smelled was Ferdy's unhappiness, sour sweat, and the glaring lack of that elusive scent he still couldn't place. Growling, he moved through the rooms to the workshop.
Ferdy leaned against one of two wide windows in the room, arms crossed over his chest, and glaring up at a man doing his damndest to loom.
"Now, Ferdy, you don't want to keep arguing—"
"You're right, I don't," Ferdy said. "You said good riddance. I said that was fine by me. There's nothing else to say."
"If you just said you were sorry, I'd be willing to take you back and give you a second chance."
Ferdy said nothing, only sighed and looked away. The slinky, slimy blonde reached out a hand to draw his fingers down Ferdy's cheek.
Oh, no. That wouldn't do, Brayton decided. No one was touching Ferdy. Stalking across the room, he snatched the offending hand and squeezed not quite hard enough to break it. Then he grabbed the squealing bastard by the back of his shirt and tossed him to the other side of the room.
"You must be Kerry," Brayton drawled.
Kerry sneered. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I keep hearing you're a worthless bastard. Goblins usually are, my experience. Are you worthless enough to curse a gremlin?"
