Strange Omens

by Jim Stein

  “Ed, I’m sorry, the time just isn’t…right. Between working the tour and everything…” She looked around at her excuses.

  “It’s just a friendship ring, forged with magic and a little extra protection.” I dropped my hand when she gave a sad little shake of her head.

  I swallowed, trying to find my voice, to find words. The pleasant afternoon felt stiflingly hot, the wall between us strong as ever. I sagged, too tired. We didn’t know how the rest of the country fared. Even if it didn’t symbolize anything lasting, the ring would provide a little protection. If she would just take it…but that wasn’t happening. My shields darkened further.

  “If not this…” I shoved my gift deep into my pocket, down where it was safe from hurt, shutting it away. “Let me show you a Spirit spell from Koko. In case you need to go unnoticed.”

  After much urging and pleading, Quinn let me walk her through the basics. We had no time to get into the three-layered version, but she quickly mastered the simple spell I’d originally used. The rest of the party was a dim blur. There were toasts, a speech by the mayor, and at three o’clock sharp the girl of my dreams roared out of the parking lot.

  I spent the afternoon throwing things around the basement and flip-flopping between pissed off and weary sad. Ralph and Max came down to investigate. Those two made a game out of my tantrum. My dog fetched the pillow I threw and dropped it in front of the imp. Ralph picked it up, spun in a circle to get momentum, and let the pillow fly. Max gave chase and brought it back covered in doggy drool.

  My life sucked. Quinn was gone, maybe for good. Music might be coming back, but I wasn’t out there on tour. And now the band had a label and didn’t need my album work. Max dropped the pillow at my feet and wagged expectantly. If dogs were supposed to sense the mood of their master, mine was defective.

  Ralph hopped over, wrapped his arms around the bulky pillow, and held it out to me. The tip of a fang jutted from each corner of his frown. I took the soggy offering and rubbed his head as if to ruffle his nonexistent hair. The gesture had me wondering where the strange creature came from, which was better than obsessing.

  I tossed the pillow. Ralph raced Max across the room, scattering cushions and knocking over a table lamp. Cleanup was going to be a bitch, but at least I wasn’t seeing red anymore. We played hard for a few minutes, then collapsed on the couch to eat candies and dog biscuits I grabbed from the lab. Ralph leaned on Max. Max laid against me. I grinned at how the pair eyed each other’s treats.

  The doorbell jerked me out a half-doze. I extracted myself from the jumble and headed upstairs to find Piper peering out the window.

  “I don’t know what you three were doing, but I’m not cleaning it up.” She jerked her thumb toward the front door. “It’s for you.”

  “Edan, we must talk,” Koko said as I opened the heavy wood door.

  My biological father’s dark fur coat draped down to his knees and his feathered fedora sat low so only his beady eyes and hooked nose showed. His chin tucked tight into the coat collar as if he were cold, which seemed impossible.

  “Yeah…sure,” I stammered and stepped aside. Koko said people could eavesdrop on us when outside the protective prayer line. “Come on in.”

  “No need. This is a short visit.” He studied the front of my house as if judging the quality of construction. “Pina tells me you have an imp.”

  “Yeah.” I chuckled at the thought of the great deity deigning to check on Ralph, who last I saw was trying to rub his tongue clean after taste-testing a dog biscuit. “Showed up on the Easton farm, but he’s settling in well enough.”

  Something touched the back of my knee. I looked down to see Ralph had come to investigate.

  “Old World indeed.” Koko gave the imp a calculating look. “Bring it out, and I will take it.”

  “You can get him home?” Mixed emotions accompanied the question. I originally wanted the little guy gone as soon as possible, but Max and Piper certainly liked him.

  “I will take care of this,” Koko said. “Bring it out!”

  I blinked at the power in his command. The old spirit reserved that trick for when he was fed up, and I certainly hadn’t done anything to test his patience. Ralph hissed and hugged my leg, glaring at Koko.

  “Looks like he doesn’t want to go.” I softened my tone, trying to be reasonable. “Look, just come in, and we can work something out. Ralph will come around when he understands you’ll get him home. Until then? Well, I can keep him a while longer.”

  “No one can take it home, but I can deal with it. Edan, give me the imp.” Again the power and furtive glances left and right.

  Ralph looked up, eyes fearful. Things I cared about kept getting taken from me, not the least of which were Quinn and any semblance of a normal life. I was out of patience myself.

  “No deal!” I slammed the door on the great Kokopelli.

  8. Letters from the Road

  “T

  HAT’S NO way to treat a god,” Piper whispered.

  We waited in silence, but no lightning bolts fell, and the door didn’t smash inwards revealing an avenging Kokopelli. Which was good, because I still didn’t feel too inclined to comply with the old man’s demand.

  “You heard him, Sis. What’s he want with Ralph?”

  “Nothing good, and he was nervous.”

  “Like we were being watched.” I nodded, remembering Koko’s sideway glances. “He should have just come inside.”

  “That’s just it, Ed.” Piper bit her lip. “I don’t think he could. The prayer line was stopping him.”

  “That’s silly.” I laughed at the idea. “He got Pina to put the protection up. It wouldn’t stop him. He’s the good guy, remember?”

  “It would block him if he meant to harm one of us.”

  Piper looked pointedly down at Ralph. The imp had already dismissed the whole affair in favor of another candy. I still couldn’t figure out where he carried the stuff, maybe built in pockets. Koko said he would take care of him—no, he would take care of it—and no one could take it back.

  “But why? Ralph hasn’t hurt anyone.”

  “I wish I knew.” My sister had a familiar gleam in her eye and would be digging for answers.

  ***

  “No frickin’ way am I crawling in there,” Hassan complained.

  For once, he was being an ass to David. A cable run to the antennas sheared off in a freak windstorm overnight. It happened to be our broadcast antenna group, and we needed it fixed as soon as possible. Jack Bishop recommended unplugging the main cable from the bad run so we could use the auxiliary antenna until he got to us.

  The problem was getting to the damned coupler, which sat halfway up the antenna inside a mesh tunnel enclosing the maintenance ladder. Hassan was right to be apprehensive. We cut the power, but if any juice was shorting near the ladder, you wouldn’t want to be stuck in there. Mr. C had offered a pearl of wisdom when he noticed my struggle with the new help: never send someone to do a job you aren’t willing to do yourself.

  “Let me give it a shot.” I took the wrench and pliers from Hassan and grabbed the ladder.

  No electric shot through me, which was a good start. I found the connection Jack described over the phone. Billy gave up trying to teach me troubleshooting, saying I just didn’t have a knack for electronics. But I could handle a wrench. It only took a minute to unthread the connection, tie the cable off to the antenna frame, and scurry back down.

  “Too cool!” David studied the signal meter he clutched in one hand. “We’re back on the air.”

  “I’ll put these away.” Hassan took the tools and gave me a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

  We headed down to the studio level in silence. But for a change, waves of animosity didn’t radiate from Hassan. Electronic chirping sounded from the equipment room. David darted ahead and flipped switches on the shortwave.

  “Pioneer, MLS here, do you copy? Over.” The intern upped the gain and the crackling static settled into a
hushed background drone.

  “MLS, Pioneer. Read you strong but garbled. Over.” Billy’s deep voice was stretched and mangled by poor reception.

  The pair exchanged a few sentences of geek speak, and David adjusted more settings.

  “That’s got it.” Billy came through strong now and sounded excited. “First concerts in New Cleveland went well. Three nights, decent crowds. We ironed out a few technical glitches, but what a great venue.”

  “Understood, Cleveland a success,” David said, then relinquished the desktop mic in response to my wave.

  “Billy, how’s the audience?” I asked.

  “Took some warming up. There are a few stuck-ups here, but Double-M is hosting backstage VIP sessions that seem to be paying off. Before I forget, thank Pete again for that mic stand. It rocks.”

  “Will do. So…” I tried to sound casual. “Is Quinn around?”

  “She’s tied up with our manager, but says hi.”

  “Manager?”

  “Yeah, weird, huh?” Billy must have heard the surprise in my voice. “The label had Manfred waiting for us the first night. Hey, sorry to cut this short, but we’ve gotta get rolling. We picked up a weather report. Did the station survive that wind?”

  I let the interns detail our antenna woes. It made sense the promoter assigned someone to run things on the road, but it chafed. I could have helped if I wasn’t stuck at the station all summer. And Quinn could have made time to talk, unless she was dodging me.

  I drifted to the auxiliary sound room, which had become my de facto office. Recordings ran smoothly through the queue and signal strength looked good. Monitoring was a breeze thanks to the bank of displays Billy set up around my horseshoe work area. Pre-recorded newscasts required minimal adjustments, and the mixer for recording music sat dark and lonely off to my right.

  “Band’s doing good.” Hassan strode through the door with David close on his heels. “Wouldn’t you know it, Jack Bishop just got here. He’s topside working a permanent fix.”

  “Great.” Now the interns were doing my job. Which I guess was the whole point. So why did it bother me?

  “Here.” David thrust a handwritten list at me. “Quinn says these date changes need to go out over the air.”

  “Quinn—” I choked, incredulous.

  “She gave it to Billy.” Hassan scowled at David. “Double-M venue updates, so concert times need to shift a little.”

  “Okay.” I snatched the list. “I’ll run a spot with the announcements on the top of the hour. Any other news?”

  “Double-M modified their return leg to detour around the rough stretches on I-80,” Hassan said. “Sounds like logistics are going to be bad too. Cleveland didn’t have much to spare. That was about it.”

  “Help me record these while David keeps tabs on the repairs?” I waved the notes as my apprehension resolved into a plan. “Then lunch is on me.”

  If I showed Mr. C how well the interns ran the station, he might let me go meet the band partway through tour. We walked down to Crystal Junction to discuss my proposal.

  Stone walls surrounded open air seating nestled in the broken foundation of some ancient storehouse. The metal chairs and glass tables weren’t the most comfortable, but my mouth watered at the smell of roasting pork and fresh baked bread.

  CJ’s had good food, but I liked the place because of the local talent. There was always live music, and today was no exception. The sweet tones filling the outdoor garden made me long to play my own trumpet, which had been sorely neglected these past few months. The old black man perched on his wooden stool ran through a sizeable repertoire of jazz with just a touch of blues.

  Aside from great music and food, CJ’s was an important reminder our economy wasn’t in total decline. Despite the preponderance of empty store fronts, the place opened their doors with a New Year’s bash, and business had taken off. I counted ten other patrons, which was respectable for a weekday.

  “To a good first week.” I raised my water glass after the waitress brought our order.

  “It was pretty good.” Hassan gave a crooked smile and lifted his own glass.

  Wind slammed my back hard enough to send water splashing across the table. David sat closest to the open doorway and caught the brunt of the microburst. Dust and debris hit him full in the chest and flipped him over the back of his chair. The musician grabbed for his stand and case as they swept toward the far wall.

  “What the hell?” I stood and my chair tumbled downwind.

  David and Hassan struggled to stay upright as I backed to the wall. I inched down to a window opening in the stones. Delaware Avenue was a river of rubbish driven by the hurricane force wind. Tree limbs, trashcans, and papers streamed down the street. The maelstrom even caught up a bicycle that managed to stay upright as it wobbled past.

  There was no end to the stream of debris our city disgorged. I peered through the dust, through the trash, into the heart of the passing flood. Dark leathery shapes rode the torrent, a suggestion of wings and a presence—not one, many. There were…things within the freak storm. Unseen eyes turned on me, but slid off my hiding spell’s Tokpela.

  Their focus shifted. The interns froze, clutching one another for support and staring blindly toward the street. Something dangerous had hold of them. I threw myself into the doorway. The wind roared, cold and angry. My spell did nothing to block the physical projectiles. I shut my eyes against the abrading sand, but flying debris opened slices on my arms and cheek. I clung to the edges of the door frame, arms wide, spreading my shielding between the entities and interns.

  The many-pronged scrutiny pressed close as if sensing prey behind the wall of nothingness. Just before my shoulders tore from their sockets, it relented. I squinted into the wind, throat dry and nose stinging. The impression of wings and sinuous bodies moved on, taking the last of the gust down the street and out of sight. I gasped and wiped at my streaming eyes. Groans and movement sounded behind me.

  “What…the…fuck!” Hassan’s sentiment was spot on.

  “What did you see?” I needed to know if the dark presence got to them.

  “Shit, I could hardly see anything,” David said. “Lucky we didn’t get skewered by a splintered branch.”

  Hassan patted himself down, checking for damage, then looked to me. “We just got tumbled around. Hell, Ed, you’re cut to ribbons.”

  Rivulets of blood trickled down my arms and, if my stinging cheek was any indication, also down my face. I studied the pair, trying to look past the physical to their auras. Both were pumped with adrenaline and disheveled, but showed no indication of having been touched by the supernatural force. I still sucked at opening my Sight to aural energies. Both men shone bluish gold, a barely visible nimbus, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  Other patrons picked themselves up and hunted for their belongings, purses, and, in one case, a lost shoe. I stumbled back to our table wanting nothing more than a shower and nap, which was a good thing, because my burger was probably in New Jersey by now. But first, I needed to get my proposal on the table.

  “What would you say to taking over station ops next month?” I retrieved our lead-lined napkin dispenser from the flagstones and dabbed at my wounds.

  We stayed longer than I expected, got another round of meals, and hammer out the basic details. I promised an aggressive training schedule with plenty of hands-on for daily tasks. Meg had to be in on the planning. There were particulars about ordering supplies, advertiser coordination, and existing contracts only our office assistant understood. I also needed to bounce this off Billy before taking my idea to Mr. Conti. It was clearly self-serving, but I grew excited about the possibility of hitting the road to meet up with the A-Chords.

  ***

  “It’s fine with me, but I have to get Manfred’s approval.” Billy’s voice was super clear this evening.

  “It isn’t like I’ll live with you guys.” How much power did this Manfred guy have? “I’ll have my own wheels. I can record li
ve tracks for promos if you want. Aside from that, I’ll just be like a groupie following the tour back.”

  “God knows we have plenty of those. So many it’s hard to pick out the locals sometimes. Listen, shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll let you know soon.”

  My finger hesitated over the mic button before pressing down. “All right. So…is Quinn around?”

  “Uh…no, she’s out checking crowd controls for the VIP tent. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

  “Sure, tell her that. Over and out.”

  Something was wrong. All the more reason to get approval for time off. I headed to the front office. At least Billy agreed with the division of labor between Meg, Hassan, and David. I’d worry about Double-M Records later.

  “Mr. C, do you have a minute?” I knocked on the open door.

  “Of course.” The boss set aside the small notebook he had been writing in and waved me over. “What’s on your mind?”

  I sidled past shelves full of records. Dust and a chemical hint of old vinyl tickled my nose, reminding me of days raiding abandoned music shops downtown. The cluttered, cozy office fit the old man. He dressed in a dapper blue collared shirt beneath a long-sleeved, cream sweater. I took the wooden chair opposite his desk.

  “I’d like to take next month off. Billy and I think Meg, Hassan, and David will be able to take over daily ops.”

  “You want to visit the girl.” His smile crinkled around mouth and eyes that sparkled with knowing mischief.

  “Well…I want to join the A-Chords. See their shows. Help out.” Did everyone know my business?

  “Yes, of course.” He almost managed to suppress his grin. “You say will be. What is left to do?”

  The old man was no pushover. He grilled me on details and suggested an increased role for Meg. I was huffing and jotting down notes with a sweaty hand by the time we finished, but Mr. C gave a tentative nod to my sabbatical.

  The week before I left was our trial period. I hunkered down in the corner of my studio and let the others run the show. Morning and afternoon reports came my way, but by the end of the week, they gained confidence and stopped asking for advice. That gave me time to gather a select bit of recording gear and fiddle with my hiding spell. But I still couldn’t get the shields to stop anything physical.