Crow's Caw at Nightmoon Creek Page 12

  I nod.

  Lennon hefts the jigsaw, flips the on button, and the tool whirrs to life. He inserts the blade into the cut in the wall at the bottom and begins to slice. “Get in position, Mercedes.”

  “Like this?” I grab the shims with my fingertips. I have to angle my body so he can maneuver the power tool, and yep, I’m well aware he’s between my legs. In fact, he could spin around and he’d be in direct line with my wanting pussy, and I don’t mean Muffin. Damn.

  He turns his head to look at me and I smile sweetly at him. Then I catch Hawke glaring at both of us so I scowl and focus on my fingertips.

  After he’s completed the rip in the wall, he stands and contemplates his work. “I’m not sure this will work.”

  “What if we put something through the hole with a string attached to it. Then we could steady the piece while you wield the saw, and pull the wood free,” Hawke says.

  “Great idea,” Lennon enthuses.

  “I watch you enough, Uncle,” Hawke says, beaming.

  “Better yet, we drill two holes in the wall right up here. That’s using your head, kid.” Lennon retrieves the drill and makes two large holes. “Get a couple of long nails and the twine for me, Hawke. Cut a long piece of the twine, about yay big.” He spreads his arms indicating the size.

  He and Hawke wind the twine around each nail. They each feed a nail into the holes and hand me the center of the string.

  “Ride em, cowgirl,” Lennon says, winking at me.

  The sexual innuendo isn’t lost on me. “Eee ha,” I say, but my face must turn the color of burning beets.

  “I’ll have to get in front of you. Hold your arms wide and don’t break my nose when the board flies free.”

  And again, I maneuver my body so Lennon can position his and wield the saw. Yeah, he’s touching me, his back pressed against my crotch and boobs, and yes, I’m fairly certain it’s deliberate. Bastard.

  As the saw blade inches toward the corner, he says, “Get ready, Mercedes. Hold tight.”

  I grip the twine between my fingers like I’m in the ride of my life.

  When the final cut is made, he places the saw on the floor and says, “Pull.”

  I yank, and stumble back, the drywall flying into Lennon’s grasp. He could have held the twine himself. Jackass.

  Muffin immediately leaps inside.

  “Guess we didn’t need to tap it, eh?” Hawke says, waving the hammer.

  “Not with your brilliant idea,” Lennon says. “Let go, love,” he says to me. He pivots in a circle until we’re sandwiched together, only a length of string between us.

  He gently uncurls my fingers from the twine, his fingers brushing mine, and his eyes…those pools of mystery green regard me with the same intensity I’m feeling. His tongue dances on his lips, he swallows, and turns away, to steady the wood until he can lay it down.

  I let out a deep sigh, as we all step toward the opening.

  The three of us crowd around the opening to see an entire skeleton, sitting in a tall back wooden chair in a four foot by four foot closet like space, his, er, hands resting on his, er, knees. Are they still hands and knees if there’s not skin and muscle around them? I don’t know. Muffin’s purrs are nearly as loud as the jigsaw. He’s curled in the lap of the bony structure, as if it’s his favorite place to be. There’s no glowing light anywhere. It’s almost anti-climactic.

  “No light. Huh.” Lennon peers inside the opening. “I wonder if there’s some sort of refractive glass back there or a hidden switch. Maybe Mrs. McMurphy had it wired somehow. We should look into it.”

  “Not right now, Uncle. It’s going to be dark soon,” Hawke says.

  Ignoring his nephew, Lennon says, scratching his head, “Now this is weird. How thick do you think this wall is?”

  “About a foot,” Hawke answers.

  “More or less. So how can this space be four by four? Stand in the doorway, Hawke, and tell me what you see.”

  Hawke tromps to the doorway of the living room and studies the wall. “Here’s the hall.” He waves his right arm. “Here’s the living room.” He waves his left arm. “There’s this much wall.” He holds his hands about twelve inches apart. “Freaky. It’s like a space time portal or something.”

  “It’s sure something. I don’t get it. It doesn’t make any sense. You’re all seeing the same thing I’m seeing, right? A four by four closet like space?” Lennon asks.

  “Yep,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Hawke says. “Well, nothing’s going on in there so why don’t we head out on the bikes? Daylight won’t be here for much longer.”

  “Says the kid who almost wet himself when he first looked in.”

  “It surprised me is all,” Hawke says with a scowl.

  “That’s some powerful optical illusion.” Lennon keeps his gaze trained on the skeleton in the chair. He reaches out a finger and tentatively taps the skull. “Feels solid to me. Odd.”

  “Let’s go, Uncle L. I hear mud calling me.”

  It’s a wonder Hawke doesn’t simply blur into a bird and fly away, he’s so amped. Maybe he simply wants to get out of the land of creepazoid.

  Lennon looks up from his contemplation. “Christ, kid, there could be a secret lodged in here.”

  “It will still be here when we get back. We’ll have worked off some steam. Clear heads and all that.” Now Hawke looks like he’s going to combust into a teenage angst bomb.

  Lennon shrugs. “You coming, Mercedes?”

  “I told you, I’ll fly overhead.” Let you two deepen the bond without the third wheel.

  “Works for me. You can keep our clothes in the truck so they don’t get wet. Grab some towels from the back room, Hawke, so we don’t get my cab all muddy and Mercedes has a way to dry off before she gets dressed. I plan on getting good and filthy.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Hawke practically vibrates.

  Once Hawke races out of the room, Lennon grabs me, and pulls me to him. “I want you so bad, Mercedes McCartney. I hate that I want you so much,” he says into my lips before planting a scorching kiss on my mouth.

  I respond with a similar sentiment, although I don’t say it. It’s scary to want someone as much as I want Lennon. My heart’s going to get broken, broken, broken, because, quite honestly, this is the first time it’s weighed in on any man.

  His hard length rises to the call, grinding into my abdomen, adding to his insistence.

  “Let’s go, Uncle. Let her go, and let’s get moving,” Hawke says, his footsteps falling hard.

  “Hawke, you’re going to have to get used to this,” Lennon says, releasing me.

  He is? News to me. I meet his eyes and frown.

  His eyes convey nothing but red hot lust.

  “Yeah. All right,” Hawke replies, stalking through the room toward the front door.

  I push away from Lennon and glance at Mr. Bones. His ossified hand is now on top of Muffin and the cat’s in heaven, his purrs almost a roar of pleasure. That damn skeletal appendage wasn’t there a minute ago. It must have moved. Mr. Bones must be alive.

  Lennon powers the truck through the pouring rain, heading for the hills. “The cat must’ve scooted underneath the bones. Maybe the skeletal guy was his owner. That’s what happened.”

  “I don’t know. What if it’s alive?” My thoughts are still back at the house. I wanted to stay and observe. The boys wanted to get the hell outta there.

  “A skeleton? Nah.”

  “What about the glowing eyes?” Hawke says from the back seat.

  “Optical illusion. We’ll get to the bottom of it when we get back. Your plan’s a solid one, kid. Get out, get some fresh air, get the gunk out. We’ve got more than a few issues to deal with. We’ll be able to think more clearly when we get back.”

  “Or what if the dead guy is Mrs. McMurphy?” I ask.

  “I can’t even go there. To think I’ve slept with the dead skulking about.” Lennon shudders.

  “Well, you said you thought she haun
ted your place.”

  “Shhh, sweetheart, that’s a buzz kill. I’m focused on one thing and one thing alone. Getting dirty, muddy, filthy and having a good time. Enough of sick hauntings and shit I don’t understand.” He holds his fist out to Hawke who obliges him by knocking knuckles.

  We all grow quiet for the rest of the trip.

  Once we’re out of town, Lennon veers the Silverado onto a sloppy, sloshy dirt road. He parks about a half mile off the paved street, underneath the trees.

  The boys start chatting and talking excitedly as they hoist their fat-tired, silver bikes from the bed of the truck. They each don lightweight rain gear. Lennon reaches under the seat and retrieves a wicked looking knife, which he straps to his calf.

  “Do you need a weapon that big to off-road it?”

  “Oh, it’s come in handy a time or two to clear branches…fight off bears…things like that,” he says with a saucy wink.

  Once they’re helmeted and ready to ride, Lennon pulls me toward him, and plants a kiss on my lips, like we’re an item. “What’s that Grey guy say? Laters, baby?”

  “I think so, never read the books,” I say, flustered by these new tidings of Lennon and Mercedes. Did I agree to be an item with this man? Do I really want this to be a thing? My throbbing pussy says yes. My cautious mind says, “Not for long.”

  Not wanting to disrobe in front of them, I shoo them up the hill.

  Lennon reluctantly heads off with Hawke, telling me I’m depriving him of man’s greatest pleasure – seeing the woman he lusts after remove all her clothes.

  Hawke snorts, eager to get his uncle to himself, I’m guessing. And then, they’re away.

  I’m grateful the rain has let up. It’s like some god is working on the faucets, turning them on and off all day to determine if the repair is complete. On, off, on, off…now, at least, it’s off. I hate to fly in the rain.

  Once I’m in the sky, I stretch out my wings, exhilarating in the freedom of flight. The autumn air is crisp and cool. It smells of heady loam and leaves in their parting glory. Patches of clouds line the sky, a reprieve from the earlier onslaught of rain.

  Lennon and Hawke have veered off-road and I can only see them when they power through a break in the canopy of trees. They’re clearly having a great time, as evidenced by whoops and shouts.

  I decide to settle on a treetop down the way from where they’re headed, so I can watch them sail past. Once my claws are firmly grasping a branch, something in the distance catches my bright eyes. We’re not alone out here. I flutter closer, flying from tree to tree, making out two shapes. Bill Holloway and Mark Smythe! What are they doing out here? I don’t want them to know I’m out here so I stay quiet…watchful…alert.

  “I know you told someone,” Bill growls. He’s holding Mark by the collar.

  “I did not! You asked me to keep it to myself and I did.”

  “So why are the police suspicious? They hauled my ass downtown for questioning. It had to be your doing.”

  “How the fuck should I know? And get your fucking hands off of me. I thought we came out here to go hunting.”

  “You’re right. My bad. Lost my mind for a minute.” Bill puts his hands up in surrender. “Sorry about that.”

  Mark throws his arm up. “You’re fucking out of control, Holloway. What’s your problem, anyway? Did you kill your ex?”

  “Elena? No! No way. Look, I’m sorry I lost it. Let’s keep moving. Bag us some deer. Fresh meat for supper.”

  “I’m not sure. I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Stop being a pussy and pick up your rifle. This will be fun. I love a good hunt.”

  And there’s that shiver again. It’s been happening a lot lately. It either means I’m coming down with something or it’s indicating things I’m not yet aware of. I hop from branch to branch, keeping my attention on the pair, thankful humans don’t pay attention to the world around them.

  Nearby shouts from the bike-riding speed demons ring out through the trees.

  “What’s that?” Bill says.

  “Hell, if I know. Probably some mountain bikers. Kids like to tear up the hills after it rains. Let’s go this way,” Mark says, indicating a direction.

  “Nah, let’s see if we know who it is. Could be good practice, like an arcade game.”

  Mark gives him a horrified gaze.

  “I’m kidding. You’re a little cunt, you know that?”

  “Aw, fuck,” Hawke yells, accompanied by the loud crash of breaking branches, falling bike and the thud of a body. He lets out a gleeful laugh. “Killed it.”

  “Shit, kid,” Lennon says, breathlessly panting. “That looked brutal. Did you see that?” he calls to the sky, presumably to me. “Epic.”

  I flutter to a nearby tree and let out a low, rumbling rattle sound, I’m pretty sure he can’t hear.

  Hawke stands by his fallen bike. He’s completely covered in mud, as is his uncle. Both men appear excited and very much alive from their adventure. “Let’s head up and try the hill again. I’ll get it next time.”

  “Yeah, maybe avoid this branch.” Lennon points to a huge branch covering part of their trail.

  “What? Hell, no. I’m going straight for it this time. I wimped out at the last second.”

  They scramble up the muddy, slippery hill.

  “Who’s game for a little fun?” Bill says in a quiet voice. “Let’s set them on their toes.”

  “What? No fucking way,” says Mark.

  “Quit being a little pussy. I’m not going to hit them, only scare them.”

  “Shit, Bill, you’re freaking me out. What’s gotten into you? Let’s go.”

  “Stay,” Bill says, in an ominous tone. “I’m not going to fucking shoot them, only aim over their head. Give them a scare.”

  Lennon and Hawke are now rocketing down the hill and I’ve had enough of Bill and Mark. No way are they going to shoot my friends. I flap into the air, cawing loudly.

  Lennon lets out a laugh, as if I’m participating in their fun. “Hey, Mercedes, hang onto me.”

  I squawk as they near Bill. I fly at Lennon, zooming at his face.

  “Hey, I can’t see. Cut it out!”

  Gunshot rings out and zips over his head.

  Lennon puts out his arms like a diver and crashes to the ground. “What the hell.”

  Hawke throws down his bike and rushes to help him. “Someone’s shooting at us? Fuck. Get under cover.”

  “Just messing with you, Lusk,” Bill shouts from the trees. “That’s what you get for trying to take my girl from me.”

  “Are you fucking insane? She called you pond scum.” Lennon growls, disentangling himself from his bike. He moves like a madman, pushing aside branches to get at Bill.

  I caw, loudly, trying to let him know Bill is insane.

  Bill says, “Crows are fair game, don’t you think, Mark?” He aims the gun in my direction, pulls the trigger and fires.

  A bullet whizzes past my head. Shit. I flap my wings, aiming for the canopy of trees.

  Mark grabs Bill’s arm. “That’s enough, Bill.”

  Bill shakes him off, casts his sights at me and fires again.

  This one pulverizes my wing in a spray of blood and bone bits. I let out a terrified caw and begin spiraling toward the ground, rocketing like a stone.

  “Mercedes!” Lennon shouts.

  In a panic of fear, I blur into human form as my body strikes the ground, my shoulder and arm bleeding like a son of a bitch.

  Seeing my transformation, Mark lets out a horrified scream.

  “You’re next,” Bill says, lifting the rifle in Lennon’s direction. He stumbles, fires, and misses, but the noise is deafening.

  In a blaze of movement, Lennon retrieves his knife, pulls back his arm, and lets loose the weapon. It flies at Bill, and right as it hits Bill’s heart, the man explodes into a swarm of buzzing insects. The knife sails through the swarm, landing squarely in Mark’s neck, slicing the carotid artery.

&nbs
p; Mark jerks like a quivering bowstring, makes a strangled, wet cry and falls to the ground.

  “Oh, shit,” Lennon yells, rushing toward him. He tries to stop the flow of blood with his hand.

  “Uncle!” Hawke cries.

  Blood bubbles from Mark’s neck and mouth. Lennon got him good. Lennon got him bad. The man’s going to bleed out in a heartbeat.

  I’m bleeding a fair bit, too, and now I’m being swarmed by stinging wasps. That’s how Holloway knew so much about my actions. He was there, at the scene of the crime and in the garbage when I spoke with Marcia. If I wasn’t being stung to death, I’d be dumbfounded.

  The horde of tiny insects dive-bombs me, Lennon, and Hawke with a fury.

  “Get to the creek, get to the creek,” Lennon yells, his hands batting away the biting, winged nightmares. “Help me with Mercedes, Hawke.” He peels off his jacket, frees himself from his shirt and rushes toward me. He squats, wraps the shirt around my arm as best he can in a makeshift tourniquet and covers me with his jacket.

  “What can I do?” Hawke says, swiping at the wasps. “Ow! Damn!”

  “Make a pathway for us to get to the stream.”

  “I’m on it.” He bolts toward the brush, bending and snapping branches.

  Lennon gently hefts me in his arms, making haste to prevent us from being stung to death. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  “I…not sure…I feel like I could vomit.” I wrap my free arm around his neck. “I can walk, you know. He only got my arm.”

  “You’re in shock. You’d probably faint before you get there.” He takes off running, jostling me, following close behind Hawke.

  The damn wasps attack us in relentless pursuit.

  “I’ve got to do this,” I say.

  “What?” Lennon asks, keeping his eyes on the trail.

  “This,” I say, and I quickly shift back to crow.

  Lennon stumbles as his load lightens, then increases his speed.

  I’m plunged into the darkness of his lightweight coat. I’m not thinking clearly. My mind is all fuzzy, one minute fading to black, the next back in my bird body, cocooned in smells of Lennon. Can crows faint? I’m about to find out.