Crow's Caw at Nightmoon Creek Read online

  I haven’t been human since I’ve been away. Too risky. I see what Lennon meant. The world does not appreciate differences. I haven’t gone far, but I’ve seen shifter murders, shifter harassment—a lot of horrific things done to those who were born different. It’s sad. So, while I’m not saying I’m done with my travels, I need to see the changes in my hometown before I decide where to go next.

  When I get to town, I head for my pottery shop. Ottery Pottery’s still standing, at least. I drop to the sidewalk in front of the storefront, peering at the shattered window I’d left. It’s been repaired and looks as good as new. Odd.

  A woman and her toddler walk toward me.

  “Bird,” the child says, hand outstretched.

  “Yes, it’s a pretty bird. No, don’t touch it. Birds carry disease,” the mother says, scooping the child in her arms before she has a chance to touch me with her grubby fingers.

  You think your child’s hands are clean and disease free? Hardly. I take off, heading toward Nightmoon Creek. As I approach, I hear whoops and shouts. Hollers and laughter. Lennon and Hawke? Not wanting to be spied, I land in a nearby tree. I scan for signs of development. I only see one.

  Slashes of oversized tire tracks mark a trail to the creek. A huge pit has been dug near the stream, and I mean huge. It mars the landscape like an oversized acne scar. It’s filled with dirty water, probably from recent rains. But guess who’s turned it into fun? Lennon and Hawke zoom through it on their fat tired bikes, racing from one side to the other, or whirling through the inside like it’s a velodrome. Sometimes they sail over the edge, landing in the creek with a splash.

  A man sits nearby, watching them. A blue-green glow cloud emanates from him, in rhythm with his breathing. “Lennon,” he calls.

  “Yeah?” Lennon says, gearing up to sail over the edge again.

  “She’s back. I told you she’d be back.”

  Lennon freezes, his bike rolling down the side of the huge hole and crashing at the bottom with him clinging to the handlebars. He gets to his feet, drenched, and scans the trees. “Where is she? Don’t mess with me, old man, I’ve been through enough already.”

  “I’m not messing with you. She’s here. She’s right there.” His finger points in my direction.

  I shrink back into the canopy of trees.

  “If you’re really up there, Mercedes, come out where I can see you.”

  His voice sounds different, like a lifetime of experience has shaped him inside a month. I hop to a branch where he can see me.

  Lennon puts his hands on his hips and stares up at me. “We got the development stopped. Well, except for this part,” he says, indicating the giant pit. “This is where we blew up the excavator. It’s amazing how hot liquid can get and the destruction it can cause.” He and Hawke laugh.

  Hawke yells, “Ka-boom!” and bumps knuckles with his uncle.

  “The ‘we’ – that would be me, Hawke and Frank. Frank’s Mr. McMurphy, in case you wondered. He added a pyrotechnic spell or two for effect.”

  I let out a caw.

  “If that’s a thank you, you’re welcome. I did it for you. I did it for me. I did it for the residents of Nightmoon Creek. And no, I didn’t cut and run, like I usually do. You doing that…well, it broke my heart. I got to see what it does to other people to leave. Leaving is easy. You don’t have to deal with the fallout. Fallout sucks. I may not have a lot of people I care about but the people I do care about deserve me to stick around.”

  “He’s right, Mercedes,” Hawkes says, coming to stand by his uncle. “You should have seen him. He bawled like a baby when you left.”

  “Did not,” says Lennon, shoving him.

  “Did too,” says Hawke, shoving him back.

  “Anyway, I hear you found Elena’s killer. They’re not crediting you, but I know it was you who found that kid, Brody, and the sick fuck Mary. Didn’t she work for you?”

  I caw again, bobbing up and down in affirmation.

  “Yeah, well she’s in custody, life without parole. Oh—the remains of Bill couldn’t be explained but I’m guessing you and your crow pals feasted.”

  Caw. “Not me, but they did.”

  “I’ll bet Rickman shit a brick when he found Bill. Can you imagine? All that was left was a skeleton. As for ARC? Hawke, me and the wiz, here, worked some magic. Blam! We got them good. Destroyed their corrupt little organization from the inside out. The two wizards went at it.”

  “Yeah, that was sick,” Hawke says, clearly impressed.

  “And I hope you’ll be pleased all charges against me were dropped. They had no explanation for the plumbing explosions and couldn’t tie it to me. They found Holloway’s gun, the scarf, the casings shot at you—everything. So I got off. Even if you’re not pleased, you changed me for the better.”

  “I second that,” Hawke says, peering into the trees. “Uncle L’s staying. We re-opened the underground shifter railroad. I’m going to help him run it. He’s been granted ownership of the house, thanks to the estate trustees. They wanted it to go to a shifter. They were bullied into letting ARC run the show for a while.”

  Caw, caw, caw. “That’s fantastic!”

  “Only his actions could change the trajectory of the future you saw,” Mr. McMurphy adds. “He broke the pattern. You saw it the way it would have been had Lennon not stepped up to the plate. Oh, and Marge’s soul was set free.” He sniffles and swipes his eyes. “Thank you, child.” He gets to his feet, stepping away from the camp chair, and stands where I can see him.

  He’s mostly intact. A few missing bits here and there, but overall, he looks somewhat acceptable if you can stomach hanging flesh and open, oozing wounds here and there. And he looks nothing like fucking Bill Holloway.

  Caw, caw, caw. “How’d you get your body back?”

  “How’d I get it back? I assumed you sent your team to finish the job.”

  Wait? He understands crow? I bob up and down.

  “I studied crow a few years back. It’s a rich language.”

  Caw. “Bill was human when we finished him off. He didn’t shift.”

  Mr. McMurphy chuckles. “That so? I learn something new every day. Just because something’s never happened a certain way, doesn’t mean it won’t ever.” He turns to look at Lennon. “Like you making a fundamental change. Who knew?” He shakes his head, amused.

  Lennon glowers at him, but only for a brief second. He turns his attention back to me. “I’d like to try again with you, Mercedes,” he says. “I’d love it if you gave me another chance. If it doesn’t work out, at least it won’t be because I ran.”

  I don’t know what to say. When another crow lands next to me, I’m distracted from having to think of a reply. Odin!

  He lets out a series of caws and deep throated rattles, more or less telling me off. “Where’d you go, child? I’ve been looking for you for weeks! Wherever did you go? You have a job here.”

  Wait a minute…a job? What kind of job? I caw at him. “What do you mean? I know I’m not to be a soul snatcher.”

  Caw. “There are other important jobs on the planet, child.” He proceeds to inform me I’m Irish, the Irish mythology is different. I’m known as Morrigan, the phantom queen. He adds stuff about how I should have known my job would be like that of my ancestry, I’m the crow who wields justice and tells the soul snatcher to be on the alert when death is imminent, I’m second in command to him, and lots of other blah blah, but I’m too ecstatic to hear him. I vaguely clock something or other about Morrigan as a Goddess of the Water, she who rules creeks and streams. Which makes perfect sense given my affinity with Nightmoon Creek.

  I have a job! I’m some sort of queen! My shifter status is secure! Nightmoon Creek has been saved and Lennon’s still here and…and…

  “Mercedes!” Lennon calls. “Please shift back so I can talk to you face to face, or touch you or…”

  I don’t know. I’ve been through a lot already with this man. I ruffle my feathers. Who am I kidding? W
e barely began.

  “Do it, Mercedes,” Hawke says. “He’s been driving me crazy. He’s been a lovesick puppy, whimpering like a baby.”

  “Have not,” Lennon says, shoving him.

  “Have too,” Hawke says, shoving him back.

  “Look, I’ve got your clothes in the truck.” He points south. “You can shift over there. The cab’s unlocked. I didn’t have the heart to get rid of them.”

  “Yeah, he’s been sniffing them like a freak,” Hawke says, laughing. “That’s why he keeps them close at hand.”

  “You little...” Lennon says, grabbing for him.

  And then, like two boys, they fall into the mud, wrestling and trying to best one another.

  I fly toward the truck. Once there, I shift and stretch. A month as a crow has left me stiff and unfamiliar with a two-legged reality. And my arms—four weeks of flight has given me some biceps, baby. It’s chilly, though, so no time for serious stretching or admiring my muscles. I open the cab, and there, in a brown paper sack in the back seat, are my clothes, all laundered and folded, complete with duct-taped jacket. I slip into them and trek back to where I left the boys.

  I stare at Lennon.

  Lennon stares at me.

  “Hawke?” says Mr. McMurphy.

  “Yeah, old man?”

  “Let’s give these two some privacy, shall we? Why don’t you show me the badger hole you found?”

  “Roger that. Don’t want to watch these two macking on one another.”

  They tromp into the woods, but I barely notice. All I see is Lennon. His coppery hair is longer. His forest green eyes seem wiser, etched by pain and resolution. A swath of mud streaks his cheeks. His clothes are wet and so filthy I can’t see what color they are. He and Hawke sure like to play in the great outdoors. And it suits…otters are known for their playful behavior.

  As I study him, my armor begins to dissolve, brick by brick. Still don’t want to make any sudden moves, though. Remaining a couple yards away, I mumble, “I, uh, don’t know what to say.”

  “I can’t seem to find words either. Except for you look really, really good. A sight for sore eyes.” He chews on his lower lip.

  “Thank you. You, too.” I blow out a breath. “Can I start with a question? Something’s been bugging me since I met your nephew.”

  Lennon cringes slightly, then says, “Shoot.”

  “Why’s he on probation?”

  He groans. “Aw, let’s not go there.”

  “Let’s. If we’re going to try this out,” I gesture between us, “it will be an elephant in the room. A big, gray, mama matriarch elephant. Those can be the most destructive.”

  He lets out a long sigh. “All right. I’ll tell you. He tried to kill his dad.”

  I kind of figured.

  “Couldn’t blame him. His dad was an abusive fuck. He controlled his mom and Hawke. They basically lived under house arrest until Hawke’s shifter skills kicked in. So Hawke found ways to escape. But he couldn’t leave his ma, my older sis. She couldn’t shift. Her mom was a hawk shifter, but it either skipped a generation when it came to my sister, or it was repressed in her since her husband was a controlling prick.” Lennon drags a hand, like it weighs a ton, through his hair.

  “I came and went, as you can imagine. I always left him with a smile on his face, at least, and a promise to return. But sometimes I couldn’t keep my promise.” He shrugs and flashes of pain dance along his face. “I could be a real shit to him. And he and my sis were the only family I had left.” His teeth find his lip again and he chews it for a second or two. “I knew he planned to do something to his dad. I didn’t think he had it in him to murder him, though. So, anyway…I was in town when it happened. His dad tried to beat the shit out of Hawke’s ma before I got there. Hawke lost it. He was fifteen, getting some muscle on him, getting strong.” Lennon seems to drift into a faraway place.

  “So…” His eyes meet mine and he says, “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  I chuff out a breath and say, simply, “Yes. I need to know who I’m getting in bed with.”

  His eyes widen briefly, a smile skims the corners of his mouth, and then, flits away, leaving him serious. “I heard a fight. I bolted in the house. Hawke had a big kitchen knife, which he’d used to slash at his dad and corner him. His dad’s leg was bleeding like a stuck pig which prevented him from shifting.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “Never seen the man look so terrified. There was something supremely satisfying about the look on his face, put there by his son’s actions…the son he’d beat over and over.” Lennon swallows.

  “I couldn’t let him do it, you know?” Again, his weighted hand rakes his hair. “I couldn’t let him live with that on his conscience for the rest of his life. I took the knife from him and finished dear old dad off.”

  I frown. “I thought you said you’d never seen a dead body?”

  “I didn’t say I never killed a man, though, did I?” A hard, cold expression appears on his face. “Hawke and I didn’t stay around to watch. We ran to get his ma and we all left out the back door.” Lennon sighs. “After that…oh, what a scene. Julie – that’s my sis – Julie was grateful for the kill. She thanked me and thanked me for saving Hawke from having to do the deed.

  “I figured I’d do time and then some, since I already told you, I’m usually accused of things I didn’t do or had no intention of doing. Hawke said he wanted to take the fall…he figured since he was a minor, it might get expunged from his record when he turned eighteen. We argued and argued. It wasn’t pretty, what with my sister screaming at me, Hawke yelling at me, me yelling at him. Then…” He shrugs. “He won. I’d been incarcerated before and couldn’t risk another.”

  “For what?”

  “Things I did and didn’t do. I’d rather not get into it. It’s hard enough telling you this story.”

  “Why’s it hard?”

  “Because I’m afraid you’ll leave me again. You’ll think I’m a pussy for not taking the blame.”

  “How’s Hawke feel about it? Does he resent you?”

  “No! I wish he did. He’s always felt proud for taking the blame. He’ll be on probation for a few more months and then it will be gone, hopefully gone from his record.”

  “What did the authorities do to him?”

  “Hawke later told me his dad managed to briefly shift into his ugly ass grizzly form and tried to slash Hawke’s neck with his four inch claws so it really was self-defense in the end. But, you can imagine how well that would fly with the authorities.” Lennon shakes his head. “Still, he got off on a self-defense plea. But he had to do time while the trial went on, and then, community service, had to agree to therapy, had to be put on probation. His ma bore the marks of abuse, which helped his case. Hawke sports a few scars, too. And his dad did try to kill his son that night. Hawke has those scars, as well, emotionally and physically. But it was touch and go with the trial for a while. We all lived in fear of the kid being put away for life as a murderer. You could imagine how that made me feel. Me, who plunged the knife. I would’ve taken the blame if it came to that. No question.” He grows quiet, and regards me, thoughtfully.

  I study him, wondering about the complexity of Lennon Lusk. Is he someone to be trusted? He’s no ordinary man, that’s for sure, and that doesn’t even count his shifter status. The draw to him is phenomenal, however. I thought of him every second of every hour while I was away. And then…who am I kidding? I eat dead things. I’m apparently known as Morrigan the phantom queen. I need someone with as much darkness as I carry. Plus, his playful side could prove a good balance.

  “So, good news,” I call.

  “What’s that?”

  “The only pussy in the vicinity is between my legs.” I grin.

  “No shit.” His breath catches in his throat. A slow smile plays at the edges of his mouth. He stalks toward me, all sexy and predatory like, a bulge already forming in his mud soaked jeans.

  I move toward him, too, meeting him halfwa
y.

  He doesn’t wait for any kind of invitation, since I’ve already indicated my intent. His wet, dirty arms wrap around me, and his lips devour mine. The chill of his soaked clothes contrasts with the torrid fever pouring from his body. Our tongues twirl, our heartbeats synchronize, and the heat level is off the charts. I can’t wait to explore him further. I can’t wait to be rocking on his erection, sliding toward pleasured release with this complex man.

  When he finally releases me, we’re both breathless, panting, our eyes both dark and bright with need. “This time, we’re ditching the kid. He’ll live for a couple hours. Frank can keep him occupied.”

  “I like that idea,” I murmur into his mouth. “Your place or mine?”

  “Whichever’s closer,” he says against my lips. “Just so we get there, fast.”

  Lennon’s and my tongues are taking turns mouth fucking one another, in the weathery woods, somewhere in the vicinity of the truck. We’ve been at it for about twenty minutes. We couldn’t wait to get to the Silverado, to get to somewhere sane and normal, like a bedroom. We’re children of the wilderness, Lennon and I, and right now his mouth is a meal unto itself, and the woods feel as good as home.

  He finally wrenches away from me, licks his lips, gives me a delightfully wicked leer and says, “Here, kitty, kitty. It’s time to greet you properly.” He backs me into a massive tree, its leaves nearly gone. He peels my coat and shirt free, and lays them over the generous crook where the branches begin, in this ginormous, ancient oak.

  I hope he gives me some skin soon, because it’s really cold. Or, maybe it’s simply nerves.

  “Fuck me, Mercedes, you’re beautiful.”

  “I’m not like Elena,” I say, suddenly overcome with self-doubt.

  He stills and focuses his beautiful green eyes on mine, the corners crinkling in mirthful regard. “No, you’re very much like you. You’re perfect.” He swallows, staring at my breasts.

  The look makes me feel…I don’t know, it’s both a comfort and a challenge to open to him. “Take your shirt off,” I say, not wanting to feel all soft and vulnerable. “Give me some eye candy.”