Crow's Caw at Nightmoon Creek Page 6

  “Stop trying. You can get out of the truck—my truck—right now. I don’t need this shit.”

  The force of his words slams into my stomach, like they’re attached to his fist. I realize what I just said and instantly feel ashamed. “I’m…I’m sorry. It’s only…I’m sorry. You don’t seem to know what it’s like to have people…to have a community of people you’ve grown up with turn on you.”

  “You’re right. Instead I have experience with people who don’t know a thing about me, turning on me based on their judgements of who they think I am.”

  It’s my turn to utter the word “ouch.”

  “And why do you think that is, Mercedes?”

  I pull up to a stop sign and meet his liquid gaze. I’m sure Hawke is still in the back of the cab but he’s sure quiet. Probably squirming in his seat. “I don’t know. Enlighten me.”

  “Because I’m different. I’ve never found a place that will accept me. I thought Woodland Creek might be different. I don’t play by the toil and drudgery rules as most. I like to enjoy myself. People think that’s a reason to come after me. I was told Woodland Creek would open its arms to me. It would be a different place to live. It’s not.”

  There’s a spark of deep pain flashing from his green eyes, like a blot of bloody red on the landscape…like Elena’s dead body next to my place of solace.

  “It should have been,” I say, referring to the friendliness I’ve grown accustomed to. Sure we have shifters. Sure, wizard spells are cast from time to time and the neurotypicals freak out, thinking “natural disasters mean end of days” because all they can see are the symptoms of the spell—not the results. But mostly, everyone keeps to their business and no one gets hurt. “This whole town is going to hell,” I say. “Starting with ARC. They can’t take away Nightmoon Creek. They just can’t. I won’t let them. I won’t let you.”

  “That’s another thing, Mercedes.”

  That’s the second time in a few short seconds he’s said my name. Each time he says it, the word reaches into me, grabs hold of something inside, and tugs, unleashing all sorts of uncomfortable. “What’s the thing?”

  “You know nothing about me, absolutely nothing, and you already think the worst. How are you any different from that pack of jackals inside? If they were truly your friends…your ‘people’ as you put it…why would they turn on you so easily?”

  He has a point.

  “Do you want to know the real reason I was willing to work for them—for ARC?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “It will take some trust on your part to believe me, and I’m not sure you can muster any.”

  “Uh,” says Hawke. “Can’t you hear the honks behind us? You need to move through the intersection.”

  “What?” I look in the rearview. The car behind me is flashing its lights and leaning on the horn. Wow. I’ve been dazed by this conversation. I floor it, peeling into the intersection, heading wherever the heck we’re heading.

  “What’s the reason?” I say again, once we’ve gone a couple blocks.

  “Maybe I like Nightmoon Creek, too.”

  “You do? Why?”

  “I have my reasons.” His fingers rub his pants in a nervous kind of way. “Maybe I thought I could gather information from the inside and find a way to stop them from building. There’s something fishy going on with the Atlanta Residential Construction Company.”

  I give him a sidelong glance. “How do you know?”

  “Drifter, remember?” He scoffs. “More like orphaned, age thirteen,” he says, dark clouds forming on his handsome face.

  I wince. The backstory of Lennon Lusk is becoming complex. “Why couldn’t your sister take you in?”

  “Because she was with a sperm donor, abusive asshole, that’s why. Already married. She’s a lot older than me, in case you hadn’t guessed. My parents were ancient for parents of a little kid – mom was nearly forty when she gave birth to me. I was the only one living at home when mom and dad were killed in a car wreck. I was shuffled off to foster care. I hated it. I hated living with strangers. I ran away and became a street rat. So as a result, I move around a lot. Never been in one place for long. ARC’s been on my radar lately.”

  “How so?”

  “Can’t put my finger on it. A friend of mine worked for them for a while. He, uh…” he glances out the side window. “He died unexpectedly while on the job.”

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

  “I didn’t find the body. Only heard about it the next day from some of the crew. They said he died from a short in the electrical system. I helped install the electrical. I know there was nothing amiss. I never take shortcuts when it comes to electrical.” His jaw sets in a firm, unyielding line.

  We sit in silence, lumbering along the road. A storm’s coming, as evidenced from the trees bowing and swaying, flinging colorful papery leaves at the darkening sky.

  “Should we send out for pizza? We can have Hawke answer the door.”

  “Sure,” says Lennon.

  “Awesome,” says Hawke. “Extra-large, pepperoni, and pineapple.”

  “Okay. Shall we eat it at your house? Mine’s kind of small.”

  “Sure,” Lennon says again. He seems to have slipped into a broody silence as he stares out the window.

  “Look, I’m sorry to have judged you. But what were you doing out at Nightmoon Creek in the middle of the night?”

  “I told you, I like to walk sometimes. It helps me clear my head. What about you?”

  “I like to…um, walk, too.” I started to say, “Take flight.”

  “Uh huh. And then take a dip in the creek without clothes. Funny, but I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, why didn’t you seem more shocked when you saw Elena?”

  “Oh, so you’re a mind reader? You saw what rolled through my head?”

  “No, but…”

  “There goes you and your judgements. You’re no different than anyone.” He presses his lips into a slash.

  “Well? Why didn’t you react?”

  “Okay, officer, I’ll spill my guts. My first reaction was one of disbelief. I understood why she stood me up.”

  “Because no one stands you up, you’re so handsome and charming.” I don’t think he can see my eyes roll but I’m sure my derisiveness dribbles from my lips.

  “Something like that.”

  Hawke snorts from the back seat. “Yeah you are, Uncle.” He extends his fist for a bump, which Lennon obliges.

  “My next thought was ‘I wonder who’s going to try to pin this on me.’”

  “So you see yourself as a victim, huh?”

  “Not really a victim. More like an endless victim of circumstance. It’s like a target is pinned to my forehead that says ‘he did it.’ Doesn’t matter what it is, I get blamed for shit all the time. I’m sick of it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’m determined to find out who did this. I’ll help this not stick to you.” I place my hand on his forearm.

  His eyes burn a hole in it, until I snatch it away, my face burning with embarrassment.

  “My personal vigilante,” he says, scoffing. “No thanks. I can take care of myself.”

  “Fine. Don’t accept my help. But I will get to the bottom of things.”

  “Fine. Have fun.” He fishes out his cell phone, and rings up the pizza parlor. Orders two large pizzas, one with toppings he and Hawke like, one with toppings I like that they’ll both help consume. Apparently, they’re not fussy about what they eat, because mine is a mushroom, feta, sun-dried tomato and artichoke hearts delight—not a guy type pie.

  Once we’re settled in his living room with beer and hot slices of pizza, Muffin enters the room. He politely sniffs our plates, then proceeds to wander toward the wall he scratched—when was it? This morning? Good grief, it’s been a long day. He looks pointedly at me, sits and scratches the wall.

  “Does he always do that?” I ask through a mouthful of food. />
  Lennon glances at the feline. “Yeah. I’ve never been able to figure it out. It’s a strange way to ask to be let out.”

  “What makes you think he’s asking to be let out?”

  “Because I’ll open the front door and out he goes. Watch.” He scrambles up from his seat on the sofa, saunters to the door and opens it.

  The cat remains sitting, blinking at him with bright, yellow-green eyes.

  “Come on, cat, don’t make me look stupid. Go on. Get.”

  Muffin blinks, stares at Lennon, then, gets up and trots outside.

  “See what I mean?”

  “He might go outside to please you.”

  “Right. That’s it.” Lennon scowls, then takes a swallow of beer.

  “Cats are smart.”

  “I never said they weren’t.”

  “You might investigate.”

  “Right. And tear down the wall? I don’t think so. I’m almost finished with this gig. Then, it’s hasta la vista Woodland Park.”

  The tug I felt when I overheard him say that in the backyard becomes a full out, soul shredding tear. I don’t want Lennon to leave. What is wrong with me?

  “Come on, Uncle L – you promised.” Hawke’s been busy, absorbed in a video game between bites of cheese and meat covered bread.

  “I know. I said I’d find a way.”

  “You’d better. I’m not going back to that place again.”

  “What place?”

  “The ‘none of your business place,’” Lennon says.

  I turn my attention back to the wall. “You might want to investigate the wall scratching thing.”

  “I’ll add it to my growing list,” he says. “Hand over the controller, Hawke. I’m taking you on.”

  And it’s time for me to go.

  After parking my bike in the garage at home, I realize I’m not a bit tired, so I prepare to take flight. The wind that threatened change earlier only led to heavy clouds, so I’m not worried about being blown about. It’s treacherous flying in a windstorm.

  As I enter the sky, Odin appears, flying in parallel formation next to me.

  Caw, he says. “Any luck yet? Her soul is stuck to her body in the morgue. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Caw, I answer, not liking the vivid image of beautiful, dead Elena that pops into my head, picturing her soul unable to release. “I’m on it. I think I eliminated a suspect.”

  Caw, caw. “Anyone else in mind?”

  Caw. “One in particular stands out.” I think of Bill Holloway.

  Caw. “Stay with it, girl. I’m counting on you.”

  It feels great to be relied on by Odin. Maybe it means I’ll soon be granted status as a soul snatcher.

  Caw, caw, caw. “So. Am I making progress in my quest for my shifter purpose?”

  Caw.

  I don’t understand him. I know he said something but it could have been no, maybe, keep trying or “try eating chest for breakfast.” In other words, his response is more of a mumble.

  He veers right and flies into the night.

  I stare at him, wondering if I should chase him and get him to repeat what he said, or if I should shift back to human and kick and scream, yelling, “I really want to be a soul snatcher.” It wouldn’t matter so much if I wasn’t liked, or merely tolerated as a human in this town. I’d be part of a sacred order as old as humankind. I’d be part of a team of time-honored tradition.

  I fly over the late night coffee, wine, and tech place where the geek freaks and social anti-social people hang out, Geek Beans. Elena’s name floats to my ears. I quietly land on the roof, spying two employees behind the building, shivering near the trash cans. Bees or hornets or wasps buzz around the garbage, making a loud hum. I peer at them. Wasps. I keep an eye out, not wanting to be bit or stung. Don’t like bees whether I’m human or crow.

  “Isn’t it awful?” Sob. “I can’t believe she’s dead.” She shoos one of the wasps away.

  Sounds like Chantal Worthington, one of the girls on the cheer squad with Elena in high school. A pretty, curvy brunette in school, she married one of the Craft County Regional high school team linebackers right after graduation, then let her weight and her good looks go to hell. Now she works at this joint. Her husband, Mike Worthington, works at the car repair shop downtown. She’s pursuing nothing but town gossip and will probably be a Geek Bean manager someday. Whoop de doo. Some people peak in high school, I guess.

  “I can’t believe it either.” Sob.

  Marcia Cunningham, a former cheerleader wannabe who hung out with that crowd in school. She’s a wolf shifter, waiting for life purpose status to kick in, like me. She’s pursuing a degree in forestry and won’t be long at this job.

  “I don’t think Mercedes did it,” she says. “She and Elena were best friends. Besides, she’s nice. She helped me get a job here after I finally got free of Martin Freeman.”

  Thank you, Marcia. Damn straight, I did. I also encouraged you to get counseling so you never went after a low life abuser like Martin Freeman again.

  “Yes, but Mercedes was so jealous of Lennon fawning all over Elena,” Chantal says.

  A rumbling rattle leaves my throat. Lennon fawning? I’m sure he expressed interest, but fawning? He doesn’t strike me as a fawner. I hop to the edge of the roof. And how on earth do so many people know about me being jealous? I need to learn how to hide my feelings better.

  “I think she agreed to go out with him so Bill would stay away. Did you hear that fight they had last night? Maybe he did it.” Marcia shivers.

  So she didn’t want to get back together with him. Good girl. I knew she wasn’t stupid.

  “How could you not hear? The whole coffee shop got quiet to eavesdrop on the two of them.”

  “Yeah, he was so nasty with her. Threatening to make her pay. Telling her she’d be sorry if she went out with Lennon.”

  “I was behind the counter thinking, ‘I hope she doesn’t go out with Lennon.’ I’d like to go out with him,” Chantal coos. “I hope it wasn’t me who got her killed. You know, like curse her or something?”

  “You’re married,” Marcia hisses.

  “I’m bored,” Chantal counters. As if to emphasize the point, she reaches into her purse for a cigarette, and lights it. “He seems like a lot of fun.” She blows out a long stream of smoke over her head, right in my direction.

  I fluff out my feathers and hop away from the cough inducing cloud. Have you ever heard a crow cough? It’s not pretty.

  “Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprise if Bill did it. He’s got such a temper. I dated him in high school when he and Elena broke up. He could get so mad over nothing. Missed the ball. Dropped the ball. Got tackled. The defense didn’t do their job. The receiver missed the ball. Football mishaps always got him boiling mad.” She flicks the ash from the end of her cigarette.

  “Yeah,” Marcia says. “Anyway, I still don’t think Mercedes did it. She’s not that desperate.”

  Caw, caw, caw. I bob up and down, furious. I’m not desperate at all.

  When their talk turns to other things, I continue my flight. I sail over the firehouse again and hear Bill and another guy, Mark Smyth, arguing near Bill’s blue SUV. I settle on the tree near the parking lot.

  “I’m fucking glad she’s dead. Now maybe you’ll get over her,” the male says in low tones he probably thinks I can’t hear.

  Ha! I hear you, buddy, loud and clear. How dare you talk about Elena that way!

  “What the fuck does that mean, Mark?” Bill says, in an equally quiet, yet intense voice.

  “It means, I’m tired of taking matters into my own hands to get your head out of your ass. I’ve covered for you too many times. When you’ve rolled in late, hungover because you were boohooing over her, who covered for you, huh? Or when you got in that bar brawl because someone made googly eyes at her, who talked to Rickman and got the charges dismissed? Me, that’s who. You’ve always been a bit nuts in the head when it came to her. Wouldn’t be surpr
ised if it was you who did it, over her date with Lusk.”

  “Yeah? Maybe you did it,” Bill says. “So you no longer have to cover for me. I never asked you to, did I?” He lets out a laugh. “I hear Lusk and Mercedes McCartney are being nailed for it. Serves them both right.”

  “How so?” Mark asks.

  “Well, Lusk – he had the nerve to ask her out. She was mine. And Mercedes? Never liked that bitch. But you…” Bill jabs a finger into Mark’s chest. “Don’t you say a word to anyone about where you saw me last night, capisce?”

  “You mean at Geek Beans? Everyone there overheard you.”

  “No. The middle of the night place.”

  Bill’s threatening tone causes that same strange shiver to roll through me. I let out a series of caws and squawks, bobbing up and down like a cork in a stormy sea.

  “This town has a real problem with crows,” Bill says. “I had one flap at me through the window earlier today. They’re like oversized rats with wings.”

  So he did notice me. Bastard.

  “Yeah, maybe it’s one of those shifter things I’ve heard live around here,” Mark says. He turns his hand into a gun and pretends to shoots me.

  “A shifter? What the hell is that?” Bill looks confused.

  “It’s a half human, half animal kind of thing. I’ve heard this town’s bloated with them. They’re like vampires, turning into bats and birds and mountain lions and shit.”

  Like vampires? I ruffle my feathers. Now that’s creative.

  “What have you been drinking, Mark?” Bill asks. He pats the other male on the head. “I think you’re missing a screw or two.”

  “No, it’s true. I’ve started carrying my gun when I go out. That kind of thing is unnatural. I have a friend who says one of them turned from a snake into a human right before his eyes. Said it freaked him out so hard he pissed his pants.”