Crow's Caw at Nightmoon Creek Page 7

  “You two must smoke the same weed,” Bill says, eyeing me suspiciously.

  Caw, caw. I bob up and down, thinking, jackass.

  “No, I’m not kidding. Damn straight. This friend is a total teetotaler, good Christian sort of person who couldn’t lie if his life depended on it.”

  “Get real, Mark. He probably thought he saw Satan as a serpent. He probably felt guilt about coveting his neighbor’s wife.”

  “I know it sounds farfetched. I thought he was nuts, too, when he told me, but you should have seen his face. Then my sister swears she saw one, too. A beaver swimming in Woodland Creek turned into a human and got out of the water buck naked.” Mark shivers. “I think they’re a mutant species here to kill us all. Next, zombies will roam the streets.”

  And that’s how rumors are born, I think. Someone doesn’t understand something or someone, stories are made and people act out of fear, spreading tales far and wide.

  “That sounds like total bullshit,” Bill says, but I can tell he’s talking tough. He’s got sweat on his upper lip and he stinks of fear.

  “Think what you will, my friend, but I think Elena might have been one. She sure ensorcelled you.”

  “Get fucked,” Bill says, but I still sense the apprehension emanating from his body like a cloud.

  And there’s that same strange shiver. It’s like a cold wind blows through my body, from the inside out.

  “Stranger things have happened,” Mark says.

  “You’ve lost your mind,” Bill says, reaching for the handle to his SUV door. “If anyone’s capable of turning into a beast freak, it’s Mercedes. I’ve always hated that bitch.”

  You piece of shit, I think.

  “She’s all right,” Mark says. “I think you’re still pissed because she talked Elena into breaking up with you.”

  When he gets in the truck to leave, I fly away. Both of those men look awfully suspicious. And what’s that bit about don’t tell where Bill was after he argued with Elena?

  I decide to head to Nightmoon Creek. Think I’ll pay my respects to Elena, in private, in the place where I found her. My heart aches from the loss of her. If she were here, we’d be conferring and scheming. I’d be telling her what I did with Lennon and Hawke this evening and what a man-child he is. She’d tell me how her date with him went and I’d smile and nod, pretending interest while secretly plotting revenge. And then I’d chide myself and secretly wish her the best of luck with him, if she did, in fact, really want him. Elena deserved every ounce of goodness that came her way. She was a saint. A bright light. And now her light is extinguished, while her soul remains trapped in a lifeless, refrigerated body.

  As I’m making my way “as the crow flies” to Nightmoon Creek, I spot two men below. As I drop from the sky I see it’s Lennon and Hawke. They’re walking slowly through the ley lines we shifters use to source energy. One of the lines, the stronger of the two, passes through the St. Dymphna's convent on the east side of town, and intersects the creek.

  Neurotypicals know nothing about them. They picnic right in the middle of some of the most potent places, but pay no attention to the throbbing pulses of electromagnetic deliciousness.

  What are those boys doing? I settle into a treetop, thankful the wind has died. Whipping back and forth like a pendulum is not my favorite activity. Is Lennon a shifter? A wizard? Wouldn’t I be able to tell? Most of the time I “know” if others are shifters. But it’s not like I met every shifter in town – it isn’t that small.

  Lennon throws his arms back, lets his head fall and groans, like he’s in the throes of ecstatic release.

  It’s far too seductive for my comfort. I fluff my feathers and let out a low, rumbling rattle.

  “Goddamn, can you feel this place?” He turns in a circle.

  “Shit, yeah,” says Hawke, mimicking his uncle. “This is better than the weed we smoked after Mercedes left. She’s way cute, by the way. Why aren’t you tapping that well?”

  “Long story.”

  A long story? They think I’m way cute? I flap my wings a little bit. Not enough to take flight, just enough to express pleasure at what I’m hearing.

  Lennon turns his attention to the energy. “Oh, yeah. I’m drinking you in, baby. Come on. Give it to me,” he says, like he’s talking to the spirit of this fountain of energy.

  The way he’s experiencing the ley lines is so damn sexy, I’m completely turned on. I shake my tail feathers in a crow mating dance maneuver.

  “Let’s take it all the way to the creek.” Lennon makes some slinky dance moves, like he’s at a rave or something.

  “I’m with you, Uncle L.”

  They slowly stride toward Nightmoon Creek, walking as if in a trance. They utter moans and noises of extreme pleasure.

  It makes me uncomfortable. It makes me incredibly aroused.

  When they get to the spot where Elena’s body was found, Lennon says, “This is where I wanted to install the zip line. See that tree way across the stream? That big one?”

  Ah ha! He was here to scope out a zip line!

  “Yeah,” says Hawke. “I can barely make it out, but yeah.” Hawke peers into the night.

  “I was going to start it up there, send it across the creek and attach it to this tree right here.” He points to a nearby tree. “Set it at the right angle so we get up to forty miles per hour. Then when we got over that deep part of the creek,” he points to a spot upstream a bit, “we could release the line.”

  “Oh, yeah! That would be awesome. What if we missed?”

  “Ker-splat,” Lennon says, and they both shake with laughter.

  “You’re not doing it now?”

  Lennon shudders. “Not after finding Elena here. No way.” He strides to the bush under which her body lay and lifts the branches. He crouches down and looks around. “No clues. Nothing obvious. I wish I knew what happened. I can’t help but think ARC had a part to play. But it seems more likely they would have offed Mercedes than Elena.”

  I shudder. Why is that, exactly?

  “Why do you think that?” Hawke asks.

  “Because she’s been giving them shit since we’ve been here. Organizing town meetings and protests. She’s a real rabble-rouser. I thought she was making headway. If they’re moving on the build, they must have bypassed the process somehow. They’ve got their hands in some politician’s pocket.”

  So all this time he’s been aware of me. That’s sure news to my ears. I preen my feathers with my beak for a minute, making myself look pretty. Wait a minute. Unless he shifts into a bird, he’s not going to be attracted to me in this form.

  “Anyway,” Lennon says, getting to his feet, “enough jibber jabber. Let’s have some fun. Here’s the real reason I love this creek.”

  So he does care for the creek.

  “Okay. Do that thing you do, Uncle L.”

  “What thing?”

  “You know what thing. Do it.”

  He and Hawke proceed to peel off their clothes, all the way to naked. All the way to naked! All the way to… I’m so gob smacked by the sight of Lennon’s bare assed form, I’m afraid I’m going to topple from this tree. Instead I break a few branches and they sail toward the ground, crashing on the forest floor.

  Lennon’s head whips around.

  I get as quiet as a forest creature can get; still staring, hoping crows don’t drool.

  He’s stunning. Tall. Working construction definitely keeps him in great shape. He’s got a round, toned ass, powerful legs and that dangly bit between his legs promises good fun, too.

  I avert my eyes from staring at the kid. That seems wrong. But Lennon is fair game.

  He steps toward the creek and heads for the deep pool upstream.

  I wish I would’ve remembered the deep pool last night, and didn’t stay glued to the shallows.

  Lennon looks at Hawke standing at the edge of the stream, hands on his lanky hips. “See ya, kid.”

  “See ya, Uncle.” Hawke quickly blurs into a beau
tiful red-tailed hawk. He flaps his wings and soars into the night sky.

  The nephew’s a shifter! I duck out of sight. Me and hawks, well…let’s just say we keep to our own air space, otherwise it can become a confrontation. I turn my attention back to Lennon but I don’t see him anywhere. No bubbles indicating a human underneath the water. Then ripples form and a small head appears. The shape attached to the head, rolls and dips. When it disappears into the water, a burst of spray shoots from the creek, like someone’s installed a Las Vegas Bellagio hotel fountain display.

  What the…

  The hawk swoops and soars through the water.

  I’m baffled. Are there thermal geysers in the creek? The water would be warm, and last night it sure as hell wasn’t toasty.

  The otter resurfaces, does another roll, then slinks into his watery environs. Lennon and Hawke are both shifters! Lennon’s an otter! Could this be his playful shifter doppelganger? The fun-loving spirit of this complex man-child? I decide to have some fun of my own. I’ve done enough sleuthing for the night.

  Keeping an eye out for that frigging teenage bird of prey, I hop from branch to branch, dropping toward the ground. I scan for Hawke and see him way overhead, a silhouette against the waxing moon.

  I head for the clothes on the ground, grab the first thing I see—Lennon’s flannel shirt—and tug. It’s pretty heavy for my bird body but I manage to tug and pull it until I get it far away from where he left it. For good measure, I manage to lift it over a branch. It took some work and wing muscle, but I get it high in the treetops by snagging it on parts of the tree, lifting the part that’s not snagged, and dragging the free end upward. Tedious work.

  One down. Pants are next. Levis prove cumbersome. I flap and strain, coaxing the denim into movement. This one’s hard. I only manage to pull the pants partially into the water, where the top half sinks, the clear liquid burbling over and around them.

  Don’t think I can move the shoes. The coat might be difficult, too. I eye both, neglecting to keep track of the young hawk overhead.

  A piercing shriek, like a war cry, shatters the air. I look up to see his wings folded, his talons extended, his bird body hurtling in my direction. My wings flap into action and I get airborne as quickly as I can. I know how to do aerial attack. Gone down that road a time or two. He may be young and virile, but I’m wily with experience on my side.

  He strikes, snagging my neck with a talon force that knocks me silly.

  Son of a…that hurts. I rally, jabbing my sharp beak at his face.

  He lets out a shrill screech that lets me know I got him good.

  Below us, Lennon surfaces and quickly shifts into human. He searches for his clothes and curses, pulling his dripping wet Levi’s from the creek. “Goddamn it. What the hell happened? Who did this? Where’s my shirt?” He hunts for his clothes while his nephew and I engage in an avian dogfight.

  I zip through the trees.

  He pursues me, relentless and unafraid, the way only a teenager can.

  I soar into the air, the damn teen on my tail, literally. Feeling outmaneuvered, I seek the lower canopy of woods again and fly right into the waiting hands of Lennon, who’s apparently skilled in bird snatching.

  His fingers curl around my legs while I beat my wings at his face.

  His head torques back and he curses, yelling, “Fucking crow,” shielding his face with his free arm.

  Fucking crow is not my name. You know how I said when I’m stressed or afraid I blur between human and crow? I must have started to blur because I feel Lennon’s hot hands around my ankles. I fall back with a thud in the underbrush. “Ouch!”

  He stumbles, startled, releasing me, dropping backward to the leaf covered forest floor. “What the hell? Mercedes?”

  “Surprise,” I say, panting, as I blur back to full human. I reach to touch the hot, wet, sticky place. My hand comes back covered with red. A stream of blood trickles from the side of my neck where Hawke got me good. I place my hands into the soil to steady myself.

  We’re both poised like crabs in the dirt, on our backs, balanced on feet and hands. I’d shield myself with my hands, fold my arms across my breasts, and my other palm between my legs if it didn’t mean dropping to the icy cold forest floor. Don’t need to be judged. I’ll bet I’m already flaming with shame.

  A slow smile spreads on Lennon’s face as his eyes sweep my body. “I see you’re naked again. Are you coming on to me, Ms. McCartney?”

  I scoff. “Hardly. You could have told me you were a shifter.”

  “You could have done the same. You’re the fucking crow who dive-bombed me a couple weeks ago.” He shakes his head. “I wondered if you had some sort of shifter ability when I found you naked,” he muses.

  “I’m not a fucking crow. I have a noble occupation ahead of me. Why does everyone keep calling me that?”

  “Because birds and animals, like shifters, are seldom understood,” he says, a dark expression flashing like lightning across the landscape of his face. “And calling you a fucking crow diminishes your importance.”

  “So what’s with the waterworks? The fountain display? That your doing?”

  “Maybe,” he says. Lennon gets to his feet and extends a hand to help me up.

  “Care to explain?”

  “Nope.”

  I take his hand and he tugs, pulling me up and into the warm skin of his torso. I gasp. Too much. Too soon. And what did he mean when I first found them sipping the ley lines, when he said he had a long story to explain why he can’t pursue me?

  “Shhh,” he soothes. His hands reach around to brush the forest debris from my ass. I place my hands on his shoulders and rest my forehead on his chest. Only for a second. He needs me to be still so he can get the muck off. Right. I need to be still so I can come to grips with being touched by Lennon Lusk.

  His hands move with certainty across my backside, like they’re known explorers of the female form. Meanwhile, the front side is springing to life, jabbing against my hip. I don’t want to move. My breath goes shallow, caught in my throat. I’m afraid if I move a millimeter, he’ll stop, realizing he’s with the wrong girl…becoming aware I’m not Elena.

  His hands slide up my back, firm and sure in his caresses. He massages my shoulders and upper arms. His breathing turns into steady pants, chuffing against my hair. He pushes away slightly and stares at my face, wild-eyed and wanting.

  He’s got to see I’m not Elena. There’s no apparition in front of him, only me, Mercedes McCartney, sure he’ll bolt at any second. Certain his expression will shift into one of disgust. But no, the face of desire gazes at me. He must still be stoned, I think, trying to defend myself from his disappointment, bound to be lurking around the corner.

  He fingers the sticky blood congealing on the side of my neck, and gives it a long, sweeping lick, presumably to clean it.

  There’s something intimate about the gesture, like it’s the kind of careful grooming he’d do for an otter mate.

  He pushes back, gives me a hooded gaze and his mouth parts. He places his hands on either side of my face and lowers his head. His lips barely brush mine, letting me taste the iron tang of my own blood, and the softness of his mouth. I’m starting to sink into sensation when something akin to a large male elk lumbering through the forest approaches us.

  I shove Lennon away from me.

  “There you are, Uncle L,” Hawke says, breathing hard. “A fucking crow took your…” He looks at me, startled.

  A large, blood-dripping wound is evident on his cheek, courtesy of me. Score one for the fucking crow.

  “Oh. It’s you. Hey, Mercedes.”

  “Guess who the fucking crow is,” Lennon says.

  “No way? Her?” Hawke says.

  “Me, and I’m not a fucking crow. The next person who refers to me that way gets my fist in his mouth.”

  “Okay, I only meant that…”

  “Zip it. Well, now what?” I snap. I’m convinced once Lennon comes to his senses
and realizes who he almost kissed, he’ll regret it. “I’m going to shift back and head home.” I turn away from them and take a step. A hand curls around my biceps.

  “Mercedes, wait.”

  I stare at his fingers. “For?”

  “You’re a shifter,” Lennon says.

  “Yeah? So?”

  “That changes things.”

  “How so? You think we’ll bond as shifter freaks now?”

  A slight frown shimmers across his face, then disappears. “No, it means one less person I have to hide myself from. That’s a relief.”

  Unable to think of a retort, I simply stand, trying to get back to sort-of friend and semi-adversary, Lennon Lusk, instead of extremely hot hunk of aroused male who almost kissed me.

  “Did you, uh…” He reaches back and rubs the back of his neck. “Were you aware of Mrs. McMurphy’s sideline?”

  “You mean she did more than bake cookies for children?”

  “Far more. She, uh…” He glances at Hawke.

  “Tell her, Uncle L. She has to know.”

  “Know what?” My tone snaps and crackles as I attempt to shove inner walls back into place.

  “Mrs. McMurphy was an underground railroad of sorts.”

  My eyebrows knit together. “A what?”

  “Her house. She provided a safe house for shifters until they settled into a ‘normal’ life here in town. Didn’t you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t. Elena and I never saw another soul at her house. We assumed she was alone and lonely. No family or friends.”

  Lennon scoffs. “Anything but. Her business happened at night. Shifters made their way through the dark, following lines of magic to find the place. She gave you a secret code to follow when she agreed to help you. It only pulsed at night.”

  My eyes grow wide. “No shit? Since I grew up here, I assumed shifters merely arrived or left. They move through town like tourists to get at the ley lines and then leave or settle here. Those ley lines are like our Niagara Falls or the Grand Canyon. Shifters come here all the time to partake.” My face burns with heat when I remember his manner of partaking in the energy.