A Quarrel Called: Stewards Of The Plane Book 1 (13 page)

34. SAM

The rave was freaking awesome. The bass line was thumping
and people were feeling it – moving, writhing,
gyrating
to the music like they were under some sort of trance. And obviously, some of
them
were
high, but all in all, the
crowd seemed to be largely made up of dancers who really were all about the
dance
.

Lights flashed on the ceiling in time to the music and there
was a large light show surrounding the stage. The owl face that was hanging on
the wall behind me lit up like some sort of clockwork beast one moment, then
like a laser-light show the next. I couldn’t quite figure out how they were
doing it, but at the top of every hour, the owl chimed and hooted like a
grandfather clock made from a pipe
organ,
and its eyes
and mouth opened and closed to mark the time. The crowd went nuts whenever this
happened, overcome with euphoria with each additional hour. When it hit
midnight, we gave the ball drop at Times Square a run for its money. The energy
output from the crowd was infectious. I found myself cheering along with them
on the final chime.

At that moment, Lily, still underdressed and sexy as hell,
showed up at the door to the DJ booth with some glowing concoction in one hand
and a beer in the other. “A midnight toast!” she said to me over the roar of
the crowd.

“No thanks,” I said, waving away the offer of the glowing
drink. “I don’t drink when I spin.”

She wouldn’t take no for an answer though and pushed the
drink into my hand. “It’s tradition. And if that reason doesn’t work for you,
then think of it as a condition of employment.”

I stared at the drink for one long second and then did a
mental shrug. One drink wouldn’t kill me, and if it was a choice between
drinking plus a thousand dollars or
not
drinking plus
zero
dollars, then I
guess I was
gonna
chug the thing.

“Bomb’s away!” she said, giving me a cat-ate-the-canary
grin.

I raised my glass in a toast and tossed back the concoction.

It wasn’t bad as far as alcohol goes – kind of sweet and
sour at the same time, with the under bite of something warm and sharp going
down my throat.

“Want another one?” she asked me, looking at the empty cup I
was handing back to her.

“Not right now,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

“You will!” she shrugged off the plastic cup, laughed, and
melted away into the darkness beyond the booth. I thought that was a strange
response but tossed the now empty cup onto the back table and put my headphones
back on. The track was going to be up soon, and I needed to line up the next
one.

The songs began to blur together which was one of the
reasons I had vowed not to drink when I spun. Luckily I had set up most of my
stuff in advance so that I didn’t have to scratch my head and wonder what to
play next – sometimes it paid to be organized. I know, I know, if only I could
manage to put the same talents to use on housework.

Finally it was time for the owl to strike 3:00 a.m., the
signal for the last song of the night. I had been holding back the Gracie Slick
dubstep I had put together, waiting for the right moment, and something told me
it was now or never. I looked up at the clock – only a couple of minutes left.
I decided to lead in with sixty seconds to go. Some of the kids in the crowd
would know the
song,
some would wonder what the heck I
was up to. But before it was over, I was pretty sure they’d be singing along.

“Witching
hour’s
almost upon us,”
said Lily, sliding up beside me, out of the darkness.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Never mind.
I hope you have
something special planned for the last song of the night. The smoke bomb is
about to drop, and I
really
want to
be impressed.”

I noticed that her lips were very shiny and red. I tried
very hard not to compare their shininess to the red vinyl hearts, but I failed
my saving throw for a split second. I know she noticed, and what really made me
crazy was that I knew she wanted me to look.

“What’s a smoke bomb?” I asked, feeling even more blurry
than I was a few minutes ago. What was in that drink?

“You’ll see,” her eyes gleamed.

I glanced at the clock again and had to try hard to focus on
the bright red numbers. It was time to spin my version of “White Rabbit” by
Gracie Slick. The long cool guitar notes fluttered over the heads of the crowd
with a sort of hypnotic quality; not hard since many of them were halfway there
from recreational substances already. Gracie’s voice, husky and daring, soared
through the speakers, and a sudden cheer went up in the crowd. Dancers
everywhere raised their hands and began to sway, singing along with the lyrics.
At exactly 3:00 a.m., the dubstep kicked in and the cheering
crescendoed
into a kind of frenzied cacophony.

And then I saw what the smoke bomb was – a ball descended
from the ceiling, itself a marvel of gears, levers and sparkling LED lights,
and instead of steam coming out of the pipes, musky patchouli and vanilla
incense billowed out in smoky streams.

My already unsteady state from the strange glowing drink
became increasingly more unbalanced. I was losing control of my equilibrium and
that actually bothered me quite a bit – but when that scented smoke billowed
over the stage and into the DJ booth, I suddenly didn’t care anymore. My libido
was up and Lily was there, pressing herself against me. I opened my mouth to
say something but she just reached up to grab me by the back of the neck and
pull my mouth down onto hers. One second into that hot, wet kiss, and I had
forgotten what I was going to say, forgotten about the crowd enthralled by my
music, forgotten to be angry about her drugging me with her potent mixture of
booze and scented smoke.

My hands slid down her back, smooth skin beneath my
fingertips as we sunk deeper into the kiss -- her lips tasted like cherries.
Behind us, the owl head exploded with fireworks and flaming red eyes; euphoria
and desire washed over the crowd and over me in waves. Witching hour, Lily had
said. Indeed, I was bewitched.

Then the song was over and the lights came on, harsh and
unfriendly. Lily pulled back, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and
pushed me away. A white envelope appeared in her other hand which she then
tucked into the front of my pants, lingering for a moment to drag a fingernail
up the skin of my abdomen. Her eyes were dark, pupils still dilated.

“Next time,” she said. Then she spun on her heel and walked
away.

I stood there, unsteady for several minutes, wondering what
had just happened and how long it would take for the effects of the drink and
the smoke to wear off. I pulled the envelope out of my waistband and looked
inside. There was a check for a thousand bucks, just like she’d promised, and a
white card with a phone number on it, a little heart drawn next to it in red
ink. I guess there
would
be a next
time.

35. G.

I waited for Sam on his front stoop. We had gotten back from
the casino around midnight or so, and I knew I had another few hours to kill
before the
rave
was over, but I couldn’t go home,
because then I would have to make up something to tell my dad.

The first couple of hours passed quietly. My phone kept me
occupied for a little while until it started running out of battery, so I put
it away, you know, in case I needed it to call 911 or something.

Once I put the phone away and didn’t have its electronic
glow for comfort, I began to notice just how dark it was on Sam’s street. There
was one lonely streetlight down at the corner, but that was about five houses
away. It was enough to see my hand in front of my face, but just barely. The
bike trail was two houses over to my left, and it was really dark down there.
The occasional firefly blinked its little light, but otherwise the only thing
that came from there was darkness and sound – the sound of wind in the trees,
tree frogs chirping and the grating song of cicadas. Altogether it was a
menagerie that reminded me of home—I mean Ohio—and even though it was spooky
sitting on Sam’s porch, the nature sounds were grounding.

Across the street a shadow darted out between two houses.
What was that? Some sort of critter, no doubt, too small to be a coyote, too
big for a rabbit. The creature slinked along the side of someone’s car and then
pranced across the driveway to the bushes in front of the next house. A long
tail like a question mark followed behind it and I grinned – it was a cat. A
large, yet lean gray cat with white splotches and a long, question-mark tail
meandered from one house to the next, until it was only two houses down, where
it paused in front of the car in that driveway and lifted its tail to spray the
bumper with enthusiasm and excellent aim.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. As I laughed, an owl hooted
and the flutter of heavy wings and wind swept over my head. I looked up,
startled, and the cat looked over at me, clearly spooked. I couldn’t tell if it
heard the owl or not. The cat crouched, its back legs like coiled springs,
ready to dart at the next sound from my direction.

I didn’t want to scare it away, so I stayed still and quiet,
and eventually the cat relaxed. I assume it was done spraying the neighbor’s
car and was ready to do a number on the guy’s front door. I covered my mouth as
I watched, ready to smother any laughter that might come out as I watched its
antics. Cats are a fairly good judge of character, so I surmised the neighbor
must be a jerk.

Without warning a dark shape plunged downward, claws
extended, and grabbed the cat by the fur on its back. There was a tussle
between them and tremendous racket as the cat fought back with all of its
terrified might.

A sort of rage welled up inside me, and before I realized
what I was doing, I had launched myself from Sam’s steps and run out into the
street. “Hey! You can’t do that! Put him down!” I bellowed, not thinking at all
about the people I would wake up, thinking only about the life of one gray
alley cat.

The owl must have seen me as a threat, because as suddenly
as it had lunged for the cat, it let it go, flying away with great, broad
strokes of its wings, a haunting hoot lingering in its wake.

I turned to check if the cat was okay, but it was just as
scared of me as it was of the owl and took off like a streak to hide under the
next neighbor’s car.

“It’s okay,” I said, squatting down to meet its shiny,
reflective gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I held my hand out, but it was
having none of that, thank-you-very-much. I shrugged. “Don’t blame you, I
guess.” I went back to my perch on Sam’s steps, and there the cat and I
pretended not to watch each other for another hour or so until headlights lit
up the street and Tyler’s car swung into the driveway to drop Sam off.

“Hey man,” I said, helping Sam with his gear. “How’d it go?”

“Not bad, not bad. Made my thousand bucks and scored her
real digits.”

“Yeah?
And was she as hot as you
remember?”

“Man, you know how those girls dress in those videos we
watched online?”

“The ones in the ballerina tutus and
bikini tops?”

“Yeah.
She put those chicks to
shame. Red vinyl heart pasties, black stretch pants.”

“That’s it?” I whistled. I don’t think I want Tara to dress
like that in public, much less at a rave, but what kind of guy would I be if I
didn’t admit that seeing her dressed like that in private hadn’t crossed my
mind? I grinned.
“You lucky dawg.”

We dragged his gear into his room where I sat on the bed and
watched him put it all away. By the time he was done, it was after four in the
morning and we were both yawning.

“Damn, I’m tired,” he said, tossing me a pillow and sleeping
bag from a closet in the hall. “I almost forgot – how was the river boat
thing?”

“A total bust.
The Spirit Board
didn’t work at all, and we got caught by Melody’s grandmother, who escorted us
home.”

“No kidding? Guess you guys weren’t cut out to be vagabonds
and thieves.”

I laughed. “I think we were made by casino security, and all
he had to do was put in a call to Melody’s grandmother to verify the
reservation. Anyways, we came back early and I guess the bonus is that her
grandmother made us promise not to try anything with the Spirit Board again
until she can
show us how to protect
ourselves
, whatever that means.”

“You guys got off light.”

“Melody didn’t.”

I felt kind of guilty about that, but not guilty enough to
help her do chores, I had to admit. My gaze wandered out the bedroom window and
I saw the cat skulking about again, this time heading across the street, toward
us. “That is one crazy cat,” I murmured.

“Who?”
Sam followed my gaze.
“Oh, Mr. Smith.
Yeah, almost every night he stops at
Thompson’s house and sprays the guy’s car.”

“He did tonight too, and then he almost got taken away by an
owl, but I managed to scare it off.”

“No kidding.”

We both watched as Mr. Smith made his way across the street,
stopping every so often to scan the sky, the trees,
the
rooftops for signs of the owl. Seeing none, he continued on until he was in
Sam’s front yard, sitting down a few feet in front of Sam’s bedroom window.

“Has he ever done that before?” I asked.

“Sort of – once he sat on the windowsill outside when I was
having a bad dream. That was weird, but this… is weirder.”

I watched the cat.
“How so?”

“Because I could swear… I mean,” he paused and shook his
head and rubbed his eyes. “It’s late and I’m really tired – and there was
probably something in that smoke bomb that’s lingering on, but I could swear
that the cat is telling me to tell you ‘Thank You.’”

“What?”

“It’s the weirdest thing. I keep seeing this image in the
back of my mind, of you standing outside and the cat rubbing up against your
legs. Like he likes you, and he’s saying thanks.
Maybe for
scaring off the owl?”

“That is weird,” I said. “Tell him ‘anytime.’”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. Think a picture at him. Like, maybe I reach
down to pet him under the chin or whatever? Don’t cats like that?”

“Dude, you’re smoking crack.”

“You’re the one who told me the cat was thinking pictures at
you. I merely suggested you think one back at him.”

“I’m going to bed. This has been a weird night, fun, but
weird. If
you
want to think pictures
at the cat, be my guest.” Sam rolled over in his bed, his back to me and the
window; clearly he was done talking for the night.

I grinned and did my best to think the picture of ‘you’re
welcome’ at the cat. I’m not sure if it worked or not, but the cat’s ears
twitched, and then suddenly it got up and sauntered off into the darkness
followed only by its question-mark tail.