Cold Moon Rising (9 page)

It was obvious that floored him. He reared back and was actually surprised, not just pretending. I could even smell a shock of something in the air. Surprise isn’t quite an emotion, so it’s really hard to match it to a particular scent. It’s just a poof of scent that’s sort of like the gust that hits you as you enter a superstore. “Just now? With me shielding you, you got sucked inside a hindsight?”

I shook my head hard and fast, trying to clear the cotton candy that was fuzzing up my thoughts. “Not hindsight. It’s the present, like right this second. I’m still partly there.” I held out my hand like I could touch the wall that should be there, but met only air. “I can see the waiting room. He and Amber are talking about Angelique, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. That part seems to come and go. In the jungle, I was getting his thoughts too, stuff that wasn’t spoken. Memories of his father and of the woman who was hitting Angelique. He knew her. They’d been lovers as teenagers.” I readjusted the duffel so it didn’t fall out from under my arm, and threw the strap over my shoulder.

Lucas mulled for a moment and then sighed. “Well, we don’t have time to deal with that now. I’ll do what I can to keep it from happening, but you’ll have to tell me when it is happening. You’re still coming into your seer powers, so who knows?”

I didn’t respond, not because there wasn’t anything to say, but because I didn’t want to even acknowledge that possibility to air. Weird things happen when magic’s involved, and I don’t care if it’s just the moon reaching out to touch someone, or a wand turning someone into a frog. The rule is: keep your mouth shut if you don’t want to experience what you speak.

THE TRIP BACK to the restaurant was silent, with each of us thinking our own thoughts. Actually, I wasn’t thinking so much as listening, because I just couldn’t seem to shake the conversation between Ahmad and Amber out of my head and since it involved me and Sue, it seemed prudent to eavesdrop.

“I can’t remember seeing anything like this before.” Ahmad wasn’t fibbing. He was trying to compare Sue’s condition to everything he’d experienced in his life, and that was a lot of stuff. Seeing her through his eyes wasn’t something I enjoyed, because his next words were, “Waste no more time. Let her die.”

She was human, and should be beneath the notice of their kind. Worse, she was mated to a three-day who should have been put down the moment he turned.

Knowing what I do now, I had a difficult time disagreeing with the concept. But I’m somewhat rabid about the object, so I came close to muttering fuck you right in the cab of the truck. I wondered if he would hear me. Fortunately, Amber’s tone conveyed the same message, so I didn’t have to try. “Saving a life isn’t wasting time, Ahmad. I’d be very careful voicing that opinion when my husband gets here. He nearly dispatched Sargon for that same belief.” There was a rather enjoyable moment as Lucas turned the truck into the café parking lot. Ahmad felt taken aback at the same moment the grill of a semi drove right through where his face would be. Made me smile, and the bright rainbow of color that filled my vision for a second said that Sue was inheriting my dark sense of humor.

“Can you hang with me long enough to do this, or should I go in alone?” Lucas was looking relatively concerned and had a worried scent that rode over the emotional blackout of the cologne—a tangy, sharp smell not dissimilar to hot vinegar. He was watching me with the same attention he should be using to investigate the scene, so I understood the question.

And it was a good question, because I was going to be useless for anything if I didn’t get a handle on this. “Let me try something first and I’ll let you know.”

I closed my eyes and reached into my mind, imagining the kitchen door that Aspen had helped me develop. It was a mental trick we’d worked on to let Sue and me disconnect from each other during trouble. The trouble came from my side of the joining 99 percent of the time, so I had to find a way to keep her from experiencing stuff she didn’t want to know about. Aspen had talked about building a wall of bricks, but the kitchen door motif worked better for me. It was an old-fashioned one with a dutch half, so I could close it completely or open one half or the other.

Now I started to morph the door I could see. It grew wider and taller. The wood turned to polished steel with a big wheel on the front. But when I pulled on it, the door still moved like a house door—too easily, so I added weight . . . layer upon layer of solid metal until it felt like a vault door should. Now when I pulled, the tug sang through my muscles from the effort, but it moved smoothly on oiled hinges.

A breeze hit my face as I swung the door and the image in the clinic became clearer, the small sounds of machines and the light squeak of rubber on polished linoleum as Amber and what I presumed were her nurses scurried with quiet efficiency. With some effort, I braced my hands on the door and pushed hard. It resisted at first and tension caught the muscles in my lower back, making me grunt. But then it gave way and caused a satisfying clunk as it settled into the frame.

The clinic disappeared.

Cool.

There was a weight in my head now, similar to sinus pressure, but I was pretty sure I could manage it. Nothing hurt, but I had to blink more than once and I realized I was pressing my hands flat against the front of the dash. The plastic was dented from the effort I’d used. Oops.

Lucas had a road map open over the steering wheel, effectively blocking us from the view of anyone who exited the restaurant.

“Okay, we’ll see if that’ll hold. I’ve never tried to block two sources of energy before. Never had to worry about it until now. With the full moon, it’ll be . . . interesting.” I had to talk over the crinkling of paper as he refolded the road map with apparent ease. I always get the folds wrong and wind up with a lopsided square that doesn’t fit the glove box, instead of a neat rectangle. Naturally, Lucas made a neat rectangle. I snorted as he handed it back to me to put away. “Show off.”

He didn’t reply, but his eyes twinkled just a bit before he turned his head and opened the door.

As we walked toward the entrance, I tried to come up with a good way to bring up the subject of the water tower, but it turned out I didn’t have to. A group of men were seated at a round table in the corner. From the litter of plates, cups, and empty sugar packs, it was obvious they’d been there for hours. “I’m not kidding! That Kendall girl is dangerous.”

Lucas flicked his eyes my way as he slid into the booth and I nodded to show I heard. It was hard not to hear since the short stocky guy under the John Deere cap had a voice like a television announcer—all midtones and loud.

A tall, thin guy with sleeve tans so dark I was pretty sure he was a farmer or rancher shook his head and leaned back in his chair until it was tipped on two legs. “Oh, come on, Earl. Just because she read that good-for-nothing brother of hers the riot act for the way he’s been running the store? You think Paul wouldn’t have already tanned his hide if he wasn’t still abed? You’ve seen the place, just like I have. Rats in the grain, bugs in the hay, and half the implements allowed to go to rust.”

Earl just snorted, but another of the crew weighed in. “Mike’s right. I had to turn away two deliveries of round bales for the herd just last week, and I’ve cancelled my standing orders until Paul’s back in charge. The whole thing was moldy . . . every bale. Now, I don’t mind a turn or two of waste. That’s normal. But there’s no way his daddy would have even thought about delivering bales that bad. I don’t want to think about rodents in the grain I accepted, so don’t give me the details. Rats give me the willies.”

A younger guy who might be Earl’s son from the resemblance was shaking his head—tiny little movements that said something had really spooked him. “Yeah, but you guys didn’t see her. She wasn’t like that before she went off to college. Sure, she was always a hothead, but this . . . she didn’t throw bottles or nothin’ or even scream. But she looked just like those ladies you see on America’s Most Wanted before they go off and do something horrible. She had a look in her eye.”

The final man at the table, a tall thin codger who didn’t have enough teeth to keep his lips from curling under let out a little chuckle. “Spunk. That’s what little Lizzie’s got. Why, if I was twenty years younger—

”

The waitress arrived at the table just then with a pot of coffee in one hand. She bopped the old guy on the head with her order pad. “Twenty years? Try fifty, ya old lech. Liz is just a baby, and in my opinion she had every right to go off on Frank. He’s a lazy lout who doesn’t deserve to inherit that store. Paul really ought to give it to Liz. She’d run it right.”

Mike shook his head. “Nah. She’s got her fancy new diploma, so she won’t be staying around this dump. Already has a job offer back East from what I hear . . . designing landfills and such. Good money in landfills.”

Earl gave a grudging grunt even though he didn’t uncross his arms from where they were tight across his chest. “Girl has a good eye for dirt. I’ll give her that. I never would have thought to check the west section for that special sand they use for telescope glass if she hadn’t walked me out there. Now I’ve got a lease on it from a German group. The royalties will put Becky through college.”

I’d been staring at the menu blindly while listening to the conversation and was so involved that I didn’t even notice the waitress until she popped her gum and said, “What’cha have, hon?”

My stomach knew what it wanted without even searching. “Steak and eggs. Rare and over easy. White toast and coffee.”

Her pen paused over the pad and her eyebrows rose, making the careful makeup she’d used to cover the crow’s feet at the edge of watery green eyes crack just a bit. “Which kind?”

Of coffee? “Um . . . regular? Caffeinated.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped the pen on the single-sheet, plastic-coated menu in my hand. Her natural scent of fresh kindergarten paste blended with just the lightest touch of burnt metal from frustration.

“Which kind of steak?”

I finally looked at the menu. It was the first I’d ever seen that gave a variety of steak for the steak and eggs. Wow. None of those wimpy paper-thin slices of breakfast steak here! There was T-bone, sirloin, strip, and even filet to choose from, plus two sizes of each. Ah, cow country . . . best friend to the carnivore, and a town after my heart. The gland in the back of my jaw started secreting enough drool that I had to swallow or risk dripping on the table. “T-bone. Sixteen ounce. And rare.”

She nodded. “Got the rare part. How about you?” She pointed the pen tip at Lucas. “Say, you look familiar. You from around here?”

If the question bothered Lucas, he didn’t show it. He just smiled. “Nope. I’m from near Denver. We’re staying out east of town with my uncle for a few days.”

Her shoulders dropped, and she opened her mouth in that universal acknowledgment of surprise. The sour milk scent of disbelief rose into the air, so it wasn’t faked. “Well, for heavens sake! I thought I recognized you. You’re Dave and Caroline’s boy?” She called out to the table of men before Lucas could even reply. “Look here, ya old coots! This is David Sampson’s youngest, Josh. He’s visiting Ralph. You here for some pheasants? Season starts tomorrow, you know.”

Hunting season starts this week? Well, wasn’t that just handy knowledge? We could walk around freely with shotguns while two Mafia members were looking for me, and hey . . . accidents do happen. My favorite time of year.

The men all gave a little uncomfortable wave, which we returned, but thankfully they didn’t head toward our table. They had moved on from talking about Liz Sutton-Kendall to the price of grain, so we were free to ignore each other. Lucas put his menu on the edge of the table. “I’ll have the same as him. But say, hearing them talk about that girl reminded me of something Uncle Ralph said. Wasn’t someone named Sutton caught in that tornado last month?”

The waitress, who had a name badge reading Jonyye—which I had no idea how to pronounce, raised her brows and put one hand on her apron-clad hip, ready to spill her guts. She had just opened her mouth to reply when a bright ding sounded from behind the counter. “Johnny! Order up!” Okay, good. I knew how to pronounce her name now.

She looked at the pad where she’d scribbled our order and raised one finger. “Let me put in your order and take this plate. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared and while I would like to talk about all the revelations, I was probably going to have to wait until we were outside. But then a sharp pain formed in my forehead—a red-hot spike that made me wince. What do you think? The words appeared in my mind, almost as though painted across the surface. The voice was Lucas’s. I’d forgotten that, as a pack leader, he could communicate mentally like Sue and I do. That would make things easy, if I could stop myself from screaming in pain.

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my forehead to ease the pressure. I knew it’d be better in a minute, since he’d done this to me before. But that didn’t remove the knife from my brain right now. I hate it when you do this. Hurts like hell, in case you don’t remember my mentioning it the last five times. And I think we’re going to find out everything we need to know before I’ve half finished my steak.

I was right.

She didn’t return until she had our order and as she set them down, she set herself down, knocking hips with Lucas/Josh repeatedly until he moved over to make room in the booth. I couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the glare I got from him and the little stabby pain between my eyes.

I was surprised that Jonyye didn’t have a genealogy map tucked in one of her broad pockets. Not that she needed anything in print. She had the entire county’s family tree mapped out under her curly mop of bottle-platinum-blond that didn’t really cover the gray hairs. It just blended them in a little better. Not only did we hear, in vivid detail, about the night of the tornado, but about the entire Sutton/Kendall family tree. Liz’s mother was a Sutton, all right, and the rumor was she came from European money, which is why she insisted the girl have a hyphenated name. I’d figured she was adopted or was a stepkid, but no. She was Kendall’s own daughter, just with a different last name. I’ve heard of that before, but usually the kid winds up with a weird middle name to keep a nearly dead surname alive. Hyphens must be the new thing.