LODESTONE pt 11
The wooden door in the back of the kitchen was open. Misha peered through the screen door, examining the backyard. It looked unused. The grass was grown over, at least in the places where grass bothered to grow. Bald patches of dirt gave the yard an ill feeling. Foliage grew high along the edges of the property, obscuring the neighboring yards, such as they were. Still, he knew enough about the land to know that this run-down, ripped up neighborhood was considered elite compared to most of the nearby places. He eyed a large mangrove. “Is there water back there?”
“Bogland,” Selma said, setting a pot of tea on the small, white Formica table behind him. Hearing the small thump, he turned, and joined her at the table. “Keep telling Gramma one day that land’s gonna rise up and take this place. She won’t listen.” She sat. “So. What are you thinking?”
Misha sat silently. What he thought, was he should have gone to L.A. But this was - this was pretty big. He turned the warm mug of tea in his hands, not the least bit tempted by the aroma. Not in this heat. “I’m not sure.”
His tone must have caught her attention. She leaned forward and placed her hand on his, stopping his fidgeting. “Misha. You can’t let your doubt get the better of you. Not now. They need you.”
It surprised him. It was bad enough he and Selma got along like they’d known each other forever. He still couldn’t wrap his head around that, the way she just seemed to know things about him. “I can’t believe they came here.”
She shrugged, and leaned back. “They saw what they saw. And I think after that Jensen was all too glad to get away from that house.”
The blackened room. “Wish I’d seen it.”
“I think you’ve seen something like it before.”
And again with the ESP. Misha gave her a sharp look. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugged lightly. “I could be wrong,” and raised her own mug to her lips.
“I think you all crazy,” Gramma said, sitting down with her own mug. “Tole you I gave up that stuff. Imma Christian now. Don’t need it brought back here. Crazy people ‘bout here. No telling what they do.”
“Gramma, you know good as I do that being a Christian means nothing around here. You just said so. So don’t get on your high horse.” Misha raised a brow, expecting Gramma to take Selma to task for the attitude.
She just waved her gnarled hand in a dismissive way. “Fine. Go hook up with Angel. Leave me out.”
“Who’s Angel?” Misha asked, looking from one to the other. He was trying hard not to make the obvious connection of his tv role to the word. Funny how the world worked.
“He’s a priest.”
“He’s voodoo,” Gramma clarified sharply. She glanced over the back door leading outside, where a small wooden cross hung.
Misha followed her glance. “I would think,” he said carefully, “that someone with your - life experience - would stick with the ways you are accustomed to.”
“I do no voodoo! Ever!”she barked at him. “Been a Christian woman.” She jabbed a finger at Selma. “You not careful bringing folk into this house! Don’t know who t’ey are!” She pushed up from the table and shuffled out of the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Misha started, but she was gone around the corner.
Selma reached out to him once more. “She was brought up a Christian. But she knows the other ways. You’ve just jammed yourself into a life-long battle in her soul.”
“It wasn’t intentional.” He stared down at the tepid brew.
Selma sighed deeply. “She was born and raised in Africa. Seen so much in her eighty-five years. So she’s going with what comforts her.”
“As she should,” Misha agreed. “Sure.”
“She has a quick temper that’s just as easy too cool. Drink your tea.” She gave his wrist a quick squeeze, and released him.
Misha did. He would have preferred something much cooler in this heat, but he took what he could get. The taste was bitter on his tongue. There was a faint rustle of leaves through the windows, and for the first time he caught a hint of sea air. No doubt the other two would be heading for the water. “How far is the ocean from here?”
“Farther than it looks. If those boys are headed that way, they’ve got quite a walk.”
“They need the time together.” Misha sipped once more, concealing his thoughts.
Selma leaned in. “You’re not meant to have what they do. Your path lies in a different direction.”
Misha set down his mug in annoyance. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked quickly.
“Did you really think they would just open their arms and take you in?”
“I never. . .” he checked himself. Because part of him did expect it, especially when it was announced he would be a regular. Jared had grinned when he heard the news, and patted him on the back. Jensen said, “Good, maybe we’ll get less of a work load” until Misha reminded him that, so far, most of his scenes had involved Jensen. That had brought a frown to his face, something Misha instantly misinterpreted. Jensen had caught himself, and the frown gave way to an apology and a “No, I don’t mean that,” but the damage had been done. He wasn’t a person to hold grudges, or judge. At least, he tried not to. But ever since, he felt like he was in the way.
“I’ve been there a year. They still act like I’m a guest star.”
“That’s because you were a guest star.”
“No, that’s not. . .” he exhaled roughly and straightened in his chair, casting his eyes aside. “I expected more from them.”
“And you were wrong to.”
Well, that hurt. But he knew it was true. And it wasn’t like he didn’t keep them at arm’s length himself. “I don’t know what’s expected of me.”
“You’ll know, when the time comes.”
When the times comes. Misha slapped his hands against the table and pushed back. “Okay. Good. I’m going for a walk. Do you need anything?”
She regarded him steadily. “No, thank you.”
“Okay.” He drained the rest of his tea, and walked out.
*************************
“So you think it’s here?” Jensen walked down the street, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. As far as Jared knew, they were on their third day of wear. He wasn’t sure it had occurred to Jensen to wash them.
“That spirit thing? I don’t know.”
“God, I hope not.”
“If it feeds on negativity, all we have to do is have fun. Right?”
Jensen kicked at a can. “You really believe in the sunshine and rainbows theory?”
“I know it sounds corny. But it makes sense.”
“Yeah, it does.” He winced up at the sun. “Wish I’d packed some loose shirts.”
“You mean on top of what Selma already had packed?”
“Hey, you’re right! I can blame her for this! I can blame her for all this. How far is this freakin beach, anyway? It like a damn mirage.”
“I don’t know. ‘Bout ready to get one of those mules.”
Jensen laughed out loud. “Dude, you’d kill it. You need to ride it on your back!”
It was good to hear him laugh.
They had quite a following. As they walked down the dirt road, children poured out of the worst housing Jared had ever seen, and trailed them, staring at them, grinning and making him uncomfortable. They spoke rapidly, and he had no clue what they were saying, but he smiled, and it seemed to be enough. One kid stopped right in front of him and jumped, his arm outstretched, trying to reach Jared’s head. That sent Jensen into a fit of laughter, and Jared grinned, the scooped the boy up, holding him at eye level so he could see what it was like to soar over six feet. Soon they were both scooping up the kids and holding them tall, grinning at their delighted squeals and kicking feet. A man came out and yelled at them, but not in a mean way. The kids clattered and waved and coughed their way back to the houses. The man waved in a friendly manner, but it was to wave them on more than a greeting. Behind them, a horn sounded.
Jared turned, then nearly doubled over in laughter himself to see Misha on a moped. “You’ll never make it walking,” Misha yelled out, and swerved the bike to stop beside them, the engine putting. “Probably too dangerous to walk that far, anyway.”
“There’s no way we’re all gonna fit on this thing,” Jared laughed, giving the poor machine a study once-over. “Where did you get it?”
“Gramma’s yard. Her nephew uses it on occasion. She said you’d kill yourselves walking in this heat. I’m more worried about who we might see.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Jensen said dubiously.
“It’s okay, I saw some boys with one near the house. One of you sit behind me, and the other stands on these.” He kicked his heel back at two-inch pegs that jutted from the wheel. “Course he was barefoot.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Jensen shook his head.
“I’ll be swimming while you’re walking.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
“Just get on.” Misha sighed and braced the moped, waiting. Jared shoved Jensen toward him.
Jensen balked. “You serious? You get on the seat. No way are your big-ass feet are gonna fit on those pegs.”
“My big-ass tennis shoes have better traction that your slick ass boots. Now get on.” He gave Jensen another playful shove, and watched in amusement as his friend climbed behind Misha and hesitantly put his arms around him.
“I’m not gonna bite,” Misha chuckled over his shoulder. “You on, Jared?”
“As much as I’m gonna be.” Oh, this was gonna suck rocks. He debated wrapping his arms around Jensen’s throat in a death grip. As it was, once Misha took off he felt his balance give, and the gentle grip on Jensen’s shoulders turned into a curse and a slumped over, tight wrap around his friend’s chest. Shit, he was gonna die.
Misha swerved left and right, avoiding as many bumps as possible. Jared just knew he would slide off and land on the tire. He felt Jensen try to scoot up on the seat, saw Misha make a slight adjustment as he steered, but there just wasn’t enough room for him. His ass would be like a plastic card in a kid’s spokes.
But it was so worth it when he saw the water.
Misha slowed the bike to a near crawl as he skidded onto the sand. Jared jumped off and stumbled, then ran to the water. He hesitated only a moment, just long enough to tear off his shoes and socks, then plunged head-first into the waves.
The temperature was perfect. He held his breath and dove under, then emerged and shook the water from his head. Looking back to land, he could see the bike, but not his friends. Not until Jensen emerged near him, and Misha popped up not far behind. Both had followed his example. Jensen was laughing again, and Misha was beaming. Jensen wiped his hair back from his face and started swimming with long, sure strokes. Jared noticed how in his element he looked, a natural outdoorsman. He was content to float and enjoy himself.
When the wind drifted over him just right, he could hear the sounds of the people. Not enough to make out words, just a cacophony of voices, some yelling, all passionate. Enough to remind him, even when he closed his eyes, that he was adrift in another world. The sun beat hot on his head and his shoulders. He reopened his eyes and squinted against the glare, suddenly uncomfortable. He wanted his sunglasses.
Jensen had drifted off. Jared watched as he treaded the water, then ducked underneath the waves. Jared thought for a moment about swimming towards him, and stopped when he saw Misha approach his friend. A wave slapped him in the face. He coughed, decided he had enough, and headed back for land.
There was nothing to lay on. They hadn’t prepared to go into the water. It was stupid, because at the last moment he did pack a suit, just in case. But they’d struck out without much thought, and now he sat on the shore, sanding sticking to everything, the sun burning through his shirt. No sunglasses. He saw two figures bobbing in the surf, but couldn’t focus on them. Blinking didn’t help. Drowsiness filled his eyes, and he closed them for a moment, then rolled over onto his stomach, and fell asleep, his arms crossed beneath his head.
***********
That night, he was a surly bastard.
“Boy, I can’t believe you.” Selma shook her head in dismay as she spread some foul-smelling ointment onto her palms. “And with a wet shirt on!”
“Yeah.” Jared was holding his breath, hunched over the bathroom sink. Selma pressed her hand to his inflamed back and he hissed loudly, stifling a curse.
“You’re gonna have to sleep on your stomach. Keep the shutters open.”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna say something besides ‘yeah’ to me?”
“Yeah,” he practically choked.
“What?”
“Stop flaying me with your hands!” And he yelped as she rubbed the ointment hard into his shoulder blade.
Jensen and Misha were downstairs eating, knowing not to bother him. Jared had been in so much pain, he could only pace to try and get some air moving on his scorched back. The ceiling fans weren’t doing crap to cool the house, but Gramma still wore her long skirt and long sleeved shirt over her bones, like the heat didn’t matter. The sight made him feel ill, then he was ill, retching into the rusted toilet bowl upstairs. Sun-sickness, Selma had called it, then disappeared and returned with a fat tube. He’d been suffering under her touch ever since.
“I said, this’ll help you.” Her voice was short, but hiding a touch of sympathy as she rubbed the ointment in.
His nose wrinkled. “It smells like seaweed.”
“Made from it.”
“Great.” He straightened carefully, and turned to examine his back in the cracked mirror. It was filmy green, with pockets of electric pink flesh showing through. “Christ.”
“You’ll be surprised how much better you feel in the morning. You go lay down on your bed. I’ll get some tea that’ll help you sleep.”
“Is it made of seaweed?”
“I ain’t telling!” she insisted, and shoo’ed him to his room.
The tea tasted worse than the ointment smelled. But he was out within ten minutes, his back lathered and healing.
****************
Jensen hadn’t meant to laugh, but he did. The visual scolding from Selma forced him to clamp his lips shut. But Misha looked amused as well. It wasn’t until Jared was barely heard throwing up his bones upstairs that he became alarmed, and followed Selma up. She walked in, and he could hear her voice over Jared’s. Then she shooed him away.
His own skin was pink, but not to the same degree as Jared’s. “Just cause he fell asleep,” Jensen said to Misha. “Usually I’m the one gettin’ burnt.”
Misha nodded, and swirled the drink Selma had supplied him with. Some kind of rum. Jensen couldn’t remember the name, but it was dark and burned like holy hell, lighting him up four ways to Tuesday. He had to take it slow.
They were seated on the front porch outside. Even the ocean breeze felt hot. The moon forced it’s way through cloud cover, only to be obscured once more. In the distance, a faint silver strip of ocean was visible, then disappeared.
“Gonna storm tomorrow,” Selma said, joining them on the porch with the bottle of rum. She let the screen door close gently.
“Gramma gone to bed?” Jensen asked.
“Yep.”
“She’s an interesting lady,” Misha offered.
“She’s gonna outlive us all by sheer stubbornness,” Selma said, arranging her ample frame on the worn wicker chair as it creaked beneath her. She set the bottle on a small iron table beside her. “You boys get this when you want it.”
“How long has this place been in the family?” Misha asked her, helping himself to more rum.
Selma reclined thoughtfully in the chair. Jensen feared the back would give, but it didn’t. “Lord, who knows? Been since my gramma was a child. She grew up here, mostly. It was in better shape then. She won’t let nobody touch the place. Say’s it’ll run the spirits out.”
“Run the spirits out?” Jensen asked. “I thought she didn’t believe in that stuff.”
“She doesn’t practice voodoo. She sure knows about these spirits, though.” Selma sipped at the rum.
“Good witch or bad witch?” Jensen asked, and hated how hesitant he sounded. And the fact that he was asking in the first place.
“Good. So far.”
“Okay.” Jensen swirled his own drink, leaning against a column. His gaze turned to the street, and paused. His breath caught.“Selma? Do you know that man that’s over there watching us?”
“Over where?” She straightened and arched her body to look around the column. “I don’t see no one.”
Jensen rolled his back against the column until he faced her, and was no longer visible to him. “Brown house, across the street, three down. He’s standing in front.”
“You got some good eyes, I’ll tell you what.” She stood and walked to the front stairs. Put on hand on her hip. “Angel? That you out there?”
Jensen peeked around the column, and saw a flash of teeth in the darkness. The man crossed the street and jogged up to the house, clearing the stairs in one leap and instantly taking Selma’s hand in his. Jensen involuntarily took several steps back, so sudden was his appearance.
“Selma, my dear,” he said, and his voice was the deepest Jensen had ever heard. Musical. Laughing. He kissed the top of her hand, oozing with charm, putting on a show that he probably felt was expected of him.
“You devil. Stop that.” She yanked her hand back. “You go find yourself a girl to put that on.”
“I prefer a woman,” he said richly.
“I ain’t playing! I’ll smack you where you stand,” she said, but there was no malice in her words. She took her seat as the man leaned against the column behind him. His eyes slowly turned to Jensen.
“This is Jensen, and Misha.” Selma threw her pointed finger in their general direction. “They’re my guest, so treat them as such, hear?”
“Don’t I always?”
“No.” She huffed and arranged herself in the chair. Her eyes drifted away.
Jensen was sensing an interesting history, here. He saw the dark, glittering eyes of the man staring at him. Locked with his. Not moving. He swallowed, slowly feeling like the energy was being sucked from him, flowing in thick streams into those dark irises. Draining him. Vampiric. As casually as he could manage, he walked to the chair beside Misha and sank into it. Misha was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nursing his drink, and he looked at Jensen questioningly.
Then man was standing directly in front of him. Jensen’s eyes widened, and he quickly looked him up and down. He didn’t remember the man moving. He never saw it. “My name is Angel,” he said, and offered a hand. Again, Jensen was drawn in by his eyes.
He shook the hand. “Good to meet you,” he said, watching as Misha firmly shook his hand as well. He found himself watching Misha, who seemed totally at ease. Flashed back to Angel, who was back against the column, looking at him. Enjoying his discomfort.
Jensen hid in his drink, then signaled to Misha for the bottle.
“So I hear we may have a little problem,” Angel said, his eyes still on Jensen.
“Piggyback,” Selma said, as if it explained everything.
“Where is the other one?”
“He’s ill.”
“Can I see him?”
“Not today.” She gave him a curt look.
“You wanted help. I am here to help.” He opened his hands in a giving gesture. The lightness of his palms surprised Jensen.
“I didn’t even call you. Not yet.”
“I heard you were here.”
“You know too much for your own damn good,” Selma muttered.
Angel laughed, a deep, full bodied expression of glee. He would have slapped his knee if his otherwise restrained personality allowed it.
“What can you do for us?” Misha asked. Jensen had to admire the boldness.
Angel seemed to really notice him for the first time. He stared at him as he had Jensen, but there was no real scrutiny behind it, only acknowledgment. Misha met his stare. “That would depend.”
“On?”
“A lot of things.” His eyes drifted to Jensen. “How far are you willing to go?”
“Okay, hang on.” Jensen raised his hand, his stomach churning uneasily. “Just how much do you know about all this?”
“I can see it.” He pushed away from the column once more, and walked to him, like a predator slowly stalking his prey. Jensen realized he was afraid of this man. He flinched slightly as Angel raised his hand, turning the back to face him. “You see this? You are as black as my skin. It covers you. It is in you. It is a cancer in the brain. I had to come see for myself. I hate that you brought this here.” His eyes darkened, and the hand slowly lowered.
“We had no choice,” Selma said, but her voice was weary, defeated.
“And I am a last resort. Is that right?” Angel shook his head. “You’ve waited too late.”
“Angel. . .”
“Others will see it. I will be able to do nothing, then.”
Misha slowly stood. He set his shot glass on the table separating him and Selma. Two steps, and he was looking the man in the eyes, half blocking Jensen from him. Angel had to be Jared’s height, or taller, but Misha seemed to grow into this. “You will help us,” he said solidly, leaving no room for argument. “You will do everything you can. If there is danger, you will tell us.”
“And why would I do this?”
“Because it’s who you are.”
He smiled. “That is a line from a movie. But you are correct. And there is danger. For all of you.” He looked at each one. “Are you ready for this?”
“I’m always ready,” Jensen said, firmly, bringing his acting experience to the forefront, because in truth he was scared shitless. And the darkness was closing in around him.
“Then I will return tomorrow, if the Anya Lihai do not get to you first.”
“The who?” Jensen asked.
“Never mind,” Selma said calmly, her eyes on Angel. “Thank you.”
“We must be quick about this. I’m not the only one who knows, or sees. From the moment he stepped foot off the plane, there was talk.” He walked down the stairs, then turned back. “I would stay close, if I were you. Do not wander off.”
“We’ll be here,” Selma assured him.
Jensen thought he’d go stir-crazy staying there all day, but he nodded.
And the figure vanished into the night.
“Bogland,” Selma said, setting a pot of tea on the small, white Formica table behind him. Hearing the small thump, he turned, and joined her at the table. “Keep telling Gramma one day that land’s gonna rise up and take this place. She won’t listen.” She sat. “So. What are you thinking?”
Misha sat silently. What he thought, was he should have gone to L.A. But this was - this was pretty big. He turned the warm mug of tea in his hands, not the least bit tempted by the aroma. Not in this heat. “I’m not sure.”
His tone must have caught her attention. She leaned forward and placed her hand on his, stopping his fidgeting. “Misha. You can’t let your doubt get the better of you. Not now. They need you.”
It surprised him. It was bad enough he and Selma got along like they’d known each other forever. He still couldn’t wrap his head around that, the way she just seemed to know things about him. “I can’t believe they came here.”
She shrugged, and leaned back. “They saw what they saw. And I think after that Jensen was all too glad to get away from that house.”
The blackened room. “Wish I’d seen it.”
“I think you’ve seen something like it before.”
And again with the ESP. Misha gave her a sharp look. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugged lightly. “I could be wrong,” and raised her own mug to her lips.
“I think you all crazy,” Gramma said, sitting down with her own mug. “Tole you I gave up that stuff. Imma Christian now. Don’t need it brought back here. Crazy people ‘bout here. No telling what they do.”
“Gramma, you know good as I do that being a Christian means nothing around here. You just said so. So don’t get on your high horse.” Misha raised a brow, expecting Gramma to take Selma to task for the attitude.
She just waved her gnarled hand in a dismissive way. “Fine. Go hook up with Angel. Leave me out.”
“Who’s Angel?” Misha asked, looking from one to the other. He was trying hard not to make the obvious connection of his tv role to the word. Funny how the world worked.
“He’s a priest.”
“He’s voodoo,” Gramma clarified sharply. She glanced over the back door leading outside, where a small wooden cross hung.
Misha followed her glance. “I would think,” he said carefully, “that someone with your - life experience - would stick with the ways you are accustomed to.”
“I do no voodoo! Ever!”she barked at him. “Been a Christian woman.” She jabbed a finger at Selma. “You not careful bringing folk into this house! Don’t know who t’ey are!” She pushed up from the table and shuffled out of the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Misha started, but she was gone around the corner.
Selma reached out to him once more. “She was brought up a Christian. But she knows the other ways. You’ve just jammed yourself into a life-long battle in her soul.”
“It wasn’t intentional.” He stared down at the tepid brew.
Selma sighed deeply. “She was born and raised in Africa. Seen so much in her eighty-five years. So she’s going with what comforts her.”
“As she should,” Misha agreed. “Sure.”
“She has a quick temper that’s just as easy too cool. Drink your tea.” She gave his wrist a quick squeeze, and released him.
Misha did. He would have preferred something much cooler in this heat, but he took what he could get. The taste was bitter on his tongue. There was a faint rustle of leaves through the windows, and for the first time he caught a hint of sea air. No doubt the other two would be heading for the water. “How far is the ocean from here?”
“Farther than it looks. If those boys are headed that way, they’ve got quite a walk.”
“They need the time together.” Misha sipped once more, concealing his thoughts.
Selma leaned in. “You’re not meant to have what they do. Your path lies in a different direction.”
Misha set down his mug in annoyance. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked quickly.
“Did you really think they would just open their arms and take you in?”
“I never. . .” he checked himself. Because part of him did expect it, especially when it was announced he would be a regular. Jared had grinned when he heard the news, and patted him on the back. Jensen said, “Good, maybe we’ll get less of a work load” until Misha reminded him that, so far, most of his scenes had involved Jensen. That had brought a frown to his face, something Misha instantly misinterpreted. Jensen had caught himself, and the frown gave way to an apology and a “No, I don’t mean that,” but the damage had been done. He wasn’t a person to hold grudges, or judge. At least, he tried not to. But ever since, he felt like he was in the way.
“I’ve been there a year. They still act like I’m a guest star.”
“That’s because you were a guest star.”
“No, that’s not. . .” he exhaled roughly and straightened in his chair, casting his eyes aside. “I expected more from them.”
“And you were wrong to.”
Well, that hurt. But he knew it was true. And it wasn’t like he didn’t keep them at arm’s length himself. “I don’t know what’s expected of me.”
“You’ll know, when the time comes.”
When the times comes. Misha slapped his hands against the table and pushed back. “Okay. Good. I’m going for a walk. Do you need anything?”
She regarded him steadily. “No, thank you.”
“Okay.” He drained the rest of his tea, and walked out.
*************************
“So you think it’s here?” Jensen walked down the street, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. As far as Jared knew, they were on their third day of wear. He wasn’t sure it had occurred to Jensen to wash them.
“That spirit thing? I don’t know.”
“God, I hope not.”
“If it feeds on negativity, all we have to do is have fun. Right?”
Jensen kicked at a can. “You really believe in the sunshine and rainbows theory?”
“I know it sounds corny. But it makes sense.”
“Yeah, it does.” He winced up at the sun. “Wish I’d packed some loose shirts.”
“You mean on top of what Selma already had packed?”
“Hey, you’re right! I can blame her for this! I can blame her for all this. How far is this freakin beach, anyway? It like a damn mirage.”
“I don’t know. ‘Bout ready to get one of those mules.”
Jensen laughed out loud. “Dude, you’d kill it. You need to ride it on your back!”
It was good to hear him laugh.
They had quite a following. As they walked down the dirt road, children poured out of the worst housing Jared had ever seen, and trailed them, staring at them, grinning and making him uncomfortable. They spoke rapidly, and he had no clue what they were saying, but he smiled, and it seemed to be enough. One kid stopped right in front of him and jumped, his arm outstretched, trying to reach Jared’s head. That sent Jensen into a fit of laughter, and Jared grinned, the scooped the boy up, holding him at eye level so he could see what it was like to soar over six feet. Soon they were both scooping up the kids and holding them tall, grinning at their delighted squeals and kicking feet. A man came out and yelled at them, but not in a mean way. The kids clattered and waved and coughed their way back to the houses. The man waved in a friendly manner, but it was to wave them on more than a greeting. Behind them, a horn sounded.
Jared turned, then nearly doubled over in laughter himself to see Misha on a moped. “You’ll never make it walking,” Misha yelled out, and swerved the bike to stop beside them, the engine putting. “Probably too dangerous to walk that far, anyway.”
“There’s no way we’re all gonna fit on this thing,” Jared laughed, giving the poor machine a study once-over. “Where did you get it?”
“Gramma’s yard. Her nephew uses it on occasion. She said you’d kill yourselves walking in this heat. I’m more worried about who we might see.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Jensen said dubiously.
“It’s okay, I saw some boys with one near the house. One of you sit behind me, and the other stands on these.” He kicked his heel back at two-inch pegs that jutted from the wheel. “Course he was barefoot.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Jensen shook his head.
“I’ll be swimming while you’re walking.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
“Just get on.” Misha sighed and braced the moped, waiting. Jared shoved Jensen toward him.
Jensen balked. “You serious? You get on the seat. No way are your big-ass feet are gonna fit on those pegs.”
“My big-ass tennis shoes have better traction that your slick ass boots. Now get on.” He gave Jensen another playful shove, and watched in amusement as his friend climbed behind Misha and hesitantly put his arms around him.
“I’m not gonna bite,” Misha chuckled over his shoulder. “You on, Jared?”
“As much as I’m gonna be.” Oh, this was gonna suck rocks. He debated wrapping his arms around Jensen’s throat in a death grip. As it was, once Misha took off he felt his balance give, and the gentle grip on Jensen’s shoulders turned into a curse and a slumped over, tight wrap around his friend’s chest. Shit, he was gonna die.
Misha swerved left and right, avoiding as many bumps as possible. Jared just knew he would slide off and land on the tire. He felt Jensen try to scoot up on the seat, saw Misha make a slight adjustment as he steered, but there just wasn’t enough room for him. His ass would be like a plastic card in a kid’s spokes.
But it was so worth it when he saw the water.
Misha slowed the bike to a near crawl as he skidded onto the sand. Jared jumped off and stumbled, then ran to the water. He hesitated only a moment, just long enough to tear off his shoes and socks, then plunged head-first into the waves.
The temperature was perfect. He held his breath and dove under, then emerged and shook the water from his head. Looking back to land, he could see the bike, but not his friends. Not until Jensen emerged near him, and Misha popped up not far behind. Both had followed his example. Jensen was laughing again, and Misha was beaming. Jensen wiped his hair back from his face and started swimming with long, sure strokes. Jared noticed how in his element he looked, a natural outdoorsman. He was content to float and enjoy himself.
When the wind drifted over him just right, he could hear the sounds of the people. Not enough to make out words, just a cacophony of voices, some yelling, all passionate. Enough to remind him, even when he closed his eyes, that he was adrift in another world. The sun beat hot on his head and his shoulders. He reopened his eyes and squinted against the glare, suddenly uncomfortable. He wanted his sunglasses.
Jensen had drifted off. Jared watched as he treaded the water, then ducked underneath the waves. Jared thought for a moment about swimming towards him, and stopped when he saw Misha approach his friend. A wave slapped him in the face. He coughed, decided he had enough, and headed back for land.
There was nothing to lay on. They hadn’t prepared to go into the water. It was stupid, because at the last moment he did pack a suit, just in case. But they’d struck out without much thought, and now he sat on the shore, sanding sticking to everything, the sun burning through his shirt. No sunglasses. He saw two figures bobbing in the surf, but couldn’t focus on them. Blinking didn’t help. Drowsiness filled his eyes, and he closed them for a moment, then rolled over onto his stomach, and fell asleep, his arms crossed beneath his head.
***********
That night, he was a surly bastard.
“Boy, I can’t believe you.” Selma shook her head in dismay as she spread some foul-smelling ointment onto her palms. “And with a wet shirt on!”
“Yeah.” Jared was holding his breath, hunched over the bathroom sink. Selma pressed her hand to his inflamed back and he hissed loudly, stifling a curse.
“You’re gonna have to sleep on your stomach. Keep the shutters open.”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna say something besides ‘yeah’ to me?”
“Yeah,” he practically choked.
“What?”
“Stop flaying me with your hands!” And he yelped as she rubbed the ointment hard into his shoulder blade.
Jensen and Misha were downstairs eating, knowing not to bother him. Jared had been in so much pain, he could only pace to try and get some air moving on his scorched back. The ceiling fans weren’t doing crap to cool the house, but Gramma still wore her long skirt and long sleeved shirt over her bones, like the heat didn’t matter. The sight made him feel ill, then he was ill, retching into the rusted toilet bowl upstairs. Sun-sickness, Selma had called it, then disappeared and returned with a fat tube. He’d been suffering under her touch ever since.
“I said, this’ll help you.” Her voice was short, but hiding a touch of sympathy as she rubbed the ointment in.
His nose wrinkled. “It smells like seaweed.”
“Made from it.”
“Great.” He straightened carefully, and turned to examine his back in the cracked mirror. It was filmy green, with pockets of electric pink flesh showing through. “Christ.”
“You’ll be surprised how much better you feel in the morning. You go lay down on your bed. I’ll get some tea that’ll help you sleep.”
“Is it made of seaweed?”
“I ain’t telling!” she insisted, and shoo’ed him to his room.
The tea tasted worse than the ointment smelled. But he was out within ten minutes, his back lathered and healing.
****************
Jensen hadn’t meant to laugh, but he did. The visual scolding from Selma forced him to clamp his lips shut. But Misha looked amused as well. It wasn’t until Jared was barely heard throwing up his bones upstairs that he became alarmed, and followed Selma up. She walked in, and he could hear her voice over Jared’s. Then she shooed him away.
His own skin was pink, but not to the same degree as Jared’s. “Just cause he fell asleep,” Jensen said to Misha. “Usually I’m the one gettin’ burnt.”
Misha nodded, and swirled the drink Selma had supplied him with. Some kind of rum. Jensen couldn’t remember the name, but it was dark and burned like holy hell, lighting him up four ways to Tuesday. He had to take it slow.
They were seated on the front porch outside. Even the ocean breeze felt hot. The moon forced it’s way through cloud cover, only to be obscured once more. In the distance, a faint silver strip of ocean was visible, then disappeared.
“Gonna storm tomorrow,” Selma said, joining them on the porch with the bottle of rum. She let the screen door close gently.
“Gramma gone to bed?” Jensen asked.
“Yep.”
“She’s an interesting lady,” Misha offered.
“She’s gonna outlive us all by sheer stubbornness,” Selma said, arranging her ample frame on the worn wicker chair as it creaked beneath her. She set the bottle on a small iron table beside her. “You boys get this when you want it.”
“How long has this place been in the family?” Misha asked her, helping himself to more rum.
Selma reclined thoughtfully in the chair. Jensen feared the back would give, but it didn’t. “Lord, who knows? Been since my gramma was a child. She grew up here, mostly. It was in better shape then. She won’t let nobody touch the place. Say’s it’ll run the spirits out.”
“Run the spirits out?” Jensen asked. “I thought she didn’t believe in that stuff.”
“She doesn’t practice voodoo. She sure knows about these spirits, though.” Selma sipped at the rum.
“Good witch or bad witch?” Jensen asked, and hated how hesitant he sounded. And the fact that he was asking in the first place.
“Good. So far.”
“Okay.” Jensen swirled his own drink, leaning against a column. His gaze turned to the street, and paused. His breath caught.“Selma? Do you know that man that’s over there watching us?”
“Over where?” She straightened and arched her body to look around the column. “I don’t see no one.”
Jensen rolled his back against the column until he faced her, and was no longer visible to him. “Brown house, across the street, three down. He’s standing in front.”
“You got some good eyes, I’ll tell you what.” She stood and walked to the front stairs. Put on hand on her hip. “Angel? That you out there?”
Jensen peeked around the column, and saw a flash of teeth in the darkness. The man crossed the street and jogged up to the house, clearing the stairs in one leap and instantly taking Selma’s hand in his. Jensen involuntarily took several steps back, so sudden was his appearance.
“Selma, my dear,” he said, and his voice was the deepest Jensen had ever heard. Musical. Laughing. He kissed the top of her hand, oozing with charm, putting on a show that he probably felt was expected of him.
“You devil. Stop that.” She yanked her hand back. “You go find yourself a girl to put that on.”
“I prefer a woman,” he said richly.
“I ain’t playing! I’ll smack you where you stand,” she said, but there was no malice in her words. She took her seat as the man leaned against the column behind him. His eyes slowly turned to Jensen.
“This is Jensen, and Misha.” Selma threw her pointed finger in their general direction. “They’re my guest, so treat them as such, hear?”
“Don’t I always?”
“No.” She huffed and arranged herself in the chair. Her eyes drifted away.
Jensen was sensing an interesting history, here. He saw the dark, glittering eyes of the man staring at him. Locked with his. Not moving. He swallowed, slowly feeling like the energy was being sucked from him, flowing in thick streams into those dark irises. Draining him. Vampiric. As casually as he could manage, he walked to the chair beside Misha and sank into it. Misha was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nursing his drink, and he looked at Jensen questioningly.
Then man was standing directly in front of him. Jensen’s eyes widened, and he quickly looked him up and down. He didn’t remember the man moving. He never saw it. “My name is Angel,” he said, and offered a hand. Again, Jensen was drawn in by his eyes.
He shook the hand. “Good to meet you,” he said, watching as Misha firmly shook his hand as well. He found himself watching Misha, who seemed totally at ease. Flashed back to Angel, who was back against the column, looking at him. Enjoying his discomfort.
Jensen hid in his drink, then signaled to Misha for the bottle.
“So I hear we may have a little problem,” Angel said, his eyes still on Jensen.
“Piggyback,” Selma said, as if it explained everything.
“Where is the other one?”
“He’s ill.”
“Can I see him?”
“Not today.” She gave him a curt look.
“You wanted help. I am here to help.” He opened his hands in a giving gesture. The lightness of his palms surprised Jensen.
“I didn’t even call you. Not yet.”
“I heard you were here.”
“You know too much for your own damn good,” Selma muttered.
Angel laughed, a deep, full bodied expression of glee. He would have slapped his knee if his otherwise restrained personality allowed it.
“What can you do for us?” Misha asked. Jensen had to admire the boldness.
Angel seemed to really notice him for the first time. He stared at him as he had Jensen, but there was no real scrutiny behind it, only acknowledgment. Misha met his stare. “That would depend.”
“On?”
“A lot of things.” His eyes drifted to Jensen. “How far are you willing to go?”
“Okay, hang on.” Jensen raised his hand, his stomach churning uneasily. “Just how much do you know about all this?”
“I can see it.” He pushed away from the column once more, and walked to him, like a predator slowly stalking his prey. Jensen realized he was afraid of this man. He flinched slightly as Angel raised his hand, turning the back to face him. “You see this? You are as black as my skin. It covers you. It is in you. It is a cancer in the brain. I had to come see for myself. I hate that you brought this here.” His eyes darkened, and the hand slowly lowered.
“We had no choice,” Selma said, but her voice was weary, defeated.
“And I am a last resort. Is that right?” Angel shook his head. “You’ve waited too late.”
“Angel. . .”
“Others will see it. I will be able to do nothing, then.”
Misha slowly stood. He set his shot glass on the table separating him and Selma. Two steps, and he was looking the man in the eyes, half blocking Jensen from him. Angel had to be Jared’s height, or taller, but Misha seemed to grow into this. “You will help us,” he said solidly, leaving no room for argument. “You will do everything you can. If there is danger, you will tell us.”
“And why would I do this?”
“Because it’s who you are.”
He smiled. “That is a line from a movie. But you are correct. And there is danger. For all of you.” He looked at each one. “Are you ready for this?”
“I’m always ready,” Jensen said, firmly, bringing his acting experience to the forefront, because in truth he was scared shitless. And the darkness was closing in around him.
“Then I will return tomorrow, if the Anya Lihai do not get to you first.”
“The who?” Jensen asked.
“Never mind,” Selma said calmly, her eyes on Angel. “Thank you.”
“We must be quick about this. I’m not the only one who knows, or sees. From the moment he stepped foot off the plane, there was talk.” He walked down the stairs, then turned back. “I would stay close, if I were you. Do not wander off.”
“We’ll be here,” Selma assured him.
Jensen thought he’d go stir-crazy staying there all day, but he nodded.
And the figure vanished into the night.