I'd intended to study on this gloomy Wednesday afternoon. The moment I received a text from Morgan Seabrook inviting me up to Valley Point, that idea went straight out the door.
"I'll do your chemistry for you," Mason offered.
"Grazie," I breathed emphatically.
I snatched up my jacket from the rack beside the Warde's front door.
"Am I allowed to borrow your car?" I wondered, glancing back at him over my shoulder as I zipped up.
He leaned on the railing of the stairs, hands in his pockets as he watched me ready myself. His green eyes roved from my hips up to my face as I smoothed out the coat and pulled my hair from the collar.
"I know how to handle a stick-shift," I offered when he didn't respond.
A crooked half-smile quirked his lips, "Darling, my family's home. They'll hear you."
I shot him a withering look, "I'm going to perform research."
He pursed his lips, breathing a deep sigh of discontent, "I know I said that I wouldn't interfere..."
I resisted the urge to narrow my eyes.
"...but it makes me uncomfortable that you're going somewhere I can't follow. If you were in trouble..."
He trailed off, his gaze lowered.
"What if I do a real-time location share with you?" I offered, fishing my phone from my pocket and flipping it right-side up in my palm, "There's really not much threat from the skinchangers, but if it makes you feel better, I'm amenable to it."
"That would help. The reception isn't always good though."
"I'm still a little shaky with my trust of the skinchangers," I soothed, begrudgingly admitting that the situation could spell trouble, "The meeting's at a diner, a public space. If she offers to bring me into town, I won't object to that, but I'll stay away from any hiking or private spaces."
"Alright," he agreed, still uneasy, "When will you be back?"
"I'll aim for nine at the latest," I said, pocketing my device and holding a tentative hand out for his keys, "It's... what, four, now? Morgan doesn't seem the chatty type, so it likely won't be that long."
"It'll be well-past sunset," he noted.
"Alaska," I muttered, shaking my head.
He slipped the jingling keys from his belt-loop and approached. When I moved to take ahold, he lifted them aloft, right over my head. I growled. He stared down into my eyes with a crooked, mischievous grin. His breath fanned into my face as we stood, front to front, and I lost myself in the rich-jade of his irises.
"How do you ask?" he prompted, his low bass coaxing.
I pursed my lips, attempting to suppress a violent blush to no avail. I dwarfed my embarrassment with impulsive boldness instead.
With a gentle rock up onto the balls of my feet, I tilted my head and planted a chaste kiss on his cool cheek, "Please?"
Under my hovering lips, his cheek swelled with a smile. I retracted and examined the glittering humor in his eyes.
"I suppose you may," he allowed, dropping the keys into my proffered palm, "Be safe."
"I will."
~
Bitter air whipped my hair and the salted scent of the inlet filled the cabin of Mason's BMW. Gravel popping under the tires, I pulled into the parking lot. Throwing the car into park, I rolled up the windows, gathered my wallet and phone into my pockets and stepped out into the crisp, early-fall breeze.
Thick thickets of birch clumped here, unlike the spruce-dominated copses around my house. We weren't on the outskirts of the village, but likely a ways from mainstreet, by the looks of things. There was a little bait and tackle shop directly across the street. Each store appeared to be attached to a little residence as well, like the owners lived in-house. Whatever the case, they were quaint little shops with fresh paint jobs and bright signs that declared that they were open.
I approached the diner, entering to a little tinkle of a bell. Inside was warm, smelling mildly sweet like pancakes, but I caught an outdoorsy evergreen scent too. Morgan stood behind the counter and finally looked up from the register as I approached the breakfast bar. Two figures seated there; one in a wheelchair and the other perched on a stool.
"Fancy seeing the pair of you here," I commented lightly.
"Sara!" Ray greeted me.
He'd rolled up to a lower bar-space that had been designed perfectly for him. Still, distracted I sniffed at that familiar salted-pine scent again.
Terry smiled, "Smells good in here, huh?"
"Like breakfast, still," I confirmed, settling myself beside Terry, "And I thought I was here for a girls' hangout. Don't tell me you're crashing."
"We're just here for dinner," Ray assured me, "Morgan's going to give you a tour of the village."
"You two are a little young to be indulging in the Early-Bird special," I noted, resting my chin on my knuckles.
"You flatter us!"
"My shift is over in thirty minutes or so," Morgan explained.
I frowned at the waver in her voice. She fetched me a glass of iced water and I noted the red-rim on her lower lids as she dodged my probing gaze.
"Are you alright? We can reschedule."
"No," she nearly growled.
I pursed my lips, not sure what she was objecting to, but picked up the laminated menu absently to inspect.
"May I join you both for some food?"
"Sure thing," Terry encouraged, grinning widely.
"Whaddya want?" Morgan prompted before I'd hardly read the menu.
"The prime rib sandwich sounds good," I skimmed quickly, picking something at random.
"Right," she agreed, scribbling on a notepad and tearing off the paper to post through the window of the kitchen.
"Is this your job?" I asked of the men, "Hanging out at local haunts and taste-testing?"
Terry laughed, gripping his coffee-mug closer as I took up my own glass.
"We're the entertainment," Ray joked, grinning and leaning back in his chair to glance my way, "Terry sings and I dance."
The cool water stung across my tongue and flared down my throat, the lamalis dose making itself known. I stuck out my tongue.
"You're aware that lamalis tastes way better hot, right?"
"Do you want tea then?" Morgan snipped.
"Yes, please."
"I'm actually a Forester," Terry cut in, throwing a pointed glance at his daughter, "I make sure the sites are safe, that there's access in and out, and I determine what to take and how much to take."
"I used to be the same," Ray added, watching Morgan move toward another set of customers against the storefront windows, "But now I'm the Director of Programs for the tribal council."
"What does that entail?"
"I coordinate with local schools and community groups to host programs through which everyone can learn a bit about Lawatscoh culture. I'm fairly involved with the tourist pipeline here in the village."
"Hm," I hummed thoughtfully, remembering my family's own tourist attractions. "What stories do you share?"
"Are you trying to get a tour-exclusive for free?"
"How about a friends and family discount?"
"A story for a story, perhaps," Terry suggested, swirling his coffee absentmindedly and I suppressed a smirk.
"I can go first," I allowed with a sigh, "What kind of story would you like to hear?"
"You're from Italy, right?"
"My mother was."
"Is there local folklore from there?"
"I was saving up a few of those for the bonfire," I admitted, leaning back in my chair and staring at the ceiling.
"Do we get a friends and family discount for that event?"
"It's not up to me to offer those, apologies."
He rubbed his chin with a sigh, "We'll still go."
"Thank you. So for today, are you looking for scary stories? Or...?"
"Stories of any kind," Ray shrugged.
"How about the ouija-board incident me and a few friends got into?"'
"Ouija?" Terry echoed, frowning.
"A spirit board," I clarified, gratefully accepting the tea Morgan scooted toward me. The swirls of steam burned in my nostrils, but my built-up resistance to the poison would get me through one cup. "It's used to communicate with imprints of the dead that haven't passed on from this world."
"You believe in that?" Ray asked, a shadow of a smirk on his lips.
"Sure. I think ghosts are very real. I've seen too much not to believe. Especially after something like this."
Morgan rolled her eyes, but reluctantly left to address a few new customers that had entered the diner. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Terry wince as I glanced at the newcomers. They were a pair of familiar faces: Gavin and Aaron from the car wash. I gave a short wave in recognition which they returned before sitting at a table across the room.
"Where was I?" I prompted good-naturedly, noting the elder-men's chagrin.
"Ghosts."
"Right!" I clapped my hands together and leaned back, "It was just after the full-moon. Alissa, Catalina, and I gathered in Catalina's basement for a normal sleepover like any other..."
To their credit, they listened on the edge of their seats as I recounted the edited version of the story; the one without my magic. Morgan rejoined quickly, keeping her hands busy by cleaning and methodically drying the glassware behind the counter. When I reached the point where I'd laid eyes on Margret, Morgan's eyes were dinner plates and neither Ray nor Terry breathed.
"And SCHWIP!" I jerked my fingertips across the countertop toward Morgan. She leaped backward, nearly crashing into the staging counter behind her. "Alissa pushed the planchet onto 'goodbye' and Margret vanished."
I glanced about at my audience, tilting my head just slightly to view Gavin and Aaron where they sat across the room. Each was staring at the other, close-lipped and wide-eyed. What good hearing they had.
"That's all well and good," Ray started after a thick swallow, "But -"
"Who's Margret?"
"No. Though the name sounds familiar. You drew a spirit into your friend's house; is your friend alright?"
"She was haunted..."
A little ding at the kitchen window elicited a startled hop from Morgan. Jittery, she took each of the three plates and set them out in front of us individually. I neglected my sandwich a little longer, relishing in the unnerved expressions I'd brought upon my audiences' faces.
"All sorts of things started going wrong around the house," I admitted, cocking one foot up on the rungs of my stool and draping an arm lazily over my knee as I got comfortable, "Small objects were moved. There was scratching in the walls. Then it was nightmares: death echoes."
"Death Echoes; are they the ghost's memory of their death?"
"Yes," I lauded Terry, though I kept my voice low so as not to break the atmosphere, "What do you know that from?"
"We have a word for that in our language that roughly translates to 'Last Memory'," Ray confirmed with a nod, "It's specific to spiritual phenomenon."
"In my first language, it is referred to as Mortem narratio or Death's Narration. Whatever you want to call it, Catalina and her sister were experiencing Margret's own memories in their nightmares."
"And now? How is she?"
"Well," I started with an ashamed sigh, "I let it go on too long. I should've cleansed it immediately."
"A cleansing?" Morgan growled.
"Yes, anyone can do one," I kept my voice light, "You can google it. Anyway, spirits get frustrated when they're not heard, but this one was powerful enough to hurt. It attacked her grandmother, burning the woman and pushing her down the stairs."
"That's why you called in that shopkeep," Ray surmised.
"Yes."
"Cleansings, death echoes..." Terry muttered, taking a sip of coffee. I saw his hand shake slightly, "How do you come across this sort of information?"
"Uh..." I nibbled my lower lip, feigning a bit of chagrin, "My family's pagan. This is just... what we believe in."
"If you know so much, why weren't you strong enough to take care of the ghost on your own?" Morgan wondered.
"I'm not practiced enough," I gripped my tea-mug and purposefully dipped my chin with embarrassment, "My mother or one of my cousins could've handled the situation but..."
I bit my lower lip, a genuine swell of feeling rising in my throat this time. Banishing strong spirits simply wasn't a specialty of mine, but Mother and Rosa had been excellent exorcists.
"I-It's your turn!" I prompted, forcing brightness into my voice.
"I suppose it is," Ray sighed, "But a story like that has to be repaid in equal. Morgan?"
She turned at his prompting, the hesitance and prickliness reentering her posture.
"I encountered something out in the woods over the weekend," she admitted begrudgingly, crossing her arms and staring out the bank of windows to the East of the diner.
"You've got to work on your storytelling, hun. If you want to be a tour guide next season, that is."
With brows furrowed and mouth set in a scowl, she capitulated.
"I was out on a less-traveled trail below McCarty Glacier in the National Park. It's boggy there with a tall overstory, perfect for finding lamalis plants that are out of season. I like to collect a few wild ones to diversify my stock.
"I was out with Owen, Gavin, and Aaron - though they were just messing around in the river while I searched."
Her eyes darted to the side as she spoke and she shifted from foot to foot. I resisted the urge to narrow my eyes in speculation about what she actually was doing out there.
"I was focusing on taking a few plants when I heard... something," her eyes became distant and her shoulders raised up beside her ears unconsciously, "A crashing through the underbrush down from the mountaintops. When the thing got within about a mile of me, it stopped. Or, at least, I thought it had stopped. I stayed still, stayed crouched in the brush. Just... listening.
"And then, a voice piped up not twenty-five yards from the spot I was standing."
I took another bite of my sandwich and she jumped.
"Sorry," I mumbled, putting a hand to my mouth apologetically as I did so.
I wondered at the skinchangers' hearing, however. She didn't seem to realize how crazy it might be for a human to hear the creature from so far... but perhaps it was louder than I remembered?
Morgan shook off her irritation and continued, "It sounded like a person talking. But the words were gibberish - "
I swallowed fast, "Gibberish as in, they didn't sound like real words or it might have been another language?"
"Er," her eyes darted to Terry and Ray. Ray's head bobbed just barely. "It might've been another language, but if it was, it was mixing in English words. Putting them in parts of the sentence that didn't make any sense."
I frowned, fishing my phone out of my pocket, then hesitated. Five pairs of eyes watched me as I set it on the countertop instead and picked up my sandwich. I was tempted to play a sample of the Doric-Scottish dialect or Gaelic, the languages I suspected Carmen of speaking.
Still, on the chance that it was what Morgan had heard, it wouldn't be a good look to produce the exact language from such a vague description.
"Sorry for the distraction," I apologized, "Please continue."
"Need to be somewhere?"
"My Dad may be checking in."
Ray nodded and Terry turned his attention back to Morgan.
"Are you done interrupting?"
"Yes."
With a bird-size bite, I continued quietly eating.
"This thing was within twenty-five yards of me," she started up again, seeking out her rhythm, "I was alone, crouched next to a lamalis plant with nothing but a pocket knife on me. I tried to see it through the trees, but I couldn't quite make it out. It was big, but it knew how to stay close to the shadows. All I could see of it was a thick, humanoid outline with too-long arms and gleaming eyes.
"It spoke again. Nothing that sounded like a question or even aggression. Like it was just commenting. Maybe it thought that it could start a conversation? It just babbled. Then made some sounds like... pain. Whimpers. I couldn't move. And then, it started toward me again."
Morgan's crossed arms gripped herself now, holding firmly to her own sleeves.
"Slowly this time, it moved through the brush with heavy footfalls and labored breathing. Owen and Gavin and Aaron arrived then, having heard the creature's passage from a distance. As soon as more people came in, it turned tail and ran back the way it had come."
I waited a few moments, examining her expression.
"What do you think it was?" I asked, tilting my head curiously.
"A bear," she said, snapping out of her reverie, "There's no other explanation, right?"
I raised an eyebrow, but took another bite. This thing was likely the same creature that had approached Mason and me. The heavy breathing and indelicate travel were the same. Not to mention its disorganized speech, likely made manifest from those scattered thoughts Mason had observed. Could it be an alternate form of Carmen's? Had she exchanged her humanity for this transformation? Not impossible, I supposed, but certainly difficult.
"The day you were out collecting..." I started, then hesitated, my eyes roving over my company. I went out with it, "...was it raining?"
"It was overcast, but not rainy."
Perhaps the familiar was also weary of freshwater.
"What does it matter?"
"Those that practice black magic can't tolerate fresh water," I explained shortly, tilting my chin up to examine the ceiling in thought.
"Black magic..." Ray muttered, watching me.
"Black magic residues on a person can give you the creeps whenever you're near them."
"The witch," Morgan snapped before either Terry or Ray could caution her.
"There are all kinds of witches, sorcerers, and druids, yes, but not all of them practice black magic," I hedged, though I kept my voice confident, "You know a witch?"
"You know a - "
"Morgan," Terry said sharply.
I pulled the corners of my lips in a frown. The girl shook from the crown of her head to her toes. From the corner of my eye, I saw Gavin in a half-way standing position. With an air of unconcern, I began polishing off my sandwich, though I kept close attention on those gathered. The others eased back into their seats as Morgan recollected.
"I've kept you past your shift," I said apologetically, dabbing at my mouth with a napkin.
"It's fine," she muttered, untying the little apron and hanging it within an employee cupboard, "Pay up and we can head into town."
"Yes, right," I agreed quickly, slapping down a twenty dollar bill of my own as she shrugged on a navy utility jacket, "It was nice chatting with the pair of you!"
"'Course," Terry agreed with a nod as I hastily trailed Morgan out of the diner.
She walked past Mason's car, wrinkling her nose at it, and out of the parking lot with her hands buried deep in her pockets. I trotted to keep up with her long stride.
"Where to?" I asked, trying to keep pace and sneak looks at her face at the same time.
"Into town."
"Why?"
"'Why'?"
"Yeah, why?" I repeated, "For the tour? Shopping?"
"Shopping," her nose wrinkled at the word and she looked my outfit up and down, "We don't have any bougie skirts or flouncy shirts."
"I was just proposing a few things."
"We can... talk boys," she scoffed, keeping a brisk pace.
It sounded as if that was the opposite of what she wanted to do, but it was easy to surmise the reason for her proposition.
"Uh, well, what about them?"
"What's your type?"
"I don't really have one. Respectful men, I suppose."
She snorted, following the bend of the main road. A few of the town's main buildings came into view now; a smattering of squat houses, seabreeze-washed storefronts amid tall grasses and shrubs. And glimpses of the the gray-black inlet beyond it all. Clouds clotted the view of the mountains across the sound, a sweeping haze of gray-rain was visible on the horizon as a smear from sea to sky.
Town was a public place, likely safe, and yet it unsettled me not to have a set destination. My instincts itched; I couldn't just follow a random supernatural to a place I wasn't familiar with. If this had been a vampire, I would've never left the diner.
I stopped in my tracks.
"Where are we going?"
She stopped, eyebrows raised in surprise, "Dropping the act, are you?"
"Act? You're a stranger and you're leading me to who-knows-where."
"Why'd you even come?" she demanded, bristling.
"You invited me," I shrugged, kicking at a piece of stray gravel, "And I like talking to new people. But I've got a sense of self-preservation, you know. I'm not a ditz."
"I have yet to see that from you," she sighed, turning halfway back toward our destination, "We're going to the Lawatscoh Beach. It's just off the main road here."
"What's at Lawatscoh Beach?"
"Rocks, water, decent views."
We lapsed into silence until she crossed and peeled off the road. We dipped into a little trail carved through a salt-weathered line of brush. Muddy, sandy rocks clattered and shushed beneath my shoes as we walked out. The twisted roots of a scant few drift-logs reached outward toward the waterline and the gentle rush of relentless waves swelled in my ears.
"A good enough place to talk about boys, I guess," I chuckled half-heartedly, moving across the stones indelicately without any glyphs to improve my balance, "Any men in your life?"
Morgan's footing found every even surface, hardly ever sending a stone clattering.
"No."
"Doubtful. You were crying earlier."
"Well you smell like- " she halted herself, and clunkily revised, "Like cologne."
"You got me," I shrugged as we wandered to the water's edge, "I've got a boyfriend."
"Any good?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is he any good?" she repeated.
"At... what?"
"I'm not-" she groaned, putting a hand to her face, "I'm not asking for specifics, I'm just asking in general."
"Yes, he's strangely good," I answered, baffled by the awkwardness between us, "When I first met him, I was really distrustful of him, but he's a good person."
Sharp, salty air crisped at my nose and I looked out over the expanse. It was a little intimidating; little whitecaps frothed quite a ways out and it was difficult to tell the sky from the water. There wasn't much to really look at, not while it was so overcast. Not while the distant rain smeared the horizon together into one great shade of gray.
"Why didn't you like him?" she asked, taking unnecessary interest in the stones as we followed the water's edge.
"He was uppity. He and his family stayed apart from everyone else. Like they were looking down on us and I hated that. When he and I first spoke, he talked about 'being alone for a reason'. It was so stupid. So I asked him out - "
"Why?"
"It was supposed to be a joke," I chuckled, "It's not anymore. He's actually a very thoughtful person; he's very concerned with right and wrong."
"A Warde is concerned with right and wrong?"
"I never told you who I was dating," I pointed out slyly and she stared off toward the horizon to hide her chagrin, "You small town folk are real gossips, you know that? And what did the Wardes ever do to you?"
"That's another set of people that your instincts seem dull about," she growled lowly, staring again at the stone in her hand morosely, "First the Wardes and then the Shopkeep. Can't you sense how off all these people are?"
"Off," I repeated, staring toward the far end of the beach, "Have you talked with any of these people? Or did you just write them off at first sight?"
"I trust my gut," she said resolutely, gripping the stone tight before tossing it into the waves. It landed with a sloshing plunk.
"If it works for you," I shrugged, unconvinced and now-irritated, "Didn't seem to help you with your romantic troubles."
Her dark eyes flashed angrily, but she kept her mouth shut.