“Bring your own . . . ?”
“Food and booze.”
“Makes sense.” Grimshaw waited a beat. “How many pizzas are you contributing?”
Julian laughed. “Four.”
He nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“You too?”
“Osgood can man the phones at the station this evening. I figure being at The Jumble is the best chance of seeing who is living around Lake Silence and might cross paths with humans. And I’m officially escorting the academics back to the Mill Creek Cabins since they’ll be driving after dark.”
Sproing was a human community, but it wasn’t human controlled. That meant there were no boundaries between humans and the wild country. There was no longer a curfew, but no one with any sense stayed out too long after dark.
“I’ll see you at The Jumble,” Grimshaw said.
When he was halfway across the street, Julian said, “Are you going to wear a costume?”
His reply was an unmistakable hand gesture that earned a gasp from a couple of women he’d seen around for the past few weeks. New residents? Well, when he took this job, he didn’t promise to work on his public relations skills. At least, not with the human population. Still . . .
“Ladies.” He gave them a nod and walked into the police station.
The station looked outdated, but it was clean, had everything he and Osgood needed, and had enough room for one more officer now that they had shoehorned in a third desk and a desktop computer for police business—assuming anyone else wanted to work in a place like Sproing. So far, he and Osgood had been able to handle the calls, especially since residents realized that anything fanged, furry, and curious might show up to “assist.”
Hopefully fisticuffs over the last bunch of carrots or bag of candy would be the worst he’d have to deal with, especially if he kept an eye on Vicki DeVine tonight. She meant well, and he couldn’t dispute that The Jumble being a working concern again had improved the economy of the entire village, but she was also the reason he knew a whole lot more about the terra indigene residents around Lake Silence than most of the humans in the area. It wasn’t knowledge that gave a man a good night’s sleep.
On the other hand, he firmly believed that ignorance was bullshit, not bliss. Given a choice, he’d rather lose some sleep and have a chance to wake up the next morning.
CHAPTER 3
Them
Windsday, Grau 31
His adversary was here! In Sproing!
They had an agreement not to work in the same place at the same time because the results of one research project might give authorities some concern, but two projects, given the nature of their research, were bound to draw too much attention to themselves. He’d been planning this for weeks, preparing the ground, so to speak, and bringing in all the pieces for the project. Carefully. So carefully, because this was far more dangerous than research that dealt with just humans.
The terra indigene were not without weaknesses, not without flaws of personality, and he had a knack for finding those weaknesses and exploiting those flaws, regardless of species. Sometimes it was as simple as telling someone over and over that their malignant thoughts were good and true, and they were justified in inflicting evil upon others of their own kind as well as anyone else. Sometimes, bringing about the desired result took a little more convincing.
Everything was ready. There was no other place suitable for this particular experiment, so he didn’t have a choice. He had to go ahead with his plans for this evening—and he would deal with any potential interference in an appropriate manner.
Adversary. No. That sounded like someone of equal strength and skill, and that wasn’t true. This rivalry had been going on for years, and he had never been bested. Never.
And he wouldn’t be bested now.
CHAPTER 4
Vicki
Windsday, Grau 31
On Trickster Night, the children arrived around dusk. I learned later that cars lined both sides of Lake Street, and a man with yellow-and-blue-tipped red hair, riding a brown horse with a storm gray mane and tail, had directed traffic. It had taken only a couple of impatient honkers suddenly facing a fire tornado instead of a horse and rider to encourage everyone to be very polite and patient.
So Aiden, the local Fire Elemental, and Twister, who looked like a chubby pony when he wasn’t being an Elemental’s steed or tornadic devastation, directed traffic while a couple of enterprising parents with larger vehicles ferried children up the gravel access road to The Jumble’s main house to receive the treats being handed out by Cougar and Conan.
Grimshaw remained outside near the front door, watching everyone and scanning the darkness that seemed to swallow the light shining from all the windows, as well as the lights on either side of the door. Julian stayed inside, helping me with my guests and the academics staying at the Mill Creek Cabins as they navigated the twists and turns of making small talk with beings who saw no reason for such communication.
I thought we were doing quite well until Foxy Female grabbed a treat out of the bowl Cougar was taking to the door, then shifted her head to full Foxgard in order to crunch down on a bit o’ mouse.
Funny thing. Even after she shifted her head back to mostly human, the men who had been flirting with her had shown reluctance to get better acquainted. Might have been her breath at that point. Or the tiny end of the mouse tail that was caught between two teeth.
I, on the other hand, had rushed to the door just in time to hear Cougar say, “Heads or tails?” before offering the bowl to a male child of indeterminate species.
“No!” I yelped.
Grimshaw snapped to attention.
“Why not?” Cougar asked. “We have plenty.”
The boys—or someone—had been busy collecting treats. Conan held the bowl with the hard candy, thank the gods. Cougar’s bowl held neatly halved mice and chipmunks that were missing the gooiest innards.
Cougar assured me that he and Conan could tell the difference between human and terra indigene young, but I wondered how many phone calls Grimshaw would take tonight from hysterical parents of human male children when they dumped the treat bag on the dining room table and found The Jumble’s unique contribution to Trickster Night.
I took over treat distribution—hard candy only. We were down to the last handful of children when a girl walked up to the door from one direction and two boys about the same age headed toward me. All of them were dressed in black, but two of them looked like they were in costume and the other one looked like . . . what she was.
“We’re vampires,” said a boy with a cape and red lips that had to have come from raiding his mother’s makeup bag.
“So am I,” the girl said.
“Yeah? Let’s see your fangs.” The boy was genuinely interested enough that he thrust his treat bag in my direction without checking to see what he might be getting.
Ilya’s voice came out of the darkness. “It is impolite to show fang in public.”
Unless you’re going to bite someone.
I knew that wasn’t quite true, since Ilya showed a hint of fang when he was amused—or threatening someone—but I imagine he didn’t want Sanguinati youngsters to be thought of as some kind of entertainment. Gimme a nickel and I’ll show you fang.
The young vampires, both real and wannabes, retreated. The car ferrying human children went down the access road.
Three more Sanguinati approached. Teenagers. The girl was gorgeous and seemed a little shy, which struck me as the perfect bait for the kind of man who thought shy meant being unable to say no. One boy had pleasant looks, while the other had the sort of looks that made me think he would be able to challenge Ilya for the title of Mr. Yummy in a few years.