He wrapped the bun in a paper towel and carefully squashed it down into the front right-hand pocket of his jeans. Turning to go, a movement in the parking lot caught his eye.
His truck was the only vehicle out there. If some of the older kids were about to do any damage, it would have to be to his truck.
Over his dead body. That truck had brought him from Newfoundland to Kingston in February and, in one of the worst winters on record, had gone through everything he’d asked it to. And one thing he hadn’t asked it to, but the gas pumps hadn’t actually exploded and the police had determined that the large patch of black ice had been at fault rather than his driving, so technically it had been an uneventful trip. Anyway, he loved that truck.
Moving quietly to the window, he pushed aside enough of the vertical blinds to allow him to scout the enemy; no point in rushing out like an idiot if his truck was safe.
The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen looked in at him, smiled, and gracefully beckoned him closer.
Dean swallowed, hard. He could feel his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a buoy on high seas.
Her smile sharpened.
Moving from space to space between the vertical slats so that he wouldn’t have to take his eyes off her, Dean shuffled toward the door.
“Dean?” Austin brushed up against his shins. “What are you looking at?”
His tongue felt thick. He had to force it to make words. “Irresistibly beautiful woman.”
“Out there? In the parking lot?”
“Needs me. Needs me to go to her.”
“Uh-huh. Look again.”
A sudden sharp pain in Dean’s calf jerked the world back into focus. Out in the parking lot, the beauty was no longer quite so irresistible. Her eyes held dark shadows, her teeth were far too white and there didn’t seem to be much in the way of boundary between where she ended and the night began. Feeling as though he were standing on the edge of a fog-shrouded cliff, Dean stuffed trembling fingers into his pocket and grabbed one end of the fairy bun.
Belief is everything when dealing with baked goods.
A misty figure, vaguely woman-shaped directed her burning gaze down toward the cat and hissed angrily.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Nice try, now get lost Come on,” he added as the spirit disappeared, “let’s get me a piece of that pork left from dinner, then get you back to the lobby before something else shows up.”
Conscious of the blood slowly soaking into his jeans, Dean fed and followed without an argument.
“Well?” Claire asked impatiently as they came out into the light.
“I was right He was in trouble. Judging from his reaction and the noise it made before it disappeared, I’m guessing it was a Lhiannan-Shee.”
“A fairy sweetheart?”
“Not a sweetheart,” Dean protested remembering its final appearance.
“We all have our bad days.” Claire grabbed him by the elbow and spun him around. “Are you all right?”
“Sure.” He felt a little light-headed and his skin prickled where the hair had risen all over his body, but he still had his soul, so the rest seemed too minor to mention.
“What happened to your leg?”
“Austin.”
“Hey, I had to get his attention, didn’t I?” Austin demanded as Claire turned a raised eyebrow in his direction.
“By attempting an amputation?”
Industriously washing a front paw, he ignored her.
“I know a man who die from a cat scratch,” Jacques announced rematerializing halfway up the stairs. “The scratch, it went…How do you say, septique?”
“Septic.”
“Oui. Had to cut it off and he dies.”
“Died.”
“Oui.” He smiled at Dean. “Should we cut off your leg now or later?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m insulted,” Austin snorted. “My claws are clean.”
“Maybe you’d better go wash your leg,” Claire suggested, nodding toward her suite. “Use my bathroom. There’s some antibiotic cream in the medicine chest.”
At the sight of the roughly circular stain, Dean sucked in air through his teeth. About three inches in diameter, it was an ugly red-brown, darker in the center of the top curve. “Oh, man. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To change. I don’t get these jeans into cold water soon, I’ll never get the blood out.”
“Don’t look out any windows!” Claire yelled as he ran for the basement “I don’t believe him,” she muttered over the sound of his work boots clumping down the stairs. “One minute he’s terrified, the next, a laundry problem drives the whole experience from his mind.”
“He is right about the bloodstain and cold water,” Jacques pointed out. “You see these?” He slapped his thighs. “Cover with blood when I fall in the lake and now, for eternity, clean.”
Claire helped herself to a chocolate bar. “Don’t you start.”
A few moments later. Dean reentered the lobby in jeans so clean the creases were a lighter shade of blue.
“Well?”
He smiled. “I’ve been hurt worse while still on the bench.”
“Next time I’ll dig a little deeper,” Austin muttered as another group of kids arrived.
For about half an hour, a steady procession of the neighborhood children climbed up the steps to claim their loot. Claire kept a wary eye on the wards while Dean stood in the open doorway, happily handing out the candy. By the time the crowd thinned and the stairs emptied, it was full dark.
“Uh, Boss? There’s a real evil-looking cow down on the street.”
“A cow?”
“Yeah. It’s got barbed horns and glowing red eyes.”
“Considering how the rest of the stuffs been manifesting, it’s probably a Guytrash.”
“What should I do?”
“Shut the door; it’ll go away.”
Brow creased, he did as he was told. “These things can’t hurt the kids, can they?”
“Have you ever heard of a kid being hurt by a cow on Halloween?”
“Well, no, but…”
“This kind of manifestation can’t hurt you if you don’t believe it can hurt you, and frankly, not many people believe in the traditional ghoulies anymore.” The wards blazed red and Claire reached for the door. “There’s probably enough race memory left to give them a bit of a scare, but isn’t that what tonight’s abo…oh, my.” She stared up at the very large man wearing what looked to be black plastic armor and shivered a little at the menace in the black plastic eyes.
“Truth or dare?” His voice was darker; deeper even, if that was possible.
It was essentially the same question. The trick was, never for an instant to show uncertainty. “Truth.”
“You think you can do it alone, but you can’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve had your truth.” She could hear amusement in the dark tone. “Now, it’s my turn.”
“Hey, Nicho! Look who it is!”
A pair of six- or seven-year-olds charged up the stairs and grabbed onto the trailing black cloak.
“You are so cool, man.”
“You’re our favorite.”
“It’s really you, isn’t it?”
He turned enough to look ominously down at them. “Yes. Really.”
“Cool.”
“Way cool.”
“Can we have your autograph?”
“Will you come home with me and meet our mom?”
“No, no! Better! Come to school with us tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you could slice and dice those guys who won’t let us on the swings.”
“Slice and dice!”
The features of the mask were, of course, immobile, but Claire thought she could detect a faint hint of building panic as the question and comments continued at machine-gun speed.
“You looked a lot taller in the movie.”
“Where’d you get those cool boots?”