A Boat Made of Bone (The Chthonic Saga) (27 page)

“What do you get annoyed about?”

She shrugged. “I won’t know till it happens.”

“I’m not buying it,” he said, grinning sideways at her.

“That annoys me,” she pointed out. “See, I told you I would know it when it happened.

He smiled. “It should. It bugs me when people don’t believe what I say.”

“Right. As though you’re a liar.”

“Not that I wouldn’t lie, from time to time. If the moment called for it.”

“That doesn’t sound like something you should be confessing,” Kate observed, biting the inside of her cheek and wondering if he was playing or using it as a cover to drop in hints of truth.

“You’re telling me you’ve never lied? Or that you wouldn’t if it was for the right reasons?”

They stopped at an intersection. The light was green, but the street running north-south was empty. “We can make it,” Kate announced. Ignoring his question, she stepped off the curb, beginning to cross the street.

Ty grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Wait a minute. I thought you weren’t in a hurry.”

“I’m not.”

“Then let’s wait till the light changes.”

Kate gaped up at him, shocked at the intensity of his reaction. His brow was furrowed and there was almost a panicked look in his eyes. The corners of his mouth drooped into a frown. Or a scowl. “Ah. OK. I guess I’m just a jaywalker. Thank you sheriff.”

The serious expression was gone, but even as he laughed, he crossed his arms in a defensive posture. “Look, you’re just a body. Those are huge machines of metal and steel. Pedestrian accidents usually result in the pedestrian either being dead or paralyzed.”

She smiled to cover up how weirded out she was by his firm stance on crossing the street. “Fine, no problem. Thank you for preventing me from becoming possible roadkill,” she joked. She tried not to let it bother her, but something about the experience put a bad taste in her mouth. She was silent until they got to the park, which was just half a block more and then up some steep, concrete steps where a crowd of people had decided to sit, smoking and chatting.

It was packed. Kate couldn’t believe that, that many city-folk were
this
into jazz guitar—Kate never, hardly ever sold jazz guitar albums at Suga’s. Maybe the odd Wes Montgomery or John Scofield album here or there, but nothing else. Who was she kidding? Maybe the people just loved a good open air concert on a weeknight.

Ty handed their tickets to the short, T-shirted lady manning the plastic table at the entrance. She tore their tickets and they slipped between the row of tables that made a barrier around the cement patio. As Ty guided them through the milling mob of sweaty bodies and people carrying plastic cups of beer, Kate couldn’t shake the feeling that a rain cloud had popped over her head after the incident at the intersection. She was embarrassed at her reaction to that moment. She should be flattered that he was worried about her. He did it to protect her, after all. Not to be overbearing and controlling. Right?

“What’s up, guys!” A familiar voice called. Kate stifled a groan.

“Hey Mal,” Ty answered.

“Hi Malcolm,” Kate said, noticing that her voice sounded surprisingly cheery.

“Kate, what’s up!” Malcolm said, slapping her on the back. In one hand he was gripping a red Dixie cup full of beer and the other was waving above his head as he tried to jam to the jazz guitarist up on stage.

Kate peeked through the crowd and caught sight of a shaggy-haired man in his late-forties dressed entirely in black. Black should be slimming and possibly flattering, but somehow this artist brought out the worst traits of the color. Perhaps it was the worn out plain black T, and the faded black denim of his pants. Or maybe it was the 90s black basketball shoes. Whatever it was, he was oblivious, a musical genius bent over his Les Paul, eyes closed, as though he felt the music and channeled it from his mind to his guitar. 

Kate shook her head and focused back on the people nearest her. Malcolm was surrounded by other climbers, partying and drinking beer as well. She recognized a few of them from the climbing trip up the canyon. She smiled and they grinned back. Friendly enough. Maybe they
could
be her friends. If she wanted something—a future, a friendship, anything—with Ty, she
should
get to know them. 

Ty turned to Kate. “You want a beer?” 

She shook her head.

“Me neither.” He laughed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Cool band.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Who is it?” She should probably recognize every musician in the world, working in a music store like she did, even the obscure jazz musicians, but she didn’t. 

Ty fished a ticket stub out of his pocket and showed one to Kate. Jack Stark.
Jack Stark.
Jack Stark. Jack Stark?
She drew a blank, which made her feel like a failure as a music expert.

Kate stared at the stage between the writhing bodies blocking her view, only catching snippets here and there of what happened. Malcolm kept undulating like a squid trying to mate with a submarine in an attempt to look cool or dance or something. Kate averted her gaze, feeling awkward just at the sight of him. He turned and flashed the devil-horn hand gesture at her just as Jack’s drummer launched into a mad solo.

“Great band!” Malcolm yelled, grinning hugely.

Kate smiled at him. Conversing during a live performance was never worth the effort.

“You heard them before?” Malcolm asked.

“No,” she yelled back. “You?”

“Nah, but I love it,” he said, swinging his hips, getting into his dancing even more, as though to demonstrate how much he loved it.

“Cool,” she said.

“Hey, you remember Mike, Jason, Lisa, Greta, and Mags, right?” He asked, gesturing to the others dancing and milling about around him.

“Sure.”

Greta turned and smiled and Kate flashed her best grin back. Today Greta had her Oreo cookie-sized ear plugs in, and her dreads were pulled up in a ponytail. 

“Fantastic,” Malcolm said.

“Who’s watching the gym?” Ty asked, just as the music stopped.

“Koji,” Malcolm answered.

“Anyone else? That’s kind of a tall order for a week night just for one dude,” Ty observed.

“Casey was going to show up to climb, so they’ll both have it under control. They’ll set a few new routes, too,” Malcolm answered with a nonchalant shrug, as though managing a business was no big thing. He looked into his Dixie cup, tilted it upside down and a few amber drops rolled out. “You guys want a beer? I need a refill.”

“No thanks,” Kate answered.

Ty shook his head.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. Sorry Ty,” Malcolm said, his face softening and his brow darkening. “Sorry man.” He said, clapping Ty on the shoulder in a surprisingly tender move as he walked away, pushing through the crowd toward the beer table at the edge of the square.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kate heard Ty say in a quiet voice.

The band dove into a new song with a crash of drums, bass, and guitar beginning all at once, but Kate wasn’t paying attention. She stared at Ty’s face, wondering what that weirdness was.

Ty’s gaze shifted toward her. She’d turned fully toward him, her back to the stage. A smile crept up his cheeks. “What?” he asked, lowering his gaze and blinking.

“Why is Malcolm so sorry for offering you a beer?” Kate was suddenly thinking that maybe Ty was an alcoholic. Maybe he’d done time for drunk driving. Maybe he was in juvie for under-age drinking. Her mind ran wild.

Ty laughed. “He’s just a little drunk already and he’s one of those loving, gushing drunks.” He inhaled through his teeth, shook his head and swung his arms in a casual way. There wasn’t much room and his hands bumped into Kate’s stomach. “Oops, sorry.” He laughed.

Kate shrugged and grinned widely. Probably too wide, but she didn’t want him to read what she was thinking.
I guess I do lie,
she thought. But so? Ty wouldn’t tell her.
He
was lying, about whatever it was that made Malcolm apologize about the beer. Must have been really bad. Kate’s eyes narrowed, watching him enough that he began to blush.

Twilight had deepened. Beneath the shadow of the downtown high-rises, the evening took on a mystical quality. The crowd throbbed around them. They were drunk. The music could have been pan-flutes played by a junior high pan-flute club and the audience would have been giddy over it. Ty laughed beneath Kate’s smiling-scrutiny.

“It’s nothing serious, Kate. I promise.”

“I wasn’t even worried about it,” she told him, lying. More lies. She was a big liar. She’d never thought about it much before. Her entire time with Ty was a lie, since she really wanted to be with a man kept from her during the day. 

“Good. Because you have nothing to worry about, I promise. Check out that guy.” He motioned with his head.

She followed his eyes and saw a man dressed in all black with thick metal spikes sticking out of his clothes everywhere. The gleaming, wicked metal spikes lined his shoulders, his arms, thighs, boots, and there were a few even jutting out of his eyebrows and beneath his bottom lip. The crowd cut a wide berth for him, about four feet of space, as he moved straight from the back to the very front.

“I wouldn’t have pegged him a jazz fan,” Kate said thoughtfully.

Ty shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “He probably loves tennis matches too.”

“And golf.”

“He’s got sophisticated taste. Doesn’t like to be pigeon-holed.”

“Self-expression is vital,” Kate explained, ready to carry the joke all the way to Antarctica and back. “Besides, he’s figured out the best way to get close to the stage. I’ve just seen my next indie-show outfit. Pure genius.” Without warning, a wave of cold swept over her and took her breath in an involuntary gasp. Just as she was falling forward into Greta and Mike, she realized she’d been knocked over. Also, she was soaked in beer.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered to Greta and Mike. They turned simultaneously to catch Kate and help her right herself.

“No problem,” Greta said.

“What happened?” Mike asked.

Angry voices tangled in the space behind her. She turned to find Ty in some frat-looking guy’s face. A vein throbbed in Ty’s neck. His face was red in fury. He pointed back at Kate with one arm that burst with a lacework of arteries.

“Someone spilled their beer all over me. Him, I guess,” she muttered, but she didn’t think Mike and Greta heard her. They were staring at Ty and presumably the guy whose beer Kate was now wearing.

“Mike, you better stop them,” Greta said.

“He’s got it,” Mike said.

“She knocked into me,” the guy said, defending himself. “It wasn’t my fault, man.” His blond hair stuck straight up in spikes, his arms and legs were unnaturally smooth and tan.  There were two other dudes standing at his side in a defensive posture.

“I didn’t,” Kate said to Greta who had turned to Kate. “I was just standing there, stock-still.”

“He’s drunk,” Greta whispered back.

“—standing right next to her. There’s no way this is her fault. Hold your drink, dude, or don’t drink in public.”

“Tell your slut to watch where she’s going,” the drunken frat-boy said, his lip curled in a sneer.

Oh shit. 

“Mike, stop him,” Kate pled.

“No way,” Mike shook his shaved head firmly. “This is Ty’s deal. That guy just called you a slut. He’s going down.”

Kate moved to Ty’s side. A little circle had opened up around them. The music kept going, but Kate glanced over the heads of the audience and saw the ticket-lady pointing at Ty, motioning to a man in a security uniform. Oh, no. Not security. Police.

“Drop it, Ty,” Kate said, raising her voice so he could hear her. “Let it go. It doesn’t matter.”

The frat-boy sneered and egged Ty on. “Yeah, listen to your slut. It was her fault. She knocked into my beer and it spilled.”

“That’s not what happened,” Kate growled. She hated conflict, but she wouldn’t be falsely accused. “Let’s get out of here, Ty. He’s not worth it.”

“Come on, Ty-poo, let me lead you by the balls,” the frat-boy taunted. Kate raised an eyebrow, and smiled sarcastically at him.

“You’re quite the man,” she said. She saw the policeman and his partner pushing down through the crowd on the steps that lead to the square of lawn where the majority of the audience stood. Kate didn’t want this to escalate, but she was having a hard time thinking straight with adrenalin pumping through her body.

“At least I’m a man and not a dirty whore,” he said.

Before she had time to slap him, Ty shoved him in the chest and began to bear down on him. Then out of nowhere Malcolm was there, pulling Ty off the other guy.

“Let it go, Ty, let it go, man. He’s not worth it,” Malcolm was saying in a soothing tone.

Frat-boy’s friends were holding him by the arms, cursing at Ty, yelling threats at him, inviting him back to their frat-house for a real man’s fight.

Malcolm had Ty by the arm and one hand on his upper back, and was guiding him to the far edge of the square, heading in the opposite direction of the police. Kate followed them, with Greta and Mike close behind. Evidently the others missed the action, which took less than two minutes to transpire.

They headed between an opening in the row of tables that delineated the concert area and made their way to a quiet spot beneath a trellis laced with honeysuckle vine. They could still hear the music, but it was muffled. The stage faced away from the trellis.

Ty shook Malcolm’s hands off him and strutted away, rolling his head right and left like a prize-fighter, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t. You were about to lose your shit on him, man,” Malcolm said. “And the cops were heading straight for you. Two, just the one was short. I saw them on my way back from the beer table.”

“It was fine,” Ty said. “I was just going to give him a bloody lip.”

“And then you would have been arrested.”

“He
was
asking for it,” Ty said. Greta and Kate exchanged a glance. He was asking for it. But cops didn’t care for that excuse.

Malcolm just laughed, not even willing to dispute that.

Mike decided to pipe in, running his fingers over his shaved head. “You have to keep your cool, Ty. Guys like that live to start fights and watch as the one who threw the first punch gets arrested.”

Ty paced back and forth, taking deep breaths. “Thanks guys. I appreciate it, I do. I’ll most likely thank you more tomorrow. But look, I’m in no mood to stay here.” He lifted his gaze to Kate’s. “So, do you still want to hang out with me?”

“Of course,” Kate reassured him. She was freezing—the night had cooled slightly—and she was still soaked with beer, which made her smell like a frat-party, surprisingly enough. All she needed was a spritzer of vomit and the image would be complete. Mike and Greta began whispering between themselves, and Malcolm glanced in his still-empty Dixie cup, looking disgusted. He searched around for a garbage can.

Ty’s lips twitched in a slight grin. “Then let’s get out of here. Is that cool?”

“Sounds good.”

18: Cracking the Past Open

Kate ran through a house like a maze. Red, worn carpet absorbed her footfalls. Faded, gaudy wallpaper peeled in thin, fragile strips through long hallways with doors bearing names like “Twilight Misty,” “Barbara Boudoir, “Strawberry Ride,” and other nonsensical titles. The whole place was eerie and creepy. She didn’t dare open any of the doors. She searched through a large kitchen, and an enormous living room type area with a strange platform at one end that must have been a stage.

She found nothing. Will should have been there somewhere. Panic crept through her fragile composure. She slowed down. She controlled her breathing. She focused. For a moment, she closed her eyes and tried to feel which direction he pulled on her. Slowly, she climbed the stairs to the landing where the never-ending hallway of rooms was, and came to a door labeled “Bareback Betty.” Her fingers hovered over the burnished metal of the knob.
Why here? What is this place?

He must have been beyond the door, but she was afraid of what she might find. The place felt haunted. It was empty, but it felt full.

She took a sharp breath, twisted the knob, and shoved the door open in one motion. The room was full of mirrors and a four-poster bed. There was even a mirror on the ceiling.