The Wild Ways (37 page)
Charlie pushed her guitar out of the way and pulled him into a hug. “I want you here,” she told him as he fought her grip, but she knew she couldn’t have held him if he didn’t want to be held. “You decide if you go back. I just want you to realize it could get dangerous.”
“Yeah, the gingerbread crack kind of gave that away.” He squirmed, suddenly very fourteen about being hugged, and she let him go. When they were far enough apart, he grinned. “You met my uncles, right? So far, this world is pretty much not dangerous.”
“So far, the aunties have left you alone.”
“So far, I’m still fourteen.”
“That was my point. Fine.” She held up her hand. “Fist bump. Wild Powers activate. Enough time wasted on mushy shit.”
Jack’s knuckles sizzled against hers. “Weirdest person I’m related to.”
“Pot, kettle, cuz.”
A few moments later, Charlie watched him rise from behind the shed like a shooting star in reverse, easy enough to explain away as a spark against the night sky to people already staring at a fire. She started back to the festival grounds and realized she was walking across bare earth. An arc about two meters wide had been completely cleared of grass out in back of the burning chip wagon. Jack had removed the grass. Since she couldn’t see a pile of it, she hoped he’d just tossed it onto the fire. The day he first arrived, he’d made a pair of jeans out of fabric ripped from the interior of a rental car, so all that grass could have become a couple dozen . . .
She frowned, sighed, and muttered, “I got nothin’.”
“Little Burned Potato,” her fiddler suggested.
“Dude, trust me, you’ve got nothing either.”
“A gang of teenagers on drugs?” Charlie stared at Mark in disbelief. “Seriously?”
Mark shrugged. He had a smear of ash on one cheek, and his sporran looked singed. “You got a better explanation, Chuck? That chip wagon didn’t take a dive all on its own. Of course, Marty . . .”
“Piper from Hallelujah Frog?”
“That’d be the Marty. He seems to think it’s a plot by the other bands to keep the Frog from winning.”
“How much had Marty had to drink?”
“Funny, that’s what the Horseman asked him. Looks like Tim’s ready to go; I guess the festival committee doesn’t want our help rebuilding.” Mark jumped down off the picnic table and flipped his kilt into place. “You heading back to Shelly’s brother-in-law’s cousin’s place?”
“No.” She stood her guitar case on end between her feet, crossed her hands on the top, and rested her chin on them. “I’m waiting for Jack.”
“Jesus, Jack!” Mark whirled in place as if he expected to find Jack standing behind him. “Where the hell has the kid gone?”
“He’s fine. He’s . . . gone off with someone.” After, not with, but otherwise, not exactly a lie.
“A friend?”
“A
friend.
”
friend.
”
“Ah.” Mark nodded sagely. “Adrenaline rush. It’s a statistical truth that more people get laid after horror movies than . . . Wait a minute. I thought you said he was fourteen! I mean, I was precocious, but . . .”
“They’re talking,” Charlie sighed. “Not fucking.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Not that it was immediately relevant, but did Boggarts even have a gender? Although, she considered as she watched Tim wipe the ash off Mark’s face with some spit and the hem of his T-shirt, little Boggarts had to come from somewhere.
Charlie had no idea how Jack’s hunt was going, but the rest of Grinneal hadn’t been hard to locate. She’d found Shelly helping a cousin deal with three terrified kids and, in reaction to the growing
no court in the land would convict me
expressions on both adults’ faces, had strummed a charm onto each child. Shelly’s cousin had burst into tears of relief when all three kids had simultaneously calmed down and cheered up. Tanis had fled toward the Fort and the water when Jack roared, and one of the pipers had seen Bo go after her, upset for her sake but fine on his own account. Turned out that Mark and Tim had been among those helping to haul stuff away from the burning chip wagon and had been thanked and then chased off by the fire department. When Charlie had retrieved her case and caught up to them, Tim was on his way to see if he could help rebuild the stage, so Charlie and Mark had claimed a picnic table between the parking lot and the temporary fencing, sitting in a circle of illumination under one of the pole lights.
no court in the land would convict me
expressions on both adults’ faces, had strummed a charm onto each child. Shelly’s cousin had burst into tears of relief when all three kids had simultaneously calmed down and cheered up. Tanis had fled toward the Fort and the water when Jack roared, and one of the pipers had seen Bo go after her, upset for her sake but fine on his own account. Turned out that Mark and Tim had been among those helping to haul stuff away from the burning chip wagon and had been thanked and then chased off by the fire department. When Charlie had retrieved her case and caught up to them, Tim was on his way to see if he could help rebuild the stage, so Charlie and Mark had claimed a picnic table between the parking lot and the temporary fencing, sitting in a circle of illumination under one of the pole lights.
Although the stage remained dark, the perimeter lights hadn’t gone out. Small mercies.
“Right, Chuck?” Mark’s question jerked Charlie’s wandering mind back to the here and now. He grinned and elbowed Tim. “I told you she wasn’t listening.”
Eyes open wide, she faked a look of rapt attention. “I’m listening now.”
“Good. Because this is your leader speaking. I want to run through the set list tomorrow morning. The fine people in paid attendance at Samhradh Ceol Feill deserve a band that’s got its musical shit together after tonight’s excitement.”
“And it won’t hurt our standing with the judges either.”
“That’s what Tim said. So . . .” He gripped her knee, his palm warm and dry. “Don’t stay out too late. There’ll be a thermos of my secret recipe honey/lemon tea left on the stairs, so drink it before bed for your voice. You’ve been sucking smoke and we don’t need another baritone. And maybe think about changing your two.” A nod toward the guitar case. “It’s sounding a bit harsh.”
“Anything else, Mom?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Think about dying your hair. You walking around all natural and blonde is freaking me the hell out.”
There weren’t many cars left in the parking lot when Tim and Mark pulled out: her wagon, a few vehicles close to the stage she assumed belonged to the volunteers doing the rebuild, and a bus from Sydney that seemed short a few passengers.
More to have something to do with her hands than in any expectation of an answer, Charlie pulled out her phone and called Auntie Catherine again. Five rings. Nine. Thirteen. Charlie cut the connection.
The phone rang.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Your sisters . . .”
Charlie balanced her chin on the top of her guitar case, letting the words literally flow in one ear and out the other, listening past the sounds of construction and profanity for the sound of wings. At the first pause in the monologue, she straightened and said, “Mom, they’re going to Paris, not spending seven years in the Under Realm. Let it go.”
“But they’ll be alone!”
“Everyone has to go it alone sometime, Mom. Even Gales. And there’s two of them,” she sighed to herself as she hung up.
Hanging up would come back and bite her on the ass later, but right now, hip-deep in family drama, she didn’t have the patience for family sitcoms. She thought about calling to see if Allie was still mad, but a glossy black penis-mobile turning into the parking lot caught her eye. At first she thought the driver was a family member arriving late to rescue loved ones from the chaos, but then she realized it wasn’t so much heading toward her in a general sort of way as it was aiming right at her.
She wouldn’t have let that go on a good night. Tonight . . .
Time spent touring the prairies on the Dun Good bus had taught her a lot about vehicular charming, and these assholes with their size-fourteen carbon footprint were about to find out what happened when Charlie Gale played a country song backward.
Then the car stopped, parked diagonally across two spaces. Okay, maybe she’d overreacted a bit to their sense of direction, but given how much she hated people who didn’t know the definition of parallel, she was half inclined to charm their manifold off just on principle.
She had her guitar out of the case when the passenger door slammed open, and Eineen emerged looking gorgeous and determined. Charlie froze, the strap held over her head. She hadn’t seen Eineen in jeans before. She had an amazing ass.
“I need to speak to the Prince.”
And suddenly the finger was off the pause button. “Hello to you, too,” Charlie muttered settling the strap over her shoulders. “Yeah, we had a bit of an incident tonight; stage fell down, chip wagon burned, but everyone’s fine, thanks for asking.”
Eineen glanced over at the festival grounds and the smoke rising from the remains of the fire. “What happened?”
“We had Boggarts.”
“We had Goblins.”
Charlie opened her mouth. Closed it again. Finally slid off the picnic table onto her feet and said, “Okay, you win.” Goblins wouldn’t have stopped at malicious vandalism; they’d have gone straight to rending and tearing. Jack would’ve had to change to deal with them, and Charlie would’ve had to call in the aunties to deal with the fallout. She shuddered. Fun, wow.
Speaking of aunties . . . Boggarts fell into the general shit-disturbing category, but why would Auntie Catherine bring Goblins over?
Wait a minute.
“We?”
The driver’s door opened, and a tall young man emerged. In his own way, he was just as gorgeous as Eineen. Beautiful dark skin, that sexy shaved head and goatee combo, slim but in good shape. He looked vaguely familiar, so Charlie leaned out for a better angle as he walked around the car to stand beside the Selkie. His suit pants clung to the curves of an equally great ass and the sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt had been meticulously folded to expose an expensive watch. On his feet, he wore a pair of scuffed and dusty shoes that probably cost more than the combined value of every piece of clothing Charlie’d brought with her to Nova Scotia.
“Paul Belleveau.” Eineen’s voice laid overtones of possession on the name. “Charlotte Gale.”
Paul visibly paled. Considering the lack of light and his skin tone, it was an impressive reaction.
NINE
“C
HARLOTTE
GALE
?” Paul took a step thatput him between her and
HARLOTTE
GALE
?” Paul took a step thatput him between her and
Eineen, although Charlie doubted he knew he’d done it. “Carlson Oil paid a
Catherine
Gale to take the pelts.”
Catherine
Gale to take the pelts.”
“Whose idea was it?”
“Hers.” He’d responded without thinking and was obviously not happy about it. Too bad.
“That’s interesting.” Charlie let her guitar swing around until it hung down her back à la Johnny Cash. She folded her arms but kept her expression neutral. “And when I say interesting, I don’t mean it’s interesting that it was her idea; it’s interesting that you knew it was her idea. I saw you at the press conference, but you’re not a reporter, not in those shoes, and you’re not a low-level flunky either.” The items on the desk outside Amelia Carlson’s office had been arranged with the same anal attention to detail that marked the roll of Paul Belleveau’s shirtsleeves. He couldn’t have gotten the fold more precise even if he’d measured it, and Charlie wasn’t ruling that out. “Amelia Carlson’s assistant, I presume?”
They didn’t need to know Tanis had already told her who Eineen’s new boy toy was. They could remain in awe of her powers of deduction.
Paul ignored her, turning to Eineen. “I don’t think it’s coincidence that they have the same last name.”
“It isn’t.” Eineen took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “They’re family. But it’s not important.”
“You’ve never met Catherine Gale.” From his tone, Paul had. The aunties left a lasting impression. “Trust me, it’s important.”
“We’re not on the same side,” Charlie told him, still neutral, stating a fact. She didn’t owe him reassurance. Not that there was a lot she could say about Catherine Gale any sane man would find reassuring. “What Auntie Catherine did, well, that messed up our fiddler’s girlfriend and that messed up our fiddler. I don’t want our fiddler messed up, that messes with the music. That puts Auntie Catherine and me on opposite sides.” It was the first time she’d made a definitive declaration. It hung in the air for a moment, waiting for Charlie to deny it, or qualify it, or freak out about it, but Charlie picked none of the above. Auntie Catherine had messed with the music. Turned out, it was as simple as that.
Dum dum dum DUM.
“So . . .” She shifted her gaze past Paul to Eineen and moved on to the next bit of business. “. . . of all the seashores in all the world, who’d have thought Amelia Carlson’s assistant would show up on yours. Bad ballads get written about those kinds of coincidences.”
“Not coincidence, destiny.” Eineen breathed the word.
The fiddler kicked in with the first few bars of “Wha Can Help It.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Useful.”
Proportions shifted as the Selkie’s glamour flickered. “Not mutually exclusive.”
Holding up both hands in the universal sign for,
dial it down, sweetheart, I’m not dissing your bright and shiny new relationship,
Charlie murmured
,
“Fair enough.” Not a surrender as much as an acknowledgment that it was none of her business. It wasn’t like she’d ever actually had a chance of Eineen showing up on her seashore.
dial it down, sweetheart, I’m not dissing your bright and shiny new relationship,
Charlie murmured
,
“Fair enough.” Not a surrender as much as an acknowledgment that it was none of her business. It wasn’t like she’d ever actually had a chance of Eineen showing up on her seashore.
Paul shook his head. “You can’t trust . . .” he began, but his voice trailed off when Eineen stroked his arm with pale fingers.
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