Swallow the Moon (21 page)

June carefully wrapped each basket in clear plastic and tucked them into a box. The larger baskets held tins of cooking herbs, bottles of herb flavored oils and vinegars. She had small baskets filled with teas and jelly jars of sugar-coated spearmint and peppermint drops. Last, the fancier gift baskets she'd filled with herbal soaps, lotions and lip balm.

Aunt Lizzie's herb flavored oils had been a family favorite for years. Her teas graced the medicine chests of every family member. "A tea for whatever ails you," was the family mantra. June felt that she was taking Aunt Lizzie's herb lore to people who needed it. She loaded everything into the trunk of her car. This load was going to Iris on consignment.

June drove her car to the Harbor, across the lift bridge and up Bridge Street. As a child, her parents had taken her to Hulbert's restaurant for brunch after church every Sunday. The restaurant was still there; she wondered if they still served the wonderful Sunday brunches.

June parked her car in front of Iris' shop. She got the box out, set it on the bumper of her car. She looked over to the building next door. The sprawling structure was painted dark red with black trim. She was at the wrong angle to read the glass windows, but she didn't need to see the sign to know who owned the shop. The music coming from the body shop was loud and familiar. The bass run had haunted her dreams since she first saw Cora's video clip. Thanks to the clip, she knew the band – Iron Butterfly, an acid rock group from the 60's.

Van Man Go's shop was open – the bay doors up. June peeked around the corner. Van was the connection to the motorcycle and all three owners. If only she could talk to him. June sighed; this was getting her nowhere. She turned back to Iris's shop.

"Hello!" Iris was dusting off a shelf, dressed in jeans and a sweater. Iris was Aunt Lizzie's best friend, almost family. She was the one person who understood June's passion for herbs and nature.

"I've got the herbals."

Iris looked her over, her eyebrows raised.

"What's his name?" she asked as she took the box from June.

"What makes you say that?" June laughed.

"You're glowing." Iris smiled as she set the box on the nearest table.

"You
are
a mind reader." June gave her a hug. "His name is Eric."

"Oh! Tall, dark, oh-so handsome and
very
well spoken." Iris chuckled. "Lucky girl."

"You know him?"

"I'm all knowing." Iris teased. "Have some tea?"

They drank tea and chatted about mutual friends and family for a time. They got the baskets displayed, then more customers came in. June regretfully said goodbye.

She walked out to her car, looking full into the open bay of Van Man Go's shop. She had to talk to him. Maybe there was some way to free Jake and Eric from Cora's clutches. Even if she couldn't help both of them, surely she could get one of them free?

June recalled Eric's kisses; they set her completely on fire. She reminded herself that Eric was just another unemployed biker looking for a place to crash. Too many men like him had skimmed through her life – taking everything they could get. He was just passing through town.

Still, she had to try to talk to Van Man Go. She crossed the parking lot. She could smell paint, just as she had in the dream, when Cora came to get her motorcycle painted. There was movement in the back of the shop. Her shoes clicked on the paint splattered pavement. The artist stepped from the shadows.

"Well, it's the little witch girl." Van Man Go wore a ragged flannel shirt over his stained t-shirt. "I thought you'd make an appearance sooner or later."

"I came to see your work." She would try flattery. "I'm told that you’re the best."  

His brown eyes assessed her. He smiled, showing teeth filed into fangs.

"Come in, come in; I don't get many pure and righteous visitors." He waved her to the office. "Most of my customers have other things on their minds."

She followed him, nervous, but determined. The large office was surprisingly clean and furnished sparsely. Awards adorned the walls – trophies filled a tall case, framed magazine covers featured photos of his work. Van gave her a few moments to take it all in before he ushered her to a chair.

"Have a seat." He gestured to a table and chairs that were decorated with painted zebra stripes. He settled in the chair across from her, a pleasant expression on his crafty face.

"What's on your mind?"

What to say? Where to start?

"I'm here concerning a motorcycle you painted."

"Which one?" He gestured at the photos. "I've done hundreds of bikes over the years."

"Cora Cobra's Hayabusa."

"Aha! That bike. Um – yes." Amusement brought a quirk to his lips. "What about it?"

"There's something…" June fell silent as the absurdity of the situation struck her. He knew. He was going to make
her
spell it out.

"Odd?" Van prompted, his hand in front of his mouth to hide his smirk. It was in his eyes.

 "How about I just lay my cards on the table?" Years of secrets and hiding her religion were useless here. He'd already called her 'the little witch girl' to her face.

"By all means." He gestured to her to go ahead; a curiously regal gesture that was at odds with his shrunken frame. Cool, polite to a fault, with the mannerisms of a gentleman – Van Man Go was not what she expected him to be.

"There's – ah – a spirit – two spirits attached to the motorcycle." She had the sinking feeling that she was in way over her head. "Cora and Jake are both – haunting Eric and his bike."

For a moment she thought he was going to deny everything, make her look like an idiot. It was in his eyes, a deep amusement under the facade of polite interest.

"Go on."

"It all leads back to you."

"It does?" Van shrugged. "Well, it might – but why should I care?"

"Surely you know what's going on?"

"Don't be a fool, girl. Once Cora gets her fangs in a man – it's over."

"I don't believe you."

"You'll see." He smiled.

"Are you saying that she doesn't owe you?"

"She owes me, big time," Van smirked. "But she's dead. I wrote her off as a business loss. I moved on. Business is business."

June bit her lip and thought fast. She looked around the old building, the skin on her neck prickling with the feeling of being watched. Was it Jake, Cora or some other lost soul? She didn't want to know, not really.

"I think you have more influence over her than you admit."

"I'm flattered." Van leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. An un-lit filtered cigarette appeared in his hand. He took a deep drag; the end smoldered, then burst into flame. "So tell me, if I had the power to have Cora do her – thing – elsewhere, what, exactly, would you have me do?"

The smoke he exhaled had a green tint to it and smelled more like pot than tobacco. The smell made her eyes burn. The thumping bass outside settled in the back of her head. This was a bad time to get a headache – she needed a clear mind.

"Have you asked how she got her hooks into your boyfriend?" His eyes looked right through her. "The answer might be enlightening."

"He's just a friend." June blushed, thinking of Eric and his hot kisses.

"R-r-right, my mistake." Van flashed his fangs in a smile, cutting it short with a drag on the cigarette. "So, you've come to plead for the souls of the damned?"

He scratched his nose with his paint-splattered middle finger.

"How noble of you."

"Hardly noble," June retorted. "This is damn inconvenient."

"I suppose I could help you." He tilted his head, watching her, his mouth hidden behind his hand. "If you make it worth the effort."

"Oh?"

"I'm a businessman; I make deals all the time. Some are on my own behalf, for some I'm merely a proxy." He took a deep drag, leisurely exhaling smoke rings as he watched her face. "What have you got to trade?"

"Trade?"

"Yeah, trade – business at its most basic. What you are asking for is – tarnished and well used. What have you got of higher value to trade?"

June could feel the blood drain from her face – surely he didn't mean that the way it sounded? Was he talking about her soul?

"Of course – I suppose – under the circumstances it would be fair to trade, say two for one?" His lips lifted into a smile that showed his fangs. "I think we understand each other. Don't we?"

June froze. Maybe she understood, all too well.

"I don't usually give advice." Van took a long leisurely drag off the cigarette, the yellow of the filter nearly matched the yellow on his fingers. "But since you're so – young – I'll make an exception." He blew out more smoke rings.

"Ever wondered why a man's childhood sweetheart would
want
to leave him?" His mocking eyes pinned her. "No? I'll give you a hint. He didn't spend his time drinking beer and playing strip poker with the local girls on
that
tour." He flicked ashes onto the floor.

June struggled to keep eye contact. What did she know about Eric? Or Jake? Which one did he mean?

"Maybe you ought to get to know your boyfriend better? Before you give your soul to save him."

"I – I'm afraid I've wasted your time." June gathered her battered self-esteem, rising to her feet. He
was
talking about her soul! How was that possible? Why?

"Oh no, don't go stomping off in a hissy." Van chuckled, a throaty sound. "This was just getting interesting."

"You're not human enough to reason with," she snapped.

"Oh, little fairy princess has her tights in a twist." Van held out his hands, making them tremble. "I'm shaking in fear."

Anger made June aware of the white light inside her. Would it have any effect on Van Man Go? She breathed deep to touch the light inside her – ready to let it pour out.

"Open that door, I dare you." Van leaned across the table, close enough she could smell the reek of pot on his breath. His eyes bored into hers, leaving the impression of something black, vile and flaming that reached for her from across the abyss. "You've backed the wrong horse in this race, princess. Better run home before the big bad demon eats you for a snack."

June recoiled – the image was branded in her mind. She could smell the sulfur stench, feel its breath on her face as it crossed time and space to grab her. She fled, tears stinging her eyes and blinding her. She ran for her car, blind and deaf with fear. She fumbled for her keys, started the car and pulled out into traffic. She didn't care about cops or cars or the pedestrians on the street. She fled from the horror that inhabited the soul of Van Man Go.

She had to outrun it or die.

~^~

Eric was in the Iroquois parking lot, replacing the front wheel of his bike. As he tightened the last bolt, his breath frosted. The cold washed over him, as if someone had just opened a door into a blizzard. He swore under his breath as he gripped the wrench tighter.

A wavering outline appeared on the other side of the bike, dark leathers and long hair.

"Jake." Eric sat back to see him better.

Jake leaned over the bike - bringing the stinging cold with him. The wrench in Eric's hand became cold enough to burn his fingers.

"June."
Jake pointed outside.

Eric heard frantic footsteps. June ran out to the street and jumped into her car.

"Stop her – at the ravine."

"No!"
Cora growled.
"She dies!"

The wrench slid from Eric's hand to hit his shin, doubling him over. He stayed down for a few seconds before he could get to his feet.

"June!" Eric bolted for the door.

She was already driving away.

Eric grabbed the frost-coated handlebars and heaved the bike off the makeshift jack of bricks. For a second, it resisted him, as if frozen to the ground. The air was cold, sharp and painful to breathe, his hands burned.

"Come on, you bitch!" He heaved again. "God damn you!" The bricks chimed as they shattered. The bike groaned as it settled to the pavement.

Next door he heard cackling. Van Man Go was laughing like something out of a Batman movie.

"You son of a bitch!" Eric shouted as he swung into the saddle and fired up the engine. "I'm gonna break you in half!"

"I'm shaking in my boots, boy." Van showed Eric his full set of fangs, then spat fire on the sidewalk.

Eric flipped him the bird.

Eric racked the bike out, hitting the throttle hard enough to make her front wheel pop in the air. Bridge Street was the usual maze of slow moving traffic. Eric hit the centerline and second gear at the same time. Still on the centerline, over the bridge and around the curve, he caught a glimpse of June's white Toyota as she went up the hill, heading for Route 11. A semi's air horn blasted a warning; Eric twitched the bike back on the inside lane, stuck behind somebody's granddad in an old gold Nova.