Ferocious Flea Market Dragons, page 4
Thorn stirred next to me, then he turned around, our noses almost touching. His hazel eyes, usually so fierce, now held a softness. He didn’t speak. Instead, he gently stroked the back of my head. Every touch offered relief.
“Bad dream?” he murmured.
“That and a lot more. I had a rough day yesterday,” I joked.
He chuckled. “Yeah, that was definitely wild.”
“A little too wild for my taste.”
He grinned. “Care for a bit of sunshine?”
“These walls are paper-thin. We can’t do the horizontal mambo with—”
He rolled his eyes and got up. “Not that kind of sunshine.” He fumbled through his nearby gym bag and retrieved a sealed bag. Inside of it was my beautiful nutcracker.
“I thought we’d left these with Farley…” I squealed with delight. I’d been far too busy, let alone stressed, to think about my holiday hoard. My collection had gotten me through some rough times, but the road was no place for over four hundred Christmas, Hanukkah, and even Kwanzaa holiday decorations. With my luck, a hellhound would hit the U-Haul and holiday cheer would end up strewn across the countryside.
So I’d left them behind.
I almost opened the clear plastic package, then I remembered my manners. After wiping off my hands with a sanitary wipe, I freed my friend. The wooden figure, with his hand-sewn clothes and hat, always gave me such happiness. Each time I held him, I imagined he winked at me with those little black dots for eyes. I drew him close and sucked in the scents of perfect holiday dinners and presents under the tree. Such a fantasy was best suited for children, but as a former pack pariah, I’d held tightly to the fantasy that I’d be reunited with my family again and they’d accept me, flaws and all.
“You’re still handsome,” I told the nutcracker.
Thorn laughed softly from the other side of the bed.
“Not as handsome as my mate, but you’re close,” I added.
The familiar scent of piroshkis and sausages wafted in, pulling me away from the moment.
“Let’s get something to eat.” I put away the nutcracker, then threw on some pants. Thorn and I trudged out of the room. Suitcases and boxes of groceries lined the hallway. Sounds from a 1990s Russian war drama drifted down the hall from the living room. We headed to the kitchen where Mom was busy flipping something on the stove.
“Hey, Mom.” I stole a still warm piroshki. Thorn had a much bigger appetite, so he grabbed a plate.
“Morning. Could you run into town and grab some more flour?” Mom asked without turning.
“You didn’t buy some when we were at the store?” I took a bite and savored the seasoned ground hamburger meat and veggies covered in dough fried to perfection.
“I brought some from home, but I ran out of it after I made some cookies for the children.”
That must’ve been a lot of cookies.
Mom didn’t miss a beat as she flipped another pancake. “I need enough flour for the next couple of days. Grab everything they got. Check that gas station too.”
I glanced at Thorn who winked at me as he stuffed a pancake-wrapped sausage into his mouth.
“Everything, huh?” I eyed the big metal bowl of pancake dough and the flour bag carcass. At least getting some flour would be a lot easier than finding a killer.
“I’m gonna knock this out before I get comfortable.” I slipped on my sneakers.
“Not alone, you’re not.” Uncle Boris walked in through the backdoor. “Something smells good, Anna.”
“I’m going with her,” Thorn replied to him. “Don’t worry.”
“Then I’ll join you two,” my uncle said. “I forgot to pack a couple things.”
Ten minutes later, Thorn, Uncle Boris, and I rode into town. The sun was still low, casting long shadows on the country roads. We pulled into Stitchings, not seeing too many souls visiting the shops along the main street.
“I need some coffee,” Thorn said. “Anybody mind if we make a pit stop?”
The tiny coffee shop was literally across the street from the grocery store.
I shrugged. Maybe I could ask the locals—if they were supernatural—if they had any details on the murders around here. Thorn parked and we strode inside. The bell above the door announced our arrival. The place only had a single table, but the shop had plenty of old-school charm with vintage black and white photos of sailboats on the walls. The nicks and knacks sprinkled on the worn counters. Not a single speck of dirt or stains marred the surface.
Just my kind of place.
The human barista, a young man with a scruffy blond beard, waved our way without glancing up. He continued cleaning a cup, humming to himself. There went asking him questions about the murders in the area. Telling humans about the supernatural world was a no-no.
While Uncle Boris checked out the pastries in the refrigerated display, Thorn put in an order.
“Coffee, please. Add three shots of espresso.” Thorn usually preferred his coffee black so we must be in for a long day.
Uncle Boris added, “Can you toss a couple of those apple turnovers in a to-go box? Some of those nutty buns too. Mama Lasovaskaya will love those.”
“Not a problem.” The guy’s smile was unnaturally wide. The kind of cheerful that bordered on manic. “You got the last of ’em. A fella grabbed a bunch to help his daughter move to Canada. Poor thing had an arson fire last month.”
Smelling an opportunity, I slid in to add, “That’s a shame. Say, how safe is it around here?”
“Lady, this is Stitchings. It’s too quiet. Other than that fire, nothing ‘unusual’ happens.”
I nodded. Looks like the supernatural population kept things quiet in town.
After paying, we headed across the street to the grocery store. A pleasant summer breeze blew off nearby Moosehead Lake as tourists buzzed around the marina. A laughing couple boarded a pontoon, likely heading out for an exciting boating trip with their children.
The grocery store was eerily quiet. The radio, which yesterday played old country tunes, was silent. The aisles were empty, and the single freezer hummed softly. I peered around the store, noticing the back-office door was closed.
“Uncle, can you get the flour?” I asked. “I think I’m gonna grab some more candy for Sveta,” I said to Thorn.
“You’re the best aunt ever.” My mate snorted. “Grab me one of those Snickers, will you?”
I nodded, heading to the counter. There, I noticed some money carelessly left behind. The tart, yet sugary scent from Patty lingered here, but something was off. The goblin blade strapped to my ankle was disturbingly silent.
“Thorn, something’s not right,” I murmured.
Without waiting for his reply, I moved toward the back door leading to the office. Knocking softly and hearing no reply, I tried the handle. The door opened only a crack, blocked by something. Pushing harder, I squeezed into the dark, windowless room.
A chill ran down my spine. On the floor lay the fairy clerk, her eyes still open in shock. Blood stained the wooden floorboards. I kneeled and peered at her injuries. Something big enough to fit in this space had raked its claws from her collarbone down to her belly button.
A scent lingered here—close to the floor and circling the fairy’s form. Fear pulsed through me, for I’d smelled this scent before, but not recently. A werewolf had killed this woman and I’d met this person, or their pack before. Not good.
“You looking for more candy bars?” The humor in Uncle Boris’s voice died at the sight of the clerk. “Why didn’t we smell her?”
“Some dead fairies don’t smell,” I explained, “and this is her domain.”
“How did she die?” Uncle Boris asked. “Do we call the police?”
“The human police?” I glanced up at him with a frown.
“We have to do something. We can’t leave her like this.”
“I say we check the stores until we run into another fairy. She said her kin lived around here.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. That poor woman had warned us just over a day ago.
“I’ll go lock up,” Thorn offered.
“Thanks.” I spied a shawl draped over the chair next to the desk. I gently laid it over her. “We need to search this place. Check for any scents or footprints.”
“It’s not gonna be easy,” Uncle Boris replied. “A bunch of locals or tourists could come in here.”
“True, but I don’t believe the humans are involved. Patty warned us about this. Our killer is a werewolf.”
Chapter Seven
I discovered the phone number for Patty’s husband on a cellphone bill in the tiny office. It hurt to see that Patty’s family had been the carrier’s customer for over a decade now. The couple had likely carved out a life here even though their children were grown and had settled elsewhere.
After calling Patty’s husband, Owen, and letting my family know what happened, we waited in the store. It grew far too quiet in there with only the hum of the freezers and the roar of boats filtering through the walls from the marina. Life carried on.
We didn’t have to wait long for Patty’s husband to show up. A delivery van arrived quickly. I glanced out the window to see a middle-aged fellow with light brown skin and short, curly black hair. He hurried out of the car, yet paused before he walked inside. His jaw set and I couldn’t imagine the emotions rolling through him.
Once he came inside, he immediately went to his wife. We went outside to give him privacy. Ten minutes later, he emerged.
“Thanks for the call, Natalya,” he said to me.
“It’s the least I can do.” I introduced him to my mate and uncle, then I told him how we’d found her.
“I’d hoped whoever was behind those fae murders had moved on.” Owen rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. “Patty was excited about having a new family settle in for a spell. Said it would be nice since the fairy folk didn’t trust the shifters around here.”
His last couple of words must’ve broken him. Poor Owen shuddered a bit, then he turned to wipe away tears.
“Is there anything else you need help with?” I asked softly. “We’re gonna find who did this.” I explained how a dryad had hired me to find the culprit. Owen’s face fell further. It was too little too late for his family.
“There are cameras outside the marina,” I added. “Any chance the marina manager will help us?”
Owen sucked in a breath and rubbed his face. He’d aged in minutes. “They’re fae like us. Tell Gerhard I sent you.”
Minutes later, I stepped out of the grocery store while Thorn had parting words with Owen. Instead of walking to the SUV, I stood off to the side to clear my head. My breath quickened. I couldn’t shake the sight of seeing Patty like that. Too much was happening too fast.
My uncle left the store next and walked up to me. He gripped my shoulder and squeezed. “You’re standing in the sun. Come sit in the car.”
“Not yet.” As I looked around, the world seemed oddly still. No children laughing, no dogs barking. It was as if the world knew someone had passed.
Finally, Thorn walked out and joined us. “This is bad,” he breathed.
“Very bad,” I echoed.
“Notice anything suspicious around Patty?” he asked.
“There weren’t too many clues,” I replied. “But the smell, Thorn. That smell was familiar.”
Uncle Boris stared at the store’s entrance. “But from who? Do you remember?”
I shook my head, my eyes searching the parking lot. “I usually do—I just can’t pin a face to the scent. It’s…from someone, but I can’t put two and two together right now.”
Thorn drew me into his arms. “You’ve been through a lot, babe. You’ll remember eventually.”
“I will,” I whispered as my gaze flicked to the street. Cars had been in and out of the lot since the murder and their tires erased any potential tracks, but the scents remained.
“I’ll get in the car in a bit,” I told them. “I need to check out something.”
“Then we’re coming with you,” Thorn said firmly.
We formed a quick plan. First things first, we needed to circle the store and see if the culprit’s scent led anywhere. A quick check revealed little. I couldn’t make out too many tracks in the grass, but the musky scent grew stronger as I neared the rear of the building. “They definitely came this way.”
Our path led us straight to the marina and disappeared underneath the foul odors of lake muck and fish. Add on a dash of gasoline and weaker scents died a good death.
I took in Moosehead Lake to see if there was anything peculiar. It was just another lazy weekend. Not far from us, a radio blasted Lynyrd Skynyrd. Boats bobbed gently, their masts clinking softly against each other. Gulls circled overhead, their white forms darting in and out of the water.
We headed inside. The nearby marina office was a quaint, slightly dilapidated structure, with wooden panels that had seen better days. The wind chimes at the entrance jingled as we walked into a cozy waiting area. There were a couple of mismatched sofas and a coffee table strewn with boating magazines. On the opposite wall stood vending machines offering a curious mix of snacks—everything from beef jerky to gummy worms to some kind of fish bait. Eww. It was right next to the food. They could’ve kept the bait machine outside.
One corner of the room was dedicated to merchandise. Shelves were packed with mugs, hats, and T-shirts, all emblazoned with the slogan: “Find Magic in Maine: Go Boating.”
The marina manager Owen had mentioned gave us a nod from the customer counter to our right. The kobold wore a glamour, hiding his greenish-gray scales and sharp eyes behind magic. He looked up from the desk behind the counter. His expression changed from indifferent to concerned when he read my pained expression.
“Need some help, ma’am?” He stood a bit.
“Are you Gerhard?” I asked him.
He nodded.
“Something’s happened at the grocery store,” I said softly. “Patty was killed.”
Gerhard’s eyes widened. Without a word, he quickly pulled out his phone and sent a text message. I could only guess he was informing others about the incident.
“Does Owen know?” the manager asked after he ended the call.
“We called him and he’s at the store now.”
The kobold slowly nodded. “This town is falling apart, thanks to the werewolves,” he grumbled.
I quickly explained how I was helping Owen find who murdered Patty. “Can I see your video footage?”
Gerhard pondered for a moment, then he picked up the phone again. The kobold tried to keep his voice low, but we caught Owen telling Gerhard he could trust us. After Gerhard hung up, he gestured to the video equipment behind the counter. “You’re welcome to see what you can find. Sorry for making you wait.”
“No offense taken,” I said. “This mess doesn’t make werewolves look good at all.”
He led me behind the counter. The video system looked ancient, with chunky buttons and a faded screen. It seemed straight out of an ’80s movie, and I wondered how it was still operational.
“What time do you want to see?” he asked.
“How about we start with last night around midnight and move forward? If Patty is like most store owners I know, she’ll show up early in the morning to accept deliveries and do stocking.”
Gerhard fiddled with the controls and the screen flickered to life, showing the marina at night. The silvery glow of the moonlight danced on the water, and the boats swayed gently. The kobold fast-forwarded, and I watched as the timestamp sped up. Finally, he stopped, and two figures appeared on the screen. The hunched over creatures were unmistakably werewolves. Gerhard slowed the video, and we both watched intently.
The werewolves moved with purpose, heading straight for a pontoon in the third bay. They seemed familiar with the area, as if they had been there before. As they reached the pontoon, a short human woman appeared on the screen. She looked around nervously before starting the boat. The engine roared to life, and the boat began to move, taking the werewolves and the woman away from the marina and into the vastness of the lake.
I said to Gerhard, “We need to find out where they were going. Who owns that boat?”
The kobold scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That’s Todd Farrow’s boat. His family has got a place off Moose Rock Road. Good folk. Never had a problem with them.”
I thanked him, then we headed outside to regroup. Before we did anything, I called my dad to pass along the awful news about Patty.
“We need to find that boat,” Uncle Boris said.
“And the werewolves,” Thorn added. “We’ve yet to see any around here.”
I bit my lip and considered what we’d have to do. “That’s a problem. If we find them, there won’t be a warm welcome.”
Chapter Eight
Not long after we got an address from Gerhard, we jumped into the SUV and headed north. The late morning sun filtered through the dense canopy of pine and elm trees as we drove along the lakeside road. Twenty minutes later, we hit the turnoff for Moose Rock Road. The single lane path led to a beige, double-wide trailer. Other than the busted-in front door, the home was quiet and seemingly undisturbed. To the west was the lake, but the boat in question was missing. No one stirred around the house from what I could see.
Thorn parked the SUV at the end of the driveway, casting a glance at the garage and nearby shed. “Looks like there was a break-in recently,” he remarked as he scanned the area.
“What do we do if we find the werewolves?” Uncle Boris’s jaw twitched. “Ask ’em to say sorry?”
“We should turn them over to the dryad,” Thorn said.
Uncle Boris snorted. “You think that nymph will invite them over for supper? They’ll tear her apart.”
“Are you sure about that?” I gave him a look.
“I’ve dated those chicks before,” my uncle said tartly. “Don’t you remember what those nymphs did to your brother? Those women are no joke.”
