Chapter 3 Furyon
Furyon
The blue-banded intra-haven watch on my wrist pings.
Echo’s name hovers over the band, and I sigh.
Technically, I’m off duty right now, and we were up all night dealing with the wild horses headed too far north toward ophiotaurii territory.
I don’t like having to go up there to check on them and encroach on Sidewinders land.
The monster bikers are prickly on the best of days and downright assholes on the worst.
I direct the watch to answer Echo.
“Hey, Boss, ain’t you supposed to deliver a welcome book to that new vampire sometime today? The one who’s got that job up at Glimmer?”
I rub a hand over my face. If we could keep a Keeper, welcoming new monsters and humans would be that monster’s job.
I have half a mind to comm Sheriff Rygold and remind him he’s basically our stand-in mayor given that we don’t have a Keeper, but I suspect he’s sleeping off his troubles in stone form somewhere.
His reluctance to fulfill the traditional duties leaves me to be the welcoming committee, unelected official and representative to monster headquarters, among other things.
“Yeah.” That’s all I can manage.
“Well,” Echo clears her throat, “she’s up here at Whiskey Business, and she is…somethin’ else.”
“Meaning what?” I reach into my truck and root around in a box in the back to make sure I’ve got presentable copies of PG’s new resident welcome book.
I chuckle at finding my rooster, Roger, curled up on top of the books.
He pecks my hand—hard—before fluttering out of the box and onto the seat, eyeing me dismissively.
“Roger,” I growl. “Do not start with me.” Of all the roosters I’ve got at my place, Roger’s the only one who likes to go for rides in the truck. He’s also the only one whose love language is pecking anything within reach.
I’m relieved to find out I’ve still got a stack of welcome books, and they seem to be in mostly good shape, other than bein’ covered in dust from me hauling them around in the truck. Plus the odd Roger feather.
“She’s too…pretty,” Echo barrels on. “All ruffly and city-looking.”
“Go be welcoming,” I say with a laugh. “Ain’t we all about that here?”
“I suppose we are,” she grumbles.
“Welcoming” couldn’t exactly be used to describe my grumbly Second.
She’s the best and most diligent ranger I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with, but social skills ain’t really her forte.
Like me, she prefers the company of animals, which is why we’re such a good team, heading up the Department of Fish & Wildlife.
I run a hand through my long white hair, tucking stray strands back around my curved horns. Glancing down, I’m a little disgruntled that my ranger uniform’s covered in dirt and more than a little snot from one of the sick horses. Not the best first impression.
Well, can’t be helped, I suppose. I’ve still got a certain amount of charm I can turn on when needed.
“I’m on my way,” I tell Echo. “I was serious, though. Go be nice.”
“Oz’s already doing it,” she responds, then clicks off without agreeing to what I suggested.
I hop into the truck as I take a final look around the riverbank.
The wild mustangs stand on the other side, munching river grass and resting in the sun.
I look down at the silver horse herd tattoo galloping down my right forearm.
The magic imbued into the tattoo helps me get a better sense of the health and mental state of our horses, strengthening my natural dark elf ability to read others.
The herd’s settled and comfy right now, the sentiment like a warm nose nuzzling my skin.
If I was back home working in the family business, I’d have our clients tattooed on me to feel their emotions more deeply. I’m thankful that elf ability works just as well on wildlife, although mine is a nontraditional dark elf career path.
I back the truck up a bit and drive carefully along a well-worn route up and out of the namesake gulch, heading toward downtown.
By the time I get there, Echo’s called me at least twice more to give me updates on the new monster.
She’s got sparkly pink boots, and they are godsawful!
She’s doin’ karaoke, and it’s too early for that tomfoolery!
She’s too loud, and she’s drinkin’ too much!
As if being drunk and singin’ in a bar are really some sort of oddity. There’s a reason Pine Gulch has at least three bars, and stayin’ stone-cold sober ain’t one of ‘em.
I mean, it’s early-ish but, honestly, startin’ early isn’t a problem for most folks.
I won’t say PG’s lawless exactly, but we don’t do the civilized thing other havens do.
We throw a lotta parties. About the only haven system rule we stick to is keeping the haven system a secret from the human world.
I call the occasional human here with our playing card deck.
It’s a funny bit of magic that gives them the urge to get in the car and drive, leading them right to us.
But apart from that, we do our own thing.
By the time I get to town, I’ve stopped answering Echo’s calls because I need a minute to get my head on straight.
I park in front of Whiskey Business and grab the haven welcome book.
It’s a gorgeous thick coffee table-style book highlighting everything a newcomer might wanna know about Pine Gulch—map, info about the type of monsters that live here and who’s who among town leadership, a list of businesses, and beautiful portrait paintings of downtown herself.
Exiting the truck, I head toward the front door. The bar waggles its rough hewn siding at me in a friendly way.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I greet the building just as I notice a long earthworm wriggling in front of the door.
It’s probably gettin’ baked alive on the big stone step into the bar.
Dropping to my heels, I grab it up and drop him into the nearest flower pot.
Much safer spot. I watch for a moment as it squirms around in the dirt and begins to dig.
Confident the earthworm is safe, I rise and stride into the dimly lit bar. True to Echo’s fuckin’ word, a vampire female in a ruffled pink dress and sparkling pink cowboy boots stands on the bar with a microphone.
Oz cheers her on as she sings some song I’ve never heard. She’s lost in the music, walking along the bar and putting on a literal concert. Echo joins me at the door, waving toward the female.
“See what I mean? I told you! Oz is just eggin’ her on, and she’s been at this song for, damn, five full minutes, I bet.”
I clap Echo on the shoulder, not looking away from the vampire. She spins on the bar, walking in my direction. Crimson eyes widen, then narrow as she sees me for the first time. She pauses for just a moment, then picks right back up with the singing as Oz hoots and hollers from behind the bar.
I pick my way around, nodding at the couple monsters seated at scattered tables. I’m gonna get an earful about this later, I’m sure. Sliding onto a barstool, I set the welcome book down and wait for the woman to finish.
She’s hitting the high notes now, and Oz is in hysterics as she sings about a woman driving her boyfriend’s car off a cliff.
Sounds violent as hells to me, but whatever.
Her voice is actually great, and it gives me a minute to give her a good look.
She’s tall and curvaceous with vampiric house tattoos that cover her neck and crawl down into the low neckline of her dress.
She’s thick around the middle too, with wide hips and a dress that hugs every inch of curves. Lotta curves.
Those boots, though. Every inch of her cowboy boots is covered in jewels, sparkles, glitter, or some combo of all three. My brows rise as I consider how worthless boots like that are in a place like PG. Pretty, though.
The song ends, and the woman hops elegantly onto the nearest stool, handing Oz the microphone.
“Bravo,” he shrieks. “Gods, that was good!” He laughs when he sees me.
“Furyon, meet Lemon Knox, our newest resident.” He waves a hand at me.
“Lemon, Furyon A. Zayle is the Head of Fish & Wildlife. He takes care of the animals, but he’s also our charming welcome committee.
Pretty much the closest thing to a Keeper we have, given… things.”
Around us, Whiskey Business creaks and groans at his reference to a Keeper.
He waves his hands frantically, looking at the ceiling. “I know, I know! We don’t like to discuss the Keeper! I get it! Calm down.”
As if the words “calm down” ever calmed anyone, much less our persnickety downtown.
Elegant nostrils flare as the woman turns to me, holding out a hand.
She’s scenting me. It’s such a damn vampiric thing to do, and it raises the tiny hairs on my nape.
Vampires are drawn to dark elf blood more than almost anything else, and the way she’s lookin’ at me with a hint of predatory drive has me straightening in defiance.
“Nice to meet you, Furyon. I’m Lemon.”
Lemon.
Like the fruit?
She rolls her eyes but laughs. “Gods, you’re about to ask why my name’s Lemon, I suppose. My father says it’s because I always looked like I was sucking on one as a baby. And I did cut my fangs on one, so he’s probably right. But, honestly, it’s unique, and I love that, so here we are.”
I reach for her hand and shake it, noting the warmth of her fingers as she curls them around mine.
She’s beautiful up close like this. The crimson of her eyes is dotted through with gold and silver specks.
Blonde hair in every possible shade is perfectly combed and curled, delicate waves accentuating how sensual she looks.
Of course, she’s a vampire, so everything about her is meant to attract prey and those willing to let her feed.
I push the welcome book toward her as Echo joins me, dropping onto the stool next to mine.
“My welcome committee status is unofficial, but feel free to give me a ring if you’ve got any questions as you get acquainted with the Gulch.
” I wave at the bar around us. “PG’s a little different from other havens, which you’ll notice pretty fast. Our downtown’s got a mind of her own, and she makes her opinions known often and loudly. ”
On cue, the rafters above my head creak out a sound between welcome and warning. Lemon glances up, grinning. The move highlights those tiny twin fangs of hers.
Stop looking at her mouth, Furyon.
I watch as she takes the book and flips it open. “What brings you to town, Lemon?”
“Job at Glimmer.” She flips through the first few pages of the book.
When she says nothing else, Echo shoots me an irritated look.
“Most folks who end up here are lookin’ for something—wide-open spaces, escapism, a little romp in the hay with a country boy. You thought about what you wanna get out of Pine Gulch?”
She looks up at me, nostrils flared. “Most definitely not a romp with anyone. I’m just here for a short-term work thing. I’m not sticking around.”
I drum my fingers on the welcome book’s cover as I offer her my most charming smile.
“Too bad, Miss Knox, the Gulch is a lotta fun. Anyhow, the first page inside that book is a scavenger hunt of sorts. You can go through it on whatever timeline you want to. It’s something I insisted on as a way for newcomers to learn more about us.
It’ll take you to nearly all corners of the haven and all of the businesses.
The Gulch is a welcomin’ place, and folks’ll be glad to meet ya. ”
She stiffens, glancing at Oz then back at me, seeming suddenly uncomfortable.
I cock my head to the side. “Everything okay?”
A pleasant mask falls down over her face, and she smiles again. “Everything’s fine, thank you. I’ll be sure to muddle my way through the scavenger hunt right away. Can you recommend a good starting point?”
She’s asking the right questions, but they don’t seem entirely sincere to me.
She’s on guard for some reason. I make a mental note to ask Oz later since she looked at him.
The facts are that we don’t get a ton of new residents in the Gulch, so when we do get them, it falls to me to give them a nice welcome, suited as they may or may not seem to country livin’.
If I were gonna judge a book by its cover, I’d say this woman’ll last all of ten minutes here.
But I, more than most, know looks can be deceiving.
Dark lashes flutter against high, round cheekbones. “Any advice for a PG newbie?” She waves around at the rustic bar. “I’ve never been out of the city, if I’m being honest.”
I point at the sparkly boots adorning her feet. “Yeah. Start at the Buxom Bodice and get you some boots that’ll suit you a little bit better. Pretty as those are, they'll be ruined in two minutes out there.”
She stiffens again and lifts her chin, a challenging move that stirs my blood. Next to me, Echo snorts and grumbles something under her breath.
The vampire shoots us both a haughty look. “Not everything has to be practical, you know. Sometimes things can just be pretty.”
Above us, the bar seems to freeze and everyone holds a collective breath. You could hear a coin drop. Half of me wonders if Whiskey Biz might just toss this woman out now for the insolence or if the town’ll love it because she, too, is insolent.
I bite my tongue to hold back the first words that come to my mind in response to the woman’s comment.
Somehow, she seems to know what I must be thinking.
She waves at the microphone still in Oz’s hand. “Maybe my next number’ll be ‘My Give a Damn’s Busted.’ I’ll go old school human country music with that one.”
Above her head, Whiskey Business lets out a definite warning sound. She don’t like fightin’ unless she’s the one instigatin’ it.
I rise from the stool and tip my hat to her, ignoring the saucy barb. “Start at the Bodice, that’s my advice. See you around, Lemon Knox.”
Oh yeah. I give that city girl a week at most before she’s missing the bright lights and shiny walkways of wherever she came from.
Shame, we could do with a little excitement around here.