Chapter 1 #2
Her boots crunched on peanut shells as she walked into the gloomy interior.
The large space was divided up into separate areas to accommodate clutches of clan groups.
Though he was tall and thin, he exuded a power that others respected.
He demanded civility in the public space, banishing those who participated in fights.
“Violet, a surprise to see you in here.” Ernie, with a face that looked as though he’d been crunched in a vise from top to bottom, set a bowl of peanuts on the bar as she approached. “None of your people are here.”
She’d had to drag home a drunk brother and even her father a time or two.
Sometimes they needed assistance not because they’d had too much to drink but due to the activities in the Conference Room, where disagreements were settled in a way that required no civility.
All her brothers had fought in there at one time or another, coming out broken and bloody. And that’s when they’d won.
She glanced at the four men playing darts over in the corner and fought not to roll her eyes. Augusts. She clenched her fists at the sight of Bren, who was already giving her a lascivious smile. As he always did, he made a V with his fingers and waggled his tongue suggestively.
She stuffed her disgust, refusing to give him the satisfaction, and turned back to Ernie. “I’m here to see you.”
His wiry eyebrows bobbed in surprise. “You know you’re a bit too young for me.”
“You’re hundreds of years too old for me. Stop flirting and give me a Guinness on draft.”
“You break my heart, you do.” But he wore a smile as he pulled the draft.
Because of their deity essence, Crescents lived longer than Mundanes—and aged slowly. Ernie looked to be in his sixties. At thirty-four, she was a mere babe in Crescent terms. She idly cracked a shell and lined up the peanuts side by side on the bar.
He set the mug with the creamy head on the shellacked bar top. “What’re you after then, if not my buff, brawny body or rapier wit?”
So not in the mood for humor, such as it was, she swallowed back the grief that wanted to bubble out. “Arlo’s been murdered.”
Ernie digested that, his wide mouth flattening even more. “Damn. What happened?” After she told him, he shook his head but didn’t look shocked.
“There’s been talk, hasn’t there? If something’s going on, it usually starts here. Nothing gets past you.”
He soaked in her ego strokes, his shoulders widening. “I pick up tidbits.” Then he caught onto her, and his proud expression hardened. “But I stay out of it. Switzerland and all.”
“Ernie, I’m not asking you to take sides. Just pass on the gossip.”
His gaze flicked to the men. “Fringers have been edgy lately. Restless and downright ornery. I heard there’s a big solar storm erupting, and we’re already getting the effects of the flares.”
“We’ve felt the effects of solar storms before, and it didn’t make people kill.”
He hesitated, then relented. “There’s been murmurings, but not about your clan.”
She took a draw of her beer, feeling the rich brew tingle over her tongue and down her throat. Damn. Clan problems again. “What about?”
“Defensive, not offensive.” He leaned across the bar, as casual as could be, and flicked off the peanuts. “Arlo’s not the first Fringer to be whacked lately.”
This was getting worse. “Who?”
Ernie held out his squat fist and flipped out one finger. “Liam Peregrine, killed a week or so ago.” Another finger straightened. “They found something at the scene that pointed to the Wolfrums. So, no surprise that Peter Wolfrum was Breathed two days later.”
She pulled out her phone and put in the names. She had a photographic memory, but hearing information didn’t imprint on her brain worth a damn.
He shifted his gaze to the men by the dartboard, and his voice lowered. “Larry’s grandmother, Shirley, six days ago. I don’t know what they found, if anything, but two days later, Bobby Spears turns up dead.”
No, she didn’t want to be in this place again of tension, hatred, and constant fear. “Bobby is—was a kid!” she hissed. “What, seventeen?”
Ernie nodded, his expression somber. “Good kid, too, for a Fringer, anyway.” Another blunt finger on Ernie’s hand flicked out. Gods, no more. “Dan Murphy, killed two days ago.”
“Breathed?”
“Every one of ’em.”
Her stomach cramped, like a demon had reached right into her insides and twisted her stomach.
“With the history between your clans, could be they thought you did it. Arlo’s death was probably an act of revenge, like some of the others.”
“Did they find evidence?”
Ernie shrugged. “Haven’t heard one way or the other.”
She was cold all over but tried to reveal nothing of what she felt. “We wouldn’t attack another clan unprovoked.” Fringers always had a reason, or at least they believed they had one. “Six murders in ten days. That’s crazy. And scary as hell.” She finished half her beer and set a twenty on the bar.
As she strode over to the Augusts, they snapped to attention. The oldest son scanned her, clearly trying to assess her intent. Come on, like I’m dumb enough to confront four of you?
She kept a table between them and gave Larry, the oldest member present, her attention. “I’m sorry about your grandma.”
Larry narrowed his eyes. “How’d you know?”
The second oldest stepped forward. “Ernie told you, didn’t he?”
“I heard it through the grapevine and was trying to get him to confirm it before I approached you. From the way he tried to pretend ignorance, I figured it was true.”
Larry stuck a wad of chew between his teeth and gum. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”
“I know we didn’t do it. And that she’s not the only one.
” The Fringers didn’t go around advertising when they’d lost one of their own.
It revealed that your family was now a little weaker.
“Sounds like trouble’s brewing again.” She curled her hands over the back of a chair.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Bobby Spears’s death, would you? ”
Dragon energy crackled off them. Bren, the youngest, and, unfortunately, the one she knew best, stepped forward. “Not a thing, sweetheart. Kid was a jerk. Probably into something or other.” He came around the table and stopped too close for her comfort.
She didn’t back away. “Why would someone kill Shirley?” The August matriarch was one of the few of their clan who didn’t cause trouble.
“I’m not being nosy,” she said when no one spoke up.
“We’ve had peace in the Fringe for years now.
Six murders in ten days … someone’s trying to stir things up. I want to find out who.”
That got her a chorus of low chuckles. Bren placed his hands on her shoulders, angling his hips closer. “Aw, Vee, you gonna make things right for all us Fringers? Get justice?”
She pushed him back. “You don’t get to touch me.”
He gave her a contrite look. “You liked when I touched you before. You used to sigh …”
She slugged him, which slammed his head to the side. The others stepped closer, their fists tightening as Bren caught his balance.
He laughed it off, even as his eyes still swam. “Damn, that Argentinian fire’s still in your blood. Vee, you still got a hard-on for me, don’t you?”
“Stop calling me Vee, and I couldn’t care less about you.” She narrowed her eyes. “You do know women don’t get hard-ons, right? Or are you getting the genders of your lovers confused?”
She wouldn’t admit how badly she wanted to cut off his balls and feed them to the raccoons, because that would reveal how much he’d affected her.
He’d wooed her, saying all the right things.
Not how beautiful she was, how clever or sexy, but how their getting together would heal the rift between their families.
She’d let down her defenses and bought it.
Eventually all his questions about their alligator operation, cleverly couched in mild curiosity, burrowed down to her cynical self.
He was using her to get information about their farm and shows.
Not long after, they opened their own alligator wrestling tourist attraction.
She’d been so mad at herself, but not because her heart had been broken.
She hadn’t given it to him. But her pride had taken a big hit, even to this day, and that was nine years ago.
She turned to the oldest brother. “Did one of the Spears clan kill Shirley?”
He hesitated, then said, “Yeah.”
“How do you know?” She’d seen enough retaliatory murders based on nothing more than speculation.
Bren’s expression changed to fierce. “We found that stupid skull handkerchief Bobby wears all the time about twenty yards from her body.”
None of this felt right to her. Not that Fringe justice ever felt right. The Spears clan would rear up and strike back. And the wars would start once more.