The Wild Ways (21 page)
Pancakes that contained nothing but calories. That sounded like a good idea to her.
“Your tongue is blue,” he said as she wrestled gravity to get out of the chair. And, being Mark, he never asked why she’d licked a piece of paper in the first place.
At noon, when Auntie Catherine still hadn’t called, Charlie called Allie.
“I haven’t spoken to her since I ordered her away. Over a year ago.” She still sounded angry. No one held a grudge like a Gale girl. To be strictly accurate, Charlie amended, no one held a grudge like Alysha Gale. “Why do you want to talk to her?”
“Because Auntie Catherine wanted me to meet her in Halifax, so she’s here in Nova Scotia, and she might be screwing over some . . .” Not friends, however close Charlie wanted to get to Eineen. “ . . . people I know.”
“She’s a vicious, manipulative harridan!”
“Yeah, I kno . . .” Wait . . . harridan? “She’s a what?”
“She’s a bitch, Charlie.”
“Not arguing, but she’s still your grandmother, and you know she’ll answer if she sees it’s you. You don’t have to make nice, just ask her to call me.” In the distance, over the sound of bands rehearsing and people packing cars to head over to the festival grounds, a single fiddler played the gentle roll of summer waves, the curl as they crested, and the white foam dancing over blue-green as they lapped against the shore. An actual fiddler, not an imaginary fiddler in her head. Charlie found that reassuring. “It’s important, Allie, or I wouldn’t ask.”
After a long moment, Allie sighed. “Be careful.”
At twelve seventeen, “Ride of the Valkyries.”
“So, Charlotte, it seems I have you to thank for my granddaughter finally climbing down off her high horse and calling me. What can I do for you?”
“Why did you want me to meet you in Halifax, Auntie Catherine?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“If I was willing to do it over the phone, Charlotte, I would have done so then. Join me for lunch and we’ll talk.”
Mark wanted the band together at two, so she had time. “Fine. Where are you?”
Even over the phone she could feel the edges on Auntie Catherine’s smile. “Find me.”
“The Trippers” followed her to the Wood but not into it, her fiddler falling silent in under the trees. Charlie folded her hands on top of her guitar, well away from the strings, calmed her breathing, and listened. Allie had been her touchstone since her third trip in; fifteen and cocky and completely lost with the Wood shifting into shadow around her, she’d followed the younger girl’s song home. Now she dialed Allie’s song back until it was no more than the faintest whisper drifting between the birches, the family harmonies rising to dominate. There, Auntie Jane, nearly Sousa. Her mother’s gentle rise and fall. The twins’ techno wail, threatening to escape but never quite making it out. Auntie Ruby’s dissonant intervals that still worked in the context of the family melody. Under it all, Uncle Evan’s steady bass. One by one, she let them drop out until only the aunties were left and then she began sifting through the layers until, of the aunties, only Auntie Catherine remained.
At twelve twenty, Charlie pushed aside a masking branch on an enormous weeping birch and stepped out into the Halifax Public Gardens. Shrugging out of her gig bag, she stowed her guitar and walked toward Spring Garden Road.
It took a moment for her eyes to readjust to the sun when she emerged out onto the rooftop patio at
Your Father’s Mustache,
but when she finally blinked away the flares, she saw Auntie Catherine smiling up at a gorgeous young man with a brilliant white smile and broad shoulders that strained against the fabric of his uniform T-shirt. Although she assumed she’d be unnoticed until she reached the table, given the scenery, she’d barely moved a meter before Auntie Catherine glanced up and beckoned her over, silver bracelets chiming.
Your Father’s Mustache,
but when she finally blinked away the flares, she saw Auntie Catherine smiling up at a gorgeous young man with a brilliant white smile and broad shoulders that strained against the fabric of his uniform T-shirt. Although she assumed she’d be unnoticed until she reached the table, given the scenery, she’d barely moved a meter before Auntie Catherine glanced up and beckoned her over, silver bracelets chiming.
“Charlotte, so glad you could make it. This is Frank. He’ll be our waiter.”
He’ll be our waiter
sounded an awful lot like
he’ll be our lunch.
sounded an awful lot like
he’ll be our lunch.
“Good luck,” Charlie murmured as she passed him, set her gig bag next to the latticework railing, and slid into a seat.
“Frank says the lobster roll is to die for.”
“I’m sure.” Charlie shot a less predatory smile at him. “But I’m working the festival circuit out on the island and lobster rolls are thick on the ground. Can I get the mushroom and swiss burger, on the rare side of medium rare, with a garden salad—I know, two-fifty extra—roasted red pepper and Parmesan dressing, and an iced tea, please. I’ve done a lot of studio work in Halifax,” she added as Auntie Catherine’s lip began to curl. “This is not my first rodeo.”The lip curled higher. “Sorry. Leftover cowboy shi . . . thing. I’ve been here before. I’ve played here before. Downstairs in the pub.”
“Of course. It suits you.”
Charlie attempted to work out if that was an insult as Auntie Catherine ordered an asparagus crepe, flustering Frank so badly by discussing the firmness she required in her asparagus—with accompanying hand gestures—that when he turned back to Charlie, she could see his blush even given the darkness of his skin.
“We don’t actually have iced tea . . .”
“Not usually, but check the kitchen; you’ve got some today. However . . .” She raised a hand to cut off his protest. He had no way of knowing that if a Gale wanted iced tea, a Gale got iced tea. “. . . if you check, and I’m wrong, I’ll have a ginger ale.”
Frank backed away from the table before he turned. Credit where credit was due, he had a great ass.
“Evidently not his first rodeo either,” Charlie observed. “So . . .”
Auntie Catherine’s raised hand cut her off. “Not yet, dear. Now, we appreciate the view from this angle. Appreciate . . . Appreciate . . .” A sweeping gesture sped Frank on his way as he disappeared down the stairs. “You were saying?”
Charlie’d intended to slide sideways into the conversation, but the pause for Frank had given her time to reconsider. If Auntie Catherine appreciated it so much, why not be, well, frank. Charlie pushed her chair a little farther out, crossed her legs, tugged a fold out of her cargo pants, and said, “So, are you stealing Selkie skins in order to force them to support Carlson Oil drilling off Hay Island?”
Auntie Catherine blinked and Charlie gave herself a mental high five for coloring outside the lines. Oh, sure, any auntie could fold a simple yes or no question into shapes an origami master would envy, but points for throwing her off her game.
Momentarily.
Dark eyes gleaming, Auntie Catherine stroked the end of her braid, and said, “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I am stealing Selkie skins in order to get them to support Carlson Oil drilling off Hay Island.”
“Okay, then.” Down on Summer Garden Road, someone hit their horn. Under cover of the noise, Charlie gathered her thoughts. Thought. “Why?”
“Because they’re paying me.” Dropping her braid on her lap, her hair looking more like white gold than silver in the sun, she grinned. “In fact, they’re paying me a great deal. As you’ll recall, I handed my business over to Alysha so, as I don’t want to return home, a sentiment I’m sure you understand, I needed an alternative income stream.”
“An alternative . . .” Hands flat on the table, Charlie leaned forward and snarled, “The Selkies are pretty fucking upset!”
“That’s the point, Charlotte. You can’t blackmail someone with the potential loss of something they don’t care about, now can you?”
“And that’s not
my
point, Auntie Catherine. They’re upset. Hysterical. Unhappy.”
my
point, Auntie Catherine. They’re upset. Hysterical. Unhappy.”
“Good, that was the intention. But why do you care? They’re not family, they’re Fey. This isn’t even their world.”
“I care because this is affecting the band and the band is a family, a type of family,” she amended as Auntie Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “And I’ll be damned if I let you just fuck them over!”
“Yes, quite probably. Oh, look, they did have iced tea after all . . .”
The faked surprise set Charlie’s teeth on edge. She stared down at her placemat until Frank was gone—poor bastard didn’t need to deal with her mood as well as Auntie Catherine’s salacious interest—then kept her eyes on the wet ring marking the table as she drained half the glass and took a deep breath. She’d been expecting jazz, each of them trying to lead the other through complex signatures. What she got was the big bass drum in the marching band. Bam. Bam. Bam.
Yes. I. Did.
Yes. I. Did.
When she looked up, dark eyes were watching her with amusement. “When you called, when I was in Calgary, why did you want me to come to Halifax?
“I felt sorry for you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t help you . . . what?”
“You’d been domesticated.” Auntie Catherine smiled an aspartame smile, likely to turn to formaldehyde at any moment. “You still believed yourself a wild child with your hair a dozen different, brilliant colors, but my granddaughter would play out the leash, give you the illusion of freedom, and then tug you back to her side.”
“I came back willingly . . .”
“I know, dear. And I’m not blaming you. After all, I designed my granddaughter to be strong enough to defeat the Dragon Queen. It’s no surprise you can’t stand against her.”
“And yet here I am.”
“Here you are.” And there was the formaldehyde. “Still wasting your potential.”
“Because I’m not working with you?”
“Because you’re dragging that guitar . . .”
Charlie reached back to touch the gig bag. “I’m a musician!”
“My point, exactly. You think you’re a musician.” She held up a hand for silence as Frank brought their orders, cut the end of her crepe off with the side of her fork, moaned around the mouthful of food and purred, “Exactly firm enough.”
“Forget working for Carlson Oil,” Charlie muttered, spearing a cherry tomato. “You should try porn.”
“What, again?”
Charlie followed Mark’s song back to Mabou, stepped out of the stand of Norfolk pines protecting the line of cottages from the north wind, and came face-to-face with Eineen. Literally, face-to-face. Their noses no more than a centimeter apart. Her breath smelled slightly salty and her lips, parted just enough to show the edges of perfect teeth, were slightly chapped. Charlie fought the urge to lean just a little closer and taste, taking the chance she’d probably never be offered again.
Two things stopped her.
One, she didn’t want to be that girl.
Two, many of the Human-seeming Fey were significantly stronger than they looked. Charlie had no idea if the Selkies fell into that category and had no intention of finding out as a result of pissing Eineen off. As much as she wanted to know how Eineen’s mouth would feel under hers, she was against pain on principle. Pain hurt.
“I was waiting for you to return.”
“Yeah.” Charlie took a step back, smacked herself in the head with a tree branch, and jerked forward, leaving a clump of hair attached to a gob of pine gum. “Ow! God fucking damn it! Yeah, I got that! What do you want?”
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