Swallow the Moon Page 11

  "What the fuck?" Eric tried to shift away after touching her lips. The cold gripped tighter, June thought she heard music – the soft run of a keyboard. She held onto Eric as the cold squeezed her hips.

  "Hold still. Don't move." She looked up at Eric. "Trust me, okay?"

  "Yeah," he said.

  June closed her eyes, breathing deep and reaching deep inside herself – it was there. Just under her heart chakra, cool, brilliant light washed through her and out as she breathed. The cold slowed its deadly slither, squeezing them painfully. June kept breathing, feeling the light flow from her, washing over the serpent of Cora's will, forcing it back. The squeezing stopped, the cold faded as June swayed in the cage of Eric's embrace. He supported her weight as she went deeper into the trance, to push the garage area clear.

  Cora fought back, a swirling darkness that refused to give up. They were matched against each other in a contest of seething will and light. Eventually, June was able to beat Cora back, push the serpent of dark will out of the garage. At that point, she could tap old wards, snapping up barriers Cora could not cross.

  When it was over, June came back to herself to find she was cradled in Eric's arms. At some point, he had picked her up. Her head was on his shoulder. She looped her arms around his neck, snuggling close to his warm solid body.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, you can put me down."

  "You fainted," he set her on the worktable instead of on her feet. "What happened? One minute we were – uh – close, the next I was in a freezing cold fist that tried to squeeze me to death."

  What to say? What would he think if she told him that she'd swallowed the moon? That its light was now inside her – that she could call it, tap into it. He would think she was crazy. Then there was Cora. Would he sell the bike if she told him the truth? Would he understand that the spirit was much stronger than she was supposed to be?

  June stalled by leaning on him, settling into the curve of his arms, her head on his shoulder. He was her friend, someone she was very attracted to, in spite of everything. How much of the truth could he handle?

  "Cora attacked us. I think she's trying to possess one of us." She expected him to pull away.

  "Go on." His body tensed, but he gently rubbed her back.

  "I – I called white light to push her out. She fought me – she's very strong. I won, for now."

  "I saw the light," he said so quietly that she barely heard him, even with her head on his shoulder. "You glowed. It was – scary as hell."

  "You stayed." She smiled at him.

  "You fainted." There was amusement in his voice. "I could hardly let you fall in order to run off."

  "Sorry. I'm okay now." She rested her hands on his shoulders. "I was wrong about Cora. She is dangerous."

  "I know." Eric smoothed her hair. "I've known for a while." Then he hushed her with a finger against her lips. "I'm not selling the motorcycle. Cora doesn't – bother me – but she's – jealous of you."

  "I can help." June caught his hand, held it in both of hers.

  "She's my problem, not yours." He gave her a crooked smile. "I never meant to drag you into this mess. You saved my life. That doesn't mean that you have to take on my problems, too. I don't want you involved."

  June teetered on the edge of telling him about the threats. She was involved, up to her neck in it.

  "If I get this job, I'll move to Lexington. This will all blow over – in a week or so. In the mean time, Van Man Go will have the bike. Without the bike to target, no one will bother me."

  Maybe he was right. As long as she stayed quiet, those men would leave her alone. She could start looking for a new job.

  "The soap is going to be ruined." She changed the subject. He was leaving soon; she had to get a grip on her feelings for him.

  "I turned it off." Eric grinned. "I'm pretty good at crisis control."

  "Good thing." June gave him a peck on the cheek. "Let me down." He set her on her feet.

  "What about – the ghost?"

  "She's gone for the moment. We don't have to worry about her."

  They got back to the task at hand. The goat's milk soap turned out perfectly. It was softly scented with lavender from her own garden and rose oil. The pale blue, heart-shaped molds were all filled, then they made three shallow pans of bars. They went back into the house to finish off the cola.

  Eric kicked back in a chair, sipping cola and looking more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. She admired his ability to shake off the attack. She was dead tired.

  "You know I'm staying on Bridge Street at the Iroquois club."

  June smiled, shaking her head; the stories about the Harbor were pretty bad.

  "They have a good oldies band on the weekend. Would you come down Saturday?"

  "The Harbor is a rough place."

  "Oh come on, it's not that bad." Eric grinned. "Besides, you'll be with me."

  How could he be so sure of himself? Then again, he had been in the Middle East for a long time. A rough neighborhood was nothing in comparison. He would keep her safe.

  "Okay." She yawned and stretched. "I'm going to have to ask you to go. I've got to work tomorrow." She walked him to his SUV, gave him a hug goodnight that ended in a light kiss.

  "I'll see you at the Iroquois."

  ~^~

  October 8th, Ashtabula Harbor

  The old lift-bridge that spanned the Ashtabula River gave Bridge Street its name. In summer the bridge rose every hour to let pleasure craft out of the marinas onto Lake Erie. The quaint shops lining Bridge Street catered to the wealthy boat owners. During the day, the brick buildings oozed charm to delight passing motorists; after sunset the mood on Bridge Street changed.

  The Harbor had a dark reputation that went back to the 1880's when it was the Barbary Coast of the Great Lakes. The street had gone from derelict to trendy and back a couple of times in June's lifetime. Tonight the street was decorated for the fall, with hardy flowers in big tubs dotting the sidewalk.

  At the center of Bridge Street was a three story, red brick building that had once been a hotel. The Iroquois Club building dated back to the 1890's. It had been a bar for more than a hundred years. Tonight a scattering of people came and went through the doors.

  As she got out of her car, June wondered how many people had passed through the heavy wooden doors over the years. Eric was waiting just inside the door. The guy checking ids and collecting cover charges from everyone else stamped her hand without asking for either. He smiled at Eric beside her, then turned to the next person in line.

  "Thanks, Tyler." Eric stood aside to let her in.

  She stepped into the dark wood-paneled hallway, with a room like a parlor to the left, and a mahogany staircase on the right that led up to the second floor. The carpeting was dark red, the trim black, the walls to the left a smoke-stained white, the rest paneled with wood dark with age. None of the stories she'd heard about the Harbor had mentioned its smoky grandeur. Straight back, the long bar was full of people; they all seemed to be staring at her. June froze at the end of the hallway realizing she was overdressed. She was the only woman in a skirt and heels. Most of the rest wore jeans or very short skirts.

  "You want to sit at a table?" Eric asked her when she stopped moving.

  "Sure." June let him lead her to a table. "Is there a quiet corner somewhere?"

  "Not tonight," Eric quipped. "But we can get a table off to the side."

  "What's up, Eric?" The waitress was dressed in jeans and burgundy tee shirt that proclaimed "Iroquois Security" in white. "What can I get for you?"

  "I'll take a draft beer." Eric grinned at the waitress as he leaned back and crossed his legs.

  "The same." June looked down at her hands.

  "Be right back with two drafts." The waitress threaded her way through the crowd, taking orders as she went.

  "How do you know her?" June asked. The guy at the door had let her in for free and now the waitress called Eric by name.

  "I
live upstairs," Eric raised an eyebrow. "She works here."

  "Oh." It was a strange feeling – she was out of her element, while he was right at home. Feeling nervous, she scooted her chair closer to him. She could see the band better from that angle, she told herself. It didn't mean that she was hiding behind him.

  The band members lined up for the sound check, tapping mikes and talking. The tall, blonde lead singer looked around at the rest of the band just as he grabbed the microphone.

  "Hey everybody, I'm Ted and we're 'Moral-less.' ARE YOU READY TO ROCK AND ROLL?"

  Cheers and whistles answered him as the band started out with 'Rock and Roll All Night and Party Every Day.' The bar was filled with people, all types, from tall gaunt bikers with beards to women in tight jeans and skimpy tops. Before the song was finished, the dance floor was packed.

  June wasn't used to crowds. Through the first few songs she fidgeted with her drink, scanning the room. The music was good, the beer was cold. She drank in little sips, hoping it would settle her nerves. Eric had his back to the wall. His arm, draped casually across the back of her chair, told everyone that she was with him. It felt a little strange, but kinda neat at the same time.

  "Now let's slow this down. We have a couple tunes by Journey. I'm going to dedicate 'Lights' to Stephanie, our favorite waitress."

  "I'm the only waitress!" Stephanie called back with a laugh. The band picked up the tune immediately and perfectly. The dance floor went from crowded to just a few couples, caught in body clinches.

  "Would you like to dance?" Eric asked, already getting up from his chair. He held out his hand to her. June's heart was pounding as she let herself be drawn out onto the floor. He carefully pulled her into his arms. "Relax. Don't treat me like a stranger."

  He gathered her closer, cradling her against his chest.

  "I don't bite," he murmured in her ear.

  "They're watching us." She peeked over Eric's shoulder at the unsmiling faces and the hard eyes that followed them.

  "Don't think about them. You're safe with me." He skimmed his fingers down her back, resting his hand at her waist. The wide spread of his fingers covered the small of her back. "Just listen to the music." He deftly turned them, so that she couldn't see the men any more.

  "The band is good." She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed, feeling safe and secure even in this dangerous place. Her soldier-turned-biker would watch out for her. The thought made her sigh. As her senses kicked in, she could smell the leather of his jacket, the faintest hint of cologne, the rich earthy scent that was his and his alone. She slid her hand to his shoulders as she snuggled a bit closer.

  "That's better." He rewarded her with a soft squeeze and smile. When the song changed from 'Lights' to 'Faithfully,' the dance floor was empty except for the two of them.

  June didn't care.

  Back at the table, June snuggled against Eric, his warmth and strength more intoxicating than the alcohol. They drank and danced until the crowd thinned, talking between sets.

  At the end of the night, Eric walked her to her car. The moon shone on Bridge Street, giving it a whitewash. The white light inside of June responded to the moon. She felt light-headed with her arm around Eric's waist, his arm around her shoulders.

  "It's a lovely night," June said as they walked to her car.

  "There's a great beach just down the road," Eric smiled down at her. "Can I talk you into a walk in the moonlight?"

  June blew out a breath that frosted. "Not in October. But if you would ask me that in July, I'd jump at the chance." They stopped by her car, holding hands.

  "I'd come back here for that." Eric gently ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders.

  "Just for a walk on the beach?"

  "With you, in the moonlight? In a heartbeat." Eric pulled her close to kiss her. June slid her arms around his neck, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He teased her lips with a hint of his teeth before he plundered her mouth. When June went weak in the knees, Eric set her on the hood of the car. June's heels hooked behind his legs, locking him against her as her hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans.

  "Hey, dude, get a room!" Drunken laughter followed the shout. Ted, the singer, staggered down the street.

  Eric broke from her mouth, his eyes glinting savagely in the moonlight.

  "Ted, you got a problem?" Eric shot back.

  "Take a joke, all right?" Ted giggled.

  "Asshole," Eric muttered. "Sorry about that."

  "I need to go." Mortified at the thought of some drunk watching them kiss, June pulled away. Eric let her go, slowly, skimming her face with his fingers.

  "Can I see you tomorrow?"

  "Yes," June pressed his hand to her cheek. "I'd like that." She got in her car.

  Ted staggered closer.

  "Hey, do I know you? You wanna come party with the band?"

  "I've got to go." Eric rolled his eyes. "I'll call you tomorrow."

  As June got into her car, Eric kept close. When she was safely inside, he strode over to Ted. He supported the drunken singer with one arm, waving at her.

  ~^~

  Chapter Ten

  October 9th, the Harbor

  It was Sunday morning – Eric was on Walnut Beach, running barefoot on the sand as the sun rose and dozens of mewing gulls skimmed the rose-kissed water. As he ran, the endorphins hit. The awakening day took on a rare clarity: the hard sand under his bare feet, the cold water that skipped across his toes, the heat his own body generated, the effortless ease with which he ran; it all hit him at once.

  For the first time in forever he felt whole, not fragmented.

  He ran back to the public side of the beach, sweating freely in the chilly breeze, to the log where he'd left his shoes. He dropped to his knees in the sand. Feeling buoyant with wonder he voiced his joy for this perfect moment.

  "Thank you, God, for this day."

  The gulls went silent, suspended in mid-flight.

  The mellow chime of church bells filled the silence, echoing across the beach, summoning the faithful. His head came up, his heart answered the call. Eric scooped up his shoes, then crossed the beach, parking lot, grass lawn to the pavilion where he paused to don his shoes. He walked up the steep stairs towards the mellow sound.

  The streets were empty at this hour. Two blocks separated him from the Gothic, stone-faced church when he felt Cora tug on his shirt.

  Where do you think you're going, lover?

  The mellow bells called him. Cora's seductive whisper could not drown them out. He shrugged her off, crossed the street so he was only a block from the church.

  Don't waste your time listening to some pervert preaching to an empty church.

  He didn't have to listen to her.

  Empty words and empty promises to empty seats, why bother?

  She didn't own him. He could still go where he pleased. But his steps slowed, the last chimes echoed and faded, leaving him weary, tired and thirsty.

  What you need is a beer.

  Not Cora this time, another voice, male and grating on his nerves. Jake.

  How dare they try to block his movements? Wasn't he already damned for the things he'd done in the last three years? Could a few minutes in a church loosen their hold on him?

  Maybe it could. He looked at the stone church with longing. There was the statue of Mary labeled 'Mother of Sorrows' out front. Eric focused on her down cast face and took a few more steps.

  They hit him with his own memories.

  The church chimes became the jagged ping of bullets off armor-plated Hummers. Ambushes, exploding IED's that ripped armored vehicles like tin cans. He saw the face of every dead man he'd seen in the course of two tours. Every burned and blasted body of every friend he'd lost. Cold sweat ran from his body like a wet towel squeezed dry. Ugly memories of holding captives while they were brutally questioned choked him.

  He stumbled on the uneven pavement, went down on one knee, sick to the point of puking with
the emotional infection that twisted his gut like a bag of rotting snakes.

  "Son, are you all right?"

  Eric shook his head, clenching his teeth on the need to retch up the foul sewage of memory.

  "Take my hand." The hand was black-skinned and deformed, the outer two fingers gone and the palm scarred by deep burns. Napalm made burns like that.

  Eric grabbed that hand like a drowning man. The strength in that grip steadied him. He swallowed as Cora screamed in his ear.

  You don't deserve a second chance!

  He didn't, he knew it. He hated her for saying it. With an effort of will, he pushed the memories and the nausea away. His breath rushed out, he sucked it back.

  "Come with me." The man put his arm around Eric's back, steadied him enough to rise. They got to the church steps. Eric stopped, shaking his head.

  "Give me a minute."

  "Come inside."

  Eric looked at his benefactor, an aging black man with white hair, a scarred face and a blind eye, as he leaned against the iron railing. The old man was strong enough to hold Eric up with one hand.

  "Are you a vet?"

  "You think I got this pretty in a bar fight?"

  Eric grinned; this old man was a tough guy.

  "Vietnam?"

  "Yeah." He opened the door to the empty church and helped Eric inside. "You all right?" The friendly concern on the old man's face was disarming.

  Eric answered with the truth.

  "No, man, I will never be all right again."

  "Iraq?"

  "Afghanistan. Same shit, different sandbox," Eric joked.

  "So I hear." The old man helped him to the back pew.

  "I shouldn't be here." Eric resisted, leaning on the pew but not sitting down.

  "Why not? You got a hot date somewhere?"

  "No." This was no place for him.

  "Sit down, son. You're in the right place."

  Eric sat, looked at his shoes while the nausea swirled through his stomach. Cora and Jake were both gone, shut out with the street noises.

  "I used to think that church was the place for the righteous and the saved." The old man looked around at the wooden pews and the elegant lines of the church.