Swallow the Moon Page 13

  "It might, but the motorcycle is the key," June said, driving carefully out of the parking lot. "Both Jake and Cora are attached to it."

  "Then I need to talk to Van Man Go."

  "Do you think that Van Man Go is going to help you out?" June snorted. "Not likely."

  "I need to try. Last time I talked to him – my head got fuzzy." He fidgeted, rubbing his scabbed knuckles. "I need to keep a clear head this time. He has to know something."

  "That doesn't mean he'll tell you."

  "No – it doesn't."

  As June drove to the Harbor, Eric told her about the fight. As usual, Bridge Street had a lot of traffic. June pulled up in front of Van Man Go's body shop. She was blocking the driveway – but was out of traffic. The bay doors were open, old acid music blared from cheap speakers. The music was familiar, guitars and bass with a drum back-beat. It sounded like Cora's song from the video. The music gave her the cheeps.

  "I guess this is it." June turned to Eric. There were a dozen things that she wanted to say; all of them would make her sound like a nut. She reached into her pocket, palming the red stone heart.

  He turned away from her, one hand opening the door, the other on the dash. "Will you come with me?" Eric turned to look at her over his shoulder. "I want you to see the pictures of Cora Cobra."

  "She's a tall skinny Goth with black hair in a black leather corset. I'll bet her boyfriends called her Mistress and paid her to whip them."

  "You have seen her." Eric laughed.

  He was in so much trouble already; did he have to go back for more? June caught his sleeve with her fingers. "Please don't get into any more trouble. I can't keep saving your ass."

  Eric turned back to her; his eyes were serious. He gave her a hug, then laid a soft lingering kiss on her lips. The leather under her hands, the width of his shoulders and the strength of his arms conspired to weaken her resolve to let him go.

  "I'll come out to your house when I'm done here."

  June tightened one arm around his shoulders. She looked into his deep green eyes for a moment before she kissed him again. The scent of leather and musk fogged her head. As he deepened the kiss, the light rose within her, until she breathed it into his mouth. When he finally broke the kiss, she was light-headed and every nerve was humming. On impulse, she slipped the stone heart into his pocket.

  "Please be careful." She flicked a glance at the traffic behind her, then back to Eric, walking into the bay doors of Van Man Go's body shop.

  Maybe Eric could make Van talk, but she doubted it.

  ~^~

  Chapter Eleven

  Eric took a deep breath before he walked into the open shop. He could still taste June, like the sweet lingering tang of a breath mint. What was he going to do about her? He rubbed his itchy face with the back of his knuckles. The pain was gone, from his mouth, his cheekbones and his body.

  He resisted the impulse to check his reflection in a car window. The split in his lip didn't hurt, he could breathe without pain and his mangled knuckles were merely sore. Just like his injuries from the wreck, he healed up after a kiss.

  He didn't believe in magic.

  "Hey Van, you around?" Eric called over the beat of a drum solo. He looked around for the skinny artist. There was no one in the bay. He walked over to the office and knocked. The door opened, Eric saw dark colors and smelled patchouli and pot as Van Man Go opened the office and stepped out. The tattooed and pierced artist looked as shrunken as ever. His eyes were red and glassy; a joint was clamped in his mouth.

  "Look what the cat dragged in." Van showed his filed teeth. "I heard you had some trouble."

  "Some." Eric shrugged. "I'm here now." A thin run of keyboard music from speakers by the wall drew his eyes to the collage of photos on the wall. There was no mistaking Cora in black leather with her snake wrapped around her waist. A trick of the light, or wind on the photo, made it look like her body swayed in time to the music. He could feel her beside him, a whisper of air brushing through his hair, as she danced solely for him.

  "That's a heck of a shiner." Van smiled crookedly. "The Harbor is a rough place. Bright boy like you should know better than to tangle with the natives." There was a malevolent glint in Van's bloodshot eyes as he took another hit, blowing the smoke and his rank breath into Eric's face.

  "Keep that shit to yourself." Eric waved away the smoke, glaring at Van.

  The brush against his hair had turned to the faint, but unmistakable trailing touch of Cora's fingers. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck. The music rose to a throbbing bass beat. Between the stench of pot and Cora's maddening teasing, Eric's head started to throb in time to the music.

  "I got my other project finished yesterday." Van watched Eric with his bloodshot eyes. "I've got the time to work on your bike."

  Finally – the words he'd been waiting to hear. Cora stroked the side of his face, whispering an obscene suggestion in his ear. Eric batted at her, touching nothing. The distraction broke his concentration – wasn't there something else?

  Nothing mattered except restoring the bike.

  "It'll take me eight weeks to restore the bike. You can pay cash or make payments with half down."

  "Eight weeks to touch up some scratches?"

  "I don't do shit work. What you think I'm going to do – fill them with Bondo? The chrome is gouged, boy. It needs to be re-chromed. The plastic fairing is stress fractured, it has to be replaced. May not show now, but hit a bump and see what happens." He snapped his fingers. "It'll shatter like that."

  "That's a long time." Even if Van was right, Eric didn't want to hang around that long. He wanted to leave Ashtabula as soon as the court date was over, never to return.

  Make me perfect. Cora's hands shifted from Eric's back to his butt and thighs. The wicked trailing of her invisible fingertips was playing hell with Eric's resolve. He had come all this way to make her perfect again. His eyes shifted to the photos of Cora on the bike – flawless, sexy, the bike of his dreams. A bike to die for – the envy of everyone who saw it – he owned it.

  "It's going to cost you –" Van named a figure that rocked Eric back on his heels. Van grabbed a sheet of paper from a pocket on the wall. There was a folder tucked behind a bunch of papers labeled 'Busa. Van pushed the sheet and a pen at Eric.

  "Standard contract," Van said. "I can order the parts as soon as you sign."

  "That's a signature page." Eric glanced over Van's shoulder. "Where's the rest?" He reached for the folder. Van blew smoke in his face. Eric stepped back, coughing, the room spun a little.

  "What do you care about contracts? You a lawyer?"

  Cora writhed against Eric's butt as screeching guitars made his ears buzz. Eric's temper frayed. He was being railroaded. Did they think he was stupid? He shoved the page back at Van.

  "I read the contract or I walk."

  "You want Cora restored or not?" Van's eyes narrowed, a sneer lifted a corner of his mouth.

  Cora wrapped her arms around Eric's waist, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. Eric calculated his reach against Van's shorter stature. He shifted, snagging the folder from the wall pocket.

  Van snatched the opposite corner. The smaller man's eyes flashed red with fury. A cold chill hit Eric's spine, like a snowball to the back of the neck.

  "What's in the contract?" Eric couldn't pull it from Van's hand.

  "You think you’re a badass, do you, boy?"

  "I've seen death more than once, old man," Eric answered, straightening to his full height. Afghanistan had been a nightmare. Eric's Guard unit had taken supplies deep in the heart of enemy territory for the Spec Ops guys. They had been ambushed every single time, fighting their way out and back to base.

  "There's death, then there's an eternity in hell." Van came up to Eric's chin; yet he was in Eric's face.

  "I've been in combat. How about you?" Eric sneered.

  Every dead body he'd seen was suddenly flashing before his mind's eye. He looked down at the skinny
artist and wondered why his mind was flooding with all the ugly memories he usually repressed. Eric could smell the sharp acrid scent of burning vehicles and dead bodies. He broke a sweat, staring Van down and bottling his growing rage.

  "Don't fuck with me, old man. I've done my share of killing." He was going to strangle the little rat!

  To keep from grabbing Van by the throat, Eric shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket. His fingers closed around a cold stone. Immediately, his rage cooled, the smell was gone and the images faded.

  "If you don't want the bike restored, it's no skin off my ass."

  "I'm not signing your bullshit contract." The stone in his hand was cold, soothing his rage. He was not going to choke the slimy bastard.

  Stalemate.

  "I'll tell you what. You sell me that bike for – say ten large. I'll cancel out old debts." Van narrowed his eyes, watching Eric closely. He kept a tight hold on the folder.

  Don't sell. I belong to you and only you. Cora was still driving him nuts. Her frantic attempts to seduce him pissed him off even more.

  "No deal." The bike was his – he was keeping it.

  Van spat on the folder.

  It caught fire.

  What the hell? Eric watched it burn with unnatural speed. He dropped the folder when his fingers got singed. It floated to the ground, a sheet of black ash. The hair on the back of Eric's neck and arms stood on end.

  "You're a one-man freak show." Eric pivoted on his heel. Fuck this. "I'm outta here."

  As he walked to his Explorer, he brought the stone out of his pocket. The small heart-shaped stone was red with a silver sheen.

  Maybe he was wrong about magic.

  ~^~

  As soon as he got out of his SUV, June could tell from the set to Eric's mouth and the fury in his eyes that the meeting with Van Man Go did not go well.

  "I've got a lot to tell you." He hugged her, then greeted the dogs dancing at his feet. Tasha jumped up to lick his face, showing her fangs in a doggy smile. Eric didn't flinch, he just rubbed her ears.

  "What happened?" While June fixed sandwiches, he told her about the argument with Van Man Go.

  "I had one corner of the folder, Van had the other." Eric was talking with his hands. "Van spat on the folder. It all went up in flames.

  "None of this shit makes sense." Eric made a sweeping gesture. "What the hell is he?"

  "I don't know."

  "I found this in my pocket." Eric's expression softened, he reached into his jacket pocket. He opened his hand, the red stone heart sat in his palm.

  "You put it there, didn't you?" Eric murmured, his voice deep and coaxing, the look in his eyes made her blush. He placed his hands around her waist and pulled her gently against him. "Girl, I owe you my life and maybe my soul. How the hell do I repay that?"

  June laid her face against his chest. He was warm, solid and strong, supporting her for a long moment before he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  "So what are we working on tonight?"

  "I found a recipe for lip balm."

  "No kidding?" He tipped her head back to give her a quick kiss. "They don't feel chapped to me."

  The second kiss was longer; June melted against him. But as soon as she did, she felt a chill settle on her feet and slither up her calves. June knew she had to stop or battle Cora – and she wasn't sure who would win. Reluctantly she broke the kiss.

  "Do you hear music?" Eric's voice was low-pitched and seductive. He kept her close, his mouth an inch from hers.

  "No." June leaned back a little, listening.

  "It's Cora's music." His hands trailed up and down her arms. "She haunts my dreams – her and that damn music." His fingers tightened, bringing her close, he kissed her again, harder.

  "Is Cora making you do this?" June was breathless when they broke the kiss. The cold was up to her knees. Her blood was running hot with lust and cold with fear. Fear was winning, though not by much.

  "No," Eric murmured. "But she's trying to take advantage of it."

  "Come on." She grabbed his hand. They walked out to the garage where she presented him with the materials for the evening's work.

  He gave her a smoldering look before he released her hand.

  "Okay, what have we got?"

  "Beeswax, almond oil and beet juice." June grinned at his raised eyebrows.

  "It sure sounds kinky."

  "It's just lip balm." June laughed, giving him a light swat on the arm.

  "How mundane." Eric started setting up the equipment.

  ~^~

  "Know thy enemy." June settled in the lotus position on the big pillow in the center of the white pentagram. "Blessed Goddess, show me my enemies. Let me better understand them." She dropped pinches of herbs in the brazier. The smoke swirled, she breathed it deeply, letting her mind drift.

  Van Man Go – the airbrushed sign was on the big window of a decaying gas station with two open bays. A compressor chugged in the background – old rock music played loudly on blown speakers. The sound of a man cursing could be heard above the noise.

  The black-haired woman stepped out of the sleek red Stingray onto short kitten heels. She wore a red silk shirt that matched the car and black Capri length pants that showed off curvaceous calves. Her dark curly hair was streaked with white, her make-up was natural and the only skin she showed were those to-die-for calves.

  She walked into the shop where a chubby young man was losing his battle with a clogged airbrush. The tank of a motorcycle taped and half painted with stylized flames sat on a crude table beside him. His forearms were tattooed with crude runes and symbols, his unruly hair kept out of his eyes with a stained bandana.

  She stamped a dainty foot, shooting a dark look at the stereo. It and the compressor died.

  For a moment, the young man looked blankly at the stereo.

  "Hello?" Her voice was low, but it carried perfectly in the sudden silence.

  He looked at her, swiping the sweat from his face.

  "What can I do for you?" He took in her clothes, then his gaze flicked to her car. "Ma'am?"

  "Call me Clare." She smiled as she crossed the garage. "I hear that you are a fair hand at custom painting."

  "I'm the best."

  "Really?" Clare looked around, her dark eyes quite piercing. She indicated the second hand equipment and the small supply of paint.

  "I've been doing this since I was sixteen."

  "Five years?"

  He blushed, then briskly brushed the tape fragments from his hand. When he stood up, it was with all his dignity in place. Clare watched him with avid eyes.

  "Everyone has to start out someplace."

  Clare moved closer, her heels clicking on the garage floor. She held out her hand for him to shake. He hesitated, brushing his hand against his stained jeans before clasping flesh with her. The flush on his cheeks deepened and spread, as the hair on his body rose in gooseflesh. She did not release him; instead she gathered him closer, as if they were on a date.

  "Tell me about your plans." Clare gestured as she walked him to the office.

  "I've only been here a couple months," he confessed. "I've had ten jobs already."

  "Have they paid well?" Clare asked with a knowing smile.

  "Two paid me," he said.

  "The others?"

  "They're making payments." He opened the office door for her awkwardly. She didn't let go of his hand but slithered past him without quite brushing against him.

  "Hmm." Clare studied the office. It had been painted in raw red and black; a stylized Satan portrait dominated the largest wall. There was a stained mattress on the floor, with tangled sheets right under the portrait. "What a naughty boy you are."

  He mumbled something, his cheeks stained red.

  "What do you want most in the world, William?"

  "Call me Van." The young man shivered in the heat of her gaze. Her hand in his was hot and the heat radiated from her like a fever. "Paying customers."

  "Van Man
Go," Clare said softly. "What would you sell your soul for?" Her dark eyes bored into his soul until he confessed.

  "I want to be the greatest airbrush artist in the world."

  "Sorry." She pouted. "Somebody already made that deal."

  "Customers who always pay and equipment that never breaks," he said.

  "Now that we can work with – and get you some fringe benefits besides."

  He glanced at the portrait of Satan, shuddering as the too-handsome face winked at him.

  "I'm so fucked."

  "Afterwards," Clare promised. "Let's make the deal first."

  June opened her eyes. So, that was what happened to him. The artist had been a young man who needed a break – a break provided to him by a minion of the Evil One.

  Now for Cora Cobra – she needed to know more about the stripper. She fed more herbs into the brazier, a wreath of smoke coiled snake-like, wrapping around her head. June let herself drift again.

  Cora slammed the door shut behind her. Keyed up on speed, she breathed in the night air. This was a good night for a fast ride. She wrapped her snake around her waist and zipped up her leather jacket so Butterscotch would stay put.

  "Hey, Cora," a deep voice called out behind her. "Where you going, sugar?"

  Ugh, some John thought he could buy a quickie; not happening tonight. There was a party on the Beach that she didn't want to miss. Cora didn't even turn her head.

  "I'm busy," she snapped as she threw a leg over her bike. The bike started right up, purring as she settled into the seat. Butterscotch circled around and went up her back, warm and leathery.

  She took it easy on the Cleveland streets until she hit the shore-way. Cora gave the bike more gas, loving the swift response as the speedometer climbed. A bug smacked against her shoulder, stinging through the leather. A small hail of them followed.

  Cora downshifted once more, cranking her speed down as she pulled around a couple of semi-trucks. She cut through traffic – weaving in and out just to feel the power under her control. Butterscotch stuck her nose out of the jacket, tasting the wind.

  "Shit," Cora grumbled, slowing down so she could stuff the snake back into her jacket.