Beastly Week: Mudflat Magic, #6

By Phoebe Matthews

Last week ghosts attacked my cousin, a sidewalk attacked me, a wild animal moved into the back yard, my boyfriend's ex moved into our house, and a funeral ended in murder. Last week was a piece of cake compared to this week.

The first novel in the Mudflat Magic series was awarded the EPPIE for Best Fantasy of the Year. Current series by Matthews include Sunspinners, Turning Vampire, and Mudflat Magic. Her novels have been published by Avon, Dark Quest, Dell, Holt, LostLoves, Putnam and others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LostLoves Books
• Release date: Jul 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393944348

Phoebe Matthews

Phoebe Matthews is currently writing three urban fantasy series. Her novels have been published by Avon, Dark Quest, Dell, Holt, LostLoves, Putnam, Silhouette, and Scholastic.

Book preview

MONDAY MORNING

Except for the fact that we still had Alakar living with us, I honestly believed life would settle back into its old routines. Insane optimism is maybe an inherited trait?

For a bunch of reasons, I took Monday off from work. The rest of my housemates headed out to their various jobs.

Okay, I didn’t exactly take off the morning. My boss at my half-time temp job at the bank was mad at me for some dumb reason and had told the temp agency he didn’t need me. That happens so often, I accept it as a holiday.

The boss of my afternoon job, who is as sweet as the bank manager is sour, insisted I needed the afternoon off considering all that had happened on Sunday, like a creepy killing and a bunch of us in shock. Not a lot of people knew the details but of course I told Madeline. She’s kind of my personal confessor.

Home alone, world silent, time to polish my toenails or whatever,  I started with a long shower and let mind and body relax. Slowly got out, slowly dried off, slowly pulled on shorts and a tank top. With a towel around my shoulders, I dragged a comb through my long wet hair.

Summer. With sunshine for a change in Seattle I could let my hair air-dry while I padded around the kitchen barefoot and brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Right after that I planned to settle myself on the deck with sunglasses and a trashy novel.

Because yeah, get caught in the blood spatter of somebody getting offed and it takes a while to set my head back on straight. In case you’re wondering, the guy who died was sweet in his way. There wasn’t a thing I could have done to save him. I am a five and a half foot tall skinny weakling. But I kept spinning the scene in my mind, trying to figure out how that scene could have been prevented.

I was there. I was in the middle of it. And I couldn’t stop what happened.

Someone knocked on the front door. Yeah, I know, that’s a classic opening for a murder mystery. In this case it might lead to murder, mine, but there usually isn’t a whole lot of mystery on my horizon. I live in the neighborhood I grew up in, an old cluster of blocks in Seattle that include a small business district, a few apartment buildings, the Neighborhood Center run by Madeline, and after that it is all single family houses with trees in the front berms and alleys behind the backyards.

My house has been in the Carmody family since my late grandmother was a child. She willed it to me. It’s a one-story house built on the downside of the hill, with a daylight basement apartment in the backyard. A troll rents the apartment, has done forever. He went on a trip this summer and I don’t know where he is and that is one more thing for me to worry about.

Thinking evil thoughts, I went to answer the door. It could be my friend Nicky here to tell me a long tale of her lovelife problems or it could be my scudze cuz here to beg a loan and there went my day. No use trying to hide out on the deck. Any friend or neighbor or unwanted relative would come wandering around the house looking for me.

Give it up, Claire, I muttered to myself and is that a sign of serious aging, talking to myself? In a few months I will hit twenty-four. That’s almost halfway from twenty to thirty. Last month I figured I’d be married by then. This month the wedding plans went on hold for a bunch of reasons and after yesterday I’m afraid it is going to be a while and a lot of hard work to get things going again.

Knock knock again a little harder, a little louder.

I opened the door. In case it was my cousin Jimmy, my mouth was open to shriek at him.

Looked out and clamped my mouth shut.

They stood there, two men with rusty hair and hard faces, dressed in shirts and khakis. All I could do was hope they’d stolen them off a clothesline and not off the owners’ bodies.

Without a blink I reacted, slammed the door shut, leaned my back against it and fought to catch my breath. My heart banged against my ribs. With my eyes closed I did a slow count on my fingers of all the reasons for me to be somewhere else. Was it possible that I was mistaken and these were a couple of panhandlers who coincidentally looked like the man I’d seen dead yesterday? Wishful thinking. I knew perfectly well who they were.

They were small men, short, muscular, yeah, well, most the men from their country are short including my boyfriend. They are all also incredibly strong. If they wanted to, they could kick in the door without bruising a bare toe and I’d be the one paying to have the door replaced.

Not much I could do except turn around and open the door and try not to look terrified.

They hadn’t moved. If they thought my behavior rude it didn’t show on their expressionless faces.

Where is he? one demanded. His voice was a deep growl, very much what you’d expect in a cross between a man and a bear and was that what he was?

I know you, the other one said. I saw you at the castle of Kovat the Slayer, dead but forever honored.

Umm, yes. And how that happened is too weird to explain so I won’t. It started with a camping trip, which always means bad coffee and cold showers and the only reason I went was to make myself scarce for a few days from a creep who’d been hassling me.  If I weren’t a pacifist I’d tell you I’d have been better off grabbing a gun and shooting the creep. But I am and I didn’t and instead I ended up in a situation that was all bad except for one thing. I met Tarvik.

I took a deep breath and tried to look clueless. Where is who?

Of course I knew who they were. And who they wanted. Same small greenish-yellow eyes with almost no whites, shaded by heavy eyebrows and stiff black lashes. Pale skin with a rough texture like they spent a lot of time outside in bad weather, which wild animals do. Wide cheekbones and long noses, narrow faces. Same hard bodies and same stiff rusty hair as their younger brother. He had been handsomer, with more finely chiseled features. They looked more confident, with none of his sadness in their expressions.

We seek Wensel the Younger, one said.

His trail ends here, the other added.

Or in the city dump, I thought but didn’t say.

Uh, who are you, please? Asking gave me a short pause to consider my escape options. Their names didn’t much matter. They were obviously Wensels.

The less growly one ducked his head in a quick bow. I am Wensel the Elder and this is my brother, Wensel the Second. Lady, where is my youngest brother?

He isn’t here.

He went searching for his wife. He was told that she left our land to find her cousin, son of Kovat, and the trail leads here.

They looked close in age, maybe a year or two apart. Their  brother, Weed Wensel, had been several years younger. I knew that much from the wife who made him her ex. Or late. That sounded better, thinking of Weed as Alakar’s late husband, yes, I could do that.

Um, right. But Tarvik isn’t here now. He’ll be back this evening.

Maybe he’d be better able to deal with these men. Tarvik has a lot of tact for a guy who believes beheading is a satisfactory end to an argument. I love him, anyway, which proves I’m delusional.

I half expected them to push their way into the house. That’s the sort of thing Darryl Decko would do.

While I tried to think of Second as a name, Second glared at me. His hands balled into fists. His long yellow thumbnails curved across his knuckles. The street was empty, wouldn’t you know, without a neighbor in sight or shouting distance.

The older brother bowed from the waist. Our apologies, lady. We did not intend to disturb you.

Second made a low growl that perfectly matched those claws. The older one gave him a quick glance and curled his upper lip back to show jagged teeth. Why didn’t we have a screen door? Everyone needs a screen door between themselves and strangers who knock, not that screening would last long against those claws.

Apparently the older one had a tad more authority. They turned on their bare heels and marched themselves down the walk and out of sight. I stood in the doorway with my mouth hanging open.

Starting Monday morning with a visit from a couple of possible shapechangers is a lousy way to begin a week. A more superstitious person would have gone right back to bed. Still, it could have been worse. They could have come calling in bear shapes.

Whenever Alakar got home today I had a whole bunch of questions for her.

MONDAY NOON

Where Weed Wensel’s trail actually ended was not at my house. It ended with Alakar, one of my boyfriend’s two girl cousins. They are permanent house guests.

When Tarvik came home at noon, I shouted, You won’t believe who showed up today! Didn’t even give him a chance to ask who, although he had his mouth open like he was about to say something. The Wensel brothers, the two older ones.

Wensels? Weed’s brothers? Where are they? Did you tell them Weed is dead?

Is there any safe way to explain that to them?

So what did you tell them?

I stalled and they went away. What are you doing home? My boyfriend is chief cook at lunch time for the Neighborhood Center where he prepares meals for senior citizens, daycare children and a lot of other hungry types.

We have enough volunteers in the kitchen today. I thought I’d come have lunch with you.

Very Tarvik, remembering that I had the morning free. True, he probably expected to find me sunning on the deck, all relaxed and happy. Fortunately he is flexible and adjusts easily to my moods and I say fortunately because gotta tell ya, adjusting is not one of my better skills.

He dug through the refrigerator to pull out the fixings for sandwiches. Besides being blond and blue-eyed and a hunk, Tar is a super cook. I don’t love him for his cooking but it’s a big plus.

Hurray, I said, trying to switch from cranky to cheerful.

Did the Wensels mention when they would return?

I told them you would be here this evening.

Then that’s when they will return. I’ll talk to them, my Claire. I’m sure we can find a peaceful settlement.

I wasn’t. Tarvik and the Wensels had been raised to follow strict laws of behavior that sort of reminded me of the films about the days of chivalry. You know, back when knights bowed to each other whenever they weren’t actually declaring war on each other. And lady wives were draped in velvet and jewels and spoken to with tremendous respect except when they were being locked in towers or beheaded or tied to a stake for roasting.

Although the Wensels apologized for disturbing me and then withdrew, they wouldn’t stay withdrawn. They’d be back.

I didn’t tell them Alakar was in town. When they got around to finding out that little fact we might have the apocalypse in my back yard.

Tarvik’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. You didn’t?

Maybe they’ll give up and go home.

He laughed and pulled me into his arms. Tar’s a hunk but he’s a short hunk, the same height as I am, which he says is perfect because it makes kissing so easy. Can’t disagree with that.

What are you planning to do, my Claire? Hide Alakar under the bed?

Uh, actually, I was thinking of finding her someplace else to live, at least for as long as the Wensel brothers hang around.

And has your thinking produced an answer?

My first idea is Nicotiana. That should say something about how desperate I am.

He laughed at me. I mean, who asks a practicing witch for a favor that could easily turn into a disaster? Besides, I know Nicotiana likes living alone.

Her niece, Little Nicky, is probably her favorite person in the world and she allows Nicky to stop by for an evening to do her laundry in Nicotiana’s clean laundry room instead of trying to use the overcrowded laundry in Nicky’s apartment building. However, Nicky’s told me that in her whole lifetime her aunt has never invited her to stay overnight. There were a few times when Nicky would have liked to, times when she had a live-in boyfriend she wanted to toss out and he wouldn’t budge. I guess that’s another story. Point is this.

A witch is a bad choice to ask for a favor. Sure, she acts like she’s fond of me. The woman works at the funeral home and can be very gracious. Does that mean she wants me asking favors and putting her in a position to have to say no?

I didn’t try to explain all that to Tarvik. How much do you know about the Wensels? What kind of reputations do they have? Do they fight fair? How about their wives?

What about their wives? His eyebrows rose.

Well, I mean, did they treat them politely? And was that my awkward way of asking if those men were Bluebeards? The customs of his world aren’t clear to me. Tarvik is extremely sweet and kind but probably every violent race has a few sweet and kind exceptions.

He thought about that and frowned. He has one of those faces that shows his every thought. They didn’t live anywhere near us. They had a big place in a forest south of my uncle’s land. Other than that, I don’t know much about them.

They said their names were First and Second. What kind of names are those?

I was sometimes called First Son of Kovat. They may have thought you couldn’t pronounce their real names.

Are they shapechangers? I asked. That’s what their brother had been.

Claire, I never knew there were any shapechangers in their family or anyone else’s. Perhaps I should stay home in case they return.

No. You’re right. They won’t be back until this evening. And I’m going on over to talk to Nicotiana after lunch.

Text me if you need me, he said, and that made me laugh. For a boy who only began learning to read last winter, he’s turned into a techaholic. I have an errand to run this afternoon but I will have my phone.

What’s the errand?

Lovely has a new little dog and she asked if I could take it to the groomer.

Lovely is an elderly lady who lives down the street. Tarvik often runs errands for her.

We had lunch together before he went back to work. Afternoons he paints. He is slowly working his way from room to room, filling the Neighborhood Center with bright clean walls. The Center was once a school building but when the school closed the neighborhood was able to acquire the big old building for close to nothing and convert it into a place for community services. It’s ancient, almost a century old. Neighborhood fund raising and a little arm twisting of the half dozen wealthy families scattered among us poor folk provided for re-wiring and updated plumbing.

I walked out the door with him because we sometimes do that, stand on the driveway and wave each other goodbye until the one who is leaving is out of sight and when did I become this needy, sentimental person?

After he left I went off to the bedroom to change out of my shorts. Nicotiana is formal, I mean, she doesn’t slouch around in baggy shorts and spotted tank tops like some of us.

Of course my top was spotted. I’d had lunch. Don’t know why but somehow I always manage to spill something on myself.

I switched into my yellow halter top sun dress which is about as formal as I get, and did a careful comb through of my hair, pulling it into a ponytail, another futile effort. My hair is that fine kind that always slips loose and trails in wisps around my face and sometimes I am tempted to get it cut short. Thing is, my hair is very dark and very silky and Tarvik loves it. As I am really not all that lovable I need to keep whatever assets I have.

Okay, what could I do that might look slightly more impressive than messy hair and scuffed sandals?

The only indestructible thing I own is jewelry, and that consists of a heavy gold ring Tarvik once gave me. He has since muttered about buying me an engagement ring which we can’t afford and anyway, as I pointed out to him, if I had a diamond ring I would either lose it or get mugged by someone who would break my finger pulling it off.

Mugged? What does that mean? he had asked.

It means getting hit over the head and knocked down. Besides, I don’t want another ring. I like the one I have. It used to belong to you. That means a lot to me.

After I gave him the explanation of mugging he never mentioned the idea of buying a diamond ring again.

The only problem with my ring is that it is the size of Tarvik’s finger which is bigger around than my thumb. I wear the ring on a ribbon around my neck. It is heavy gold with a carved design that I love, a kind of twisting of shapes that remind me of a sunrise.

I pulled out my dresser drawer and then I searched through my purse and all the pockets of clothes in my closet and under the bed and on the side of the bathtub and everywhere else I could think of. Wherever I’d mislaid it I wasn’t going to find it quickly and I did need to talk to Nicotiana. I wasn’t worried about the ring exactly. Sharing a house with Nance, Tarvik’s nice cousin (as opposed to the ex-girlfriend cousin and does that sound mean spirited?) I knew she had probably found it on the counter in the kitchen or bathroom and had put it away someplace logical.

At least I did have a clean dress and that was the best I could do to impress Nicotiana.

Her lovely little house is set in the center of her gorgeous garden. The garden has pathways winding under blossom-covered trees and between overflowing flower beds, with one path ending at a small brick porch where high-backed blue benches flank the blue door.

The cottage is equally perfect, like something in a child’s picture book, white with blue shutters and a blue roof that starts low on the sides and rises to a high point in the center. When I was a small child and in awe of all witches, a teacher read us the story of Hansel and Gretel. I had immediately put up my hand and said, The witch’s house doesn’t have a gingerbread fence. It has white pickets.

How do you know that? the teacher had asked.

Because she lives on my street.

All the children had laughed at me except Little Nicky. She had stared at me, her eyes wide with fear. That’s when I remembered we weren’t supposed to tell people we lived in a neighborhood with magic.

Even now, all these years later, I am still a little bit nervous around Nicotiana. If I turned and got myself back down the path and out the gate of the white picket fence, I could forget this whole expedition.

Once upon a time last week Darryl Decko was besotted with Tarvik’s cousin Alakar. True, he’d had a total change of mind after her husband turned up and tried to off him. But still, he must have some feelings for the girl. If I could locate him, maybe he could at least put her up in a hotel. Lord knows he could afford it. He owns a couple of expensive homes and drives a BMW which is the same thing as jumping up and down and shouting, ‘See how rich I am,’ isn’t it? He wouldn’t actually have to meet her again. He could just pay the bill and was there anyway I could guilt trip him into that?

Yeah, and then I’d owe Darryl favors.

Nicotiana has always been nonviolent. I wouldn’t end up harmed. I might end up with a rash. She is very good at rashes.

Behind me the door opened. I was already facing away, staring at the gate.

Claire?

I spun around. Hi! Uh, I need to talk to you if you’re not busy.

She gave me her courteous smile and invited me in for a cup of tea, adding, You’re looking very pretty today.

She often invites my boyfriend in for tea after they’ve spent an hour in her garden with him lugging around sacks of fertilizer and her sharing gardening secrets. Wasn’t too surprising that she made the mistake of figuring me for a tea person.

While I sat on the chintz sofa in her bookcase-lined living room and tried to decide what to say, she puttered around preparing tea in the kitchen and carrying it to the front room on a silver tray. Finally settled, she leaned forward from the chair opposite me, her teacup and saucer in her hands, and waited.

Nicotiana is about six feet tall, the same as her niece, same coloring, same broad shoulders, and the similarity ends there. Nicky is gorgeous. Nicotiana is plain. When she’s on the job at the mortuary she goes tailored, very trim and proper looking.

As this wasn’t a work day for her, she wore gardening slacks and shirt. Her dark brown hair hung around her shoulders. On work days she smoothes it back into a knot. There’s a wiry quality to Nicotiana’s hair that makes it stick out away from her head. Her hair has some natural gray streaks plus she adds red streaks that are either dyed or they’re some sort of spell and I am never going to ask.

I know you aren’t here for a love potion, she said and