Swallow the Moon (5 page)

She strutted over to the ancient stereo and pulled the plug. He whirled, glaring at her.

For a second, she could have sworn that his eyes were as red as those of an albino mouse, then they were a normal, human brown. He licked his lips at the sight of her.

"Hell-low," he said, straightening up. "I'm Van Man Go. What can I do you out of, little girl?"

Cora was dressed to ride in jeans, high-heeled boots and a t-shirt, but he made her feel like she was in her skimpiest stripper outfit. Well, if he wanted to play THAT game, she would have him eating out of her hand. She switched to stripper mode and sashayed over to him, hips swinging and boots clacking. She was six foot tall in her bare feet, no little girl!

"I'm Cora Cobra." She looked down at him and smiled.

"Any relation to Clare?" he asked nervously, his eyes darting behind her to her motorcycle.

"Is she your wife?" Cora turned so she could see the bike as well. She took a wide stance, so she was looking across her shoulder at him.

"Hell no." Van Man Go laughed. His teeth were filed into fangs and there was stud in his tongue. "That your scooter?"

Cora arched her eyebrows at him.

"I didn't fly here on a broom." She tossed her hair, the cornrow braids she was sporting this week were tipped with bells that jangled. She knew the black hair set off her alabaster complexion and Goth makeup.

"You'd look good on a broom." He grinned, undressing her with his eyes. 

She assessed him with the same interest he was giving her. "Next time I'll come see you in my working outfit," she promised. "I was afraid you were a citizen or some boring business man."

"Not a chance." Van flashed his tongue stud at her. "I do love to make a deal."

"I want the greatest paint job you've ever made for my bike." Cora flashed the rings on her tongue back at him.

"Do tell?"

Cora fished into her back pocket and pulled out photos of her pet snake. "I want the bike painted to look like her."

"Pretty snake," Van said, raising his eyebrows.

The snake was an Albino python, yellow and white with brown markings.

"Ohh, that's more like it," he purred as he looked at a shot of Cora dressed in leather shorts and a bustier, her snake wrapped around her shoulders.

"Nice outfit."

"I want that on the gas tank."

"This will cost you."

"I can pay."

Van Man Go smirked at Cora Cobra.

"You will."

~^~

October 1, 2005 – Ashtabula, Ohio

As Eric signed the last of his paperwork, he wondered if his medical insurance had been canceled yet. He glanced at the clock; it was already eight in the morning. God, he was tired, but he didn't expect to get any sleep in the foreseeable future.

He scrubbed his hand over his beard and wondered what to do. How was he going to get back to his bike? What if they had totaled his bike? Where was it? Why had the rednecks tried to kill him?

"Excuse me." The woman was dressed in jeans, jacket and a sweater that showed off her figure. "Do you own the snake bike?"

"Yeah." Eric recognized her. "You must be the lady with the dogs." His luck had finally changed.

"Yeah, that's me." Slight, with a tumble of long dark hair, she hardly looked large or brave enough to save the life of a perfect stranger. Her blue eyes looked up at him as if dismayed by his height and bulk. She looked like she might bolt if he spoke too loud or moved too fast.

"Eric Macmillan," he pitched his voice low and soft. "You and that dog saved my life." They were walking out of the ER into the waiting room as they were talking.

"June Van Allen." June studied his face for a moment. "Are you okay?"

"There's nothing broken. But I'm gonna hurt like hell when these pills wear off." Eric had a mellow buzz, as if he'd had a couple beers. "Where is Cora?"

"Cora? Was there a woman with you?" Her face changed from open and friendly to pale and tense. She lifted a hand to ward him off.

"Oh no, the bike is Cora." Eric said in a reassuring tone. He didn’t want her to bolt on him. "I guess naming a motorcycle is a guy thing. Are you okay?"

"I'm dizzy." The woman hugged herself, pulling her jacket closed around her chest. She swayed on her feet. "I need to sit down for a second."

"What's wrong? You look like you've just seen a ghost." Eric followed her to an empty chair and took the one next to her.

"I think I did." She sank into the chair, leaned back and closed her eyes. "Back at the wreck, I thought I saw a woman, but the EMT couldn't find her."

"The first owner of the bike was a woman." He shrugged. "You must be psychic."

"Or a nutcase," June murmured. The color came back in her face. "Are you from around here?"

"Nah, I'm from Cincinnati. I was passing through when I got ambushed. The guys in the truck chased me all over hell and back. I don't know what set them off."

"I've got your bike at my house. Can I give you a ride?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to see what it's gonna take to get her back on the road." He gave her a tight smile. "I want to get out of here ASAP." He pronounced it 'asap' instead of saying the letters.

"I understand." June touched him lightly on the arm.

Between one heartbeat and the next, he felt as if he had known her always. It was there, in his eyes, in her eyes, endlessly reflected.
I could love you
, whispered his mind,
forever, if you
let me.
Then it was over. They were just two strangers who had shared only a few minutes of conversation. She looked away, blushing. Had she felt it, too?

"My car is this way." She stood up, leading the way.

Eric shook his head as he followed her outside. He must have imagined it. The nasty fall had addled his wits. This was no time to fall for a cute little brunette; his divorce papers had barely cooled off. He needed time to get back on his feet, get his head together. Get the hell out of this crazy town before those rednecks found him.

At first the ride was uncomfortable, until Eric made the effort to draw June out. Before long they were exchanging the getting-to-know-you information that strangers do. He told her that he was from Cincinnati, had attended college there and how he'd lost his job a couple of weeks ago when the plant closed.

There were no rings on her fingers, no mention of children or a husband. She had been born and raised in this county and had attended the local college. She was an accountant, though she looked nothing like the tightwad bean-counters at the lab.

Before long they were deep in the woods. Eric was careful to keep his eyes open for landmarks. How the hell had he gotten so damned lost?

"What brought you to Ashtabula?"

"I'm looking for the guy who painted my bike," Eric explained as June pulled her car into a tree lined driveway to the gray two-story house with blue trim. "The paint is damaged in a couple of spots. I want him to fix it."

"Who is it?" June asked, shutting off her car. "It's a small town, I may know him."

"His name is Van Man Go," Eric said. They got out of the car.

"Oh – weird name," June said. "I think I know who you're talking about." She walked to the house with a connecting breezeway between it and the garage. She led him to the garage door.

"It's probably a take-off of Van Gogh the painter." Eric shrugged. "He did a hell of a paint job. I'm looking forward to meeting him."

"So where is he?" June fumbled with her keys before she shoved the door open.

"I asked around, but I couldn't find him. I was heading to Geneva-on-the-Lake when those guys started to chase me."

Eric followed her into the garage; it was semi-finished with two bays. There were stairs leading up to the attic and a tidy work area beside the stairs. The smell of herbs dominated the air; oil and gasoline was an unwelcome base note. Bundles of plants and oddly shaped gourds hung from the ceiling. There was a grouping of shelves loaded with jars and cans, labeled bottles and plastic bags filled with leaves and powders. The concrete floor was sealed, painted and swept.

"What did you do to piss those guys off?" She used a conversational tone. "Did you blow past them or something?"

"No." Eric clamped down on the anger that flared up. "They came up behind me and then tried to run me off the road. They weren't horsing around."

"But why?" June gave him a puzzled look.

"You know as much as I do." The cop hadn't believed his story but she was there. Eric didn't know if he envied her naiveté or pitied it. He reminded himself that inside the States was a different world. At times the culture shock felt like a blow to the gut. Months of living in fear, of ambushes and sniper fire, had changed the way he looked at the world. He would never see things the same, ever. Would this ever feel like home again?

"They meant to kill me," he spoke softly when he wanted to shout at her. "I've been in combat. I've seen it before. When you mean to kill, it is different than just horsing around and being an ass." He took a deep breath, smothering his anger. "You were there. You heard them."

"Yes. Those guys got out of the truck to – to kill you – or both of us." She swallowed, looking at him with fear in those big innocent eyes. "It was horrible."

He was about to thank her for her bravery when he saw his bike, covered with a sheet, hidden from view like a dead body. He walked over to it, felt a shock as he got within a foot. The smell of blood and death assaulted him. His hand trembled as he reached for the sheet, terrified at what he would see. Was she wrecked, reduced to scrap metal and shattered plastic?

After a moment of hesitation, he jerked the sheet away. She gave the impression of a huge wounded beast, crouching in pain. Eric caressed the woman's face on the gas tank, brushed mud from her name, "Cora Cobra." He skimmed his fingers over the mud-caked, gouged plastic fairing.

"Oh, baby, what did they do to you?" He murmured as he stroked her. Her fairing was badly scratched. Some of those scratches could be buffed out; others would require filler. The plastic side plates were mud-smeared from the impact. Luckily they hadn't cracked.

"There are cleaning supplies under the shelf and hot water over there." June pointed to the faucet. Her eyes glittered with jealousy. "I've got to let the dogs out."

"Women just don't get it." Eric pulled weeds from the frame. For a moment, it was as if the woman, Cora, stood behind him, her arms wrapped around him, her head on his shoulder.

Forget her, she'll never understand.

"I'll take care of you." Eric promised. More than ever he needed to find the artist, Van Man Go. He could restore Cora to her original glory.

Whatever it took, Eric would do it. He'd give his last dime, sell his soul if necessary.

The Cora in his imagination purred, hugging him tighter.

~^~

June let the dogs out, watched as Rags sniffed Eric's trail into the garage, growling low in his throat. She shuddered – how could that handsome man caress that hulking monster?

There had been a moment at the hospital when she had looked into his eyes and glimpsed the shadowed depths of his battered soul. He looked rough with the beard, the mustache and the dirty leathers. He carried a lot of pain and sorrow, but he was lonely and lost. Why would someone want to kill him?

Today was Saturday, her day to clean up the house. She needed to get busy if she wanted to get back to making her soap.

June concentrated on the view in her backyard to keep from wondering what he was doing in her garage. She shouldn't feel disappointed. There wasn't a reason for him to fawn over her, but it had hurt for him to ignore her once he had laid eyes on that – thing.

She heard the metallic sound of a starter a couple of times before the engine caught. It sounded okay to her untrained ear. Good, one less thing he had to worry about. The bike still ran, so maybe he would be on his way today.

She felt a slight movement in her hair, warmth just under her ear, like a breath exhaled softly, then a touch, prickly then soft, soft and warm like the press of a – a lover's kiss. The kiss went straight down her spine and tightened every nerve and muscle in her pelvis. She closed her eyes to better savor the sensation before she realized there was no one else in the room.

June shuddered; cold fear coursed through every hot nerve.

Oh Goddess, what was in her house?

Her sense of humor reasserted itself: at least it was a friendly spirit

How did he get in? The house was supposed to be warded against spirits.

She was not in any mood to be entertaining some wandering soul that was looking to make mischief. It took only a couple of breaths for her to center herself, to find the light that hovered over her heart chakra since the night she swallowed the moon. She built a circle of white light around herself, pushed it through the room, through the house.