Mystic Caravan 10 - Freaky Seas Read online

  Freaky Seas

  A Mystic Caravan Mystery Book Ten

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Copyright © 2020 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Books by Lily Harper Hart

  Prologue

  Eleven years ago

  “It’s nice out here.”

  I shifted my eyes to the girl, who seemed entranced by the river flowing past Belle Isle, and nodded.

  Poppy. That was her street name. Nobody on the street went by their real name. Unless they were young and dumb. That’s what happened to me. My name is Poet. Poet Parker. People assume that’s a street name. Besides, it wasn’t as if anybody was looking for me ... or cared.

  “It is nice,” I agreed, shifting on the bench to get more comfortable. Poppy was a new addition to our little group. She’d arrived by bus from a one-traffic light town in Northern Lower Michigan three days earlier. She was fresh meat in a dangerous city — no matter how hard the planning commission toiled and sweated over the affairs in Detroit, it would never be completely safe — and I wanted to show her something good before the ugliness of her new reality set in. Belle Isle seemed just the place.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” I echoed, forcing a smile I didn’t really feel. When I first hit the street after yet another disastrous stay with a foster family, I’d often visited Belle Isle. It felt like a haven in the midst of despair ... yet I rarely came now. That’s not because the despair had somehow eased as much as I’d grown accustomed to it. Seriously, though, how does someone become used to despair? I was starting to question my reality, and I didn’t take that as a good sign.

  “Why don’t we move out here?” Poppy’s eyes were a bright green, like the fields I saw in movies. I enjoyed escaping into a theater whenever possible, and the young woman’s face reminded me of one from a romantic comedy, or maybe a period piece with corsets and hoop skirts. She definitely didn’t look as if she belonged on the street. She had zero rough edges, fodder for the people who would chew her up out here.

  “The cops roust us out,” I replied simply. “They’re trying to keep the island free of ... certain elements.”

  “And we’re those elements?”

  I nodded. “They don’t want us around one of their few legitimate attractions. Belle Isle brings people in from all over the state. Heck, people from other states visit all the time. Tourists are uncomfortable with the homeless … and the other stuff.”

  Poppy’s frown grew more pronounced. “We’re not homeless.”

  “No?” I arched a challenging eyebrow. “How do you figure that?”

  “Because ... we’re all together.” She still had that earnest quality I so often saw in the newbies. Those who voluntarily relinquished that quality survived. Those who didn’t, those who had it taken, were doomed to slow death. Poppy was an example of the latter. She wasn’t geared for this life. That’s one of the reasons I decided to bring her to Belle Isle. I still had a chance to save her, send her back home.

  “That doesn’t mean we’re not homeless.” I debated which tact to take with her. She was sensitive and vulnerable. You can’t be vulnerable on the street. “Tell me about your home,” I prodded. I wanted to know what she was fleeing. That would tell me what she was running toward.

  Poppy quickly averted her gaze. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  I studied her profile. It was nondescript, like so many of the others. Her cheekbones hid beneath the soft roundness that only youth could provide. Her jawline was almost nonexistent. Her shoulders slouched. She was unremarkable — and in a whole lot of trouble. “I think you have to.” I decided not to mince words. “You’re not geared for this life.”

  Poppy’s eyes filled with fire. “I made it all the way down here on my own. You think I’m not tough, but that proves how tough I really am.”

  I had news for her. That was nothing. Almost literally, nothing. “You hopped on a bus and rode five hours to the city,” I countered. “That’s nothing compared to what the others have done to survive on the street.”

  “And you don’t think I can do those things.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t. That’s why I want to know your reason for running.” I licked my lips, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was about to take. It was necessary, though. “Were you abused?”

  Alarm lined Poppy’s nondescript features. “Why would you ask that?”

  “A lot of people who end up out here run from abuse. This life isn’t great, but it’s certainly better than living with a person who hurts you.”

  “I wasn’t abused,” Poppy groused, her expression darkening. “Not the way you’re thinking. I left for other reasons.”

  “What reasons?”

  “None of your business.”

  I was expecting the answer. Perhaps not the vehemence associated with it, but the answer all the same. “I’m trying to help you.” I kept my voice level. “You might not see that — and I understand, because when I first landed here I had attitude too — but I’m honestly trying to make sure you understand the ramifications of this life.”

  “What ramifications?” Poppy’s eyes went so wide I thought they might pop. “We live on the street, sleep under the stars, do whatever we want to do ... whenever we want. Sounds like the perfect life.”

  “You’ve romanticized things in your head,” I countered, annoyance bubbling up. “That’s not reality.”

  “You’re just trying to frighten me.”

  “I am.” There was no sense denying it. “I need you to understand that this isn’t a fairy tale. You’ve heard us talk about Grimer, right?”

  Poppy faltered and then nodded. “You said he liked to sleep behind garbage cans because people never bothered him there. No offense, but I’m never going to be hardcore enough to do that. I mean ... garbage is gross.”

  And that right there would be one of her greatest hurdles. “Go three weeks without a shower and you’ll smell like garbage.”

  Poppy frowned. “Why would I go three weeks without a shower?”

  I decided to turn the tables on her. “Where do you think you’re going to have access to regular showers?”

  “The YMCA. Gyms. Other places.”

  “The YMCA has only so many openings and it doesn’t allow just anybody in,” I countered. “You have to pay for a room to take a shower. Any money you brought with you will disappear faster than you think. That money, by the way, makes you a target. There’s a reason th
e veterans crowd the newbies the second you get off the bus.”

  Poppy swallowed hard but remained silent.

  “The gyms are the same. You need a membership to get access to the showers.”

  “Then where do you shower?” Poppy challenged. “You don’t smell.”

  “I managed a shower four days ago and I’ve learned the tricks to remain daisy fresh for up to a week. Trust me, I’ll stink again in a few days. As for where I showered, I didn’t. I snuck into the fountain at Hart Plaza in the middle of the night and cleaned up there.”

  Poppy’s mouth dropped open. “A fountain?” She looked outraged. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

  I nodded slowly. “A fountain,” I confirmed. “This life isn’t how you imagined it. You will never get what you want out of it. You’re not geared to live like this.”

  Poppy made a protesting sound. “You don’t know. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “No, you’re not.” I was almost sad to have to break the news to her, but it was necessary. “The only reason you haven’t been robbed, raped and shot up with the drug du jour this week is because we happened to see you. We’re protecting you, but that can’t last forever.”

  “But ... .” Poppy worked her jaw. “What are you trying to say?”

  “You need to go.” I was in it now. There was no holding back. “We can’t watch you twenty-four hours a day. We’re a tight-knit group, but we fend for ourselves most of the time. You can’t contribute, and that makes you dead weight.”

  “So, all of this is an elaborate way to kick me out of the group?” Poppy was incensed. “And to think I thought you were a good person.”

  “I’m not a good person.” I’d long since resigned myself to that truth. “You can’t survive this life as a good person. I’m not sure what happened to you at home, but I have an idea ... and it’s not a good enough reason to run.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” Poppy snapped. “My life at home was terrible.”

  And here’s where the truth would finally come out. I was more than just a homeless teenager on the street. I could do things, and that included seeing inside her head. I didn’t have a name for what I could do, but on an instinctual level I recognized I was powerful. That was one of the reasons I’d managed to survive as long as I had.

  “Your mother grounded you when she caught you sneaking around with the Hutchinson boy again,” I offered in a low voice, watching as dumbfounded disbelief washed over her face. “You’d been warned about seeing him four times. Your mother isn’t trying to be a hardass. She knows what the boy represents. He’s trouble, the sort to derail the future the two of you so meticulously planned.

  “You’ve already been accepted to Michigan State University,” I continued. “You have opportunities the rest of us can only dream of, but you left because you were feeling petulant. You think your mother is trying to keep you from your true love, but she understands the real problem.”

  Poppy defiantly jutted out her lower lip and folded her arms across her chest. “And what’s the real problem?”

  “She doesn’t want you to throw your life away on a loser who will knock you up and take off ... like she did.”

  Poppy went slack-jawed. “I ... you ... that’s not true.” She adamantly shook her head. “My father was a soldier. He died serving overseas.”

  I knew better. “Your mother told you that because she didn’t want you to know the truth. You found out, though. That’s what you’re really angry about. You know that your father played in a band and your mother lost her head when she was twenty, had sex with him, and then watched in horror as he walked away.

  “That father, by the way, is here in the city,” I continued. “If you want to see him, I can arrange it. He drinks himself to oblivion every night. His liver is shot and he won’t live another eight months without a transplant. That transplant will never come because he has to quit drinking to qualify ... and he prefers the booze.

  “He still sleeps with a different woman every night, but now they’re much older and far less attractive ... at least in his mind. He doesn’t think about your mother. He doesn’t think about you. He likely has more than one kid running around the state wondering about him. He doesn’t care.”

  Tears sprang to Poppy’s eyes. “How can you say such horrible things? How can you possibly know these things?”

  “What I’m telling you isn’t the important thing. You have one shot at fixing your life, and this isn’t it. You didn’t come down here because you were running from abuse or being threatened. You came down here because you were trying to punish your mother.”

  Poppy frowned. “She lied to me.”

  “She tried to protect you.” I was firm. “If you stay here, you’ll be used up by the end of the month. There aren’t any proms on the street. There aren’t any lettermen jackets. This is not the life you want. It’s not an adventure.”

  “But—”

  “No.” I took a deliberate step forward and pressed my hands to either side of her head, pouring my magic into her so she had no choice but to see the horrors of the world she’d opted to join. It took only seconds, but she was a weeping mess by the time I finished.

  “Go home,” I hissed. “You’ll die here. Go home.”

  “I ... .” Tears streamed down Poppy’s cheeks.

  “Go home,” I repeated, my voice cold. “You still have a chance. Don’t let what I showed you come to fruition.”

  Poppy stared at me for a long beat and then took off in the direction of the bridge. I caught a brief glimpse of her intentions and knew she was heading directly for the bus depot. She would not stop in the park long enough to say goodbye to everyone. She would not wish the others well. She would hop on the bus, huddle in her seat until she reached her small town, and relate the horrors of the past few days to her mother, who would then proceed to croon and cuddle her. She would be forgiven, return to her life, and hopefully understand just how lucky she was.

  It was what was best for her.

  “That was impressive,” a gravelly voice said from behind me, causing me to snap my head in the direction of a familiar face. His jaw was buried under about three days of facial hair, but I’d recognize his strong features anywhere.

  “Shadow.” I nodded in greeting. He was a biker — which would be a strike against him under normal circumstances — and also a friend. “I haven’t seen you around for a bit.”

  “We were doing a run to Kentucky,” he replied, moving closer to me, his eyes searching. “What did you do to her?”

  The question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “You did something to her,” he pressed. “Whatever it was, you scared the crap out of her. She’s probably halfway to the bus depot.”

  “That’s where she belongs.”

  His gaze was contemplative as he studied me. “And where do you belong?”

  I shrugged, noncommittal. “That’s still up for debate.” I rolled my neck as I regarded him. “You look tired.”

  “I could say the same about you. What are you doing on the island? I didn’t think you came out here anymore.”

  “I was going to ask you the same.”

  Now it was Shadow’s turn to be evasive. “I had a business meeting.”

  A business meeting was code for drug deal. I knew better than to press him. “I wanted her to see beauty before I explained about the ugliness,” I explained. I saw no reason to lie. He knew me well enough to recognize what I’d done. “She didn’t belong out here.”

  “Definitely not. You could tell that much by looking at her.” His expression was at first difficult to read, but then he smiled. “You did what was right by her. I wish you could do the same for yourself, but ... you have a really hard head.”

  I flashed a smile. “We have that in common.”

  He gestured toward the parking lot behind the aquarium, a building that gave me the heebie-jeebies whenever I deigned to get close enough. “Come on. My bike is over
there. I’ll give you a ride back to the park.”

  That sounded better than walking. “Okay.” I grinned as I studied his beard a bit closer. “You could use a shave.”

  “And you could use a muzzle.”

  “Yes, well ... .” Slowly, a chill ran up my spine. I looked to the water, searching for ... something. What, though? I couldn’t be certain. All I knew with any degree of certainty was that we were no longer alone.

  Shadow didn’t notice. He continued babbling. “How long was that one here? You’ve kind of turned yourself into a one-woman welcoming committee with the ones who can’t survive. I think you’ve found your calling.”

  I continued to stare at the river. The surface seemed to be circling about fifty feet off the shore. Whatever was watching us lurked beneath. I couldn’t break through the shields of its mind. I couldn’t see it.

  Snapping fingers next to my ear drew my attention back to Shadow as I scowled. “What?”

  “I was talking to you.” Amusement caused his lips to quirk. “Where was your head just now?”

  “I was … thinking.”

  “Well, think about me. I said I’d buy you lunch for your good deed. Don’t tell the others. I don’t have enough to cover them.”

  “You don’t have to buy me lunch,” I said quickly.

  “I want to buy you lunch.” There was sadness in his eyes. “You did a good thing today, and it wasn’t easy. You saved that girl’s life. I think that deserves a lunch.”

  Who was I to argue? “I want fries and a coney.”

  “Of course you do.” He slung a friendly arm over my shoulders. “Come on. Coneys it is.”