Bad to the Crone Page 2

  Gunner? Who names their kid Gunner? That had to be a chosen moniker versus a given one. “Is that your real name?”

  “It’s the only thing I answer to,” Gunner replied, leaning on his cue as he regarded me. “It’s not as cool as Scout, I’ll give you that, but somehow I’ve managed to survive.”

  From the moment I saw him I could feel his attitude and judgmental spirit from across the room … and I didn’t like it. There was no doubt that feeling would only continue to grow because up close and personal he was even ruder than he initially appeared. He was also apparently full of braggadocio. The cockiness wafting off him was downright overwhelming, like bad cologne in a stagnant environment.

  “Great.” I forced a smile that was more of a sneer. “We can get into a fight about our names later. I’m thinking noon, if that works for you.”

  Instead of bowing to a verbal spat and embracing the savagery I was certain lurked in his heart, he snickered. “I’ll see if I can pencil you in.”

  “Let’s not fight,” Bonnie suggested, leaning back in her chair as she rested her feet on a nearby table. She looked relaxed … other than those really odd black eyes of hers, of course. There was something about her that felt “off,” though. I simply couldn’t explain it. “What kind of witch are you?”

  I’d been expecting the question. It was almost always the first thing asked when meeting other members of the Spells Angels. We were a unique group that collected a variety of paranormal soldiers. Witches were the most common members, though, and I’d learned throughout the years that most witches felt the need to typecast new arrivals because it made them feel better about ... well, just about everything. Most witches were neat and liked everything in their place. I didn’t happen to fall into that category.

  “I’m a hereditary witch,” I replied easily. “I also straddle the hedge witch line.”

  “You’re a hedge witch?” Gunner shifted to face me, the pool game forgotten. “Does that mean you can talk to ghosts?”

  I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with his pointed stare. “I’ve talked to ghosts here and there,” I acknowledged. “I can see through the veil at times when it’s necessary.”

  “Hedge witches are rare,” Bonnie noted. “I’m a ceremonial witch myself.”

  That didn’t surprise me. Bonnie looked to be a regimented woman, her hair perfectly in place despite the bourbon and early hour. Ceremony witches love their rituals. I’d met a number of witches who fell into that category over the years and they weren’t always fun to hang around. I was more lackadaisical when it came to my magic, something that serious witches don’t always appreciate.

  “I look forward to discussing philosophy with you,” I lied. “What about you?” I focused on Gunner. “Are you a witch ... or something else?” I was uncomfortable asking the question, but I couldn’t get a firm read on him. Compared to everyone else, who were apparently open books and didn’t care that I could read their secrets from ten feet away, he was an enigma.

  “I’m my own man,” Gunner replied, his tone easygoing even though something I couldn’t quite identify lurked behind his eyes. “We haven’t had a hedge witch in these parts for years. It might prove ... interesting. I wonder if that’s why they sent you.”

  The last statement wasn’t directed at me — more to himself … and maybe Rooster, too — but I responded all the same. “I wasn’t specifically chosen for this assignment. We were simply told you needed help and an individual was randomly selected to come here.”

  “Randomly?” He cocked an eyebrow. “What ... did you draw straws or something?”

  I saw no reason to lie. “That’s exactly what we did.”

  This time the chuckle he let loose was low and throaty. “Oh, that’s just perfect.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Do you have a problem?” My tone was accusatory but I didn’t care. He bothered me on a level I couldn’t quite grasp and his merriment was grating.

  “I don’t have a problem. In fact ... .” He didn’t finish what he was going to say. Instead, his head snapped toward the door as it opened, his lips curving down when a young woman stepped inside.

  I followed his gaze, ready for a fight, but the person I saw standing there was hardly a threat. In fact, she was very clearly a child. She might’ve been careening toward adulthood — at least in years if not maturity — but she obviously hadn’t crossed the line.

  “Raisin, what are you doing here?” Rooster complained, shaking his head.

  “Don’t call me Raisin,” the girl barked, hands on her hips. “You know I don’t like that.”

  “You wanted a nickname,” Rooster reminded her.

  “Yeah, but I wanted something like Bone Crusher. Raisin sounds like ... well ... raisins. It’s not badass.”

  “Neither are you,” Marissa pointed out. “By the way, shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “We don’t have school today,” the girl shot back. “It’s a three-day weekend. It’s Monday and we still have Monday off.”

  Rooster looked dubious but didn’t push the issue. Instead, he stated the obvious problem with her appearance at the bar. “You can’t be here. You’re not old enough.”

  “You weren’t at the office,” she argued. “I knew you had a new crew member coming in, and when you weren’t at the office I decided to track you down here. This isn’t my fault. It’s your fault. You know how I feel about meeting new people.”

  Rooster sighed, the sound long and drawn out. “Geez. You’re going to get Whistler in trouble if you’re not careful.”

  Whistler merely shrugged. “We have an out if the sheriff shows up.” He smirked in Gunner’s direction. “Isn’t that right?”

  “I’m not answering that question,” he growled. “Just ... it’s your shot. Take it.”

  Apparently deciding that it was fine if she stayed, the girl they called Raisin hurried in my direction, not stopping until she was directly in front of me. “I’m Ruthie Morton. I’m so happy to meet you.” She shoved her hand at me, which meant I had no choice but to shake it or snub her. Since she was obviously a regular fixture around the others, I decided I had no choice but to be nice ... even though children in general make me uncomfortable.

  “Scout Randall.” I introduced myself with some trepidation. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Right back at you.” She was so excited she almost tripped over her own feet as she tried to plant herself in such a manner that I had no hope of escape. “I want to hear absolutely everything about you. I mean ... everything. Where did you grow up? Do you have a boyfriend? You look the sort who has a boyfriend. Is he big? Did he come to Hawthorne Hollow with you? Oh, do you have kids? I’ve never met anyone in the crew who has kids. You would be the first. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I mean. I’ve just never seen it.”

  I was flabbergasted by the endless stream of words. “Um ... .”

  “Ignore her,” Gunner instructed, shaking his head. “If you answer her questions now you’ll have to keep answering them for as long as you’re here. Raisin can’t seem to help herself from sticking her nose in places it doesn’t belong.”

  Indignant, the teenager squared her shoulders. “Curiosity is not a crime.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “You should let Scout settle in before you interrogate her. She’ll be around for a bit, so you have time.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to wait.” Ruthie’s eyes filled with fire. “Have you considered that?”

  “Not really.” Gunner’s tone was dismissive. “Seriously, leave her alone. She hasn’t even seen her new digs yet. You’re being a pest.”

  “You’re a pest.”

  Rooster smoothly slid between Gunner and Ruthie before the girl could completely lose her cool. “That will be enough of that,” he instructed, laying a heavy hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Now is not the time. We have a new member of our team. This isn’t how I expected to introduce her to everybody.”

 
; Yeah, speaking of that ... . “I was under the impression you had a bigger crew,” I noted, returning to the business at hand. “I was told you had more riders than this.” I tried to refrain from being dismissive as I gestured around the room.

  “We do, but this is a larger area than you’re used to,” Rooster replied. “Some of the team members are out on assignment. We’ll introduce you when they come back. As for now, I think you’re better off getting a tour of the town.”

  I was pretty sure I’d seen every highlight — both of them — upon crossing the township line. Still, I forced a smile and nodded. This was standard procedure. I understood the rules and had no choice but to play the game. “Sure.” I expected him to give me the tour. He was the boss, after all. Instead, he decided to fob off the responsibility.

  “Gunner, you need to show her around,” Rooster announced. “I’m going to take Raisin here to school to make sure the story she’s telling about a holiday is true. That means you’re on tour duty.”

  The only person more annoyed by the suggestion than me was Gunner. The look he briefly shot me was full of annoyance.

  “Is a tour really necessary?” he challenged.

  Rooster nodded without hesitation. “It is. You know how it goes. This is a new environment for Scout. We don’t want her to be caught unaware.”

  Gunner sighed, resigned. “Fine. I’m not going to like it, though.”

  That made two of us.

  Two

  I tucked my hands in the pockets of my well-worn Levi's as I followed Gunner out of the building. When my instructions from the home office told me to meet my new co-workers at a bar, I’d been suspicious. Now that I’d met the handful of people inside the structure, I was even more leery.

  How did I end up here?

  No, seriously. I was starting to wonder if someone had somehow rigged the straws before we drew.

  “Is that your bike?” Gunner slowed his pace as he stared at my Harley-Davidson Street Glide. It was black — my favorite color — and polished to a blinding glare because I’d had it detailed the previous day. If I couldn’t take pride in my ride, what could I take pride in?

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You’ve modified it so it sits even lower to the ground.” The tour momentarily abandoned, he moved closer to the bike. “You have a few upgrades, too, including custom foot pegs.”

  “I like what I like,” I replied simply. “That bike is comfortable.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” His gaze was thoughtful as he turned back to me. “Do you do your own work?”

  “Some. I can’t do everything. I took automotive classes in high school. While all the other girls were in band and acting classes, I was getting dirty and learning about engines. It actually turned out to be a good choice.”

  “Well, it looks like you keep her up nicely.” He gestured toward a black Ducati Monster 797, which to my knowledge wasn’t even available in America yet. “That’s one of mine.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You have more than one bike?”

  For the first time since we’d met, he cracked a legitimate smile. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “No. What happens if you have to run and can only take one bike? Do you just abandon it?”

  The question caught him off guard. “I’ve never had to run and leave a bike behind for more than a few hours.”

  “Oh, well ... .”

  “Have you?” He seemed legitimately interested in my answer.

  I shrugged and turned away from the beautiful motorcycle. It really was spectacular, although not exactly my style. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy taking it for a spin if offered the chance. “So ... a tour of Hawthorne Hollow?”

  He kept his eyes on me for an extended beat and then nodded. “We might as well walk. I know you’re probably like the rest of us and don’t want to leave your bike behind, but we’re talking about a small area ... and the bikes are safer here because random people won’t dare come up to them at the Cauldron.”

  I nodded. I’d expected as much. “That’s fine. I hopped on my bike at four this morning and could use some stretching time after that long ride.”

  “You came from Detroit, right?”

  “Yeah. The chapter is much bigger there.”

  “I think you’ll find the chapter is much stronger here, but that’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was being truthful or simply bragging because he thought I was talking smack about his club. Either way, I decided to let it go.

  “How did Hawthorne Hollow get chosen for a Spells Angels stronghold?” I opted to ask the most pressing question first. “I mean ... this doesn’t exactly strike me as a hotbed of paranormal activity.”

  In truth, the Spells Angels were more than a biker gang. On the surface, people were expected to be wary of us, want to steer clear. Television and movies were supposed to have programmed into their heads the notion that we were dangerous and not to be trifled with. We were made up of paranormal beings and expected to fight the good fight against other supernatural creatures who weren’t necessarily worried about making the world a better place, but we were more than the sum of our parts. We kept the truth about our group on the down low. That was by design, so we could operate without law enforcement breathing down our necks.

  “You’d be surprised,” Gunner countered. “There are creatures drawn to this area because they think they’ll be able to get away with murder — and I mean that literally — because it’s so isolated up here. The need for a chapter in this area is greater than most areas.”

  That hadn’t occurred to me, but it made sense. “And what do we fight most often here?”

  His eyes were heavy as they snagged mine. “Shifters are prevalent.”

  “Most shifters aren’t evil,” I pointed out.

  His lips curved. “I know that. I was wondering if you did.”

  “So, that was a test?”

  He shrugged. “I was simply feeling you out. This is a weird situation for all of us. Most of the people assigned here are familiar with the area. Some grew up here and others grew up in neighboring towns. You did neither.”

  “At least not that I know of,” I agreed. “It’s always possible I spent time here as a kid and simply don’t remember.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, about that ... I’m sorry. It sounds like you had it rough.”

  “There’s no need for you to apologize. You obviously didn’t abandon me at a fire station.”

  “Still, that has to be difficult. You don’t remember anything from before then?”

  “No.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  I immediately started shaking my head. “No.”

  He looked as if he didn’t believe me and was going to continue pressing the subject, but he ultimately changed course. “Hawthorne Hollow is old. It’s been here for two hundred years, although the area around it wasn’t settled until after that.”

  “What cities are close?” I asked. “I mean ... I looked on a map. We’re close to Lake Michigan, which means Traverse City is about thirty minutes away. I didn’t see much else of note.”

  “That’s because there’s not much else of note. The only other town that gets any buzz in this area is Hemlock Cove. That’s about forty minutes away. If you get time, head over. It’s ... interesting.”

  Something about the way he said the word caused suspicion to rear its ugly head. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a town of witches.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Most of the town consists of people pretending to be witches,” he clarified. “There are a few real witches there, but most of the town is a facade.”

  That sounded less fun. “I think I’ll pass.”

  “It’s a worth a visit, but it’s not necessary now. As for Hawthorne Hollow ... well ... it is what it is.” He let loose a sigh as we arrived at the corner of Main Street. “This is it. Almost everything of note is r
ight on this main drive. There’s a grocery store that way, but it doesn’t offer much. I recommend driving to Gaylord once a week for groceries. They have a better selection.”

  I pursed my lips as I regarded what could loosely be described as a town. There were fifteen buildings on Main Street and all of them served a specific purpose.

  “There’s a gas station, the police station, pizza shop, bank, diner, coffee shop, bakery and hardware store,” he continued. “There’s also a yarn store that’s allowed to remain operational because Mrs. Yancy is a hundred years old and no one makes her pay rent on the building. That’s it.”

  “Oh, now, come on,” I teased, furrowing my brow when a woman walking on the other side of the street caught sight of us and offered a happy wave. “There’s also a bookstore, although I can’t figure out how a town this size can maintain a bookstore.” Honestly, the bookstore made me happy when I saw it.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Gunner chided. “That’s the coffee shop. The selection of books inside consists of about twenty of the current bestsellers. If you’re a book fan, I suggest investing in an e-reader, because your selection here isn’t great.”

  That was disappointing. Still ... . “How is the coffee?”

  He grinned. “The best in town.”

  “Is that saying much?”

  “You might be surprised.” He purposely turned away from the woman, who looked to be crossing the street, and prodded me along the sidewalk. I found his reaction troubling.

  “Is that your girlfriend?” I glanced over my shoulder. The woman was still watching us, the expression on her face impossible to read.

  “No.” Gunner was firm. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “She seems to be trying to get your attention,” I pointed out, causing him to sigh.

  “It’s fine. Come this way.” He increased his pace, leaving me no choice but to hurry after him. By the time we got to the end of the block I was out of breath and confused.

  “What’s your deal?”