Moon Spun (4 page)

“It was Junior’s,” I said. “But, now it’s mine. Wanna see the registration?”

With a bark of laughter, Mr. Hostetler waved a dismissive hand. “Nope, I believe you.”

He walked around the car, examining it carefully, before climbing into the front seat. Nodding his approval, he checked out the interior. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

“I’d take you for a ride but the driveway’s blocked,” I said.

“That’s okay,” he said. “Actually, I need a favor.”

Reality bit me in the butt, and I floated back to earth. With an audible gulp, I looked at my feet.

“If this is about the . . . er . . . incident at the rodeo grounds, I’m really sorry. Do you want me to turn in my crown?”

I looked up in time to see Mr. Hostetler’s mouth drop open.

“If you do,” I continued. “I totally understand. It’s okay.”

Mr. Hostetler’s face turned deep red. His lips twitched, and he tugged on his mustache. Was he trying not to laugh?

“No way, Allie. You’re our queen, and we’re sticking with you.”

He lapsed into some sort of coughing fit. In between spasms, I heard the words, “Dust devil . . . not your fault . . . act of God.”

Giddy with relief, I said, “So, what’s the favor?”

“I need a babysitter for the rest of the summer. For my son, Chad.”

Chad was Mr. Hostetler’s ten-year-old adopted son. The previous fall, he’d walked up to me, and slipped a note into my hand. The note said, “They are all around you.

”

Weird. Extremely weird. I’d never followed up, because I had enough weirdness in my life already.

“What about your daughter?”

“She’s away at camp. My wife’s going to summer school and I’m back at work now.”

Mr. Hostetler and his wife had split up a few years ago. The rumor was, they couldn’t agree on how to handle Chad who was, well, a little different.

“I’d like to help you out, but I’m working at my uncle’s fruit stand.”

Mr. Hostetler shifted in the seat, and cleared his throat. “I’m not sure why, but Chad insists it has to be you. Maybe we could work something out with your uncle. Why don’t we go talk to him?”

By the time the three of us hammered out an agreement, the crowd had thinned out, and the sun was setting. Uncle Sid decided Mercedes’ little brother, Gilbert, could fill in for me at the fruit stand during the slack times. I would show up (with Chad) to help during the busy times. The place was always mobbed at 11 a.m. when fresh corn arrived from the truck farm down the road. Traffic picked up again late in the afternoon, when people stopped to pick up fresh produce for dinner. Speaking of dinner, I still hadn’t had any.

Thinking only of my rumbling tummy, I excused myself, and headed for the trailer.

“Hey, Allie.”

I sighed. Now what? I turned to see Chad Hostetler a few steps behind me.

“Hi, Chad. How are you?”

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His eyes were pale blue and huge in his pinched face. I couldn’t believe how pale he was. Did the kid ever go outside?

“I’m okay,” he said, with a shy smile. “I’m glad you’re babysitting me.”

“Yeah?” I lifted an eyebrow. “Me too.”

Suddenly, he looked over the top of my head, nodded and smiled.

I scanned the sky, half expecting to see my crow friend hovering overhead. Nothing.

“Something funny?” I asked, puzzled.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Real funny. I’ll tell you all about it Monday.”

Before I could say another word, he turned and scampered away. Hmmm. Maybe spending the week with a ten-year-old boy wouldn’t be as boring as I thought.

272

Chapter Five

There must be an unwritten rule. When a good thing happens, something bad must follow immediately. The story of my life. When I stepped into the trailer, Faye was in her bedroom watching TV.

She said, “Your dad called. Said call him collect.”

Yeah, I actually have a dad. His name is Mike Purdy and he split before I was born. Faye hated him, of course. I didn’t know him all that well because Faye flatly refused to talk about him until a year ago. By then, I was old enough and sneaky enough to figure out a way to get at the truth. Let’s just say, Faye and I traded information.

Once we connected, I found out Mike Purdy and I have more in common than our DNA. We’re both Star Seekers. All Star Seekers have a star on their palms. Mine is smack dab in the middle of the lunar mound (that’s the mound below the little finger and above the wrist) and, according to Star Seeker lore, the placement of my star is extremely rare. Lucky me. I found this out on my fifteenth birthday when I suddenly developed the ability to move things with my mind, starting with Blaster the bull.

The moonstone entered my life about the same time. The moonstone prophecy, handed down from generation to generation, ended with my friend Kizzy Lovell, the Keeper. Her job was to hang on to the moonstone until the maid with the star on her palm showed up. That would be me. When my father called, it wasn’t to chat about my health, my grades or my current boyfriend. No, it usually had something to do with Trimarks wanting to kill me. Trimarks are the baddest of the bad asses and have a special mark on their palms too. An inverted triangle. And they would do anything to get their hands on the moonstone. I’d found out the hard way.

Bottom line: I wasn’t exactly giddy with excitement when I punched Mike’s number into the phone. He answered on the first ring.

“Allie?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Sorry I didn’t make it over for your big day.”

His voice sounded funny. Like he had a head cold and couldn’t breathe through his nose.

“No problem,” I said, thankful he hadn’t witnessed my humiliation.

I relaxed and plopped down on the couch. Maybe this was a simple apology, not a laundry list of people who wanted to do me harm.

“I was on my way over when I got a call on my cell phone,” Mike said. He paused and sucked in a long, shuddering breath. Alarmed, I waited for him to speak, but all I heard was a series of hiccoughing gasps. Oh my God, was Mike crying?

I clutched the phone tighter. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to your family?”

When he was able to speak, his voice was choked with emotion. “My parents. Your grandparents . . . ” His voice trailed off.

“What about them?”

“Car wreck. Both killed.”

Even though I had no connection to my grandparents—we’d never met, because they’d never wanted to meet me—the news of their horrible death took my breath away.

“Gee, Mike, I’m really sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

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I heard him blowing his nose.

“No, no,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know why I didn’t show up. I’ve got funeral arrangements to make and I’ll have to pack up their things and put their house on the market and . . . ”

“Well, don’t worry about me,” I said. “Faye and I are doing fine.”

When I told my mother the news, she bit her lip and stared out the window. I was proud of her. She could have said a lot of awful things. Way back when I was a little goldfish swimming around inside Faye’s belly, my so-called grandparents convinced Mike that Faye wasn’t good enough for him. She was all of seventeen at the time.

Instead of demanding child support, she’d tried to make a life for the two of us.

Okay, I know we live in a crappy travel trailer and don’t have a lot of worldly possessions but so what? We’re semi-happy, disgustingly healthy and have survived a serious Trimark effort to wipe us out. I’d say we’re doing okay.

Message delivered, I opened the fridge to see what I could find for dinner. Faye was a waitress at Bea’s Honeypot Diner and brought home leftovers. After congealing in fat, they were usually disgusting and inedible. But, as hungry as I was, I would have settled for leftover anything. Fortunately, Friday’s special was Bea’s roasted chicken. I’d just popped a couple of drumsticks in the microwave when the phone rang. Damn! I wanted to eat, not talk, and not think about my dead grandparents. No problem. I could do both.

“Hullo,” I mumbled through a mouth full of chicken leg.

“Hi, what’s up?”

Beck.

“Not much,” I said. “Oh, yeah, I’ve got a new job and a new car.”

“New car?”

I got a sudden flashback of Junior and Beck sizing each other up, trying to crush each other’s hand.

“It’s a long story.”

Even if I took the scenic route, the destination remained the same. There was no other way to say it.

“Junior gave me his car.”

I paused for breath. Beck didn’t say a word. During the long silence, I realized I’d failed to mention my deceased grandparents. Now, no matter what I said, I would come across as a selfcentered jerk who put a car and a babysitting job ahead of family. Gee, Allie, why don’t you dig a deeper hole and crawl in?

When Beck spoke, his voice was tight. “Are you keeping the car?”

In an effort to lighten the mood, I gave a fake chuckle. “You’ve seen our pickup. Right? Death on wheels.”

“So, it’s a safety issue,” Beck said.

His tone sounded judgmental. It ticked me off. Since I’d already dealt with the receiving-of-gifts thing, I wasn’t going to let Beck Bradford make me feel guilty. Besides, I was sick of the whole macho, “Allie is mine” scenario. Guys. Who needs ‘em?

“Beck,” I said. “I’m keeping the car. End of story.”

Silently, I mouthed the words, And if you don’t like it . . .too bad!

It took some chatting, but Beck finally got over his snit.

“I want to see you before I go back to Seattle. Can I come over?”

Numero uno on my list tonight was making sure I rinsed out some undies for tomorrow, but Beck 274

didn’t need to know that. I said, “Sure, I’m not going anywhere.”

I decided to withhold the news about my grandparents until later. I’d had enough drama today to last a lifetime.

By the time Beck arrived, the driveway was clear. Despite what Faye called “the green-eyed monster”—her term for jealousy—he fell in love with my new car, even though the giver was Junior. I practically had to arm wrestle him for the opportunity to drive to Tom’s Corner Market for milk and bread.

“Allie,” he said with the superior expression he gets when he thinks he knows more than me. The one that pushes all my buttons. “This baby has a 453 cubic inch V-8

engine. Do you realize how powerful that is?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said. “Now, gimme the keys.”

When I turned the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. I shifted into drive, tapped the gas pedal and we shot down the driveway.

“Take it easy!” Beck yelled.

I slammed on the brakes. Beck braced himself against the dashboard.

“Get off my case!” I said. “I’m just learning her quirks. Okay?”

We glared at each other a while.

“Maybe you better let me drive,” Beck said.

“Maybe you’d better walk if you don’t like the way I drive,” I shot back. I stopped at the end of the driveway and carefully looked both ways before pulling out. We zipped down Peacock Road in silence. I heard a strangled sound that told me Beck was trying not to laugh out loud.

“What’s funny?”

“I love it when you get all bent out of shape. You’re so cute I can’t stand it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

We arrived at our destination crash-free despite Beck’s dire predictions. When we finished our shopping and walked to the parking lot, I saw the lustful look on Beck’s face—for the car, not me—

and handed him the keys.

He grinned and pulled me into a bear hug. “Thanks, baby.” He nuzzled my cheek.

“Don’t call me baby or I’ll take the keys back,” I warned.

We took the long way home because Beck wanted to hit the freeway and “let the horses run.” By the time we pulled into the driveway, Uncle Sid’s house was dark. Beck parked the car next to the pickup and turned the motor off.

Before I could say, “See ya later,” a ridiculously strong arm snaked around my body and hauled me over the car’s center console.

Sprawled across Beck’s lap, I huffed, “Next time, give me a two second warning before you pounce.”

Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. He cradled my face in his palms, then smoothed the hair back from my face. Inhaling deeply, he touched his lips to the tender skin just beneath my ear. When he breathed out, I felt a frission of heat dance across my skin, spreading from the point of contact clear down to my toes. I sighed with pleasure.

“Yum, you smell great,” he murmured.

I stiffened and pushed away. Beck and Nicole, being half-demons, had highly enhanced senses. 275

Beck once told me he could identify my scent from a half-mile away. Somehow, I found that information a little creepy.

He looked down at me, his amber eyes glowing in the dark. “Sorry. Forgot you don’t like the whole sniffing thing.”

I patted his cheek to let him know it was okay. “Word of advice. Next time don’t say, ‘Yum.’

Makes me feel like a French fry.”

“You got it.” He pulled me back in and tucked me under his chin.

It was a very nice feeling, being held by Beck. I listened to the steady beat of his heart and felt at peace for the first time today. Tomorrow, he’d be gone.

A wave of regret crashed over me. Our relationship hadn’t really been tested by distance this summer, because he’d driven home from his summer school program in Seattle every weekend. Once he started his freshman year in September, I knew that wouldn’t happen. Beck must have been thinking the same thing. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Me too.”

“We’ll keep in touch. I’ll call you.”

Unable to speak, I just nodded and held on tight, my cheek pressed against his heart. He murmured into my hair, “I’ll want to know all about the changeling kid.”

I jerked away in surprise, clipping his chin with the top of my head in the process. “What did you say?”

“Chad,” he said. “The kid you’re babysitting. You know he is a faery. Right?”

Momentarily speechless, I stared at him for a long moment. I was pretty sure the word

“changeling” involved stealing a mortal child and leaving a faery in his place. Finally, I said, “And you know this . . .how?”