Blue Moon (7 page)

She smiled prettily, and he looked at her standing in the light from the only open window in her fortress of a cabin. He couldn't deny it, he was hooked. He had been hooked from the moment he looked into her eerie blue eyes, stepped into her home. It looked like he'd found a place to settle, at least for a week.

"If you take me there, I could take you out to eat. Just to show my gratitude."

"Maybe,” she said shyly.

She got a trenchcoat out of the closet for him. It was too short, and he could only close it if he hunched his shoulders, but it was better than nothing. He followed her out, watching while she locked both locks then double-checked what she'd done. She unlocked her garage, and after a long inspection that involved kneeling and looking under the car with a flashlight, she got in and backed it out. He climbed in the passenger side and waited while she locked the garage again.

"Alright,” she said, sliding behind the wheel, “let's go."

He thought about commenting on her obvious paranoia. Libby looked like a reasonable woman, so he couldn't help but think (or, perversely, hope) that her fears were founded in fact and not just illusionary. Instead, he decided to pretend like nothing had happened.

"Do you mind taking me to the hotel first? I don't think they'll let me in a restaurant looking like this. Besides, I need my wallet."

"Sure,” she said. “The car will be heated up soon, and I'll put the heat down on the floor so your feet can get warm."

"That'll be great."

Outside, it was a day that couldn't make up its mind, sometimes gloomy, sometimes sunny. He wondered which mood would win.

"So, where's a good place to eat?"

"You know, I was thinking that I really need to go to shopping. Why don't I just drop you off?"

"Because I want to do something to thank you for your kindness."

"It was nothing, really. I mean, anyone would have freed you, and you should just be grateful Dashiel brought me down. In fact, it's him you ought to be thanking."

"Maybe. But it's much more fun to thank you."

She laughed a little. “Really, I don't want to put you to the trouble, and I need to get the shopping done."

He was silent awhile, digesting this. It was pretty obvious she didn't want to eat with him, but he didn't know why, and he didn't want their meeting to end like this. He had a pretty sure feeling that if he let her go it would be the last he'd see of her. It was a vibe he was getting from her.

"I know! I need some things at the store, too. So, why don't you take me, since I have absolutely no transportation, and I'll buy us something to eat afterwards."

"Why do you want to go shopping with me?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” he said, and it was true. The words
You feel familiar to me and I want to know why
would not be welcome.

"Try me.” She gave a hard little grin, and he knew he was on thin ice.

"Because I'm bored,” he said. “I don't want to be stuck in a hotel room all day."

"Uh-huh."

He stayed silent for a while, looking at different things. He saw a brick toll house, some seedy-looking bars, some nice houses. The place was an odd mix of decency and desperation. It doesn't know, he thought as they passed an abandoned bar, then a high-end restaurant, if it's rich or poor.

When they pulled into the hotel parking lot he said, “I'll be back out in a couple of minutes. If you're not here I'll understand."

She watched him walk up to the building and disappear through a side door. He was scarcely a romantic figure, a lanky scarecrow of a man squeezed into a black coat. He was barefoot, his light brown hair was shaggy and in need of a trim.

But he had beautiful gray eyes. Kind eyes. And there was a gentleness about him, an awkward grace in the way he moved, even when he acted like he was uncomfortable in his body. He also had an odd but appealing sense of humor, and an unearthly serenity that soothed her.

And the ability to dress and shave very, very quickly.

"I'm back! I'm glad you waited.” He looked better in a pair of dark jeans and a slightly wrinkled dress shirt but not as comforting. Her coat was over his arm, and he stood back away from the door as if waiting for an invitation. She hit the unlock button, and he folded himself back inside, putting her coat on the backseat.

"I had no choice,” she said as she turned the key. “You still had my coat."

He laughed, and she grinned, pleased.

She pulled out of the lot and drove down to the shopping plaza.

"So,” he said, grabbing a cart and pushing it through the automatic doors, “what's your middle name?"

"Why?” she asked absently, digging out her list. Beauty products first.

"So if I ever get mad at you I can use your whole name. So you know I'm serious."

She laughed. “Guess."

"Rumplestiltskin."

"Uh, no.” She knelt in front of the shampoo display, comparing prices.

"Always get the most obvious out of the way, that's what I always say. How much shampoo are you going to buy?” he asked as she dropped several bottles into the cart.

She gave him a look. He was trying not to laugh.

"Keep guessing,” she said in a flat voice.

"Anne? Lynn? Robert? Louise? Richard?"

"Those are guy names!"

"Anne? Really?"

"No, Richard and Robert, as if you didn't know.” She grabbed a bottle off the shelf and opened the cap to smell it. It was too flowery for her taste and she put it back.

"I know. I'm just being as annoying as possible so you'll get tired and blurt out the answer. I'm crap at guessing games."

"Lorraine. And you?"

He paused as if he hadn't considered the quid pro quo portion of the conversation. “I don't have one. Why don't you give me one?"

She laughed, then tried to ignore him while she checked to see if each shampoo had a conditioner mate. “I'm horrible at names."

"Really? I'd hate to be one of your characters, then."

She looked up, surprised, and he made one of her books materialize from out of nowhere.

"Same woman?” he asked, holding the cover up to her.

She nodded, and he held the book out near her, as if comparing the back cover photo to the reality.

"You photograph well, but the reality is still amazingly lovely,” he said.

She smiled at him but inside she was blushing.

"I'll have to read it,” he said.

"No, I don't think so."

"What kind of writer turns away potential royalties? Your agent would not be pleased."

"Well, it's just...” Libby stopped, trying to figure out what to say. It was hard, since she really didn't know what her objection to him reading her book was. “You're a guy."

"I am sure that many men, tons of men, in fact, read these. I bet we make up, what? Fifty? Seventy-five percent of your market."

"Oh, I'm sure.” She looked at him as if he were mad.

"Anyway, if I buy it, I can get you to autograph it. I'll be able to show it to whatever future progeny I have. ‘Yes, this is the signature of the woman who saved my life.’”

She pulled the cart toward her. “If you insist,” she muttered. She had other things to worry about, she decided. Things to buy. Royalty checks to make vanish.

"Excellent!” he said, and when she looked up, he was gone.

He caught up with her again next to the TV dinners. He looked at the growing stack of boxes in her cart, then back at her. She waited for a comment, but it didn't seem to bother him.

"There's a whole bunch of soup cans under those boxes,” she said defensively. He ignored her and held out her book and a pen.

"I nicked it from the display.” Her eyes widened. “I'll take it back,” he assured her. “But I want you to sign this before you forget."

"Are you always like this?” she asked.

"No,” he said honestly. “You seem to bring it out in me."

She took the book and pen and looked both directions before taking the cap off. It was a gel pen filled with metallic purple ink. She paused for a long moment, then wrote, “To Alex Kincaid, please stay off the tracks. Your lifesaver, Libby."

He grinned widely when he saw the inscription. She handed back the pen.

"Please return this before we get into trouble."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be sure to wipe off your fingerprints first,” he said and disappeared again.

He caught up with her at the checkout line. He looked at the line, looked at her cart, looked at the lines around them.

"We're going to be awhile,” she said.

"Good. I have you all to myself, no distractions."

She smiled, and tried to think of something interesting to say.

"Why Alex?” she asked.

He gave her an odd look. “What do you mean, why Alex?"

"Well, Alex is a nice way to shorten Alexander, but I was wondering why Alex and why not Al? Or Xander?"

"Well, it's not Alexander. It's just Alex."

"Oh.” Libby stood there a moment, reflecting that conversation was hard when you were afraid to ask questions. Questions led to questions returned, and she didn't have that much of a past she wanted to share yet.

"So,” she asked. “Did you go to college?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"To be honest,” he said, “I have no idea. I had an accident a couple of years back and it knocked it all out of my head."

"You got hit in the head?"

He nodded. “Amnesia. Permanent, it looks like."

"Well, that explains a lot."

"Like what?” he asked, grabbing the separator from the side of the cash register and placing it on the belt. “I don't act like this all the time, I'll have you know. Most of my friends think I'm all normal and boring."

"I'll bet."

He took a stack of cold boxes out of the cart. “You should be grateful that someone's willing to try and add a little color to your life,” he grumbled.

"I am.” She bit her lip, trying not to giggle.

He looked at her for a moment. “You're teasing me."

"I suppose so, yes."

"I think I'm going to have a heart attack."

"It's not that rare!” she protested. “You just don't know me well enough."

"If you're going to have a heart attack, would you mind stepping to the side so someone else can get through?"

Alex arched an eyebrow and stared at the woman behind them. Libby turned around to face her.

"What's your hurry? They haven't even started on our order yet."

The woman didn't seem to hear Libby. She stared at Alex's face with growing dismay. Libby turned to look at him, but his face was calm, unreadable. He just stared at the woman until she pulled her cart out of line and went to a register several lines down.

Alex looked at Libby and blushed a little. He turned and concentrated on unloading the soup cans from the bottom of the cart. Libby helped, trying to figure out what had passed between Alex and the woman that frightened her enough to leave the line and start all over again elsewhere.

More than a few minutes later, he helped her unload the cart again into the trunk of her car. The last bag stuffed in, she shut the lid. Alex smiled and said, “It's lucky you'll have me to carry all these things in."

"Well, actually,” she said, focusing her stare on the keys in her hand, “I thought I'd just drop you off. We're practically right next to your hotel already."

"But I was planning on buying you dinner."

"You know that's not necessary."

"Libby, I'm offering you food that doesn't come in boxes.” He shrugged. “Not that we know of, anyway."

She looked at him and felt the familiarity, the comfort of him. She wanted to fight it because such a feeling could be deadly in her position, but she couldn't find the will.

"Tomorrow night,” she said. “When I'm less tired. Shopping wears me out."

"No, it's not the shopping. It's the spending,” he said, handing her the receipt that had fallen out of one of the bags. She winced at the total and stuck it in a pocket.

"Tomorrow would be great,” he continued. “I'll come get you. Do you like to eat early or late?"

She got in and unlocked the doors. He shut the door for her and came around. When he was settled beside her, she took out a notepad and a pen.

"My life's really flexible,” she said, “so it doesn't really matter. I'm not much on being out after dark, though."

"Why not?” he asked.

Because the woods are lonely after dark, she thought, but she said, “That's just the way I am. Who knows why?” She handed him the slip of paper. “I don't give this out often,” she said.

"Then I'm doubly honored."

She laughed and started the car. “I hope you continue to think so."

Waking her would not be easy—if, indeed, she was still on this earth, if the tomb had not cracked and leaked. In fact, he was not entirely sure he wanted her. He loved her, true, but she liked to make things difficult for her little boy.

He knelt by the chalk pattern he had drawn on the asphalt of the abandoned parking lot. The recently boarded-up building stood between him and the highway. Behind him, it was all trees. The asphalt, although cracked, made a perfect place to cast spells, being both reasonably flat and easy to draw on.

It was night, and the only illumination here was a single light by the back door of the building. There were others in the parking lot out front, meant to scare away the bad guys; he supposed the owner was still trying to sell the place. He didn't know and didn't care.

He had soaked the chalk in magic and allowed it to dry. He put the stub in its pouch then rubbed the powder from his fingers into his cheeks. The skin would be rough for as long as he owned this body, and it would be cheaper, magically, to move to another than to continue using magic to make it look repaired. He thought perhaps, when the blue moon came and all his magic was restored, he could take away all this body's scars. He liked it—it was far handsomer and better made than the one he had been born with, and it had an affinity for the magical most didn't anymore.

He sighed and removed some cut stones from another pouch, placing them on intersecting lines. It did not matter. Days and years moved swiftly, and he'd wear out this body soon enough and have to find another.