The vehicle was impossible to miss.
The baby-blue muscle car, something along the lines of a classic GTO, had landed on all four tires, high above the water line.
Myra and Jean were several yards away from it, Myra in her uniform, since she was pulling the morning shift today. Jean wore a flowing yellow skirt over light-green leggings, her bright pink hair propped up in ponytails. The whole thing made her look like a flower.
I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled.
Myra waved. I waved back, and meandered down the path, watching my feet for the first part where roots of trees stuck out like knobby knuckles, then looking southward down the beach.
The beach was empty, which wasn’t all that strange this early in the morning. About five miles south, I could make out one big tunnel kite—a huge wind sock spinning slowly— anchored to the beach by bags of sand.
Northward was a curve in the hillside, no people, no kites, just bare brown stone tufted at the top by tough grass.
“Didn’t Than tell you he was closing shop for a few days?” I asked Ryder.
“Yup.”
“Then who has the big kite out today?” Than was the god of death, but here in Ordinary, he ran a kite shop.
“The Persons have one of those. I think the Wolfes do too.”
The Persons were a family of shape shifters, and the Wolfes a clan of werewolves. “I thought they only bring out the big kites on weekends,” I said.
“I can call Than and see if he’s back from hisamble.” I didn’t look over my shoulder but I could hear the air quotes Ryder implied.
“Oh, gods, is that what he called it?”
“He said he wouldn’t have a phone with him because it would interfere with his “rumination”, which sounded about right for a man whoambles. It’d be nice if heambledback and picked up his next shift covering the front desk.”
“It’s a volunteer position, Ryder.”
“So’s mine. I show up for my shifts. And his.”
“That’s because you’re engaged to the boss and want to make a good impression.”
“That’s one reason.”
“What’s the other?”
“I look damn good in a uniform. Also, my fiancé has a thing about men in uniform.”
“Man,” I corrected. “Your fiancé has a thing for one man in a uniform. Or out of it, for that matter.”
He chuckled, pleased with himself.
The wind cut off as we descended the trail, and for a few steps it was suddenly summer, hot as August, instead of the warm June day. Then the wind picked up, spooling away summer’s heat and it was June forever again.
“What’s the story going to be for this one?” he asked as we continued down the path.
“High winds, I think.”
“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
“No, it’s easy. Listen: There was a microburst, just hit one spot, right where this car was on the beach, picked it up, then dropped it flat.”
“Microburst.”
“You know. Tiny powerful wind phenomenon. It’s a real thing, but no one’s really seen it. One knocked out a three-block swath of trees up near the pass a few years back. Flattened a strip of the forest like a giant fly swatter had smacked all the trees beneath it with one whack. The trees on the edge of the microburst are still standing like nothing ever happened.”
