The traffic moved slowly, bumper to bumper along the Pat Bay Highway as the cars exited the Ferry dock.
Mike had been treated to the irate stares of those drivers who had had to pull around his abandoned car as he had rushed back to it.
Nothing said stranger to a Vancouver Island resident like someone who had the poor manners to hold up the ferry traffic. Once he had offloaded the boat and was in among the other traffic he had finally felt the heated blush fade from the back of his neck.
The open countryside around him rolled up and down gentle grades and looking off to his right, a few miles away across the sloping farmer's fields, he could see the expanse of ocean water, blue and sparkling.
The ferry traffic had been stop and start at first, but now as they moved farther from the dock, it was thinning out, the cars spacing themselves out like beads on a necklace to the point that Mike could pick up some speed between the stop lights.
He could see three young women in the car in front of him. The front windows were down and the hair of the driver was whipping about her head. From behind Mike could see that they were laughing and gesturing in animated conversation.
Ahead the traffic was slowing and as he pulled to a stop he could read the bumper stickers on the women's car. "Gill Nets are Death Traps for Marine Mammals!" declared the one on the right while the one on the left proclaimed, "When Words Fail, Music Speaks!"
As he raised his eyes from the bumper the woman in the back seat turned to look back and regarded him with deep brown eyes. Liath smiled as she recognized Mike and raised her hand slightly in greeting.
The traffic began to move again as the involuntary, wide smile crept across Mike's face. She did not bring the attention of her friends to him; she simply turned her body slightly, regarding him as he drove behind them. Finally, Mike saw one of the women in the front seat turn to speak to her, and Liath turned to face the front. He saw her shake her head, and then the woman in the front turned to face forward again. A moment later they turned into a right hand turn lane.
As Mike pulled up beside them, the blond driver smiled appreciatively at him. He looked down slightly abashed at her forthright admiration and when he looked back it was to see Liath's wave as the car drove off down the side road.
Mike regretfully followed along with the stream of traffic and in time found himself driving along Douglas Street towards downtown Victoria. He eventually pulled into the parking lot of the RCMP Building on Nanaimo Street.
Mike had worked with the Mounties on many occasions in the past, and whether in Ontario or in British Columbia, the protocols were the same. After the first few awkward moments of formality, he was accepted by the detectives working the case and spent the next two hours being briefed in the ongoing investigations into the three Vancouver drowning executions.
He was then shown to an empty meeting room and presented with several very thick dossiers on the local activist groups, who were known to have crossed paths with the identified organized crime and gang leaders in the city.
Four hours, and hundreds of photocopies later, he had assembled his own bulging file. He had a number of addresses that he wanted to check out tomorrow.
Sighing, he closed the file folder and laid it on top of his much abused attaché case. There is no way in hell I am going to be able to fit that in there, he thought.
He raised his arms over his head and stretched out the cramped muscles of his shoulders, groaning in pleasure at the slight burning as the tension was eased.
Man, I need a workout, he thought as he rolled his shoulders. He picked up his discarded tie and stuffed it in the pocket of his coat where it hung on the chair back. Mike glanced around the room; he was done for today.
He gathered up the Styrofoam coffee cups and the balled up cellophane from the long gone turkey and cheese sandwich, tossing them in the trash as he grabbed his coat. He picked up his attaché and stuck the new file under his arm.
The sergeant at the front desk had directed him to the Super Eight Motel just around the corner, and said that the reservation was made in his name.
With a backwards wave of his hand Mike pushed through the front doors of the station and was on his way to his car. The sky was a pale shade of grey with low dark clouds broken and under lit in the rose colored wash of the sunset. The air smelled like there may be rain on the way. It was just after eight in the evening and given the way his stomach was growling, he needed to find himself something to eat.
He checked into the motel and hauled his suitcase and attaché up to his second floor room, straight forward motel room: chair, table, TV and a king-sized bed. With a sigh Mike slipped off his shoes then eased off his jacket and tossed it over the chair back. He worked the buttons of his shirt undone and that followed the jacket, then his pants and socks. Running a tired hand through his hair he crossed to the bathroom.
He flipped on the light, squinting a little in the brightness and looked thoughtfully at the stack of white towels and the shower. I could just have a hot shower and hit the sack, he thought, but in the end opted for turning on the hot water in the sink and dousing his face and neck.
Toweling dry he redressed in his running sweats, and dropped to do a few stretches, having decided to think through what he had read this afternoon by pounding the pavement.
He jogged out to Douglas Street and turned towards downtown. It had become dark but the streetlights of the city cast enough light for sure footed running.
Mike was just hitting his stride and was turning over the places he wanted to visit tomorrow in his mind; top of the hit list was the Victoria Aquatic Mammal Protection Society. They had a small office in Oak Bay close to the Marina. The files said they had a large membership both inside and outside the province.
I have to admire how passionate they are in their beliefs, Mike thought to himself, even if I don't necessarily agree with their actions. I am just too law and order to be really comfortable with civil disobedience I guess. The 'Society' was a well-known and well-publicized protester of the spring seal hunt on the ice of the East Coast.
They were also outspoken advocates of endangered or protected species rights. They were almost zealots in Mike's mind. One of their beliefs was that it was their personal responsibility to interfere with, or prevent the trade in, endangered species and the byproducts of those species.
Well there is at least one exotic species that I have run across that I wouldn't mind knowing was extinct, Mike thought, though after his last meeting with Fitzroy he found it hard to raise the usual anger he felt at the thought of the vampire.
I wonder if there is a resident bloodsucker in Victoria, I mean aside from those at the Parliament and at City Hall. Once he got the thought in his mind he couldn't seem to let it go. Fitzroy had said that most cities had a resident ruler, so, it made sense that if Fang Boy had Vancouver, then some other creepy crawly had Victoria. Well whoever the "resident" is they would have to keep a low profile in a tourist town like this one.
He was running through downtown now and had almost decided to turn and start back to the hotel. There were a few groups of people on the street and he slowed as he passed by a pub.
The doors were open and the sound of live music underscored by the hum of conversation that spilled out into the night. The sign over the door read The Irish Times. The pub was crowded and Mike could see through the windows a small stage was set up and there was a group of three musicians playing. Two fiddles and a mandolin poured out the rapid notes of a dizzying reel and the patrons feet stomped out the rhythm.
A quick glance told Mike that none of the musicians was the one he was hoping to see. Liath was not in attendance that night.
Mike crossed the street and began to run back in the direction of the hotel. All thoughts of the case and vampire politics and politicians in general, had somehow suddenly vanished from his mind. Instead he found himself replaying his conversation with Liath this afternoon on the car deck of the ferry, in all of its excruciating detail.
He pictured her charming smile and her comfortable laugh. He heard again the barely there lilt of her speech and the mellow confidence of her voice. Mostly he considered the brown velvet of her eyes, deep and dark, swift and clever; full of some secret understanding that Mike wanted to know more about.
Tomorrow evening, he would find out where she was playing and he would make sure to be seated in the audience.
He pounded up the steps of the motel and pulled out his key. Maybe he would order in some pizza, shower and spend an hour or two on the file.
***
Clare looked up from the ironing board that she had set up in the small living room. The smell of hot cotton and steam, a homey and yet somehow productively satisfying scent. She was probably the only person she knew who loved to iron. The dampened and rolled blouses and tops sat in a row in the basket waiting for her tender attentions, something about the way the wrinkles smoothed out to a flat surface under the hiss of the steam…. Liath passed by her peripheral vision again and Clare finally asked, "Liath, what's wrong, you are so restless tonight, it's like you can't sit still."
Liath smiled a little ruefully at her sometimes housemate, "I'm sorry Clare, am I bothering you? I know that you're not used to having me around."
"Don't be silly Liath, you're not bothering me, and this is your home too. You were only away for a week this time. Sometimes when it's much longer, then, to be fair, I do get a little used to my own company, but I am always, always, glad when you come back. Is there something wrong?" Clare asked, a little frown puckering her brow.
Liath flung herself down into the low upholstered chair. Anyone who knew her usual smooth and elegant grace would have spotted how out of character that single abrupt movement actually was.
Silently, Clare raised a brow, waiting.
"Yes, well no…not really. I don't know. I just can't seem to settle," Liath sighed and twisted the end of her brown plait in her hand.
"Perhaps the dinner upset you," Clare wondered aloud.
"No, not the dinner; you know that your salmon is my favorite Clare, it was delicious," Liath said. "I just feel so…restless; I think I will go for a walk."
"Maybe that will help," Clare said as she picked up the iron again. "I am sure it's going to rain tomorrow though so it might be cool out on Dallas Road tonight."
Liath smiled, "Do you know what the definition of a sweater is?" she asked Clare.
Clare just raised an eyebrow again inquiringly.
"It's a garment that children wear, when their mother feels cold, Liath finished, dodging gracefully to avoid the rolled blouse that Clare had thrown at her.
Laughing, Liath returned to her room and retrieved her boots and her jacket. When she got to the door she called over her shoulder, "I may walk downtown to the Irish Times, Clare. I have my keys, don't wait up."
"Be careful, dear one," was Clare's response.
The moon had risen in the sky and was riding high above the incoming clouds. Liath sniffed the air. The rain was coming, if not tomorrow then tomorrow night.
She twitched her braid free from where it was trapped beneath her coat and made her way through the front gate of the small Fairfield house.
Three block out to Dallas Road, when she stood facing the water she looked to the right. I can walk that way and up Cook Street then across Fairfield Road downtown to the Irish Times and catch the last couple of Rene's sets, she thought.
She looked to the left at the long, lamp lit stretch of Dallas Road that headed down past Clover Point towards the Ross Bay Cemetery and then on into Oak Bay.
Or I can walk down Dallas to Clover Point and out to take a look at the water.
The thought of the water rushing up against the rocks in the moonlight decided her. She turned to the left and started off down Dallas. Twenty minutes later she was making her way across the flat grassy field of Clover Point.
She passed the sole lamppost at the far end of the Point and then by the light of the moon reflected off the ocean beyond, she clambered down the boulders to where the high tide brushed the rocky log strewn breakwater.
Perching just above the waterline on a smooth, water worn log she watched the moonlight shimmer across the ocean's surface. With her arms wrapped about her knees she became still. She allowed herself to open to the night and the sky.
She sat so for at least an hour emptying the thoughts of the day from her mind, until only one smiling and embarrassed face remained.
Michael, she thought to herself, named for the Defender. Tall and honest, she thought, most likely "law enforcement" though he had said nothing to that effect. Not her "usual," a wee bit too mainstream, but…but there was something in his eyes that spoke to her.
She pictured his face and his stance, hands thrust into his pockets. She found that she was humming a little song as she sat alone on the point in the dark. Suddenly she laughed aloud and shook her head. Why you fool, she said to herself, that's "The Barking Seal." I haven't played that for years.
Liath swiveled her head around to inspect the point. There was no one about; it was after eleven.
Across the grass and up at the top of the rise she could see the lights of the houses on Dallas Road, some were already dark. No one would know.
She slowly unbraided her hair until it flowed loose in the breeze and then unzipped her coat and spread it out on the log. She pulled her sweater over her head and her T-shirt followed. When she was naked, she bundled all her clothes in her coat and forced the bundle in between two rocks. Her body glowed pale and ripe in the moon's chill light.
She waded into the water until it was up to her waist; she knew full well that the drop off to the deeper water was only a few feet out.
Legend said that a selchie needed to 'have' its skin to return to the sea.
This was not precisely correct. A selchie need only know the exact location of their skin and to be able visualize it in that location, in order to change form.
If a selchie's skin was stolen, as sometimes did happen, her kinsman Orion was a sad case in point, then they were indeed forced to remain in human form until they had reclaimed their skin.
It had taken her almost a month to coax Orion back into human form and to convince him it was safe to secret his skin.
Liath pictured her skin now, as she stood in the cold water. Soft and silver grey, marked with darker spots, warm and supple, safe in its hiding place.
She felt the up rush of the magic in the same way that the sea rushes to the shore. Her lips bowed in a small smile and her eyes darkened to a solid rich brown. Her pale form wavered in the moonlight for one fluid moment and then with a roll of her body and a thrust of her flippers, she launched herself through the dark water flying out into the strait.
***
Mike swiped the steam from the mirror with a pass of his wet palm; in the close hot confines of the bathroom his reflection began to blur again almost immediately. His blue eyes regarded him, as he pushed his wet waves back out of his face. He picked up his watch from the back of the tank. Almost midnight, that made it nearly three in Toronto, too late to call Vicki now.
He had missed her call when he was paying the pizza delivery guy at the door of his room. He told himself he would call her back after he had eaten. Then it was, well no sense in calling until I have had a second look at the file, and then, I'll call as soon as I am out of the shower.
I 'm sure that she is calling because Captain Canine told her about how we met up in the restaurant. She will have figured out by now that I lied about that, and Vicki that angry, shit, that is something I don't really need tonight. I just can't fend off any of her pressing questions right now, I don't want to have to fucking explain HOW Henry is…I am not sure I can explain. I'll call her tomorrow morning; she is usually in a "better" mood after a few hours sleep.
Ten minutes later Mike, clad in his sleep pants, lay between the impersonal crisp motel sheets and reaching a muscled arm across to the bedside lamp, turned the switch, consigning himself to the dark.