Page 7 of Pixie Problems
Finn groaned, and I patted his shoulder. Yeah, I would groan at having to corral me too. “I would appreciate a good strong coffee in the morning if I have to stay in overnight lockup,” I said facetiously, and he laughed.
“You, Miss Hart, are trouble. I can't say I blame you, though. For the most part the people here in Moonhaven Cove are the decent sort, but there are a few that make me want to tear my hair out.”
“So I have permission?”
He spluttered as I blinked at him innocently, and then roared with laughter. “Not a chance! Nice try.”
Which reminded me. I needed to find a boxing gym. “Any boxing gyms in town?”
“Yep. I'll text you the address.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, until he pulled into the parking lot of a huge building set well away from other businesses and homes. It likely had soundproofing but it was still smart to separate a shooting range a bit from other businesses. It had a large lot all to itself, and there were more than twenty cars in the parking lot.
“Huh, pretty busy place.”
Finn grabbed his pistol bag, and we made our way into the busy building. After we got signed in, which was easy with Finn being the sheriff, we took a lane and readied our chosen weapons for the day. I'd just brought my favorite Springfield with me. It was the gun I was the most comfortable with.
Finn went over gun safety with me. Unlocking and emptying the magazine, checking to make sure the gun chamber was empty, how to lock and unlock the slider, how to hold the gun with both of my hands positioned correctly, and how to stand and pull the trigger. He reiterated that I only pointed the gun at something if I wanted to shoot it. Then he moved on to the more precise things: aiming for the body and not the head unless I was a really good shot (and evenifI was a really good shot), pulling the gun in slightly toward me so I was prepared for the recoil, and keeping both eyes open and focused on my target.
Then he had me do speed drills: unload, load, cock, aim, fire, again and again, trying to get a better time, and more accuracy. And then, because he wasinsane,he paused everyone else's shooting, had everyone exit the building, and proceeded to make me do it all again while he very loudly shouted at me at the top of his lungs.
His idea was that I needed to be able to shoot under intense stress and duress.
Joke was on him. Someone yelling at me wasn't stressful. But Finn was smarter than I gave him credit for. When the yelling didn't work, he told me if I failed, I had to go as his plus one to a First Responder banquet held in an adjacent town.
I growled at him. Dirty, rotten, underhanded . . . A total and complete abuse of power. Thankfully, my grandpa had taught me how to shoot, and he'd been a sharpshooter in the Army. I scowled at Finn, and then did it all again perfectly. When I performed to Finn's satisfaction, he slapped me on the back like we were long lost buds and told me that the yelling had all been in good fun.
I was tempted to shoot him in the foot.
Lion shifters!
* * *
The meeting was heldat 8 pm. I pulled into the parking lot and gawped at the huge building in front of me. It, no joke, looked like a castle. It took up an entire city block, was four stories tall, and had four square shaped turrets, one each corner of the building. The white brick facing on the fourth floor turned to blue marble, and then continued in brick all the way up to the decorative roof finials at the top. I generally paid zero attention to architecture but the design of the Municipio was eye-catching. Grossly exaggerated, but eye-catching.
I made my way in and followed the little plaques on the walls that directed me to the right room. I could hear the quiet buzz of conversation from outside the door, but all of that stopped when I stepped inside. The room was a medium sized chamber with stadium seating. On the ground floor sat a comfortable looking chair, with a side-table next to it that held a single bottle of water.
Wow, talk about imposing. I felt sorry for the more timid souls if they had to go though all this rigamarole.
Luckily, I wasn't, by nature, timid. I strode confidently to the chair and sat, facing an audience I couldn't see very well because of the way the lighting was mostly over the center of the chamber, and not the seating area. Only the people to my right stood out in sharp relief.
Someone made a faint noise of disgust and I heard the snapping of fingers. A bright silver light lit up the room, and I heard people in the stands groan before my eyes adjusted and I could see everyone.
“This isn't the middle ages people,” an elf on the first row said. He had short, silver hair, a chiseled, handsome face, purple and gold eyes, and was slumped a little in his seat as though he couldn't be bothered with this meeting. Or like he had better places to be.
My eyes were drawn to one of the most commanding beings in the room. I knew he was a vampire, my Insight was telling me that, but he had to becenturiesold, because my Insight was going a little haywire, as though it were overloaded. He was healthy, thankfully, but there was a huge glut of information that I was getting and it overwhelmed me for a moment or two until I consciously shoved the information away and focused on the proceedings.
Out of the corner of my eye I noted ten others, making the total count of beings on the PNW council twelve members. My eyes went back to the elf who was now tapping his fingers on the arms of his chair to a rhythm only he could hear. The vampire reached over and laid a gentle hand over the elf's fingers.Thatcombined with his I-will-gut-you-if-you-continue look made the elf fold his arms over his chest and quirk an eyebrow at the vampire. This exchange only took seconds but told me a lot about these guys. Number one, there was a history between the two that was probably funny as all heck, and I wanted to know it. Two, the elf was a pain in the butt. Three, the vampire was a saint to put up with him.
The vampire spoke. “Miss Paradise Hart. We are grateful you could make it on short notice, and we apologize for the delay in the meeting.”
I nodded. Of course. Things came up.
His chocolate eyes were very alert, and I sensed an uncanny intelligence behind his gaze. More than the usual accrued intelligence of a long-lived being. I would bet my bike this guy was scary smart. The observation perked me up. At least I wouldn't be dealing with dumber than a box of rocks bureaucrats.
“My name is Draven Leto, head of the PNW council. We have your statement. Sheriff Finn was good enough to have typed and ready for us, but . . .” He moved the top paper one way and then another, squinting as though he couldn't read it. When I saw what the issue was I almost lost it. It took all the self control I had to restrain my laughter. It looked like hot chocolate or coffee had been spilled all over the page, and the words bled together, and that was if you could see the words at all.
Lucky had struck again.
