Shiloh (Wishes #6)

  “And you thought I’d have a few ideas?”

  He reached, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Maybe.”

  “I don’t know anything about kids,” I replied. “But I’m going to get a dog one day.”

  “You’ve never had a dog?”

  “Never. I promised myself I’d get one when I was grown up and responsible. I reckon I’m almost there.”

  Mitchell put his hand on his chest, probably protecting his injured ribs as he laughed. “I can picture you with a big slobbering Saint Bernard.”

  “You picture wrong then, Adonis.” I lay back down, looking at the star-filled sky. “I want a French bulldog,” I announced. “And I’m going to give her a fancy regal name to match the glittery pink collar she’ll wear.”

  His laugh got louder and seemingly more painful, as he clutched his middle. “Obviously you’ve put some thought into this.”

  “I have. I’ve narrowed it down to two names.” The poncy accent I adopted came out of nowhere. “She’ll either be called Katherine or Peppermint.”

  I turned my head to look at him and was met by a blinding grin. “You’re going to get on famously with my sisters. They’ll see your Peppermint and raise you a Nancy.”

  “What’s a Nancy?”

  “A bald Pomeranian,” he replied making me laugh. “We’re all class in Tassie.”

  ***

  Streaks of daylight began creeping across the horizon, which meant it was time for the grand finale.

  “Don’t move,” instructed Mitchell, pointing at me as he backed away. “And no peeking.”

  I promised I wouldn’t, but couldn’t help stealing a look as he scurried around in the distance, placing items from the box in the sand.

  After a long few minutes, he called out. “Remember how I told you that there weren’t any rules here?”

  “Yeah.” How could I forget? That’s what made the place so damned dangerous.

  “Well, it’s not always a bad thing,” he replied. “It means we get to do things here that would never fly at home.”

  With that, he lit a series of fuses and sprinted back to me. Before I was really sure what was happening, the sky exploded in wild streaks of gold and red.

  “Fireworks?” I asked incredulously. “You got us fireworks?”

  “Yep,” he triumphantly replied. “Like a boss.”

  “You’re bad arse, Mitchell Tate.”

  “Not as bad as Kenny Traore,” he replied. “God only knows who he rolled to get hold of these bad boys.”

  I hooked my arm through his and shuffled closer, resting my head on his shoulder. “They’re buzzing,” I noted, listening to the rogue sparks that shot away and exploded in all directions.

  “Well, of course they are, darling,” he drawled. “That’s why they’re called killer bees.”

  Complex Attraction

  MITCHELL

  After a few weeks of serving up useless chop, Mother Nature finally got her act together. The waves were magnificent that morning – slow rolling and perfectly formed – much like my roommate.

  Shiloh appeared a little after nine, wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts and a lazy smile.

  “How did you sleep?” I already knew the answer. She looked more relaxed than I’d seen her in weeks.

  “Great,” she replied, wandering toward me. “A little bit of alone time in the desert works wonders.”

  I reached for her hand and pulled her onto my lap. “We’re alone here too.” I chased her lips. “No commentary from the sleek Greeks this morning.”

  I couldn’t admit that I missed them, even though I did, but the absence of the stench of coconut oil was a welcome treat.

  “Think of all the trouble we could get up to on this deck in two weeks with no adult supervision,” she whispered in my ear.

  My hand slipped under her shirt, settling on the thin strings of beads at her hips. I dropped my head to her shoulder, breathing her in. “I don’t think we should put too much thought into it at all,” I suggested. “We should just go with the flow.”

  There was no denying it. Our flow was spectacular. I’d never connected with anyone like I had with Shiloh. If I’d had the skill to put it into words, I would’ve told her so. Instead, I kissed her – hard, because I meant it.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said, finally breaking free.

  Her wide grin was as lovely as the rest of her. “It’s the beads, isn’t it?” she asked. “You only love me for my bin bins.”

  My fingers tangled around the beads in question. “Among other things,” I teased. “It’s a complex attraction.”

  Her smile slipped, and I wasn’t sure why. “It won’t always be,” she said quietly. “Eventually, you’ll have me all worked out.”

  “You’re not that much of a mystery, Shiloh.” I rested my forehead on hers. “I like what I know and I know what I like.”

  “Do you think you’ll be different when you get home?”

  “Do you want me to be?”

  “No.” She laughed quietly. “I’m just curious.”

  “I’m a creature of habit,” I told her. “I sleep, eat and surf no matter what part of the world I’m in. The only difference will be my employment status.”

  She linked her arms around my neck. “Have you put any thought into what you might do?”

  “Not really.” I said it mildly as if I didn’t care either way, but it wasn’t true. Returning home as an unemployed beach bum is fine when you’re twenty, but at twenty-seven it’s pathetic.

  “Something will come up,” she encouraged.

  “Of course it will,” I agreed. “And if it doesn’t, I’ll join the family business and squash grapes into bottles for a living.”

  ***

  After being out of action for a week, the only plan I had for the day involved taking advantage of the perfect surf conditions. But as Shiloh reminded me, it was market day and our cupboards were bare.

  I looked out to sea, groaning as if I was on the verge of giving up a kidney. “But I don’t want to go shopping,” I whined.

  “You’re in luck then, you big baby,” she replied, swatting my upper arm. “I want to go shopping.”

  The offer she laid out was a good one. She’d head to the markets to stock up on dirty potatoes and I’d play in the clean surf.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” I asked.

  She nodded, looking nowhere near as apprehensive as I thought she should. The markets weren’t a dangerous place, but every man and his dog converged there, which made them crowded and tricky to negotiate.

  “Stick to the main stalls,” I instructed. “And don’t let anyone rip you off.”

  “Got it.” She leaned forward and chastely kissed me. “No one will get the better of me today.”

  Catwoman

  SHILOH

  Kaimte’s midweek markets made the main street of Lawler seem like Rodeo Drive. It was crowded, stiflingly hot and the air smelled like dirt.

  Sourcing food for the week wasn’t my only objective that day. I had business to attend to. In a strange reversal of roles, I was headed to Louis’ pawnshop to collect money – namely my payoff for the small part I played in the bulldozer heist.

  A lone white girl wandering around a market might as well be wearing a neon sign. Although I felt completely out of my comfort zone, I tried to walk with the poise of someone who belonged. The crowd eventually began to thin as the temporary stalls gave way to a row of rundown permanent shopfronts, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

  A big woman wearing a flowy red mulafa and a gold headwrap called out as I passed her shop. “Come inside, lovely girl,” she coaxed. “I have fabric for you.” I wasn’t interested in her wares, but I did need a minute to gather my thoughts and calm myself. With the brightest smile I could muster, I stepped through the curtain shielding the door and wandered to the back of the store. As expected, she followed me. “Batik, silk, satin or hemp,” she crowed. “Whatever the lady likes
.”

  I’d never seen so many bolts of fabric in all my life, and strongly suspected that they were the only things stopping the walls from collapsing. “What do you recommend?”

  The woman threw her head back and let out a laugh. I was clueless, and she knew it.

  “The girl doesn’t want fabric,” came a voice from somewhere near the door.

  It was no surprise to see Mimi appear when the front curtain swung open. I would’ve recognised that caustic tone anywhere.

  “You’ve been following me, Mimi Traore.” My angry tone was a crock. I was actually relieved to see her. “Why?”

  She pointed a finger at me. “Because you’re doing bad things,” she hissed. “Heks girl.”

  The mere mention of witches was enough to make any local recoil in fear, and the shopkeeper was no exception. She threw open the front curtain and pointed to the bright light of the outside street. “Go now!” she demanded. “There’s nothing for you in here.”

  Embarrassed and pissed off, I did as I was told – and like a dog with a bone, Mimi followed. “What are you doing down here?” she asked, almost running to keep up with my fast strides. “This is no place for you.”

  I could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on me as curious onlookers took in the show. I stopped walking and spun back to face her. “You’re making a scene,” I growled.

  Her hands moved to her hips. “You don’t like that, do you, heks girl?”

  It was foolish to think the witch nonsense was behind us. As long as I was committing shady acts, Mimi was always going to be suspicious of me.

  “You listen to me,” I ordered exasperatedly. “I am a witch.”

  She stumbled back; clutching her chest as if I’d just punched her. “I knew it,” she hissed.

  “But I am a good witch, Mimi,” I claimed. “I am trying to do good work.”

  Expecting it to be fast and painful, I braced for her reaction, but Mimi surprised me by taking a gentle approach. “You are watching over the diamonds,” she said knowingly.

  The proverbial rock and a hard place had never been harder. I couldn’t give her an honest answer even if I wanted to, which I didn’t.

  “You need to stop interfering, Mimi.” She probably missed the force in my tone, but there would’ve been no escaping my pissed-off expression. “This is none of your business.”

  As soon as I began walking away, she called me back – using my actual name. For that reason alone, I turned around.

  “I can help you,” she offered.

  “No, you can’t.” I shook my head. “Nobody can.”

  ***

  Mimi Traore has a knack for getting her own way. In a move I didn’t see coming, she coaxed me into a café over the road from the fabric shop. The building was in a terrible state of repair, but apart from a group of old men arguing over a card game in the corner, the vibe was good.

  A boy approached and set a pot of tea on the table. When he returned a minute later with a plate of scones we hadn’t ordered, I knew that I was in for a long morning.

  Mimi swung her head in every direction, making no secret of the fact that she was checking the place out. I was busy marvelling at the tablecloth. The table underneath was probably as grimy as the plastic chairs, but the white cloth covering it was pristine.

  “Her name is Verda,” said Mimi, motioning to a woman behind her. “She killed her husband with the poison of three vipers.”

  I glanced over at the murderess. Verda stood at the counter, filling a jar with scoops of sugar from a large hessian sack. The kindly looking woman in her mid-fifties didn’t look like a killer – and considering that her shaky hands were dumping more sugar on the counter than in the jar, she didn’t strike me as someone who’d be overly skilled at handling snakes either.

  I turned back to Mimi, narrowing my eyes with suspicion. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Everybody knows it’s true,” she muttered with a mouthful of scone.

  “So why isn’t she in jail?”

  Her shoulders lifted. “She apologised to the snakes, and nobody liked her husband anyway.”

  Her serious expression lasted mere seconds. Perhaps amused by my horror-struck stare, she burst into a fit of raucous laughter.

  “You’re lying, Mimi Traore.” I held up a serviette to stem the flow of scone crumbs that flew at me as she laughed. “That was a wicked thing to say.”

  Finally composing herself, she dropped her scone and dusted off her hands. “This place is not all that it seems,” she replied. “You think it’s bad because you only deal with bad people.”

  “I deal with you,” I reminded her.

  Mimi picked up the teapot and filled the two small shot glasses. “I am one of the good,” she told me.

  I wasn’t convinced, but couldn’t be bothered arguing. “Can we just hurry this along, please?” I glanced at my watch. “I have somewhere to be.”

  “Who are you meeting?” she asked.

  I didn’t reply, leaving Mimi to jump to her own conclusion, which she did at warp speed.

  “That man on the beach last night – he works for Louis Osei.” Her grim expression probably matched my own. “Louis Osei is a very bad man, but not interested in diamonds. You’re wasting your time with him.”

  I hadn’t given Mimi a skerrick of information, which meant she was far better at putting two and two together than I’d given her credit for.

  “Someone is stealing diamonds from the mine, Mimi.” My words were barely clearer than a mumble, probably because I knew that confiding in her was a monumental mistake.

  “Not Louis,” she insisted, looking me dead in the eye.

  I leaned close. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Juju,” she replied.

  Belief in juju was the be-all and end-all. If Louis was a believer, there was no way he’d ever run the devil’s errand of stealing diamonds – but that was the only line he wouldn’t cross.

  “He’s done some terrible things, Mimi,” I reminded her. “Including robbing people.”

  She emphatically shook her head. “But not diamonds,” she replied. “He’d never steal diamonds.”

  I pushed my glass to the centre of the table and tried to make a desperate question sound casual. “Do you have any idea who would?”

  “No,” she replied. “But I can help you find out.”

  I was shaking my head before she even finished, which only made her more determined to sell her absurd plan.

  “People talk to me,” she said, drumming her finger on the table. “And I have a cousin who works at the mine.”

  I groaned. Half the town worked at the mine, and the half who didn’t had relatives who did. “I won’t involve you, Mimi.”

  I made it sound like I was concerned for her welfare, but in truth I was protecting my own skin. Mimi Traore was the most inquisitive and demanding woman I’d ever met – and not once had she asked what my agenda was. That troubled me.

  “I can help you,” she said for the umpteenth time.

  “How do you know you can trust me?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “The dumb boy trusts you – even after all that’s happened.”

  I hated the fact that Mitchell had rated a mention. It was nothing more than an unwanted reminder of the constant drama I’d brought to his life, and my inability to keep him out of harm’s way. Mimi, on the other hand, had always protected him. And that might’ve been reason enough to trust her.

  “My work here is dangerous,” I told her, “and I don’t know how bad things are going to get.”

  It was a depressing statement that should’ve sent her running for the hills, but Mimi wasn’t fazed. She took a sip of tea and set the glass down. “What’s going to happen to the bad men?”

  “Well, hopefully they’ll be punished.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “And what’s going to happen to the good men?”

  I could only think of one, and there was only one possible outcome I could live with. “He’s goin
g to go home and reconnect with his family,” I said resolutely. “Agreed?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “But I will miss him.”

  ***

  The desire to ditch Mimi waned by the third cup of tea. By that stage I was so late for my meeting with Louis that when she insisted on tagging along, I didn’t argue.

  “Do you know where the pawnshop is?” I asked.

  Mimi pointed directly across the street. “Right there.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d missed it, but in fairness the only hint that the dilapidated tin shed was a pawnshop was a crappy hand-painted dollar sign above the door.

  As we crossed the dirt road, I rattled off my short but precise list of instructions. “Don’t ask questions,” I demanded. “And don’t give him any lip.” Mimi’s lack of response was not reassuring, but it was too late to send her away. Before heading inside I muttered one final warning. “Behave, Mimi.”

  She beamed at me. “My boy, Francis, likes Batman comics,” she said randomly. “I’ve read a few.”

  “Wonderful. Let’s go.”

  Grabbing me by the elbow, she held me back. “Catwoman helps Batman sometimes,” she explained. “Today I am your Catwoman.”

  She followed up with a few animated kung fu chops that did little more than stir up the hot air between us.

  “You think I’m Batman?” I asked, stifling a laugh.

  “Yes,” she confirmed, grinning. “You are Good Witch Batman.”

  ***

  Louis’ pawnshop was a dark, dingy hovel. Like the fabric shop next door, it was packed to the rafters with all manner of junk, and the most pleasant thing in it was him.

  He stepped from behind the counter, arms wide. “My beautiful friend,” he beamed with his usual insincerity. “You’re late.” He turned to Mimi. “What are you doing here, Mrs Traore?”

  She motioned to me with a stiff nod. “Keeping the dumb girl out of trouble.”

  Louis guffawed. “She will find no trouble here, woman.”

  “I will decide that,” she snapped.

  My hopes for a smooth meeting were dwindling fast. We’d been there less than a minute and Catwoman was already getting mouthy. Doing my best to scold her with a harsh frown, I turned to Louis. “Where’s my money?”