Bonus Scene: Turkey for Two

(please remember, this scene is unedited and unpolished)

Scene: Shade needs to talk to some goblin witnesses, but the goblins are in the middle of celebrating Thanksgiving the goblin way…with rugby.

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“How do goblins celebrate Thanksgiving?”

The curious lilt in Peasblossom’s voice made me look down at her where she was sitting in the passenger seat with a honey packet grasped in both hands. She’d already sucked most of the honey out and was now tapping the empty wrapper against her mouth in thought. At six inches tall, she looked somewhat ridiculous sitting pressed against the back of the seat with her legs straight out in front of her, but the look in her multi-faceted pink eyes was serious.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I admitted. “But Asher said if we wanted to talk to the witnesses, we had to meet them at the park.” I paused before continuing, still struggling to believe I’d understood the goblin correctly. “He said to look for the pavilion covered with green and white balloons.”

“Witnesses,” Peasblossom scoffed. “I still think they’re suspects.”

“Don’t be like that,” I scolded her. “No one said anything about goblins being involved in the attack.”

“Who else is going to attack a group of drunk men fresh out of watching a UFC fight at a local bar?” Peasblossom demanded. “Does that sound like a good time to you?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. She wasn’t wrong. Most Otherworlders stayed out of the way on big drinking nights—of which the night before Thanksgiving was one. Since so many people had Thanksgiving day off, the night before tended to be a big night for booze. Drunk people tended to have an easier time spotting Otherworlders, what with alcohol-infused brains having a harder time convincing them that the shadow flying over them was just a large bird and not a gargoyle, or that the man on the street had bad skin and wasn’t, in fact, a goblin.

And if Otherworlders stayed in and tried not to draw attention to themselves, that left fewer targets for masochistic goblins to pick a good fight with. And a goblin without a good fight was like a night without stars.

Or an addict without drugs, if you wanted a more accurate, but less pretty analogy.

“We’ll talk to Griffin, Kaleb, Jordek, Nathanial, and Phoenix and find out what they saw. Asher said they were all in the area where the men were attacked, maybe they saw something.”

“Or did something,” Peasblossom muttered.

Scath stretched out in the backseat, her large black feline body filling the space like a sprawling pool of black shadow. She opened one green eye as I slowed the car down for the turn into the parking lot, then raised her head. Her pointed black ears tilted forward and she made a soft sound in her throat that sounded like a question.

I put the car into park and stared at the sight ahead of me.

“I see the balloons,” Peasblossom said helpfully from her new perch on the dashboard. She paused. “What are they doing?”

“I think,” I said slowly, “they’re playing…rugby?”

Scath blinked.

“Peasblossom, take the warming stone,” I said, pulling said stone from my pocket. I brushed the tiny straps fastened to it so they hung straight before I handed it to the pixie to strap to her body.

“You want me to question people?” Peasblossom asked.

I almost told her that I wanted her to have the warming stone because I knew her curiosity would get the better of her and she’d end up poking her head out to watch the game regardless and I didn’t want her to freeze, but if I did that then she might refuse the warming stone on principle.

“I need you to be a spy for me,” I said instead. “Snoop around and tell me if my questions seem to be making anyone nervous.”

Peasblossom hopped up and down. “Okay. I’m good at that.”

“Yes, you are.”

I got out of the car and opened the backseat for Scath to climb out. Up ahead, the sounds of mid-game shouting rolled over the field and into the parking lot. I wasn’t very familiar with rugby, not being a sport-minded witch, but I knew rugby was one of the more violent sports. A precursor to football played with all the tackling and none of the safety gear.

A perfect goblin game.

The pavilion had twelve tables. One of them was empty, ten of them were full of half-seated goblins watching the game with the tension of someone who would rather be playing the game, and one of them held food—a single turkey along with three side dishes. I couldn’t tell what was in all of them, but I guessed from the smell that one of them was baked beans—made with bacon on top.

“That’s not enough turkey to feed all these goblins,” I murmured, looking at what had to be at least three dozen goblins. “Do you think they need more?”

“You want to pull a reformed Ebenezer Scrooge, don’t you?” Peasblossom demanded. “Go off and buy a bunch of food, surprise them with a banquet?”

Her tone rubbed me the wrong way, but she wasn’t wrong.

Before I could answer, Asher spotted me. The yellow-skinned goblin with the holly berry red eyes was waiting at one of the non-food laden tables. He’d been intent on watching the game, and even after he noticed us, he seemed hesitant to take his attention off the chaos in front of him for too long.

“Asher,” I said, approaching. “Thank you for letting me—”

“You’re only going to be able to talk to Griffin and Kaleb,” Asher interrupted.

I frowned. “What about Jordek, Nathanial, and Phoenix?”

“Jordek is already down and Nathanial and Phoenix are on the field.”

“Down? What do you—”

I stopped as my eyes landed on what I’d thought was a pile of coats on the ground to the side of the field. It wasn’t a pile of coats.

It was a pile of goblins.

“Are they…?” I said weakly.

“Not dead. Just down.” Asher stiffened, then fixed his red-eyed gaze on me. “Do not heal them. Once you’re out, you can’t get back in the game, and they won’t thank you if they end up sitting at the table with no wounds to show for it. Jordek went down in a tackle that broke two bones in his arm.” His eyes glittered. “The broken bone stabbed Phoenix in the face. Missed his eye, though, so he’s still in the game.”

Suddenly, the crowd erupted into a roar.

“Did you see that?!” Peasblossom shouted, hopping up and down on my shoulder as she pointed excitedly toward the field. “The guy with the ball tried to jump over those two guys, but they tackled his legs, and he flipped over them and then laded on top of them!” Her wings buzzed behind her. “Broken ribs, I’m telling you. Lots of them.”

“I need to talk to all six,” I said firmly. “I need to know if they saw anything.”

“Then talk to Griffin and Kaleb,” Asher responded, sounding annoyed that I’d made him miss the play. “Look, I told you when you called, no healing. You agreed.”

“Well, can I speak to Nathanial and Phoenix during halftime? Or when they’re rotated out?”

Asher stared at me as if I’d suggested he try a vegan lifestyle. “There’s no halftime. And we don’t ‘rotate out.’ You play until you can’t play anymore, then you’re replaced.”

I started to argue, then stopped. “You mean everyone sitting here is waiting for a turn in the game?”

“Yes.”

I looked at the pile of bodies where Jorek was. “And over there—”

“Is where you go when you’ve had your turn.”

I assumed by “where you go” he meant “where we drag your body” since no one in that pile looked like they’d walked there.

Part of me wanted to argue that I only needed a moment or two of time from each of the witnesses, but I didn’t. First of all, this was a holiday, and Asher hadn’t had to tell me where they were at all. I was here through his good graces, and I needed to respect his rules. Besides, the case wasn’t time sensitive. And beyond that, there was no point in arguing yet anyway since if Griffin or Kaleb had seen something, I might not need to talk to the others at all.

“Which one is Griffin?” I asked.

Asher leaned down and picked up a small rock off the ground. Before I could stop him, he chucked it at a goblin standing ten feet away, bouncing the rock off his skull with a dull crack of stone on bone. The goblin whirled around, teeth bared and fists already rising.

“That’s Griffin,” Asher said. “Kaleb is right behind him.”

I stared at the knuckles of Griffin’s raised fists. Tiny fragments of bone protruded from each knuckle, with more bits erupting between them. His hands looked bigger than they should be, and I couldn’t tell if they were actually larger, or if they were just deformed or swollen.

Kaleb was looking in our direction now too. When my attention shifted to him, he leaned forward and spit on the ground. The cement sizzled as his saliva left pits in the stone.

An acid spitter. Fantastic.

“Thank you,” I said.

Asher waved a hand, his attention already back on the game.

Griffin and Kaleb watched me as I approached. Both of them seemed distracted, as if it took a conscious effort not to turn back to the game, but clearly enough of my reputation preceded me that they were semi-hopeful our interaction would turn violent.

“Griffin and Kaleb?” I asked.

They both nodded.

“Asher tells me you were around the Endzone bar last night around midnight.”

Griffin snorted. “Not that it was worth it. That’s the thing about humans. There’s a thin line between drunk enough to fight someone scarier than them and too drunk to fight.”

Kaleb spat on the ground again—closer to my foot than was wise. “Two of them hit me and not one of them even broke skin.”

“Probably a good thing for them,” Peasblossom pointed out, eyeing the damaged cement. “Can’t imagine your saliva would do their skin much good.”

Kaleb crossed his arms. “I didn’t spit on anybody.”

Griffin raised one hand to grate the broken bone fragments in his knuckles over his chin, drawing thin lines of blood along his jaw. “I didn’t get to hit anyone. Wasn’t anyone worth hitting.”

“And I sympathize,” I said dryly. “But what I want to know is if you saw any baobahn sidhe.”

Griffin stopped scratching his jaw and perked up. “Baobahn sidhe?”

Now I had his attention. Baobahn sidhe were beautiful, but gruesome creatures. A combination of vampire and sidhe, with the former’s reliance on blood for sustenance, but a sidhe’s magic. The red-haired sidhe had skin covered with fine needle-like hairs that they used to draw their victims’ blood through skin to skin contact—contact that could be sensual or violent, depending on their mood. Through the drinking of their victims’ blood, the sidhe could catch glimpses of their memories. In a way, it was like being intoxicated, only instead of hallucinations, they lived memories that weren’t their own.

Though as far as goblins were concerned, the real draw of baobhan sidhe was their delight in torture and disembowelment.

“There were baobahn sidhe around the Endzone?” Kaleb pressed, stepping closer to me.

I fixed him with a witchy look, letting him know it would be in his best interest to avoid crowding me. “Can I assume this means you didn’t see them? Two men, both with very pale skin and blood red hair? The last description I have of them has them wearing deep blue denim jeans and pale green linen shirts? Beaded necklaces?”

“Hippies?” Griffin scowled. “They don’t sound like baobahn sidhe.”

“That’s the point,” I said impatiently. “They were following someone they were hired to get information from.”

“Torture?” Kaleb asked hopefully.

“I’m sure that was part of it, but mostly the blood-drinking.” I stopped and shook my head. “You didn’t see them, nevermind.” I looked out at the field. “Can you tell me which one of of the players is Nathanial and which one is Phoenix?”

Kaleb’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to pull them off the—”

Griffin flung out a hand, striking Kaleb’s chest with his closed fist and driving the breath from his fellow goblin in a whoosh. “Nathanial is the one with the red hair and the blue shirt. Phoenix is the tall one with the green skin and curly hair.”

Kaleb rubbed his chest, smearing the blood welling up from where the bones shards in Griffin’s knuckles had punctured his skin. “You’re going to have a hell of a time getting them off the field.”

“I’m on it!” Peasblossom announced.

She was off like a shot, nothing but a pink blur as she fired herself off my shoulder toward the field. I reached out a hand, but I was too late to stop her.

Griffin blinked. “She’s going to talk to them on the field?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “She’s going to try.” I sighed and looked down at Scath only to find the giant feline had abandoned me to sit on the sideline of the field watching the game. Thirty feet in front of her, a clump of goblins fell in a giant pile of knees, elbows, and spikes—all of them jostling around to cause as much damage as possible as they tried to find the ball in the pile of bodies.

Scath’s tail lashed side to side, her green eyes alight with interest.

Peasblossom would be fine, I trusted her to be fast enough not to get crushed. Much more than I trusted my own safety if I tried to stop the game to talk to my witnesses.

“So,” I said finally. “Is this a potluck situation?”

Kaleb stared at me like I’d sprouted feathers. “A what?”

I nodded toward the table with the food. “I made too much food again this year. I could bring it by?”

Griffin’s brow furrowed in confusion as he looked from the me to the table and back. “We have plenty of food. If anything, there’s too much.”

I looked around at the crowd of goblins. “Too much for this crowd?”

Kaleb gestured at the seated goblins. “They haven’t played yet.”

I had no idea what that was supposed to mean and before I could ask, a wave of shouts rolled over the pavilion. I whirled toward the field just in time to see a player in a red shirt—or a very bloody white shirt—with an oblong ball tucked under his arm strike a player in front of him with a forearm across the other goblin’s chest with enough force to send the goblin horizontal before he landed hard on his back where he was promptly trampled by the rest of the group.

The noise quieted down when the goblin—choking and spitting up blood—rolled to his side and shoved himself to his feet to stumble down the field after the knot of players running after the ball.

I shook my head and went to join Scath on the sideline.

“Enjoying yourself?” I asked.

Scath leapt to her feet, her tail still flicking from side to side, focused on the field with a restrained excitement that made me wonder if she was considering joining the game herself.

I took one look at her huge paws and wicked claws and had no doubt the goblins would be all for it.

Suddenly the red-headed goblin—Nathanial—shot out of the group like a yellow-skinned cannonball, tumbling tail over teakettle for at least four yards before coming to rest in a bloody heap. I called my magic, ready for a little healing just to clear his head as I took a step closer to the line that marked the official boundary line of the game.

“Nathanial!” I called out. “I need to talk to you! It will just take a minute.”

Nathanial knelt on one knee, wiping the blood from his face with one hand as he looked over his shoulder to where the play continued without him.

The goblin that was next in line to join the game bounced on his heels, body moving as if he were already imagining himself in the game.

Suddenly Nathanial lurched to his feet, half-falling into a run as the group of goblins on the field surged forward.

I gasped as Nathanial tackled the goblin carrying the ball, hitting him at chest level and sending them both crashing to the frozen ground. The ball carrier’s head bounced off the field, and I could imagine the sound of his skull cracking from thirty yards away.

On the upside, Nathanial was on the ground too. Unmoving, but conscious. I caught a flash of pink and the tension bled from my shoulders. Peasblossom was talking to him.

That left Phoenix and the unconscious Jarek.

“It won’t be long now,” the goblin at the head of the line assured me as he jogged out onto the field. “Forty-five minutes. You’ll see.”

I shrugged and unzipped my waist pouch. “Bizbee, could you get me a few thick blankets?”

Two fuzzy-tipped antennae popped out of the waist pouch, followed by two beady black eyes. “What’s going on?”

“We’re—” I started.

“Rugby?” Bizbee erupted from the pouch, his tiny cricket-like body bouncing as he perched on the edge of the zipper. “Who’s up?”

“You too?” I asked tiredly.

Bizbee didn’t answer, too busy studying the field. “Goblins. Good game, tough players. Not afraid to sacrifice the body.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” I muttered, digging around in the enchanted confines of my waist pouch for a blanket.

I settled the blanket on the frozen ground and lowered myself to the thick fabric. “I can wait a half hour or so.”

Thirty-two minutes later, I was staring at the field, my mouth hanging open.

“I don’t… What just happened?”

Scath lay behind me now, using her huge feline body as a warm bench for me to lean against as I watched the game. Well, I had been watching the game. It was over now.

I stared as two goblins stumbled off the field.

The only two goblins left standing.

Peasblossom dropped her honey packet into my lap as she looked around. “That was…something.”

I stared wordlessly around the dark field. The only light came from the strings of lights the goblins had set up around the pavilion, and a few lanterns on each table. Through the dim light, I could make out the shadowy outline of the bodies lying on the ground where they’d been dragged off the field.

“I don’t understand.” I looked at the two goblins dragging their battered bodies to the table with the cooling food. “This is how you celebrate Thanksgiving?”

One of the goblins—Asher’s sister, if I remembered correctly from our almost-meeting at a motel during a case a while back—looked at me as she fell onto the bench and groped for the turkey, tearing one of the drumsticks off. “Yeah. Why, how do you celebrate it?”

I watched her bite into the drumstick, smearing the white flesh with the blood pouring from the cuts on her face and her split lip. “I…eat?”

The goblin arched an eyebrow, sending fresh blood down her cheek. “So are we.”

I rose to my feet, groaning as my joints and my lower back reminded me that I wasn’t a young witch anymore. “I still need to talk to Jarek.”

Asher’s sister leaned over and almost toppled off her bench seat as she craned her neck to get a look at the pile of bodies on the other side of the pavilion. “He’s not up yet.”

I picked up the blanket I’d been sitting on and started to fold it. “How much trouble will I be in if I wake him up?”

“If you heal him? About as much trouble as it takes him to get back to a happy place.”

She meant until he was beaten unconscious again.

I sighed. “Could you ask him to call me when he gets up?”

Asher’s sister swayed, her eyelids growing heavy even as she helped herself to a large helping of what smelled like green bean casserole. “Sure,” she slurred.

I’d bet my last ear of corn that she wasn’t going to be conscious much longer.

“Bizbee?” I said tiredly. “Could you hand me a Post-it and a pen? I need to leave a note.”