Page 6 of Bargain with Fate
He tried to stand; as he predicted, his legs gave out, and he collapsed back on the bench. I couldn’t leave him here in his condition.
“Are you afraid of heights?” I asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“How would you feel about a short stint in the air?”
Lazlo took a moment before responding. “You sure you can lift me?”
“Lazlo, you’re a hundred pounds soaking wet.” Luckily, he was small enough that I wouldn’t have to explain my brute strength.
“Well, okay. As long as you don’t drop me.”
“I wouldn’t drop you even if you were slathered in Vaseline.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s oddly specific.”
I scooped him off the bench and stepped out of the gazebo to spread my wings. I didn’t use them often anymore; they were a painful reminder of my past, but they were too useful to abandon completely.
“I live in Terrapin.” Lazlo clung to my neck, admiring the receding ground below. “This is nicer than I expected. A lovely breeze up here.”
I turned and flew toward his section of the Neighborhood. “Why weren’t you in Terrapin Square?”
“It’s part of my routine. I walk to another square to get the blood flowing, usually first thing in the morning, but I was too tired when I woke up. I try to be gentle with myself these days. Something I stubbornly refused to do in my youth.”
“You were a tough guy, huh?”
“Not to other people, only to myself.”
I landed at the Terrapin boundary and set him on his feet. “Can you take it from here?”
Lazlo glanced around warily. “The coast looks clear.”
“Do me a favor and call me if you see the creature again.”
He shivered. “I sure hope I don’t. I’m going to sleep with the light on tonight, I can tell you that much.”
I left Lazlo and took to the air again, scanning the island for any unusual blue or green creatures. The day had started off weird, and I had the uncomfortable feeling it was only about to get weirder.
Chapter
Two
With two reported incidents involving colorful monsters, I had no choice but to call the HOA president and apprise her of the situation. To prepare, I picked up my golf cart from Margie, then bought a cortado and a chocolate croissant on the way to my office and settled in for what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.
It took half the croissant and three-quarters of the cortado before I worked up the nerve to call.
“Justine Kaminsky’s office.”
“Lionel, it’s Maya. Is she there?”
His chuckle was low and slightly mocking. “Oh, she certainly is.”
I bit off another piece of the croissant. “Can I speak to her?”
“You certainly can.” He patched me through.
“Justine speaking.”
