Bad Blood, page 24
part #7 of Jack Dahlish Series
Terry ran over with a stricken look on his face. “Miss Bishop, you just saved more than a dozen lives. If you hadn’t reacted so quickly, they all would have been in there when the gas ignited.”
“Let’s see how many and how bad the injuries are before we celebrate.” She waved an EMT over as a pair of them ducked into the tent, pointing them toward the camera operator. The man’s pants leg had burned so hotly that she could see blistered skin in several places. It could have been so much worse, though.
Bryan was back in less than a minute. “Everyone got out, Bishop. One of the contestants was slightly burned on his arm, but Harry got the worst of it.”
She looked over to where the host was just starting to wake up. The back of his garish suit was blackened in several places, and he had patches of hair missing on the back of his head. Bishop winced as she reached up to feel her own hair. She sighed in relief to find it intact. Her ponytail might be a bit shorter, but that was the extent of the damage.
“Bryan, grab a few of the others and make sure none of the hotel guests get too close. Keep them back at least twenty feet, and clear a lane for the medics. I’m sure several of these people will need to get to a hospital.”
EMTs with gurneys were already starting to arrive as the security guard raced off to put her orders into motion. Terry grabbed her arm with a shaky hand. “My God, that could have been disastrous. How could this happen?”
She thought she had an answer, but she wanted to review the footage she’d been watching before she said anything. The librarian at Windemere would hopefully answer a few questions, too, to help solidify a plan to deal with the problem.
It took several hours for the scene to be cleared. After the paramedics took away the most heavily injured, the production was shut down for the weekend. The director had wanted to resume the next morning and just redo the second challenge before starting the third, but Bishop and Terry overruled him.
“I’m not signing off on the safety of the set until that tent is completely checked over,” she said.
“I want all the ovens replaced, as well,” Terry added. “And we’ll bring in an outside contractor to check the gas lines. A leak never should have happened here.”
It was well after midnight by the time Bishop arrived at Windemere. She’d spent the last week at her parent’s house between filming sessions, so it almost felt like coming home after a long absence. Turvord had a steaming cup of chamomile tea waiting when she walked into the kitchen, and she smiled her gratitude as she slumped down to inhale the fragrant steam.
“Narise is waiting in the library,” the nisse told her as he put a bottle of honey and a spoon on the table beside her.
“Thanks, Turvord. Dahlish always says he doesn’t know how he made it for so long without you, and I agree with that one hundred percent right now.”
“It was a rough afternoon, I take it?”
“And night. It won’t end until I find what I need in Dahlish’s books, either. I have to stop this before something else happens, Turvord. Today was too close, and a lot of people could have died.”
She sipped the tea, then stood up to carry it with her into the library. Hopefully, she’d find the information she needed quickly, but she was prepared to spend as much time as it took.
* * * * *
Bishop stood in the main tent and stared at the eight stations that had been set up again after the evidence of the short fire was removed. The canvas walls had been lightly covered in soot, but most of the fire damage had been around the station with the leaking gas line to the oven. The crew had managed to snuff the fire before it could spread.
Terry and the other producers had decided to reshoot the entirety of interrupted week’s competition the following weekend. A couple of the contestants had been hesitant to return after the accident, but they were enticed with bonuses of another week’s pay. They’d all be back tomorrow morning to cook again. The host had taken more convincing, but he had brightened at the promise of a producer credit in the following season as compensation for his minor injuries.
“I watched them check the gas lines myself,” Bryan told her, shifting uncomfortably at her side. “There was nothing wrong with them, and they can’t tell what could have caused a gas leak.”
She knew what had caused it, but she only smiled at the thought of blurting it out and seeing the muscled man edge away from her and calling her insane. A year earlier, she would have felt the same way if Dahlish had named one of the creatures he was up against. She still wondered sometimes if she weren’t sitting in a chair drooling somewhere, with her life nothing more than a delusion inside a warped mind.
“Keep everyone out for at least half an hour, Bryan. No one peeks or anything, right?”
“Of course, Bishop. Myrna and Fred are watching the back of the tent, and I’ll be up here with Bo.” He waved toward the small front room as he walked toward it, pulling the cords that let the flaps close behind him.
Standing in the large room alone, shrouded in almost total darkness with the windows covered, Bishop took a deep breath as she reached into the bag she carried on her shoulder. Turvord had baked up an array of sugary concoctions for her that morning, and she laid out half a dozen containers on one of the counters. She peeled off the lids before taking a few steps back.
“I know you love sweets,” she said to the empty tent. “I’ve brought you several different kinds, so I hope you like at least one of them.”
Bishop stood in silence, waiting as patiently as possible. Nothing happened for several minutes, and she started to wonder if she’d misjudged the situation. If so, she’d have to find a way to keep the filming shut down for another week as she went back to Windemere to begin the search again.
Then, a tiny little creature crawled up onto the counter, appearing from the far side of the station. He was ugly as hell, standing no more than a foot tall if he had been erect instead of crouched over with stooped shoulders. Shining golden eyes stared at her from a light blue face as he hesitantly advanced on the containers, getting close enough for an oversized hand to dart out and grab a small cookie. She watched the creature munch the treat and smiled as he grabbed another cookie.
She let several more minutes go by as the small Nox sampled from each of the containers. A few he seemed indifferent about, a few he spat out and made angry hissing noises at, but he loved the fudge as much as he had the cookies. He dragged the two containers away from the others and settled down to feast.
“What does it want?” the creature asked in a strained voice, his eyes locked on Bishop.
“It wants you to stop hurting people,” she said sternly. “You stop playing pranks, and I’ll bring you treats like these every day until we finish shooting.”
The gremlin gobbled a chunk of fudge, swallowing after chewing only a few times. He watched her warily, as if fearing a trick. “More treats?”
“As much as you want,” she promised. “Deal?”
The tent was filled with the sound of eating and swallowing for most of a minute, until the two containers of favored sweets were empty. The gremlin stood up and started to dart toward the edge of the counter. He stopped to look back at her. “We agrees to the bargain. More treats!”
Bishop smiled in triumph. “I’ll have more containers tomorrow morning, before all the other people show up.”
The gremlin bared its array of sharp teeth in what she took for a grin, and then seemed to disappear in a flash of smoke. That was why no one had ever seen him commit the small pranks when he felt mischievous. She snorted at the thought that Dahlish probably could have walked in and discovered him right away.
Bishop walked over to put the lids back on the containers, making a mental note of which sweets the little Nox had left mostly untouched. Turvord had said he had dozens of items he could make for her, and she’d keep trying until she found exactly what the gremlin preferred. She didn’t know why it had decided to attach itself to the production, but she didn’t doubt one of the chefs in the first season had unknowingly enticed it with some dish they’d prepared during a dessert round.
From the research Narise had found for her, she’d learned that the mischievous gremlins could be bribed with sweet treats. Often, they plagued people or places until the offerings were provided, but every now and then someone unwittingly invited them in by leaving a dessert in the wrong place for a little too long. Bishop couldn’t help but think of old cartoons where a pie was left on a windowsill, only to be eaten by someone passing by. According to Narise, those depictions had likely been inspired by gremlins stealing anything that appealed to them.
Once the creature had found a place where it could receive frequent offerings, in this case the food that was presented to the judges and then left sitting around to be cleared away later, it had made a home. The gremlin followed the production crew, which was why replacing all the equipment hadn’t kept it from plaguing the set. On weeks when none of the food appealed to the little gremlin, it had vented its fury with small tricks and sabotages. Bishop thought he might also have selected favorites, based on those who most often cooked foods he enjoyed, and sabotaged their competitors in small ways.
She wasn’t entirely sure what had driven the little creature to cause the gas leak but thought it most likely to have been caused by a lack of sweet foods the week before the accident. The judges had presented a “sugar free” challenge for that dessert round, and Bishop thought the little Nox had been disgusted with all the food he saw as pitiful offerings to himself. When another day of cooking went by without any sweets, the gremlin must have been driven to cause more damage than usual.
She’d seen a faint movement on the screens while watching the chef mourn her burned shepherd’s pie, and her brain had immediately tried to convince her something else was being caught on camera. Watching the footage again while the damage from the fire was being assessed, she had clearly seen items moving without any visible impetus. Narise’s research had found the most likely culprit, and helped Bishop come up with a plan to counter the ill effects.
Normally, she’d worry about the gremlin deciding to follow her back to Windemere and plague them with petty mischief there when it didn’t get proper offerings, but Dahlish had explained the protective bubble around the estate as well as he could. Essentially, any Nox were prevented from entering the grounds without one of the residents allowing them in.
When Bishop left the main tent, Bryan shot her a questioning look. “Everything looks good to go,” she said with a smile. “We’re ready to start shooting again.”
* * * * *
Bishop stared at the monitors with her mouth hanging open. Jean-Paul from Minneapolis had just managed to create a six-course meal of epic proportions in less than three hours. The judges were discreetly burping into their napkins as they polished off the small tart that ended the feast.
She wasn’t the only one amazed at the display of master chef skills that had just been captured on camera. Even the director had been silent for the last half hour, enraptured by the skill and absolutely awe-inspiring grit the chef had shown as he worked with two eliminated contestants to put out his dishes. Even his fellow competitors who were vying for the title could only shake their heads in admiration as they listened to the judges gush over each course Jean-Paul had set before them.
As the trophy was handed to the grinning middle-aged chef, along with a giant check that represented the hundred grand he’d receive later, Terry pulled her aside. “You did it, Miss Bishop. Not one incident after week five, and I think I can safely say we just filmed the best season of any cooking competition on television.”
“Just make sure you appease the gremlin again the next time you film. I don’t know why he decided to latch onto your show, but I don’t think he’s going anywhere soon.”
The cyclops grinned as he rubbed the skin around his eyepatch. “Now that I know how to keep him happy, I’ll make sure to put daily treats in the budget for the show. You know, you’ve done an excellent job as our head of security, aside from your duties sorting out our little gremlin problem. I’d be happy to have you work with us again next season, if you’d like.”
Bishop smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “I had fun, but I have another job that needs me more. And I’ve been itching to get back to it.”
“Well, you’ve more than earned your fee over these last few months. I’ll make sure Mr. Dahlish knows just how lucky he is to have someone like you at his side.”
She grinned at the thought of the reunion that would greet her the next time she saw Dahlish. She hoped he had a sturdy bed in whatever place he was holed up in when she caught up to him. “Oh, I’ll be sure to show him just how lucky he is.”
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Dahlish Series
Lost Souls
Memory and Sorrow
Dark Deception
Fateful Knights
Awakenings
Reckoning
Bad Blood
Rising Storm
Other Books By Tim Rangnow
Guild Series
Vagabond
Indomitable
Waterloo
Resolute
Rim Jumper Series
Prime Example
Viridian Skies
Pirate’s Nest
Nebulous Loyalties
Fraying Edges
About the Author
After more than 20 years of working IT support for a nationwide bank, I decided it was finally time to start putting my imagination to the page. Creating stories and new worlds has been second nature for me since I was a kid, and I’ve wanted to be a writer since high school.
If you’d like to keep up to date on my projects, visit my website at www.timrangnow.com. You can sign up for my monthly newsletter there and get access to exclusive short stories and early peeks at upcoming books.
Tim Rangnow, Bad Blood
