Hell Fire

Page 38

“But you won’t.”
He shook his head. “I promised Chance I’d back off if he did.”
“Like I told him . . . thanks.”
“God, Corine, you’ve put me through more in a few days than Heather did in a whole year—and she was half crazy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
After Jesse left, sleep didn’t come easy, and I dreamed of laughing demons with hands full of fire.
Potluck
I woke up with both hands shiny with salve. The blisters around the brand on my left palm had gone away entirely, leaving the smooth imprint of the flower pentacle. For a while, I lay there savoring the peace and the softness of the mattress beneath me.
Even minor creature comforts impressed me these days. I’d driven myself long and hard, and I desperately needed a break. But I couldn’t relax until we’d finished there. Then I’d go home and ease back into my old routine at the pawnshop. I’d take Shannon with me, if she wanted to come. I even had a spare bedroom. Otherwise, I’d help her get wherever she wanted to go.
Butch bounded in, made the short leap to join me, and curled up beside me. “What do you think?” I asked him. “Do we do more legwork today?”
He yapped in the negative. It seemed he’d had enough of crawling around in the woods. Sadly, he was probably smarter than the rest of us put together.
That day we listened to the dog and didn’t move much. To my amusement, the other three joined forces to keep me under house arrest. They didn’t want me doing anything more strenuous than sitting on the couch.
For the most part, we passed the time talking with Shannon about the Gifted community. She had a number of questions about the kinds of powers other people had. We explained the way Chance’s ability usually worked. I was glad of the quiet, for all it reminded me of the calm before the storm.
In the afternoon, I called Booke to thank him for saving me—and to confirm I wasn’t losing my mind. He picked up on the second ring.
“I’m so glad you called,” he said.
We then spoke at the same time.
“Did I imagine—”
“What happened to you—”
“It was real,” I breathed in relief. “I wanted to thank you.”
His deep voice revealed his abashment. “It was nothing.” Booke hastened to change the subject. “But I did find something out about the spell components you sent me.”
My interest sharpened. “Oh?”
“After a number of esoteric tests, I’m relatively certain it was meant to be used in a binding spell.”
“Like to bind demons?” Unexpected. Had Sandra been trying to sic a monster on me while I was in the bathroom? That didn’t seem sporting.
“No,” Booke answered. “If it had worked, it would have prevented you from moving until something more . . . permanent could be done to you.”
I cast my mind back to that day. Sandra had seemed insistent that we stay to dinner, and her husband had been quietly miserable. Plan B?
“So it would’ve immobilized me,” I guessed. “But something went wrong. Do you have any idea what?”
“If I had to speculate,” Booke’s tone became a touch pedantic, “well, I’d say it could have been any number of things. The person may not have been skilled enough in the dark arts. It is rather a precise business. The spell may also have failed because there were two of you in a small space she’d guessed would contain only one.”
“The not-being-skilled part tracks with our observations here,” I said.
“Perhaps they are dabblers.” His voice reflected his disdain for such dilettantes. “Did you find anything out about the library?”
Crap, I hadn’t even asked. I made a note to check with Shannon. After a few more pleasantries, Booke advised me to take care of myself and disconnected. While I was making calls, I checked in with Senor Alvarez, who assured me everything was fine at the pawnshop. Then I went looking for our resident speaker for the dead.
When she heard what I wanted to know, she said, “Yeah, actually. The library used to be a church, a really long time ago. My grandpa had the new one built in . . .” She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure when, actually, but it was before I was born.”
“Thanks.”
In late morning, Shannon took a trip with Jesse to find out whether Mr. McGee had any connection with Curtis Farrell. She came back aglow with her success.
“They were related,” she said with a bright smile. “I had no idea, but apparently Farrell was Mr. McGee’s great-nephew on his mother’s side.”
“So McGee had a stake in anything Farrell might’ve been doing.”
She nodded. “That’s the size of it.”
Shannon and I talked all afternoon. Chance holed up in his room, trying some experiment related to his luck. I didn’t know what Jesse was doing, but from Butch’s excited yapping, they must be playing in the yard. All in all, it was an odd, domestic day. We all came together in the kitchen for dinner, a makeshift meal cobbled together from our survivalist-style supplies.
That evening, I called Chuch’s place, intending to see if he knew how to send spirits to their final rest. From the looks of things, Kilmer had a number of restless ghosts. But Eva answered, and she wasn’t interested in why I’d called. She had her own agenda.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I haven’t talked to you in weeks! How are you? How’s Chance? I heard Saldana took off after you like a bat out of hell. So did you make up your mind yet?”
I laughed as I tried to answer her questions in order. “Well enough, fine, yes, he did, and no, I’ve had other things to think about.”
We talked a little more, and then she dropped a serious bomb on me. “Guess what?” Eva didn’t wait for me to guess. “We’re having a baby!”
The news hit me hard. I imagined a sweet little boy or girl who would round out the normalcy of their lives. They wouldn’t want weirdos like me traipsing in and out; they had a real family to think about now. So distance offered the best solution. Considering Montoya’s vendetta could endanger them, I couldn’t be sanguine about losing the few friends I had.
“Congrats,” I managed to say. “That’s fantastic, Eva. When are you due?”
“Summer,” she answered, chattering on about needing to see a doctor to get an exact date.
I listened quietly, smiling. When I got a chance, I said, “I really need to talk to Chuch. Can you put him on?”
More small talk, but Chuch wasn’t a phone guy, so he asked what I wanted pretty fast. I told him. Jesse came along as I was explaining my question about Shannon’s gift and restless spirits, and stood behind me, shamelessly eavesdropping.
Unfortunately, Chuch didn’t know. “Sorry, prima. That’s not my thing. You take care of yourself, okay? I want you here after the baby’s born. We’re naming you and Chance godparents.”
“Really?” That surprised me. I’d expected him to make excuses about why we shouldn’t come around anymore.
Then I grinned, thinking I’d figured it out. Lord, save me from Chuch’s matchmaking. I got off the line quickly after that.
As I turned, Jesse looked thoughtful.
“What?” I asked.
“I can post that question to Area 51,” he answered, producing his cell phone.
He had Web access, and inside the house, technology worked just fine. It took him a while to get the message typed on his tiny keypad, but he seemed confident we’d have an answer by morning. That was good; I suspected we’d need it.
I borrowed his phone and looked at the post I’d made requesting a witch to do a cleansing. We had one taker, but she couldn’t leave Atlanta for two weeks. That might be too late to do any good, but I slowly typed a thank-you on the message board.
I picked Butch up and went to bed shortly thereafter. You’d think the nightmare would have come like it always did when times got tough. But maybe I’d simply reached my tolerance threshold. Thankfully, my mind shut down, and my sleep was dreamless.
In the morning, I felt ready to tackle whatever might come. We had to be getting close to the end of the line. I took a quick shower and ate a PBJ for breakfast.
Jesse spent the day banging around in the kitchen. Chance was still meditating, or whatever he’d been working on the day before. I suspected it had to do with his confession of how much he hated being helpless. If I had to guess, I’d say he was trying to jumpstart his luck. Shannon listened to whispery music on the old transistor radio; if she was bored, she didn’t complain, but she did spend a lot of time looking out the window at the woods.
I spent the day doing laundry. Ever since Mexico City, I’d been living out of a backpack, and I hadn’t washed my clothes since we left Chuch’s house, weeks ago now. Though we’d picked up a few things on the way here, I still didn’t have an extensive wardrobe. Then I had to decide what would be suitable attire for a church social.
Shannon wore black leggings, a plaid skirt, combat boots, and a black T-shirt, layered with a black and white flannel. I’d never gone through a Goth phase like that, but I could see myself in her, especially the attitude she projected. Deep down she was nothing like she looked at all.
As for me, I chose a demure black peasant skirt, a black camisole, and a black lace sweater. My long red hair streamed over my shoulders, contrasting with the sober attire. Studying myself in the mirror that gave a wavering reflection reminiscent of a fun house, I realized I looked like a witch. All I needed was a pointy hat and a broomstick. As Butch trotted in, I realized I even had a familiar.
Had I intended to do that? To drive home the point about the witch’s daughter? Well, I didn’t plan to change, so this would have to do.
But I’d sure get my share of attention at the church social.
By early evening, we were ready to go. I stood waiting in the living room, tapping a dainty ballet flat against the hardwood floor. Chance came in, wearing charcoal dress slacks paired with a black and silver striped shirt. He flashed me an admiring look.
“We match.” He seemed pleased, reaching out a hand to smooth the hair that fell past my shoulder. “You look gorgeous. Witchy hot.”
I felt the sheepish curve to my answering smile. “Too obvious?”
Chance shook his head. “No, it’s great. Should be funny.”
From her place at the corner of the sofa, legs curled under her, Shannon stifled a snicker. “For sure.”
“What’s wrong with you people?” Jesse asked. “You don’t show up empty-handed.” With a grin, he flourished a pan.
I stepped forward for a peek beneath the foil and then blinked at him. “You were making a cobbler in there?”
Not being overly domestic, I hadn’t recognized what he was doing when I’d wandered in and out. Impressive—he’d baked dessert out of the bare staples we had on hand. Jesse Saldana would make a great husband, no doubt about it. For a few seconds, I imagined him in nothing but an apron, but I didn’t know where else to go with that mental image, so I shooed it out.