by Karina Halle
She swallows, blinks at me.
I grip the wheel tighter, feeling that fear seeping out from her.
“I’m just being honest,” I tell her quickly. I give her an expectant look. “You know, once upon a time, that’s all you ever wanted from me.”
“I know when you’re being honest and when you’re not,” she says slowly. “Doesn’t mean I like to hear it.”
“Well, you just told me you were scared, so don’t worry. That trumps everything I just said.”
I exhale, the silence between us growing louder. I’m reaching for my phone to pick a playlist, when she grabs my hand, holding it tight.
“I love you, you know that,” she says softly.
I don’t know why every time I hear those words, my chest seizes, my stomach dips, like I’m hearing it again for the very first time. The intensity inside me, my feelings for her, they’ve only grown stronger over the years. Sometimes I find myself loving her so much that it scares me to my core. Maybe because in the back of my mind, there’s always that fear that I won’t have her forever. Deep down inside, I’m still that scared little boy that lost too much, too soon.
I’ve learned not to take things for granted. It’s a survival mechanism.
I manage a smile. “I love you too, baby. You know I won’t do anything that you don’t want to do, and I’ll never put you in the position where you’d be scared. Okay?”
“I know,” she says. “I know that. And I know that this means something to you. That you want to use our gifts but…how does that lead to a happy ending for us? How does that not put us back in time, down a road of horror and sorrow and bad choices?”
“Because we’re different people now.”
“You’re a different person. You have no fear because you can’t die.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Hey, we agreed that we were never going to look at it like that. That only invites death, remember? I can die, I have died, lest you forgot that, and I can get hurt. To think otherwise is too damn dangerous.”
“So how come you aren’t scared?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just not. Because this is a different thing. It’s what I said yesterday, that we are in the position to help people for once in our lives, we can do some good, starting now. We can connect him to his wife, the love of his life.”
“How do you know she’s the love of his life?”
I balk. “Why else would he be doing this?”
She shrugs. “Revenge?”
I shake my head. “No way. I could feel it off him.”
“His love for her?”
“His desperation.”
“Doesn’t mean he was in love with her.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you should probably look into it a little more. It’s extremely weird, okay? I don’t know if I trust this person. He wants us to open up the Veil, that’s risking our lives, basically. What if his intentions aren’t as pure as you think they are?”
Huh. She has a point. God, when did I stop being so jaded and cynical?
Oh yeah. The money.
“You don’t know that we have to do anything with the Veil,” I tell her. “He said it was Shabbadoo on Halloween, the Veil will probably be thin enough for her to walk right on through.”
“Shabbadoo? Is that an Adam Sandler holiday?”
“Whatever the fuck that witchy occasion is called. I mean fuck, isn’t Halloween enough? Anyway, I think it would be pretty low-risk. It’s one woman, it’s in a controlled environment, and for all intents and purposes, it’s probably a reunion between loved ones. We’re not filming a TV show out of it.”
“We’re not filming anything at all,” she says quickly, and from the glint in her eyes, I know she was fucking reading me, since I was actually planning on bringing the camera for research purposes.
“That’s not fair!” I exclaim. She’s such a snoop. “Give my brain some privacy. And anyway, now it sounds like you’re considering it. You’re all over the place.”
“Someone has to be. Anyway, I’m still thinking it over.”
“You’re not scared anymore?”
“I don’t know. Yes. No. Maybe…maybe I don’t have a reason to be. But that really all depends on their relationship, it depends on what happened to her, it depends on if this is all real or not. I mean, for all we know this might be a set-up, a prank. Maybe we’ll be filmed after all, look what these losers from Experiment in Terror are doing now.”
“Losers?” I say aghast, my hand on my chest. “Speak for yourself.”
She leans back in her seat, staring at her hands in her lap. “I think I need to call him later.”
“You think you can get a read on him that way?”
“Maybe. Worth a shot. At any rate, my instincts work pretty damn well. Gut feeling never lies.”
Same went for me.
Just wish I knew what the fuck my gut was telling me now.
Chapter 3
Thanks to the car trouble and traffic, we get to the Palomino house an hour later than usual. I have to admit, there’s something nice about the suburbs this time of year, when everyone has pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns and Halloween decorations up. All we have outside our apartment is the same hobo who keeps pissing on the door.
Shit, what’s happening to me? I’m actually appreciating the suburbs? That’s where people go to give up and die.
No, it’s where people go to have a family and settle down.
I don’t listen to that voice. It’s like it’s forgotten I was born and bred in New York Fucking City.
As we slow down the street, I glance at the quaint house next to the Palomino’s, which is currently occupied by one very cool couple in their sixties, Sage and Dawn Knightly.
Unfortunately there’s a beige Mercedes outside, not their car.
“Fuck,” I mutter, driving past it and parking the Highlander in the Palomino’s driveway. “That’s that freaky fucking ginger’s car, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Perry says, looking past me at the vintage mobile. She looks a little troubled. “I guess Jacob’s here.”
Jacob “The Cobb” Edwards was the band manager for Hybrid, which was Sage Knightly’s infamous rock band in the seventies. Long story short, he died decades ago when he was buried in a crypt in Prague, but apparently was pulled out of Hell, or wherever the hell he went.
Now, he’s here in Portland, driving an old Mercedes.
Did I mention he’s not exactly human?
Oh, and he dresses like a badly upholstered couch that wouldn’t look out of place on the set of All in the Family. That’s probably the most disturbing part of all.
“I still don’t trust him,” Perry says, unbuckling herself.
“Neither do I, kiddo. Neither do I.”
I’ve only met him a handful of times when he’s visiting the Knightly’s. He’s like Jay’s mentor, the King of the Supernatural Ginger Brigade, and I guess he talks to Ada a lot too, about how to hunt demons while balancing a college education.
Thus, it shouldn’t be a surprise when we grab our bags and head up the steps to the front door that it opens, displaying both Ada and Jay, her tall, immortal redwood tree of a boyfriend.
“Took you long enough,” Ada says.
“I told you we had car trouble,” Perry says, pulling her into a quick hug.
I give Ada a nod since she still thinks I have cooties or something, then I eye Jay. Just like Jacob, I don’t trust him. He seems like he’s a good match for Ada, from what I’ve seen, but he’s one of them, forever a thorn in my side. Plus, there’s the fact that he’s like hundreds of years old or something, and Ada is technically still a teenager, even if she’s now quite mature for her age.
“You going to just stand there having a pissing contest with your eyes?” Ada asks me. “Come the fuck inside.”
I shake my head, realizing that I’ve been staring down Jay this whole time. Also just realized that he’s wearing a leather jacket a
nd white tee, like he’s trying out to be a Ginger James Dean. Beats Ginger Elvis, I guess.
At that thought, a wash of sadness comes through me, but I immediately push it away. I’m good at that. It’s the only way to get through.
Jay just squints at me, then lifts his giant jaw in subtle defiance and turns, heading back into the house.
Behave, Perry says, injecting her thought into my brain. She had promised not to do it too often, and she usually only does it when I’m being a dick.
I will, I tell her in my head, though I can’t tell from her expression whether she’s heard me or not. Probably, because she doesn’t believe me either way.
We go inside. It smells comforting, like Ada’s lit a bunch of scented candles called Pumpkin Spice Princess or something.
My father-in-law is standing in the kitchen with a glass of red wine filled up to the rim, the bottle next to him.
“Ah, here’s the lucky couple,” he says to us, and for once I don’t feel his usual begrudging tolerance toward me.
“Daniel,” I say to him as Perry goes over and hugs him. We aren’t quite on the “dad” level yet, and our affection usually consists of a nod, sometimes even a smile. I have to admit, the man still terrifies me. He looks harmless, balding, with a pasta gut, glasses, on the short side. But I know from personal experience he has a mean right hook. Sometimes I get a phantom pain in my nose when he’s around.
“Wine?” he asks us.
“Yes, always,” I tell him as he grabs two glasses from the cupboard.
“Just thought I’d make sure,” he says, peering at me as he uncorks the bottle of Pinot Noir. “I know it’s not always recommended to drink when you’re on medication.”
I give him a stiff smile. Always a cheap shot somewhere.
“It’s not a problem,” I tell him, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
He gives me a look I can’t read and hands me my glass. “That’s good to hear. I know it took you a lot of trial and error to find the right ones.”
“Dad,” Perry admonishes. “Why are we discussing this?”
“We’re family, aren’t we?” he says.
Perry’s eyes dart over to Jay who is standing off to the side with Ada.
That red-headed cockwaffle is definitely not a part of the family.
“It’s fine, Perry,” I tell her. “No secrets here.”
Unfortunately.
I’ve been on meds for about two years now. It’s been a hellish process, to put it mildly, to get it just right. I know I’m no stranger to medication, and I had gone off it for a while there, which in turn opened my mind up to the supernatural again and so many other fucking things.
But the truth is, I do better on them. I’ve been seeing a therapist—a good one—who recently diagnosed me with ADHD. None of us were surprised in the least. I’ve always been ADHD personified and the writing was on the wall for years. It’s just that when you’ve come from a fucked-up family and have gone through some pretty crazy things in your life, it’s easy to blame it on other things.
So, I’m on medication for that, which has helped immensely. So much so that I was able to be weaned off my anti-depressants (which were a total boner killer, so good riddance to that period of my life). I’m still impatient, impulsive, reckless, brash, and distracted, but at least it keeps me grounded, and in turn it’s helped me become a much better husband. I hope so, anyway.
I’m also on anti-anxiety medication. The question always was whether being on meds again would affect the way I see the supernatural.
At this point, I have no idea. I haven’t really seen anything since I went to Hell and back and we stopped EIT. Sure, there’s been a few times where I’ve felt things that weren’t technically there, but it’s not like it used to be.
Which is yet another reason why I want to take Harry Balls up on his offer. I want to see what happens when we seek them out. I want to see if it still remains, this ability I have, or if it’s been buried again.
I know Perry says she’s happier pretending they don’t exist.
I’m just not sure if it’s the same for me.
Dealing with the dead had a way of making me feel the most alive.
“Well,” Daniel says, clearing his throat and raising his wine glass. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better, Dex. And even though I’m sure this is the last place you want to be for your anniversary, I have to admit I’m really grateful you’re spending it with me.”
Damn. Guess I do feel for the old man. I mean, I have no choice, there’s nothing but emotional chaos inside him, and it’s nearly impossible to keep it at a distance.
I raise my glass anyway, along with Perry, and cheers him.
“Ahem, and where’s my wine?” Ada says from behind us.
“You’re not twenty-one,” he reminds her sternly.
“Jay is,” Ada says.
I snort. Daniel gives me a funny look. I’m not about to tell him how ageless Jay really is.
“Fine,” he concedes. “Would you like a glass of wine, Jay?”
I can tell from the way he talks to him that he doesn’t like him anymore than I do. In fact, he might actually like me more, which says a lot.
“I better not,” Jay says, glancing at Ada. “Out of solidarity.”
I want to ask him if he can even get drunk anyway, but while Daniel is currently surrounded by people who experience the supernatural (including Mr. Supernatural himself), he still loves to pretend that it’s all a bunch of woo woo bullshit.
“So, you’re having car troubles,” he says to me, changing the subject. “Toyotas are pretty reliable.”
I shrug with one shoulder. “Everything has its limits. It’s treated me well so far, but what I’d really like to do is trade it in and get one of the hybrids.” I give Perry an expectant look.
She ignores me, smiles at her dad as she takes a sip. “The new models look like we should be driving a pack of children to a soccer game. The car will be fine.”
Hmmphf.
We stand in the kitchen making small talk (her dad loves to talk about the business and then passive-aggressively drop hints that we’re doing things all wrong), until Jay excuses himself, saying he has work to do next door.
I watch him leave, pausing by the door and squeezing Ada’s hand before he goes.
But the moment he steps outside and starts heading next door, is the moment I realize I should be talking to Jay about our new opportunity. He might know something I don’t.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell everyone, putting down the wine and heading out the door.
“Dex!” Ada hisses after me. “Where are you going?”
“I need to talk to your boy toy,” I tell her, heading across the lawn.
“What? Why?” she cries out. “Oh god, Dex. Please don’t be problematic.”
I turn around, brows raised. “Problematic? Moi?”
Then I grin at her and run across the yard, leaping over the fence between the houses with room to spare. I manage to get right in front of Jay before he even has a chance to reach for the door.
“Do you have a moment?” I ask him.
He stares at me, then looks over at the fence that I ever-so casually jumped over like it wasn’t six feet tall, then back at me again. He looks a little impressed. He should be. I’m very impressive.
“What is it?” he asks, going around me and opening the door, gesturing. “I suppose it’s only polite to invite you inside.”
“I’m not used to any of your kind having manners,” I tell him, stepping inside the house. It’s a fairly cozy place, even though it’s absolutely packed with vibes, the kind that makes the hair stand up on your neck. It’s not bad, per se, it’s just a lot.
“My kind,” he scoffs, shutting the door behind him. “You make me sound like an alien.”
I shrug. “If the freaky shoe fits.”
“Declan,” a woman’s voice says in surprise.
I turn to see Dawn Knightly walking down the h
all toward me, a mug in her hands, steam rising out of it. I’ve been over here a handful of times, usually to fanboy over her husband in his jam room downstairs, but I don’t dare ask her to call me Dex. She’s a legend in her own right.
“What brings you here?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea and eyeing me curiously. I can tell she never really knows what to do with me.
“I was hoping to talk to Jay about something, but now that you’re here too, another ear is always welcome. Where’s Sage?”
“He’s in the studio,” she says. “I have a feeling if it’s a question for the three of us, it’s not going to be as simple as you borrowing a cup of sugar.”
“Not exactly. I won’t take up too much of your time though.”
She gives me a smile that makes her look youthful against her crow’s feet and gray hair. “We’re retired, Declan. We have all the time in the world.”
She turns and heads down the hall and I follow, the hulking redhead behind me. “Is Jacob here?” I ask, looking around. “I thought I saw his car outside earlier.”
“He was, he’ll be back later,” she says, giving me a knowing look over her shoulder. “Something about some portal to Hell he has to go close up.”
I stare. “Are you serious?”
“Hard to tell with her, isn’t it?” Jay says under his breath.
While I’m still trying to figure out whether Jacob is acting as a demon bouncer or not somewhere, we walk down the stairs to the room in the basement. When the heavy door to the studio opens, sound floods out.
Sage is standing in the middle of the room, his black Les Paul hanging from his neck, some righteous tune coming from the amp.
He stops playing and looks up in surprise. “Am I being too loud?”
“Not at all,” she says.
“To be honest, you could be louder,” I tell him.
I know I’ve got the cheesiest fucking grin on my face right now. I can’t help it. Not only is Sage the coolest dude I’ve ever met, but his jam room is amazing, and every time I’m down here I just wish everyone would leave me alone so I could geek out over all the band memorabilia and instruments without embarrassing myself.