Nine Lives: A Paranormal Adventure (Bad Tom Series Book 3)

by Jill Nojack

  I shrug. I'd really like to bring up that we still seem to be fighting, but I don't want to start it up again. With all of the changes with the diner and the shop, of course we're both stressed. I ask, "Will there be warm bacon dressing?" instead.

  He smiles back at me over his shoulder. "I think I can manage that."

  "I'm in for salad then. Can I do anything?"

  "Set the table?"

  I grab what we need and fill two wine glasses from the box in the fridge. Tom still thinks boxed wine is a crime against nature, but he doesn't actually refuse to drink it, so my handy box gets to keep its pride of place. I never said I was a connoisseur. That's Tom's job.

  "So, anyway, about not stopping by…I got busy, and I walked home. Blackie must have followed me," I say, as I scoot by Tom in the small space. Usually being this close to him would set me tingling. But, nothing. No tingles.

  He frowns as he sets the plates of salad down and goes back to the counter for the dressing. "You named it?"

  "Him. I've rubbed his belly enough times to know he's a he. And yes, I named him."

  "I can see I'm not going to win on this. That dog's moving in, isn't it?"

  "I told you I wouldn't. I get it. I know why we can't have a dog. Truthfully, I've never even wanted a dog before. I was so excited when I met Granny and she had a cat. I love cats. Oh wait…that was you." I grimace and pick up a forkful of salad instead of continuing with that line of thought. One thing is for sure: I shouldn't have picked Tom if I wanted an uncomplicated relationship.

  Still, it sucks that my choice of boyfriend prevents me from having a pet in my own house.

  It's my day in the shop since the gallery is closed on Fridays. Tom went to the diner hours ago, and neither of my new staff come in until later.

  Minutes after I open up, Cinnamon wafts in smelling strongly of patchouli and cannabis, her caramel-colored skin set off by a white poet blouse over black slacks. I'm not really sure I want to see her. Blackie sits outside looking mournful about being shut out as she approaches me at the counter.

  "Did you think any more about adding my readings to the shop's offerings?"

  "I need to ask my staff about it now." I finish sorting tea into variety bags and arrange them in the sale basket. They look enticing tied up with their shiny ribbons. "Gillian and Nat are going to be managing the day to day operations of the shop, and I'll need to find out if they think it will be disruptive to what they have planned."

  She doesn't look very happy about that. "I see. But what do you think of it?"

  "I think your reading was upsetting, and it made me think my boyfriend was doing the dirty on me when he wasn't."

  "I have a gift, Cassie. I don't make things up. But the cards are open to interpretation. They can be tricksters. I'd be happy to do another reading for you."

  I roll that around for a minute, and it rolls smoothly enough, without sharp edges. "Okay, sure." What can it hurt, right?

  A small, tight smile pulls up the corners of her mouth. "That's appreciated."

  I get the card table out, and she lays the deck on the table for me to shuffle and cut. She begins to lay out the cards like she did before, looks at them with a strange expression on her face, and then says, "This isn't possible!"

  She gathers them up and makes me shuffle and cut again.

  She lays them out and shakes her head back and forth violently. "No! It can't be."

  I see it now. The cards are the same as the first time she read them for me. Every one in the same place.

  I grab the cards back up and shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, then cut again, and she lays them out. But it's the same.

  "Are you manipulating them?" she asks, a look of suspicion in her eyes. "Using your magic?"

  I shake my head. "No. Why would I do that?" I return the suspicious look. "Are you?"

  She shakes her head slowly. She looks…well, she looks scared. I don't think she's faking it.

  She says, "The cards haven't changed. Your past, your future. They remain as I said. You'll be deceived. You could lose everything you love."

  I stand up abruptly. "Look, I don't think I need a big negatron with a mean streak giving readings in my shop. That would be bad for business."

  She stands, scooping up the cards from the table noisily and stuffing them into her purse. "I wouldn't do another reading in this cursed place if you begged me. I'll find a place in Salem. Anywhere but here." She hurries out and down the street, but Blackie doesn't trail her this time.

  Instead of following her, he darts across the street as she exits, and my heart judders painfully when I see the oncoming car rushing toward him. Blackie stops dead—I figure he's terrified by the whoosh as it approaches—but he stares at the driver like he's daring her, and she lands on the brakes hard, making the car bounce back on its springs when it stops several feet away from him.

  He continues across the street unharmed.

  Whew. The little guy just caught one lucky break.

  ***

  Tom is on a high after a good day at the diner. I let him talk, nodding once in a while, but it doesn't really register. All I can think about is the reading that came out the same way every time. That came out awful. Betrayal by a loved one. A friend turning out not to be a friend. Losing everything. A year ago, I would have laughed about it, thinking that people who pay attention to things like tarot readings were silly. But a year ago, I didn't know I was a witch or have an enchanted boyfriend who shares his body with a cat.

  We clean up the dishes, and he says he's taking Cat out hunting but promises he'll be back in time to meet Gillian and Robert at the gazebo for the last community concert of the year. It's bluegrass tonight, which I know nothing about, but Tom says it should be a good time.

  He leaves his clothes, wallet, and the diner keys in a pile in the upstairs parlor and then Cat's out the window, ready to prowl.

  That's my boyfriend. But is he "catting around" in more ways than one?

  I'd bring it up, confront him again, but he'd just sweet talk me with the same old same old. There's nothing going on Cass. I'd never hurt you like that, Cass. I love you, Cass.

  I might as well have stayed with Dan.

  Stayed with Dan? No way I just thought that! That would have been like the worst possible way to spend my life.

  I have to stop thinking about that stupid tarot reading. But it's weighing me down big time. I mean, how weird was that? Both the ten of swords and the three of cups—upside down, too—over and over again. And Cinnamon's all pompous, "certain a friend will betray you" routine. How did she even manage it with me shuffling the cards each time?

  I watched her hands, and she must be slick, because I couldn't see her doing anything unusual. Of course, it could be magic instead of sleight of hand. It would take a lot of skill to change the faces of the cards as she reveals them, but I'm learning that there isn't much in the natural world that's impossible if you know the right people. Or maybe it was an illusion she cast just on me and other people would see the cards differently?

  That has to be it! An illusion would be a lot easier than changing the order of the cards in the deck or transforming the pictures on the cards.

  I have one of Gillian's early grimoires, and I start leafing through to see if there's anything there that would let me duplicate the trick and figure out how she did it. I'm still scanning through it when there's a huge crash out in the street.

  I hustle to the front window to see what's going on, and one of the big metal trash receptacles that line the sidewalks downtown is rolling around in the street in front of an older car that has a big dent in the fender.

  The driver gets out and starts pulling the trash can back to the sidewalk. Wow. How would that get into the middle of the street in the first place? We don't usually get much vandalism in Giles, but every so often someone lets loose. My granny used to say it was the poltergeists who pushed the benches and trash cans over. Could be true for all I know. We might have a whole flock of them.
It would take a lot of work to cut through the chains that keep those heavy steel can holders from being carted away, though.

  My eyes are drawn to where there are a few others standing out on the street, local business owners and people on their way to the concert in the center of town, I suppose, taking in the same scene I am. A big crash like that is bound to draw just about everyone outside.

  In front of the diner, Tom and Gillian are standing together looking at the scene of the accident. Down at the end of the street, Robert walks toward them, big smile on his face as he heads toward them from behind.

  His smile makes me smile. Robert is one of the last of the good guys. I love seeing him so happy.

  But what's happening? What's going on? No.

  No!

  Tom and Gillian turn to each other, lean in, and just like that, they're in each other's arms, their lips meeting, and they're grinding on each other, their hands grasping each other's hair in the passion of their kiss. He's wearing the clothes she keeps in a bin for him outside her garage, in case he's out prowling and wants to stop for a visit.

  I guess I know why he had to cache some clothes there, now. He's got hiding places all over town these days, so I never thought a thing about it.

  Robert stops dead in his tracks, as dead as I feel, his smile morphing into a twisted slash of pain. He turns abruptly and walks stiffly back toward his SUV.

  Me? I can't watch a second longer. Not one second.

  I rage through the house in a fury, slamming the windows shut and locking the doors. If Tom thinks he's ever getting back in here, he's crazy. I'm sure he'll think he's getting out of this one, too, but no way. No way in seven hells.

  Tom Sanders is never going to get a chance to tell me another lie.

  As I pad silently along, I smell dog all over downtown tonight. Man, that's nasty. I'll be giving the bright red downtown hydrants a wide berth to save any further insult to my sensitive nose.

  I'll keep Cat away from that pup if it's hanging out at our place again or shows up at the concert, but I'm only doing it because I promised Cassie. I'd be plenty happy if it just disappeared. Even if Robert's wrong and the puppies are somehow related to Anat, he's right about one thing, and I know it: there's no reason to think she can hurt us any more. And those pups? Smelly, but harmless.

  Cat jumps when a thundering crash echoes loudly through the alley, coming from the street. I sprint out front to see what's going on. Looks like it's just a fender bender in front of the bakery. Good. Nothing that can make trouble for Cass. Not even magic-induced.

  And there's that pup again. It's right in the thick of things, watching from across the street.

  And another one a little further along, and another near a couple who are having a face-sucking session smack dab in front of the diner. Man, a whole litter must be hanging around downtown tonight.

  Wait a minute! The face-sucking woman is definitely Gillian, but that's sure not Robert she's hoovering. In fact, Robert is coming down the street toward them. No, he's turning now and walking away fast. He's got to be devasted: how could Gillian—sweet, kind, never-hurt-a-fly Gillian—do this to him? I have to go after him.

  I jump off my fencepost and start down the street. And then…what the hell?

  The guy she's with? It's me.

  But I'm pretty sure I'm me. Or Cat's me. Or…

  What the hell?

  I zoom toward the couple to find out what's going on. Robert is already backing around and heading out the other end of the street. I'm not going to catch him.

  And then the couple disappears. Poof. Gone.

  I look around, and there are more of the small black dogs sneaking around than I thought—I count five now. When I meet eyes with the one in front of the shop, its lips rise in a drooly smile. Then it bolts around the side of the building through the narrow side yard.

  I skim along after it. Cat can catch it, I'm sure. I need to get to the bottom of this and do it now. Robert needs to know that what he saw wasn't real. After losing his son this past summer, no matter what kind of a nightmare Kevin was, there's no way he can lose Gillian, too.

  I round the back corner of the shop in time to see Cassie pick up the pup and close the door behind her. I dash for it to get inside before it closes—I have to protect her from that thing, but she slams it tight. I hear the dead bolt slide into place.

  Her face twists up with tears and anger as she yells from behind the window, "Don't even try to get out of it this time, Tom. I saw what you did! Don't ever talk to me again."

  She disappears, taking the smirking canine with her.

  I move fast, shimmying up the tree to the second floor where there should be a window open for Cat to jump in from the branch, but the window is closed.

  What do I do now?

  I sit on the wide branch and fight to think rationally. Then the window opens and a pile of clothes and shoes comes flying out.

  "And take your stuff. I don't want anything left to remind me of you. I believed you were different!"

  I shimmy back down the tree and shift painfully in the brisk night air. I shiver as I get dressed. At least she didn't cut the crotch out of my pants like she did to Dan's after she found him in bed with her best friend. That's something, isn't it?

  I take inventory. I've got four pairs of jeans, seven shirts, two undershirts, a week's worth of jockey shorts, a pair of sandals, a pair of boots, a wallet with ten dollars in it, my cell phone, and a keyring that now contains only one key—the key to the diner.

  That really is everything I own. Except the ring I haven't picked up yet from the jewelers. My throat tightens until I check the hidden compartment in my wallet. The receipt's still there. The receipt for my second most precious thing.

  I never even got the chance to pick up the ring before it all went wrong. And my very most precious thing has just barred the doors and windows to keep me out, making the second most precious thing absolutely worthless.

  ***

  I try to call Cass, but she's not answering. Same with Gillian. Same with Robert.

  Goddess, what a mess. I should have known that me and Cassie working toward a future together, having the diner back, all of it, was too good to be true. I should have followed that dog the day it was lurking around us in the woods to kill her and the pups inside her belly. I should never have given her a chance to come at me again.

  But it's too late now. Hindsight is 20/20. No use crying over spilled milk.

  No matter how many cliches I throw at it, the truth is, I'm tired. I'm tired to my very soul of being locked into this battle with some death-denying goddess who chose me at random for her favors. So, I'm going to sleep on it. In the back of the diner here, on a pile of semi-clean towels and table cloths.

  Tomorrow, I'll gird my loins, don my battle gear, and figure out a way to take that demon dog down for good.

  I get through to Gillian in the morning. She says, "I'm at the house. My house. I've been banished from Robert's."

  Her voice catches, and I say, "I'm coming over. Just sit tight."

  It takes me longer to get there on Tom feet than it would on Cat feet, but I have no interest in slipping into the clothes I have stowed in a box next to her garage. With the way things have been going for me, I'm sure a snap of me sans pants in Gilly's backyard would somehow end up on the front page of the local paper.

  She sits in the middle of the living room floor, luggage and boxes piled around her. Polly is in his cage. He says, "Pretty Tom, pretty Tom, pretty Tom," over and over again until I pick his cage up and carry him upstairs where he can talk to himself. I'm not in the mood for it today. I wish we'd never taught him my name.

  I come back to the living room and give Gillian a hand up. She doesn't take it at first. Her eyes and nose are red. The pile of dirty tissues on the end table tell me she has been sitting here like this for a long time.

  I get her into a chair and go to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She's British, so it never fails: life will feel
more under control once she's got a cuppa in hand.

  When I return with the hot tea, I ask, "What happened? I bet I know, but please me tell what you know about it."

  Her face screws up into a tear-fighting knot before it smooths out again and she says, "Robert says he saw us—you and me—canoodling in public in front of the diner. He packed up my things and put them in the car and told me that if I didn't leave, he'd have the police escort me."

  "That's bad. I can't imagine Robert being that angry."

  "I was afraid for Polly. That stray that's been hanging around was strutting around like he owns the place, and he was really eyeing Polly up."

  "Okay, and now I can imagine it." When I drop into one of Gillian's flowery, overstuffed arm chairs, I feel like a rag doll. My arms hit the chair's arms with a loud, empty clump.

  "What do you mean?" she asks.

  "Remember what happened when the Goddess tricked Anat into leaving Cassie?"

  Gillian looks thoughtful for a moment. "That's right, she headed for the dog on the edge of the clearing."

  "Exactly."

  "But that puppy is too young, Tom. It can't be the dog from that night."

  "No, but after Robert buried Kevin's ashes, do you remember when I went off into the woods?"

  "Yes. We thought you had to see a man about a unicorn, so to speak."

  "And I let you think that. Because I didn't want to make the day worse by telling you what I'd seen. But it was that dog. The one Anat took over. And she was pregnant. Robert knew, but I thought I'd nuetralized that threat."

  "Are you saying that she's spawned an entire litter of demonic dogs? Don't be ridiculous. She couldn't pass her magic on to them."

  "I think she has. I know she has. Robert described to you what he saw us doing together. Well, I saw it, and Cassie saw it, too. It was perfectly timed to make sure both of them would see. And who else would have an interest in ruining our lives but our old friend Anat? Who knows how long she's been waiting for just the right moment to twist the blade."