Cyn cut through the last of the fabric, and I placed my hand on my stomach and my butt to keep myself mostly covered.
“I take it you have a change of clothes in that bag?” she said, pointing to the plastic shopping bag on the toilet lid.
“Yeah.”
“Get dressed and then come out and tell me the rest, because I’m dying to know why you’re here at my house in smelly workout clothes instead of either at your date or back at Hot Parker’s place doin’ the dirty.”
“Cyn!”
“But you still stink, so take a shower first.” She started to turn around but stopped, her brows bunching a little as she picked up one of my new blond streaks. “Don’t dawdle. I suspect there’s a bunch more you need to tell me.”
She walked out, and I stuffed the remains of the torturous shapewear into the shopping bag. No way could I have gone back to Parker’s wearing such unsexy underwear. It was bad enough that Mr. Cocky had seen me in it, although it obviously wasn’t the worst of my problems.
I climbed into the shower and didn’t waste any time washing my hair and my body, eager to banish the stench of sweat and smoke. When I was done, I got dressed in the new leisure wear and found Cyn in her living room. She was lounging on the sofa with a glass of wine while she listened to a Boyz II Men CD. A fire crackled in her fireplace, making me flinch.
“Start spilling,” Cyn said. She had another glass of wine waiting for me, thank God.
I reached for the second glass, telling myself I’d become a teetotaler tomorrow. “First I need to start with the fire.”
“There was another fire?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “You did smell like smoke, but it was hard to discern over the BO reek.”
I made a face and settled onto her love seat, curling my feet to the side. “My whole life has gone to hell. The fire last night started right beneath me on the sofa where I was sitting. While I was having a hot flash.”
She waved that off, her mouth pursing. “The fire was what made you think you were having a hot flash. But that’s been discussed. I want to know what happened tonight.”
“Just listen. Parker and I were sitting at our table at the restaurant, looking at our menus, when I suddenly became inexplicably hot—like my body was about to combust. The exact same thing that happened last night. I didn’t want to get all gross and sweaty in front of him, so I ran out the back door, hoping the cold air would cool me down, but it didn’t. In desperation, I opened my wrap dress so I could fan myself…and the next thing I knew, my dress caught fire.”
Cyn sat up, wide-eyed. “What?”
“I have no idea how it started, but I was trying to figure out how to get the dress off when I was tackled from behind and ended up in a snowbank.”
“Parker saved you?”
I made a face. “Parker had no idea where I went. It was the asshat from the bar.”
She shook her head. “What asshat from the bar?”
Oops. I hadn’t gotten to that part yet. I filled her in on my kind of annoying, kind of entertaining encounter with the man in the bar.
“How did he know you were outside?” she asked.
“I walked past his table, so maybe he saw the panic on my face.” Oh crap. The guilt was beginning to creep up on me. “And he followed me outside to make sure I was okay.”
“Or harass you,” she suggested like a good enabling friend.
“To harass me by trying to save my life. His suit jacket was ruined when he covered me with it while trying to put out the flames.”
“It’s a wonder you weren’t seriously hurt,” she said. “Was he?”
Well, double crap. I hadn’t bothered to check. “I don’t know.”
“So what happened?”
“He looked me over for burns. We were both shocked I didn’t have any. I offered to pay for his jacket and asked for his PayPal or Venmo information.”
“That sounds terribly romantic.”
I made a face. “Romantic?”
“I suspect he was hot,” she said, then finished the dregs in her glass.
“Okay,” I conceded. “He was good-looking, but he was still a jerk.”
“Until he saved your life.”
“Like any decent human being would,” I countered, but we both knew I was purposely being argumentative. “It doesn’t matter,” I added with a sigh. “He kept getting texts from his dinner companions and had to go inside. He begged me to wait five minutes.”
“Obviously, you didn’t stay,” she said as she poured more wine into her glass, disappointment heavy in her words.
I shrugged. “What was the point?”
“Well, for one thing, he still wanted more after he saw you in all your torture underwear glory.”
I snorted. “You’re the one who told me men are too interested in getting laid to care if I have a full crop of hair downstairs.”
Her eyes widened. “That is not what I said. I said it would be enough for you to trim the garden if you didn’t want a Brazilian.”
She made a scissors motion with her index and middle fingers for added emphasis.
“The guy was a Lothario,” I said with a sigh. “He’s only interested in getting busy between the sheets.”
“So?” she said. “You just got out of a twenty-year relationship. Maybe he’s exactly what you need.”
“Well, that ship has sailed,” I said. “He never gave me his payment information, and I don’t even know his name.”
She shook her head in disappointment. “You have much to learn, young grasshopper.”
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” I said before taking another sip of my wine.
“You’re not an old dog, and you definitely know some tricks. Even if you haven’t used them in a decade or two.” She was silent for a moment, taking a drink of her wine before she said, “Let’s address the other elephant in the room. What’s going on with your hair?”
I absently reached up to touch the newest golden strand. “I’m not doing this on purpose,” I said, grateful to admit it to someone. “The one in back showed up sometime after the first fire and before I went into the kitchen this morning. The second appeared after the second fire.”
“That’s more than a little freaky,” she said with worry in her eyes.
“There’s more,” I said. “When I was trying on dresses earlier, there were dusky markings across my upper back. Like a big bruise. And when the mystery man checked my back for burns, he mentioned my cool tattoo.”
Cyn sat up again, then twirled her hand in a circular pattern. “Take off your shirt.”
“At least buy me dinner first,” I said, forcing a laugh as I got to my feet.
“We both know that you’re a cheap date and nine-dollar wine makes you take your clothes off. Now prove me right.”
I’d not been so nervous about taking my top off since I was a junior in high school, but I tugged it off and tossed it onto the love seat, presenting my back to her as dread pooled in my stomach.
“Holy Toledo,” she said, trying to get to her feet, but her legs became ensnared in her throw. She fell onto the floor but quickly recovered and jumped up. “I’m okay, and I’m not drunk, just in utter shock. Do you know what’s back there now?”
I tried glancing over my shoulder, but the last thing I needed was to pull a muscle, so I hurried to the bathroom and glanced over my shoulder at the mirror.
The dark patch I’d seen earlier had been like a cloudy Etch A Sketch drawing, but now it looked like the magnetic balls had formed the outline of wings. They spread across my upper back and were “attached” over my spine. The tips hit the top of my shoulders.
Shock spread through me in waves. My body was changing before my eyes. I’d heard plenty about the change women went through in middle age, but this wasn’t mentioned in any of the textbooks.
“Darcie…”
“I didn’t do this, Cyn,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.
“But they’re there anyway. Just like th
e stripes in your hair.”
“They weren’t there at all before last night. Yesterday morning, I felt a bump on my upper back and looked in the mirror to see if it was a zit or a precancerous growth.”
She made a face. “Thanks for the reminder that I need to make an appointment to see my dermatologist.”
I grimaced back, then said, “There has to be a logical explanation, right? For all of it?”
“Well, of course there is,” she said. “You’re turning into a demon.”
I released a short bark of nervous laughter. “Be serious.”
She spun me around to face her. “I am. You can start fires and you’re sprouting wings. You’re becoming a fire demon.”
If I hadn’t known her better, I would have thought she was joking, but Cyn was big into the paranormal, always looking for supernatural explanations for weird happenings. She hadn’t disappointed with this one.
“Why can’t I be turning into an angel?” I asked, slightly insulted.
She snorted. “Please.”
I almost argued with her, but she had a point. While I didn’t consider myself demon material, I hardly qualified for angel status either.
“This is ridiculous,” I said, walking past her into the hall. My stomach rumbled with hunger, reminding me that I’d missed dinner.
“Why is it ridiculous?” she asked, following behind me. “How else do you explain all of this?”
“Harriet thinks it can be explained by Ambien sleepwalking.”
“You told her?”
I opened her fridge and groaned, turning up my nose. This was what I imagined a socialite’s fridge looked like—full of wine, olives, and Red Bull. “What do you have to eat around here?”
“I ordered a pizza earlier.”
“You’re like a teenager,” I said, moving to the counter to open the takeout box.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said.
“Girl, please,” I said picking up a piece of deep-dish pizza smothered in cheese and the works. I took a bite and nearly died from happiness. “I haven’t had this many carbs in one bite in ages.”
“Back to Harriet.”
I took another bite, feeling ravenous, then said while still chewing, “She and Elena found the streak at the back of my head this morning. Then Harriet saw the dark mark on my back in the dressing room. She freaked over both and came up with the Ambien explanation when I told her I had no idea where they came from.”
Cyn nodded. “You’re freaking out your kids, Darce.”
“I’m freaking out, Cyn,” I said before taking another big bite of my slice.
“There has to be a logical explanation,” she said.
“I didn’t even tell you about the weird old lady who showed up in the dressing room with dresses for me to try on—this woman acted almost…excited over the markings on my back and the blond streak in my hair.” I gasped. “Oh! My hair was pinned up to hide it, but she took out the pins as though she was looking for it and said, ‘From the ashes, she has risen.’”
“What?”
I took another bite, finishing off the slice, then said through my mouthful, “You huhd me.”
She frowned, but then excitement lit up her face. “This is a mystery.”
I fought hard to keep from rolling my eyes. In addition to her mystical beliefs, Cyn fancied herself to be an Angela Lansbury. She subscribed to those murder mystery subscription boxes and loved to go to escape rooms, but she had yet to figure any of them out. Nevertheless, I loved her too much to discourage her. Besides, I had absolutely no idea what was going on, so a shot in the dark couldn’t hurt. Maybe this would be the mystery she finally solved. Win for both of us.
“I’m going to write down the clues,” she said, finding a notebook and pen in a kitchen drawer and sitting on a stool at her kitchen table while I grabbed another piece of pizza.
“Hot flashes—fire,” she said as she wrote down the words, then glanced up. “Last night was the first time you had a hot flash?”
“Yep.”
“And the hot flash triggered the first blond streak and started a fire.”
“We’ve already established that.”
“And those wings on your back,” she said.
“We’ve established that too. Don’t forget I didn’t get burned. Not tonight or after a couple of incidents with hot coffee and a hot pan this morning.”
She looked up at me and shrugged. “Well, I was right. You’re turning into a fire demon. I’d say you might be turning into a fire elemental, except”—she gestured toward me—“the wings.”
“Why does it have to have a paranormal explanation?” I asked. “Why can’t there be a rational reason for what’s happening?” It didn’t seem like a good time to mention the way Vee had disappeared in a cloud of smoke, something my mind was still grappling to explain. Among other things.
“I’m all ears,” she said. “What’s your rational explanation?”
I sat down next to her. “A whole lot of nothing, but I think something similar might have happened to my great-grandmother.”
“What?” she said, tossing down her pencil. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Well, I never met her, and I just remembered the family stories on the way here. If I remember correctly, it didn’t end well for her.”
“They put her in a mental institution?” Cyn asked.
“No,” I said. “But almost. Her husband threatened to institutionalize her, but she died in a house fire before he got the chance. It happened here in Perry’s Fall.”
Where strange stuff had been known to happen. The man who’d essentially founded the town, James Randolph Perry, was the nineteenth-century equivalent of a trust fund kid, and he’d only discovered the place after getting blackout drunk on the train. I’d heard plenty of stories about him, given my mother’s questionable pride in our family’s roots in the Ohio town. Our family had been here since the beginning, although some of our relatives had moved back to England for a time.
“Oh,” Cyn said, the worry lines on her brow deepening. “That’s not good.”
I snorted. “And it gets worse. Legend has it she spontaneously combusted.”
“Seriously?” she asked, incredulous but definitely interested.
“I can’t say that’s how she really died. It sounds crazy, and my grandmother refuses to talk about her. Nana Stella was living away from Perry’s Fall at the time. It wasn’t until later that they moved back. She blames herself for what happened. She feels like she should have been there.”
“So let’s say your great-grandmother did spontaneously combust. That doesn’t fit with you not getting burned anymore.”
“I haven’t heard the stories for years,” I said. “I need to ask my mom. Or maybe see if Nana Stella will finally talk about it.”
“Your grandmother is only lucid half the time. Better to talk to them both.”
Nana Stella wasn’t suffering from dementia, just eccentric, but if she grasped on to an idea, she was usually too stubborn to bend. I suspected she wouldn’t tell me anything. And even though I knew I had to ask anyway, I worried it would upset her. She’d never gotten over losing her mother that way, especially the whispers about insanity. Given that she was well into her eighties, it wasn’t a good idea to shock her. “I’ll call my mother. She’s always complaining that I never call her first.”
“Good idea.”
I found my phone in my purse and placed the call, my stomach in knots while her phone rang.
“Well, look who found time in her busy schedule to call me,” my mother said in a snippy tone when she answered after several rings.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, only halfway meaning it. I wanted to tell her that I might find time to call her more often if she didn’t always spend the whole time complaining about everything and everyone. But I supposed that was better than when she complained about me, which had become her favorite pastime since the divorce.
“I have a busy
life too, you know,” she said, sounding like she was still pissed.
“I know, Mom.” My mother was sixty-four, but she was busier than ever with her charity work. Until the beginning of the school year, Nana Stella had lived with Mom, but my mother had suggested that perhaps she should move in with me since I had insisted on being a single mother and likely needed the help. I recognized the move for what it was—the two of them had never seen eye to eye, and my mother was tired of having to deal with her own mother on a daily basis.
Nana Stella hadn’t been particularly helpful, in all honesty, but I loved her and my kids adored her and her antics—like her late-night poker games. It was like I’d gained another child—one who required only slightly less supervision.
“It’s funny you called. Only moments ago I’d decided that I want you to come for dinner,” she said. “Tomorrow night. You and the kids.”
“Uh…” I hadn’t been expecting that request. “The kids are supposed to be at Richard’s tomorrow night, Mom.”
She harrumphed. “I’ll call him, and we’ll have a little chat. I’m sure he’ll be understanding.”
“No,” I said. Knowing her, she’d probably beg him to come back. It wouldn’t be the first time. “The kids will let him know.”
“Very well. I already spoke with Harriet,” my mother said. “I’ll expect you at seven.” Then she hung up.
“Well?” Cyn said. “What did she say?”
“Guess what we’re doing tomorrow night?”
“Is that the royal we or the collective we?” she asked, scrunching up her face in anticipation of the answer.
I raised my brow and looked her dead in the eye.
She turned pale and shrank back in her chair. “Your mother scares me.”
“She scares us all.”
Chapter Nine
Call me a coward, but I put on my replacement black dress before I went home an hour later. I also took pains to hide the new stripe in my hair, not wanting Harriet to have a second freak-out. Parker sent a text saying he’d had a great night and wanted to try again. Maybe tomorrow night?
Let it All Burn: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (From the Ashes Book 1) Page 7