“Because I need your help.”
“Oh dear God, not that again. I’m still on my honeymoon.”
“Would it change your mind to know it involves Lynette?”
She sank down on the bed. “Lynette? My niece, Lynette? Billie Jo’s daughter, Lynette?”
“Yes. And not only is she involved with a group dabbling in the occult, one young man is hot on her trail if you know what I mean.”
Her eyes narrowed. “She’s too young for sex.”
“Finn would screw a hole in a fence.”
“Finn?”
“The German exchange student seeking to part Lynette with her panties. And the instigator of the spirit games,” I added. “According to Carson.”
“Who’s Carson?”
“Roddy’s guardian angel. And before you ask, I’ve met all the other household guardians. Billie Jo’s guardian, Jade, is a stunning Oriental, and worthy of her task. However, I’m doubtful of Cloe, Lynette’s guardian. She doesn’t strike me as being a strong guide for a seventeen-year-old. You must return to Whiskey Creek and help me straighten out this mess, Jolene. Krampus—”
In the background, a telephone rang.
“Who, or should I say what is Krampus?” Her eyes fixed on me then moved to the cell phone lying on the dresser. It continued to peel out a summons. “That’s Sam. I’ll call him back after I have all the details. I wanted to go home for Christmas, and now I’ll have a good reason. Plus, I need to check on my house and the salon.”
“The salon is fine,” I said. “I’m using it for my headquarters.”
“Deena will love that.” She tried to smile and failed. “Tell me about Krampus.”
I repeated everything Saint Peter told me and gave a general description of the picture I’d seen.
“So, from what you’ve told me, on the level of demon hierarchy, he’s a level five?” she questioned. “Did Saint Pete tell you how to coax the demons back into the portal? And how do we close the portal?”
Excitement coursed through me. “So you’ll help me?”
“Was there ever any doubt?” She rose from the bed and shuffled over to the dresser and snatched up her phone. “Sam won’t like the short notice, but we don’t have a choice. We can catch a flight to Atlanta, and then to Albany. Rent a car from there and drive to Whiskey Creek and arrive in the morning. I’ll call my parent’s and tell them we’ll be home for Christmas. Tango’s gonna present a problem. The vet’s office is closed for the night. Hopefully, Sam can arrange one of his co-workers to swing by and drop him off at the vet’s office in the morning. If not, I must take him with me.”
I voiced my thoughts on that suggestion. “That sounds like a huge pain-in-the-ass burden. Tango will only slow you down, and we’ve got to hurry. We’re running out of time.”
Jolene looked flustered. “Isn’t this how we work together, Scarlett? Helter-skelter? And don’t we always get the job done? This time will be no different, I promise. Lynette’s future is at stake. Now, get out of here and let me get the ball rolling.”
I left Jolene in the bedroom to make her phone calls, and drifted down the hallway to the living room. Granny Tucker hadn’t moved from the rocking chair.
“So we’re headed for Whiskey Creek?” The knitting needles click-clacked as she spoke. “I’m glad. The visit will do Jolene good. She’s not used to the snow.” She shook her head. “Hard to adjust to the cold at my age. I’m ready to head south for the winter, too. Never liked the cold when I was alive. No, siree. I’m no snowbird.”
I perched on the edge of the fireplace mantel. “Granny Tucker, may I ask you a personal question concerning Jolene?”
The needles stopped. “Depends on the question.”
“Is Jolene happy here in Jackson Hole?”
“She’s happy with Sam, but I can tell she’s homesick. That’s why I’m glad we’re going home for Christmas. She has unfinished business there. Sam too.”
“Unfinished business?”
“Yes. Jolene eloped on a whim. Didn’t take the time to think things through. Her home for instance. What’s she gonna do about that? And the salon? Ain’t fair for Deena, who is a newlywed herself, to keep the business afloat while Billie Jo has her baby. No, siree, Jolene needs to take her head out of the clouds and resolve these issues before the consequences of her actions catch up with my granddaughters. And they’re a’comin’. I tell you, they’re a’comin’.”
“What about Sam? His heart is here in the West.”
“And Jolene’s is in the South.” Click-clack. The needles started up again. “A conundrum for sure. They can’t live in two places at once. Jolene’s compromise won’t last forever. Eventually, she’ll wanna head south, and that’s gonna spell trouble for the marriage. Trouble with a capital D. Like in divorce.”
I gave a humorless laugh. “What are we going to do about it, Granny Tucker? We can’t let Jolene sink the ship on the sea of happiness.”
“We’re not goin’ to do anything, Scarlett,” she said, her poker face set in stone. “We’re angels, not God.” Her eyes took me in one sweep. “Well, one of us has her wings. Nice nubs, though.”
I reached back to touch the tender nodules below my shoulder blades. “They’re kind of sore. How long will it last, do you know?”
The needles again stopped clicking, and she fastened her eyes on me. “Just growing pains, child. You’ll get used to it, trust me. Focus on the mission, and you’ll forget about the pain.” The glider rocker stopped, and she tucked her knitting needles and the ball of yarn in the basket beside her on the floor. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll slip into my winter coat for the trip. It’s mighty cold riding those jet wings this time of the year, and I don’t want to catch a cold.”
“Can’t you ride inside where it’s warm?”
She tilted her face up and smiled. “I could. Better view of the night sky out on the wing. And I like to visit with the other guardians. You can join me if you wish.”
I shook my head. “I’m on horseback.”
She eyed me again. “That explains everything, child. Nice boots. Snakeskin?”
I clicked my heels together. “Yep. Heaven’s finest. Truth be told, I owe my odd attire choice to Saint Peter. I’m not sure, but I believe it’s payback for an infraction I committed since my arrival in Heaven.”
“Saint Peter has a witty sense of humor.” She left me to ponder her statement and vanished through the wall to, I suppose, fetch her winter coat. A flash of orange from under the couch startled me out of my musings. Tango. Stupid cat.
And then I had a thought.
In my brief lifetime, I’d read that cats were revered among the ancients. They considered them guardians of the living from the denizens of the netherworld. Cats carried good luck and attracted wealth and warded off evil spirits. Their razor-sharp senses, seeing and hearing, make them perfect killing machines in the animal world. Able to see in the dark and hear a rat squeak yards away.
Tango would make the perfect demon hunter. Or better yet, a solid black cat.
I tapped my chin, contemplating the ideal location to obtain a black cat. Ummm.
The answer was simple. The local humane society had plenty of cats to choose from. Not a kitten. No, an adult would be better. Male or female? Male. Big and ornery. Not a pussycat. No, we needed a hunter. A barn cat. Yes. A barn cat. And I knew just the place to get one.
Billy Ray Boone. Pig farmer and all-around asshole. One of Whiskey Creek’s wealthiest citizens. Ugly, though. Overweight. Must be all the bacon he consumed. Long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Scraggly beard. Beady black eyes. Hammy fists.
As my plan continued to unfold, I smiled with satisfaction. It could work. Now, all I had to do was convince Jolene to help me steal a mean, ornery black cat from Billy Ray Boone’s pig farm.
Chapter Six
It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
“It won’t work, Scarlett,” Jolene said with a sigh of impatience. She placed a folded blouse in the suit
case lying on the bed, closed it, and then walked into the master bathroom with her cosmetic case. “I told you a dozen times, Billie Jo hates cats. There’s no way she’s gonna let me bring one into her house, so forget it.” She threw in her toothbrush and toothpaste.
“But it’s a good plan, Jolene,” I argued, perching cross-legged on the vanity top. “A cat will keep the boogeyman away.”
“Isn’t that your job,” she accused. “At least that’s what I learned in Sunday school. Guardian angels watch over us and keep us safe from trouble. Now, you’re telling me the true guardians have been cats all along?”
“Dumbass, that’s not what I said, and you know it.”
She turned to face me with hands on her hips. “I agree with your plan, Scarlett. However, I’m telling you for the hundredth time—Billie Jo will not allow a cat in her house. Remember how she reacted when she thought the neighbor’s tomcat was in her backyard two weeks ago?”
“I remember,” I said with a snide tone. “But I don’t have the time to rehash your old history. When you arrive in Whiskey Creek tomorrow morning, you’ve got to tell Billie Jo what’s going on with Lynette and those friends of hers. Once she understands, she’ll agree to the cat. I know Billie Jo will do what it takes for her daughter.”
Jolene conceded to my superior reasoning. “Okay, I admit you’re right. Billie Jo will do anything for Lynette, even if it means adopting a cat. However, I’m not on board with your idea of stealing a cat from Billy Ray Boone’s barn, so nix that idea.”
I had no intention of changing my plans, but Jolene didn’t need to know that right this minute, but I could appease her angst with a little white lie. I crossed my fingers behind my back for protection against the sin of lying. “Okay, no pig farm. We’ll scout out the pound. Satisfied?” When she nodded her head, I continued. “What time is your and Sam’s flight?”
She resumed packing. “He isn’t coming. And he’s isn’t happy that I’m leaving without him, but he’s working a case and can catch a flight out Christmas Eve. At least I don’t have to worry about Tango. Sam will drop him off at the vet’s before his flight.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “He was hoping for a stress-free celebration. Looks like he won’t get his wish. Damn, this is hard.” She slammed the lid down and snapped the lock. “Okay, I’m ready. The taxi should be here any minute. I have a long night ahead with a five-hour layover in Atlanta. My connecting flight should arrive in Albany around six tomorrow morning.”
I wafted behind her into the living room. She piled her luggage by the front door. “Have a safe flight, and I’ll see you tomorrow at Billie Jo’s,” I told her.
She squeezed her face into a smile. “Until tomorrow then.”
I wafted outside and into the barn. Skywalker greeted me with a welcome nicker, and I climbed aboard for the flight back to Whiskey Creek. The night had turned colder, and a light dusting of snow covered the ground. Skywalker tossed his head with pent-up energy, and his huge hooves pawed the dirt, eager to take flight. He snorted great puffs of breath into the frosty air, and I loosened the reins. He thundered down the driveway before launching off into the night sky with one smooth leap. With great strides, the horse rose higher into the air, and we sped toward home. Over mountains we soared, dipping above and around and through puffy clouds until we whooshed through Tennessee, and down through Atlanta. In a flash, we arrived on the outskirts of Whiskey Creek and near Billy Ray Boone’s pig farm.
There had to be one black barn cat among the dozen on the farm who hankered for a new home. Curiosity grabbed ahold of me, and I had time to burn until Jolene’s arrival in the morning, so I steered Skywalker toward the big red barn in the distance. As we drew near, the pungent aroma of the farm animals drifted skyward. With a swift movement, I removed the rhinestone-studded bandana from around my neck and crafted a makeshift veil over my lower face. Skywalker avoided the outbuildings, opting to land on the front lawn of the sprawling two-story clapboard farmhouse. No light shone in the windows. The family had retired to their beds.
I left the horse grazing on the sparse grass and caught a swift breeze to the barn. Inside, I tracked down every cat swarming over the place. Good God, I spotted two dozen felines of every size, shape, and color of the species. I found what I was looking for crouching by a bale of hay munching on a midnight snack of shredded field mice.
The black cat was huge. Not a spot of white on him. Massive paws with sharp claws held his prey with supreme confidence and experience. Arrogant amber eyes stared back at me in a challenge, and a thick tail lashed back and forth.
I named him, Zeus, after the king of all the gods. A suitable name for a demon hunter.
I hoped Jolene liked him. And Billie Jo since Zeus would join her household shortly.
FYI—I can be very persuasive when I want, and I’m convinced I’d found the right cat for the job. A quick bath and nail trim and he’d be the perfect addition to the Hazard household. At least until I corralled Krampus and his rowdy gang of poltergeists.
Tiredness crept over me, and I was ready to crash for the night. But I still had to work to do. A quick sweep of the Jorgensen farm and then Whiskey Creek, for any sign of Krampus. If downtown was quiet, I’d swing by Billie Jo’s before seeking a little shut-eye.
Astride again, I made a hurried sweep of the Jorgensen household. Dark and quiet. Only the soft rustling of dairy cows in the pasture and barn. No Krampus or poltergeists making trouble for the family. Satisfied, I proceeded on to Whiskey Creek and rode into a quiet, silent town. The stores had long since been closed. The shoppers all tucked in their comfy beds. No sign of trouble on Main Street and the downtown area. Love Avenue parroted the tranquility. Quiet and serene. The calmness was unexpected. Where were Krampus and the gang?
Too tired to contemplate the rising questions, I finished my survey of downtown and then rode over to the Hazard house on 6th and Park. Quiet. Good. No, wait. In Lynette’s darkened bedroom window, a dark shadow shot out and landed in one of the towering pine trees in the neighboring yard. From my hidden position in the tree line, I watched as the moon’s pale light showcased the shadowy figure. I recognized him from the photos in Saint Peter’s office.
Krampus. Santa’s horned helper. Keeper and enforcer of the naughty or nice list.
Half-goat, half-demon. Hairy. Cloven hooves. Long curled horns. And a long, pointed tongue. Jagged fangs. Yes, I know I’ve already described him, but man is he ugly.
Great.
I have the worst luck.
The whip hummed to life, vibrating the saddle, and I reached for it, cradling it in my hand. Tingles raced up my arm as I held the lash, ready to strike at the precise moment of opportunity.
Skywalker sensed my intensity and posed. He stood statue-like, stone-solid, but explosive energy built beneath me. He was ready for action.
The atmosphere droned with electricity. Lightning flashed far off in the distance. After several seconds of tense silence, thunder rumbled. Clouds obscured the moon, plunging the street into darkness. All remained still. Like the moments before a tornado strike.
Prickles of life sprang through the coiled lash, and I nudged Skywalker with my heels. His wings spread out, and he swooped down from our perch among the treetops, moving in close. The target came into view.
Whoosh. The lash sang out, entangling itself around the target’s throat. A scream of agony split the night air. From the branches, birds scattered, squawking their fury, but I had snared Krampus. He was done for like a Thanksgiving turkey.
With a cry of triumph, I reeled in my catch. Skywalker settled onto the ground in a smooth landing, and I vaulted from the saddle to stand face to face with my enemy. He was taller than I was, by at least a good ten inches. He towered over me, his smug smile suggesting he could overpower me. But he didn’t. His response surprised me.
“The rules of engagement demand you release me,” he said in a smug voice but didn’t fight his imprisonment.
I reached inside a tooled leather sadd
lebag and withdrew a pair of golden handcuffs. “Hold out your hands. You’re under arrest for trespassing into the physical world.”
His hands remained at his side. “I again demand you release me under the rules of engagement. You have no right to hold me.”
“Says who?” I jerked hard on the whip. He winced but remained otherwise calm. A little too calm and confident. I felt a moment of unease.
“The Interdimensional Treaty.” His silky voice held a challenge. “You’re familiar with it, I assume? I mean, being a bounty hunter, its required memorization for law enforcement personnel. The Treaty’s existed since the beginning, you know.”
I wracked my brain for any memory of said document. Nada. Nothing. My brain drew a blank. I’d read it at some point, but I couldn’t recall when or where. Heaven held many libraries packed with books and manuals detailing rules and procedures. Required reading, Saint Peter had drilled into me when I started my guardian angel training. I’d read lots of information. Hard to remember everything. No way was I letting Krampus in on that little secret. I’d have to fake it for now.
Krampus snickered, drawing my ire. I jerked again on the lash. “Hold still,” I ordered. “And hold out your hands. You’re still under arrest. And FYI, I’m no longer a bounty hunter. The Council promoted me into the Order of the Guardsmen.”
“I appeal to the Council,” he said in a steady, deep voice. “I’m an invited guest and demand my rights.”
I snorted in disbelief. “What do you mean, you’re invited?”
“Lynette Hazard invited me into her home through the talking board,” he responded. “I am not responsible for being here. Finn Herrmann summoned me. That gives me the right to remain until Lynette revokes her invitation. Until that time, you must release me under the rules of engagement laws.”
A thought popped into my head on how I might gain insight into my present predicament. I turned to Skywalker. “Keep him secure.” I tied the whip to the back jockey on the saddle. The horse tossed his head in agreement.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Krampus. “And don’t try an escape. Skywalker is a trained warrior.”
Jingle Bells and Krampus Spells Page 4