Hell's Spells (Ordinary Magic Book 6)

by Devon Monk

  “What does that have to do with our social standing?”

  “Robyn has always tried to one-up me. If I pulled ten warriors off the battlefield, she pulled twenty. If I drank from the skulls of my enemies, she devoured their brains. If I padded my nest with a hundred virile lovers…”

  “I get it.” I reached across the desk and pulled tissues, packing them on my cut and holding it tight. “Your arch nemesis is in Boring, Oregon, for no reason I can imagine.”

  “No kidding,” Jean said. “Who wants to live in a town with that kind of name?”

  “Right?” I agreed. “At least it isn’t Drain.”

  We all nodded, having been to that town too.

  “She thinks she can out-event me,” Bertie announced.

  Chills ran down my spine, just thinking about how many community events Boring was about to be subjected to.

  “That’s terrible,” Jean breathed. “I’m so sorry for them.”

  Bertie raised her eyebrows and turned the little knife in her hand. “Oh? And why are you sorry for that town, Jean?”

  Jean swallowed and looked at me. I just widened my eyes, not knowing how to unspring the trap she’d just stuck her big mouth right in the middle of.

  “Because there is no chance they’re going to win,” Jean said. “Everyone knows you are the best at this, Bertie. And you’ve been doing it so spectacularly for so many years. You’re practically famous for it.”

  “No need to lay it on that thick,” Bertie said. “But I agree. She is a rank amateur. If she thinks she’s going to make her Boring little town anything more than my amazing Ordinary, then she has another think coming.” She punctuated by stabbing the air with the little knife.

  For a moment, Bertie was a lot more than just a woman in her eighties with impeccable suits. She was taller, even though she was still sitting. She was sharper, all the angles of her, gem cut. And she was so, so much more frightening.

  Valkyrie. All the way down.

  “Murder’s against the law, Bertie.” I slipped into my role as Chief of Police. “If she shows up dead, you’re my first suspect.”

  “Pish-posh, Delaney,” Bertie gathered the folder from Jean. Jean leaned back to stay out of her reach. “If I killed Robyn, you’d never find the body.” She glanced at the pages, tapped the edge of the folder on the desk to even them out, then hid it in the drawer.

  “Is there anything else?” Bertie asked.

  “You’re sure about the charges?” Jean asked.

  “I am. Now if you’ll please leave, I have a photo shoot scheduled.”

  And just like that, we escaped the Valkyrie’s nest with only one small wound between us. I called that a victory.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jean dropped me off at the cabin on the lake. I told her I wanted to go to the station and write up a report, but she’d given me a hard look she never used to have. She told me I’d been attacked by a demon, which made me a victim of a crime. I needed to go home to relax with my man.

  Since my man and I were maybe still fighting, I wasn’t sure how much relaxation was going to happen. But one thing was true: I had been attacked by a demon, had been under demon attack for quite some time now. I was tired, angry, and wanted to take a long hot shower then crawl into my pajamas and eat a carton of ice cream.

  The lights were on when I got home. I knew Ryder was in there. He had told me he’d be there, waiting.

  I took a deep breath, the air zinging with that explosion of smoke and green and salt I’d only found in little seaside towns.

  Music. It was the first thing I noticed when I walked into the house. Something soft by the Neutral Milk Hotel. The lamps were on, but the overheads were off.

  Spud trotted to me from the living room. I gave him a head rub.

  “Good boy,” I said.

  Spud wagged his tail.

  “Dragon pig will be home soon. It’s doing a little guard dogging in the magic jail for the night.”

  At the words “dragon pig,” his mouth dropped open into a happy smile. He dashed off to his stuffed toy pile and started rooting around for tonight’s offering.

  “Hey,” Ryder said, soft, questioning. He stood on the other side of the kitchen island, a mug and plate in his hands. “Hungry?”

  He looked so at ease right then, wearing the T-shirt, the one with holes across the shoulders he loved too much to get rid of, his hair mussed up like he’d been pulling at it.

  I couldn’t have stopped myself from going to him if I’d tried.

  His concerned frown lifted as I came near. He had just enough time to place the cup and plate on the counter before I was in his arms. He pulled me in tight, moving his bare feet so I could better fit against him.

  I leaned my head on his shoulder and just breathed him in.

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. We were together, hearts beating, bodies warm, until our breathing slowed, and fell into sync.

  “I miss you,” I said.

  He swallowed before saying, “I miss you too.”

  He held on for a moment more, then rubbed my back. “I heated up the chicken. And the coffee is fresh.”

  I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was to fall into bed. But my stomach growled. I leaned back so I could see him. I really didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to have a nice night at home with him. I just needed to smile and sit down for a nice reheated dinner.

  “Not gonna run off all night again, are you?” I said. “I’m beginning to think you’re trying to hide something from me.”

  Every muscle tensed. His easy expression went flat as a wall, hard as armor.

  “Why don’t we eat?” he said. Another non-answer. He’d been giving me those a lot lately.

  “Yeah. That’s fine.”

  “You don’t want it?”

  “I said it’s fine.”

  His arms dropped, and I took one of the stools on other side of the island, leaving him standing in the kitchen.

  He placed the plate in front of me and poured me a mug of coffee. “So how did it go? With the Feather and Heartwood?”

  “No one wanted to press charges.”

  “Good. What happened to your hands?”

  I glanced at them. One was wrapped in cellophane, the other sported a bacon-shaped Band-Aid Jean had insisted I use.

  “They wanted my blood instead.”

  His shoulders jerked. “You gave it to them? Is that a tattoo? Did you let someone mark you?”

  “Why are you angry? You have tattoos.”

  “This isn’t about the tattoo.”

  “Then what is your problem?”

  “My problem is you keep letting other people just—do—this kind of shit to you.”

  “That’s not fair. You aren’t angry that I got attacked by a demon—again. You’re angry that I’m finding my way through this without you. Well, you’re only in town about three hours a day. Sorry you couldn’t fit me into your schedule.”

  Every word was even and steady. I wanted to take them back the moment they were out of my mouth. Before then. I wanted to go back to months ago when everything between us was easy and okay.

  My heart pounded like a battle drum, shaking me, shaking the world around me.

  Ryder stood so still, I wondered if I’d actually spoken out loud. Then he looked away, over my shoulder, at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he said tightly. “I shouldn’t have said…it that way.”

  “No,” I said. “You shouldn’t have. I don’t let anyone do things to me without my permission and without knowing the consequences—which I’m willing to live with. I was attacked, Ryder. I didn’t invite that demon to set his hooks in my soul.”

  He pressed his hand against the back of his neck and squeezed. That’s when I realized how tired he looked. How thin. He nodded, but still wouldn’t make eye contact.

  He pushed the food around with his fork, spreading out that stupid pea-filled salad.

  My stomach clenched in a sour knot, but I lifted my co
ffee and took a drink. We were both aiming for normal, trying not to let the words break the evening, but it was too late.

  “You’re not getting much sleep,” I said. It was stilted and soft, but was the best I could do.

  His eyes flicked up to mine, searching for anger, for blame and finding none. He looked away again, back to separating peas from pasta.

  “I’m not at my best right now either,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the fancy dinner tonight.” There, that was my white flag. That was all I had in me.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to dinner last night.” He forked salad into his mouth and chewed.

  I sighed and pressed my fingers over my eyes. “Is this about us?” I asked, not looking at him yet. Not able to. “Is this about wanting different things?”

  “It’s not…that isn’t what…Delaney, you can look at me. I’m not…I’m sorry I was angry.”

  I took one breath, savoring the darkness behind my fingers. I wasn’t hiding because he was angry. I was just trying to prepare myself for the truth. For whatever we were about to tell each other.

  There was choppy water ahead. The kind of water broken and sharpened by hurricane winds. The kind of water that tore a ship into tiny splinters before sinking it forever.

  A storm. Unavoidable.

  I dropped my hands and opened my eyes.

  He was watching me, his plate pushed aside. He looked like he had a stomachache, a headache. He looked like a heartbreak ready to crack.

  “Oh, gods,” I exhaled, knowing the ship was taking on water, but uncertain if I should bail it out, or hold my breath and swim for shore.

  “Hey, no, hey.” He reached, his hand catching mine. The familiar scratch of callouses, rougher now that he was spending every spare minute on one job site or another, calmed me.

  “We’re good, right?” he said. “This, us…it’s good?”

  “It’s good. We’re good,” I said.

  “So there’s no reason to…worry. I think there’s no reason for us to worry. About us. What we are to each other. What we mean to each other.”

  “Good,” I said. “I can get behind that.”

  He was nodding now, like this was a script he’d run through his head over and over, and I’d answered appropriately.

  I was on board. We were bailing water.

  “So that means right now, for a little while, we don’t need to worry about the choices we’re making. We trust each other.” He must have seen the shift in my expression, though I wasn’t sure what was coming through. Confusion? Fear?

  “Because we’re good,” he added hastily. “As a…together. We might want something…different…more…promises later. But that would just be icing on icing, because we’re already cake. And icing. But good, right? We’re already good.”

  He stopped and swallowed. He was sweating now, his color up. If I didn’t know him better I’d say he was just one more “good” away from a panic attack.

  It felt like my heart was being squeezed between two bricks. We weren’t talking about a sinking ship or cakes and icing. I was pretty sure we were talking about marriage. And he was telling me, without telling me, that he did not want the same thing I wanted. Not now.

  Was that why he was avoiding me?

  I took a breath and remembered the pot on the window sill. Remembered a little plant that hadn’t bloomed yet.

  Patience.

  “I think you’re talking about more than cake,” I said calmly.

  He nodded.

  Sunlight.

  “I heard you. So what I’m going to do is step back. Give us time to think. We can talk about it more. Later. Are you okay with that?”

  The nod again. His hand squeezing mine was hot, tight, sweaty. This was tearing him up inside, a conflict I could not understand. I hated that the simple idea of us exchanging vows, of us promising to be together forever, was kicking his needle into the red.

  Water.

  “I love you, Ryder Bailey.”

  His breath came out hard, caught on a hiccup as if he’d held it too long. “Yeah,” he said, wobbly with unshed tears. “I love you too. I’ll be home more. The job…it’s almost done. I promise. It’s almost done. Just, please, wait for me. Don’t give up.”

  “I am not giving up.” I inhaled, exhaled, settling the emotions crashing around inside of me. It had been a long damn day. “How about dessert and a movie instead of dinner?”

  He closed his eyes for just a second too long, dealing with his own inner storm. Then he raised his head and gave me a smile. “I’d like that.”

  I retrieved a carton of ice cream from the freezer while he dumped the dishes into the sink. With two spoons in one hand, ice cream in the other, I headed to the living room.

  We sat on the couch, close, touching from shoulder to hip. I threw a leg over his because I was lost at sea, the ship having fallen into splinters that were washing away on the waves.

  I needed to hold on to someone, to hold on to him. He wrapped his arm behind my shoulders and pulled me closer, shifting so we touched as much as possible.

  Spud jumped up next to Ryder, laying his head and the stuffed french fry in his mouth on our laps. He wagged his tail slowly, like he did when we were sick and he was in bed waiting for us to get better.

  I handed Ryder a spoon. He turned on the TV.

  We shared the ice cream, adrift and looking for shore.

  I woke on the couch, stiff and cotton-mouthed. The sound of Ryder’s footsteps, his boots, crossed the floor to the door. I blinked at the ceiling, waiting, listening.

  It was still dark out.

  The door opened, and he hesitated. I wondered if he would turn, come back, stay with me. Instead, he walked out. The door closed softly as the scent of saltwater drifted into the house on a damp wind, cool where it touched my face with ghostly fingers.

  Spud, sitting on the floor next to me, tapped his tail.

  I could lie there. Wait for a repeat of the same morning we’d been living on a loop, or I could do something about it.

  “It’s not stalking if we’re living together, right?” I asked Spud.

  Spud waved his tail a little slower, as if he weren’t sure I had that right.

  “Wanna go for a ride, boy?” That got me an enthusiastic tail wag. He ran over to the little box near the front door where we kept his leash, dug it out, and held it up for me, wriggling with delight.

  I stretched, hooked the line to his collar, then grabbed my coat and phone. I looked out the window as Ryder’s truck pulled off down the dark road.

  Then I was out the door and in my Jeep, Spud riding shotgun.

  I followed Ryder, but not too closely. Ordinary didn’t have a lot of traffic this time of night, and Ryder was not only a reserve officer, he had also trained in some secret government monster-hunting program. He was aware of his surroundings.

  But I didn’t think he’d expect me to follow him. I hadn’t any of the other times he’d snuck out of the house, so there was no reason for him to be suspicious.

  Spud settled in, laying his head on my thigh. I blew out a breath, and ran my hand over his soft fuzzy head.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this. I trust him. I do.”

  Spud didn’t move his head, but his tail thumped on the back of the passenger seat.

  “This doesn’t look like trust. I know that.” Ryder was through Ordinary now, headed northeast, and I followed. It wasn’t like me to leave town and not let my sisters know. But I had my cell on me and the police radio in the Jeep. If anything came up, they could find me.

  He cruised along Hwy 101, then took the exit toward Otis, following Hwy 18. I thought maybe he was headed to the casino. For a minute, I wondered if this was about something other than the construction job, something other than him not wanting to be home.

  Gambling. He could be going out to gamble every night and staggering back home in the early morning. Maybe he was in debt. Maybe one of his construction projects had gone bad. Or maybe he
was addicted to gambling and didn’t want me to find out.

  But he slowed miles before the casino, turning left into the parking lot of the little Rose Market. I pulled in behind the trash dumpster, hidden from his view by the low, one-story building itself.

  In the daylight, the little white building with the red roof did a pretty good business from the locals scattered in the hills and fields around it, folks who didn’t want to make a longer trip for basic needs. It also served people driving between the casino and the beach.

  Right across the street from it was one of the fire and rescue district stations.

  But in the middle of the night, both buildings were dark and quiet.

  I gave Spud one more pat, then got out of the Jeep and shut the door as quietly as I could. Voices, both male, I thought, were carrying on a conversation, neither voice particularly hushed. They were coming from the other side of the building, right about where Ryder had parked.

  I made my way around the back of the building, still hidden from view, straining to hear.

  “You know what I want, Ryder.”

  I knew that voice. Mithra. I didn’t know Ryder had been meeting him outside of Ordinary.

  “You want to either rule over Ordinary or destroy it. Because you made me the Warden, you think that means you can be judge and jury over everyone in town. Oh, and you want to remove the Reeds and their entire bloodline from ever holding an authority position in the town because…” He blew out a breath. “I’m a little fuzzy on the details. Was it because no one listened to your last Warden in the 1850s? Or because you don’t like it that all the other gods got together to decide on Ordinary’s laws and rules, and you refused to join them?”

  Oh, my man was salty.

  “Respect me, Ryder Bailey.”

  “Or what? You’re already using me as a puppet so you can bust people for spitting on the streets of Sheridan, or doing occult arts in Yamhill, or selling brightly dyed baby chicks in Eugene.”

  “If you would just do as I ordered—”

  “I never signed a contract with you to be your lackey. I never signed a contract with you at all.”

  “You entered into an agreement with me to become the Warden of Ordinary and to do as I instruct you to do.”