by Catie Rhodes
I studied the picture while he filled a glass with ice. The woman holding the book had a sweet face ruined by evil, dead eyes. Her fingers curled around the edge of the book possessively. Was she dead or alive? I concentrated on the picture. Sometimes I could tell if a person in a picture was alive or dead. But this time, I only got a whiff of dry, dusty air. I turned the picture over. Scrawled on the back were the words "Devil’s Rest, 1973."
Tanner set my neon-colored drink in front of me. "Any ideas?"
"No." I hid the lie by putting the condensation-covered glass to my forehead. Tanner couldn’t know about Devil’s Rest or 1973. He’d only want to help, and it might get him killed. No. I had to do this alone.
A plan pieced itself together. I’d get in my truck and leave everything, including Tanner, here. My friends and family would be pissed, but they’d be safe.
Tanner watched me, brows drawn together. "You’re lying." One hand flashed out and snatched the picture from me. He held it close to his face, studying it.
Don’t turn it over. Please. I sat still as possible, as though that would make my hasty prayer come to pass.
Tanner squinted at me across the table. "What are you hiding?"
Not waiting for an answer, he put the picture close to his face again, memorizing details. I held my breath and begged the universe to make him give it back. Don’t let him see the name Devil’s Rest. Tanner moved the picture a few inches away from his face, eyes moving back and forth. He turned over the picture. I wanted to scream at him to drop it, but Tanner had a stubborn streak.
Now he raised his eyes to mine. "What’s Devil’s Rest?"
I shook my head.
He pushed the picture across the table. "I see plans forming behind those dark eyes. Tell me."
"I’m leaving as fast as I can. Before anyone wakes up." I put my fingers on top of the picture.
"What? Why?" Tanner, always eager to involve others, never understood the wisdom of going the course alone.
"They’ll want to help." I said the words as though my family’s help came with cooties.
"The more of us there are, the faster we can get it done." Tanner drank down his own over-sweet sports drink.
"No way. Mohawk doesn’t want me to find his book. He wants me to fail so he can make me his slave. If they get in the way, they’re toast." I finished off my sports drink in three big gulps with a grimace and a shudder.
Tanner thought this over in his usual solemn way, head lowered, hair fallen across his face. After a few seconds, he nodded. "You’re right. Let me go get a shower and pack. We’ll leave a note for them."
This was the hard part. "You can’t go either, sweetie."
He stood, came around the table, and shoved his way into the booth seat next to me, crowding me in. "I go where you go." Before I could answer, he kissed me.
A few seconds later, I pulled away, heart hammering, body flushed. "I’m serious. You can’t go."
Those eyes, molten green and hot as asphalt at the end of August, hardened. "Why not?"
"There are a thousand ways this could go bad." I cupped his face in both hands, hoping to soften the blow. "I need to know you’re safe."
Tanner snarled and pushed my hands down. "You don’t trust me."
I shook my head. That wasn’t it. I trusted Tanner with everything I had. My body, my life, my belongings. The person I didn’t trust was myself. Things tended to go wrong around me, and people got hurt. Like Wade Hill. There was one who’d never speak to me again.
An expedition like this could change everything. Tanner and I had gotten together in the midst of extreme danger. Another bout of extreme danger might be too much. I cut the thoughts off cleanly. What needed doing? Pack for Devil’s Rest. Go talk to Hannah.
I climbed over Tanner to get out of the booth style dining table and went to my bed. There I lifted my mattress to access the storage underneath and pulled out both my witch pack and the traveling hatbox I used for a suitcase. The latter had been a gift from Hannah. She’d bought it in Austin from an artist who’d painted runes and ravens all over it. I hefted the hatbox onto the table, opened it, and began tossing in the freshly laundered clothes.
Tanner followed. "That Queenie woman was right about you."
"Huh?" Busy calculating what I’d need for three days—because nothing mattered after that—I barely heard Tanner.
"Look at me." He grabbed my wrist, hard enough to make me gasp at first, then loosened his grip. "Stop packing." He spun me to face him. His eyes burned into mine. "That woman said you live like a ghost in your own life. That’s what you’re doing right now by not wanting me to go with you."
"Hey, you’re right. Let’s all go. Go tell Dillon and Finn to get the kids ready to travel." I threw another handful of underwear into my hatbox. "No, wait. Let’s go get Hannah first. She really needs some more fucking trauma in her life."
Face reddening, Tanner narrowed his eyes into angry slits. "Don’t blow me off." His voice rose to a shout on the last couple of words. Someone’s dog started barking. He took a deep breath and spoke nearly in a whisper. "Do not blow me off. You know exactly what I’m talking about."
I yanked my wrist away from him. "No. I most certainly do not. All I know is my whole life is a circus of tragedy and danger, and I don’t want you dragged into it."
Maybe a quick session of mattress rodeo would soothe his hurt feelings. I sidled close to him and brushed my lips against his.
He wasn’t finished saying his piece and talked against my lips. "Then let me go with you. Finding stuff like this book is what I do. I can help you."
I drew back to stare at him. What he said was true. But what else came with it? Danger for him. Maybe death. I shook my head.
"Let me go take care of this. I’ll make up for it when I get back." I trailed my fingers down his bare chest.
He moaned and planted soft kisses along my jawline. "I know exactly what you’re trying to do right now."
"Me too." I popped open the button on his pants and dipped my fingers inside, still thinking about the time and getting out of here before people started stirring, and tugged him toward the bed.
Tanner didn’t let me pull him. He planted his bare feet and stood like a statue. "You’re avoiding the subject. I said you live in your life like a ghost. In order to keep from thinking about it, you’re trying to get me naked."
I glanced down at the front of his pants. "You want to be naked with me."
He put his arms around my waist and pulled me against him. "But I also want to talk to you about this."
"About what?" I let my chest rub against his.
His eyes slid closed, and he pulled me against him hard enough to make us both grunt. He shook his head and pushed me away.
"Listen, please." He held up one hand. "That lady, Queenie, said you walk in your own life like a ghost. I know what she’s talking about. You tiptoe around like you don’t belong here rather than just living. Not wanting me to go is part of it."
My face heated. "That’s not true."
He rolled his eyes and huffed out an ugly laugh. "Of course not."
I closed the distance he’d put between us, pressed my lips against his hot skin, and slipped my arms around his waist. "I can’t risk you going with me and getting hurt, maybe even dead. What if I lose and he takes me as his…concubine?" The idea made my mouth dry, and I swallowed hard. "He’ll kill you if you fight him. Or he might kill you for fun. Or he might take you as well. This is no game."
"And what we faced together a few months ago was a game?" He cupped my chin and tilted my head to look at him.
I shook my head. "No. It wasn’t a game either."
"I helped you then, and I want to help now." He slid one hand under my shirt and ran his fingers over my bare skin. I shivered.
"Not this time." I tugged him toward the bed, to make that the last thing we did together, rather than argue.
But Tanner pushed my hand away and stepped around me to open the door. The soun
d of frogs singing drifted into the camper. "I’m going to shower and pack my bag. If you’re not here when I get back, we’re done."
Knowing I was beat, I waited until the door slammed before I got up and finished my packing. I grabbed my bags and a wad of cash I kept for rainy days and slipped out of the camper.
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About the Author
Catie Rhodes writes southern-fried urban fantasy with a strong dose of horror and a side dish of humor.
She is the author of the Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers. Her short stories have appeared in Tales From The Mist, Let’s Scare Cancer to Death, and Allegories of the Tarot.
Catie was born and raised behind the pine curtain in East Texas. She comes from a family of world champion liars.
Their tall tales molded Catie into a purveyor of her own brand of lies and legends. One day, she found the courage to start writing down her stories. It changed her life forever.
Catie Rhodes lives steps from the Sam Houston National Forest with her long-suffering husband and her armpit terrorist of a little dog.
Find Catie online:
www.catierhodes.com