by Ann Charles
He returned to the front door, drawing it open slowly. He peered outside into the dark, and then let out a low pulsing whistle.
Yet again, cold air swirled around our ankles.
My neck bristled. I leaned forward, listening for any sound—the crunch of a footfall in the snow, a creaking porch board, a rattling breath.
Silence.
Then I saw something move in the shadows.
My whole body tingled to life, as if I’d stuck my tongue on not one, but two nine-volt batteries simultaneously.
In a blink, a figure rushed through the doorway.
It was a woman.
A tall, willowy woman.
A very pale woman whose long, white-blond hair flowed down over the shoulders of her pearlescent pink coat in gentle curls. The creamy skin covering her cheeks and forehead looked like fresh, untouched snow against the plush, rose-colored velvet collar. The contrast of her dark, delicately arched eyebrows and even darker eyes was startling. Striking. Exotic.
I couldn’t stop staring. She reminded me of a younger, softer version of Ms. Wolff. Only, where Ms. Wolff had been cold from her eyes to her touch, this woman’s smile wrapped around me like a warm hug on a freezing day. Her charisma practically crackled in the air around her.
Mr. Black closed the door behind her and locked it, leaning against it.
The pale woman’s gaze started with Aunt Zoe, lingered on Doc, and then settled on me.
“Violet Parker,” she said, her voice as sweet and smooth as pulled taffy. She tugged off her pink leather gloves one finger at a time. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the new Scharfrichter in town.”
Great googly moogly! How’d she know who I was?
I opened my mouth to say something cool and witty back to her, but my tongue got in the way and then tripped over itself as I replied, “You … who … I don’t … do I …” I licked my lips and tried again. “Hello,” came out this time, only I somehow turned it into three syllables instead of two.
Criminy! It was as if I’d been cast as the bumbling idiot in tonight’s production of Stranger at the Door.
Her laughter danced through the air around me. I wanted to catch it and laugh with her.
I glanced back at Aunt Zoe. She stared with awe at Mr. Black’s visitor, as if peering into a big, beautiful snow globe.
Doc, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly so enamored. His gaze was hard, narrowed, darting between her and me.
“Who are you?” he asked, still holding the meat cleaver.
She bowed in his direction. “My name is Hildegard Zuckerman.” She turned back to me. “I believe you knew my dear, old friend, Ms. Wolff.”
“You’re that Zuckerman?” I’d heard of her a few times since that unhappy day when Harvey and I had found Ms. Wolff dead in her apartment.
“I believe so.” She aimed a chastising look at Mr. Black. “What sordid tales have you told her about me, Ludek?”
Ludek? Was that Mr. Black’s first name?
Mr. Black’s response was a slight smile and an even slighter shrug.
“He … he said nothing,” I told her. I didn’t want to get Mr. Black into any trouble. After all, he’d gone out of his way to help me more than once. “I first heard about you from a friend.” Jeff Wymonds, to be exact. “Something about the hard candies you used to make for Oktoberfest.”
“Ah, yes. Ms. Wolff and I certainly enjoyed that festival over the years.” She tucked her gloves into her coat pockets.
How many years were we talking? The woman didn’t look much older than me. Well, me on a good day after getting eight hours of sleep. And not face-buried-in-the-pillow sleep that left me puffed up like a marshmallow.
“I’ve also been to your store, the Candy Corral,” I added. Truth be told, I’d considered taking up residence there in a barrel of chocolate on more than one rotten, stinking day.
Her smile had a wistful air to it. “I’ve always enjoyed offering sweet delights to weary souls.” She looked around the room again, her gaze snagging here and there along the way. “So many protection wards and charms,” she said under her breath. Her dark gaze returned to me. “You must feel very safe within these walls.”
I did, as a matter of fact, but that was because I’d spent much of my life here, from childhood on up.
To Mr. Black, she said, “It’s no wonder I couldn’t pick up any signs of her presence in here. It’s as if she’s hidden within the walls of a stronghold.”
“I believe I told you as much,” he replied with a raised chin.
She waved him off, focusing back on me. “Are these wards and talismans your doing?”
“No.” Aunt Zoe stepped forward. “They are mine.” She moved up beside me. “I have sealed the house.”
Hildegard tipped her head to the side as she eyed my aunt. “A magistra.” She touched her chest. “Amazing! It has not been since my time in the Black Forest that I have come across a Scharfrichter and her magistra still working together.” She shot Mr. Black a sly glance. “You have been wise to keep their secret.”
He raised one white eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Why are you here?” Doc asked, his gaze still wary.
Hildegard regarded him for a moment, then took a step closer, sniffing in his direction. Her dark eyes widened. “It’s an Oracle, Ludek!” she said in a hushed tone that was filled with reverence.
“I know.”
“How could you have withheld this from me?”
Mr. Black shrugged. “You have been busy. And gone. Besides, I wanted to surprise you.”
She took a step closer to Doc, sniffing again in his direction. “You have chosen a Scharfrichter as your mate.” She squeezed her hands together. “Fascinating! I have not come across such a pairing in all of my years.”
Boy howdy, I felt way out of my league here.
Her smile faltered for the first time since entering the house as she continued regarding Doc. “Oh, but this cannot be good.” Her voice was solemn.
“What’s not good?” I was worried suddenly for no reason. She must be putting out some kind of infectious vibes. Cornelius would probably blame it on her aura and insist that my third eye needed glasses.
“An Oracle and a Scharfrichter together in one place.”
Doc and I traded somber glances. “Why is that a problem?” he asked.
She frowned at Mr. Black. “You must have realized that this situation is more dire than we’d originally thought.”
He gave a single nod.
Of course things were more dire, because a beautiful stranger would never come to my house on a dark, cold Saturday night bearing good news. Why couldn’t she have been a damned leprechaun with a rainbow blaring out of her ass?
The thunder of two sets of small feet on the kitchen floor made my heart seize. Crap! Not now, kids! I turned just as Addy and Layne ran into the dining room. They skidded to a stop near my side, gaping up at Hildegard Zuckerman.
“Oh my molies!” Addy said, framing her cheeks with her hands. “She’s like a snow angel come to life.”
“You’re not supposed to stare,” Layne said, barely moving his lips while openly staring at Hildegard.
I nudged them along, wishing they’d remained hidden in the basement a little longer. “Upstairs now, both of you. Go get ready for bed.”
Grumbling about it being a Saturday night and wanting to stay up later, they stomped up the stairs in unison, like tiny elephants on a march.
At the top, my daughter turned, blocking her brother’s path. “Umm, Snow Lady, can I have a lock of your hair for good luck?”
Addy must have sensed the same positive vibe that I did flowing from Hildegard. However, wanting a lock of hair sounded a bit creepy, even from a kid.
“Adelynn.” I pointed up the stairs at her. “Go brush your teeth now.”
Hildegard stared after my two children. Then she turned to me with wonder-filled eyes of her own. “My stars! Another Scharfrichter in the making, along with ein Bes
chwörer. This is a very rare treat.” She said it as if we’d discovered a cache of diamonds in a hidden cave. “It is no wonder that Ms. Wolff chose to bequeath her timekeeping duties to you.”
I blinked a couple of times, finally catching a mental breath. The sight of my children had dragged my feet back down to the ground again. Protecting them came above all else, including this strange woman in our house, her loveliness aside.
“Ms. Zuckerman, why are you here?” I echoed Doc’s earlier question, earning a nod from him for asking again.
She laced her long, thin fingers together. “For months now, I’ve been watching you, waiting to see what would come of your time here. When Ms. Wolff first told me of her plans to make you a Timekeeper, I disagreed with her reasoning. You were a very inexperienced Scharfrichter, which makes you more dangerous to those of us here to support you.”
“But Ms. Wolff believed in me?” Even back then?
Hildegard shrugged. “I think she believed you wouldn’t be able to escape what was sure to befall here. Ms. Wolff, in her wisdom, devised a plan to protect you, so that you could protect us. And now, a Scharfrichter is a Timekeeper.”
“But I still don’t know how to use timekeeping to protect anyone.” Including myself.
“Which is something we will come back to shortly.”
“So, you’re here to see why Ms. Wolff chose me?”
“Not entirely. Ludek has alerted me to a more pressing problem. It seems you have a bounty on your head and it is large, even for a Scharfrichter. Alarmingly large. I decided I needed to come here myself and see why the bounty has been set so high. To uncover what or who is drawing these menaces to you in droves.”
A large bounty? On me? Who put the contract on my head?
“Now I understand,” Hildegard continued. “Your daughter is already starting to glow—one of the first signs of an emerging Scharfrichter. Can you see it?”
Did she mean like an aura? I shook my head. All I saw when I looked at Addy was my little girl … along with whatever helpless critter she was clutching to her chest while begging me to let her keep it.
“No? Well, trust that I can. Seeing what most can’t is what I do best.”
Was that some kind of sixth sense? Cornelius would probably have a long-lettered name for it that I’d never remember.
“So, this glow of Addy’s,” Doc said. “It’s drawing the hunters?”
“No. Der Beschwörer is the true beacon.”
I frowned at Aunt Zoe. “Remind me what that word means again.”
“The Summoner.”
Right. Layne the Summoner. It certainly had a ring to it. “So you’re saying that I’m having extra trouble with these vermin coming out of the woodwork because of my son?” But not Addy?
She nodded. “Der Beschwörer, along with the large bounty for your head.” She turned to Mr. Black. “I trust you have been watching over the boy.”
“Of course.”
Knowing Mr. Black was there to help protect Layne was a relief, but … “Has anything come for Layne already?”
“Not yet.” His gaze shifted to Aunt Zoe. “He has been shielded by charms, and his power is still awakening.”
Okay, so maybe we had some time yet when it came to my kids being in full-on peril. I focused on the snow angel. “So, your purpose in coming here tonight was to meet me and assess the situation?”
In other words, I wasn’t in any new extra danger at the moment by yet another creature whose name needed to be added onto Prudence’s stupid To-Kill list.
She smiled, once again sending out warm rays of sunshine on a cloudy day. “Actually, I’m here to offer you my services.”
“Which are what, exactly?” Doc asked, setting the cleaver on the table next to my bat.
“As I said before, I watch and see what many cannot and do not. I’ll make a strong ally, and I have worked with your kind in the past.”
I looked her over. “So you’re like some sort of spy?” I had to admit, Hildegard in all of her radiance made sexy Mata Hari look like just a coarse Dutch peasant woman.
“I suppose that label works for now.” She pulled her pink gloves from her pockets and slid her hands back into them. “But more important, I also believe you need to begin your training as a Timekeeper, so that my dear old friend’s life was not given in vain.”
She bowed to all of us with princess-like grandeur and then turned toward the door, which Mr. Black held open for her.
“I’ll be in touch soon,” she said over her shoulder, leaving me frowning in her wake.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sunday Evening, January 20th
Paranormal Realty—Houses of the Dead in Deadwood: Part 1
I frowned at the hideous face staring back at me in the bathroom mirror at Charles’ Club. And it truly was hideous, thanks to Aunt Zoe’s help adding some latex prosthetic wounds and a little extra makeup to emphasize my actual bruises. We’d left my neck completely makeup-free. After Prudence’s handiwork yesterday, along with my scratches, my skin had a natural mottled look that fit right in with the zombie costume Jerry had insisted each of his employees wear to the premiere party.
“Jeez, it’s hot,” I said to Dead Violet in the mirror, using a damp paper towel to dab at a drop of sweat trailing down from my temple. Zombies weren’t supposed to sweat.
There were too many people packed into Charles’ Club tonight for the big premiere, turning the swanky lounge into a sauna. I’d escaped to the bathroom to run my hands under cool water—and maybe my feet. But it was even hotter in here thanks to the old-fashioned wall radiator that was working double-time. Apparently, superheating the small, single-stall bathroom was a good way to keep people from parking in here for too long.
Somebody needed to crack a window.
I took it upon myself to be the one, stepping over to the only window in the room. The digital light-up nametag that Jerry had insisted I wear reflected in the glass like a neon star. I took it off and set it on the sill.
The window’s wooden frame looked warped and weathered with paint starting to peel in spots. The radiator ticked away below it, spewing out waves of heat. At this rate, it would have all of Main Street heated up by midnight.
With a grunt or two, I managed to raise the window about six inches. Cold air rushed inside, washing over me. That was a little better. I struggled to raise the window higher, but the old frame was too warped, so I gave up and leaned on the sill next to my nametag while fanning the scoop neck of my black party dress. Maybe I should take off the cashmere leggings I was wearing for the remainder of the party. I doubted anyone besides Doc would notice, since Jerry had insisted the lights be kept low for easier big-screen viewing.
I stuck my arms out the window, enjoying the cold winter breeze. What I wouldn’t do to be home with my kids instead of stuck here for another hour or two. The first of the three Paranormal Realty episodes would be starting in a few minutes, and I felt like vomiting all over the plush gold-swirled carpet thanks to my frazzled nerves. Something told me that this show wasn’t going to be the boon to my career that Jerry thought it would.
If only killing troublemakers paid the bills.
I leaned closer to the window, careful not to touch the sizzling radiator while trying to get more cold air down the front of my dress. Maybe I should dump some ice in my bra after the show started.
I fanned my dress some more, thinking about Hildegard Zuckerman. Aunt Zoe, Doc, and I had stayed up talking quietly in the kitchen about her and Mr. Black long after they’d left. We had so many questions for her. So many questions about her. About me. About Doc. About my kids. About Ms. Wolff, Mr. Black, and Dominick Masterson, to name a few. If Hildegard truly were able to see what others couldn’t and didn’t, she must have a wealth of information to share about the past, present, and maybe even my future.
Long after we’d gone to bed, I’d spent the night tossing and turning—well, that was after losing the cookie challenge to Doc, but he’d che
ated. It had to be illegal to do the things he could with his tongue. Maybe not in Nevada, but surely in South Dakota. Anyway, after he’d drifted off next to me, I’d put a few worry-filled miles on the mattress, eventually sneaking downstairs to the couch so I wouldn’t keep waking him.
Then this morning, I’d taken one look at my neck in the hallway mirror and rushed to grab a scarf from the closet. Prudence’s reputation as a bruiser still stood strong.
All through breakfast with the kids, I’d tried to pretend that everything in our lives was normal.
Only it wasn’t.
It really, really wasn’t.
And after tonight’s broadcast of Paranormal Realty, I had a feeling things might get even worse.
I groaned and took a deep breath of the cold, sweet air.
Actually, it was cold, stinky air.
“Eww.” There must be trash bins down below.
I pulled my arms inside and peered out the window into the dark world below. The streetlights adding glowing spots here and there, breaking up the shadows. From my third-floor vantage point at the back of the building, I had a bird’s-eye view of Pioneer Way, the Iron Horse Inn, and the Adams Museum. I went up on my toes, trying to see straight down, but I needed a stool to get a little more height.
Across Pioneer Way, I could see my SUV parked in front of the old railroad passenger station. The parking lot was mostly full, undoubtedly thanks to tonight’s party. Currently, though, other than an occasional swirl of snow, nothing moved down there, which made sense since it was supposed to dip down to single digits tonight.
Now that sweat was no longer dripping down the side of my face, I returned to the mirror to touch up my makeup. I opened the tiny purse I’d brought along, taking out the tube of fake blood. While I was squirting the jelly-like stuff on my finger, I heard scratching outside the window, sort of like nails on rough stone. Or raccoons scampering around a trash bin.
A car honked in the distance.
A thumping bass rumbled to life outside the bathroom door. The show must be starting. I should probably hurry up and get out there, but I wasn’t giddy about seeing myself on not just one big screen, but four. That led to the possibility of four times as much humiliation, especially with some of the ultra-feminine outfits Jerry had insisted I wear for filming. That man needed to seek therapy about his obsession with pink.