Catnip & Curses (The Faerie Files Book 2)

by Emigh Cannaday

  Her brown eyes opened wider than I thought them capable of.

  “It was like something out of a horror movie. It felt just so . . . real.” She swallowed hard as though she was trying to force down her anxiety and gazed down at her feet. “I hope I never see anything like that again.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to convey the extent of how not freaked out I was by any of this.

  “If you end up permanently transferred to the OCD, you’ll get used to it," I quickly said. "Seeing ghosts, that is. It gets boring after a while and you’ll need something with a little more bite to get your blood going.”

  “Like what?” Katrina hissed in terror.

  “Oh, you know,” I said with a nonchalant wave of my hand. “Chupacabras, real-life vampires, that kinda thing. Ghosts and poltergeists are just so . . . basic. You’ll get used to it.”

  “I don’t want to get used to it!” she said, and only then did I realize she was shaking.

  Turning back to a still shrieking agent Johnson, I started to feel sorry for them both. Sure, I wanted them to witness something firsthand so they’d come around to why the OCD needed to keep its funding, but I didn’t want them to truly suffer. As Carl continued to shriek and give a bleak thousand yard stare, and as Katrina shivered with fear, I found myself feeling a little guilty. I was contemplating apologizing to her when there was an authoritative knock on the door.

  "Come in!" called out Alvarez.

  The door creaked open as a tall, athletic woman entered the room with a leather medicine bag at her side.

  “This is Nurse Amber," the chief said as he walked over to greet her. "Thanks for coming so quickly."

  "Always a pleasure to help a friend in need,” Amber said, smiling at Alvarez. “Hope you don't mind me looking like this. I was on my Peloton when you called.” She motioned to her workout clothes and sneakers.

  “It’s fine,” he said, genuinely meaning it. She was beautiful. She could’ve shown up wearing a plastic trash bag and she’d still look amazing. “We just need you to do something about this guy over here.” He pointed to Johnson, whose screaming was staring to grate on everyone’s nerves.

  “Aww, poor guy,” she said, like Johnson was a bird that had hit a window and was stunned. Window strike . . . that’s what Lafayette called it. He was obsessed with birdwatching. It had been a long day. I hoped Logan had topped off his food and water before we’d gone to dinner. Before we’d come back from dinner.

  I still couldn’t believe I’d fucked my partner. But I sure as hell still felt it.

  For better or for worse, I couldn’t spend much time dwelling on what happened earlier because Carl had been screaming nonstop since we’d shown up.

  As Nurse Amber opened her medical bag, I saw how bronzed and soft her hands were.

  "So," she began, pulling out a stethoscope. "What happened to him?”

  We all remained silent. What exactly were we supposed to tell her? Luckily, she solved that conundrum for us.

  “Did he see the poltergeist?”

  “Yeah, he saw Clyde up close and personal,” began Alvarez. “Now he's in shock."

  “No wonder,” she smiled warmly. "Let's have a look at Agent Johnson here."

  Kneeling down in front of him, she slung her stethoscope around her neck like she was casually draping a silk tie around Johnson’s neck.

  "Agent Johnson, can you hear me?"

  The only response she got was the thousand-yard stare we’d already grown accustomed to.

  “Agent Johnson?”

  “Try his first name. Carl,” I hissed.

  “Carl, can you hear me? I’m a nurse. I’m here to help you.”

  Slowly, Johnson swiveled his eyes in his sockets towards Nurse Amber. He was still shaking like a leaf, his knees bouncing up and down as his fingers struggled to grasp at the blanket Alvarez had draped over his shoulders.

  “Carl, can you talk to me?” Nurse Amber asked him.

  “I . . . I . . . ”

  “It's okay. Take your time. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “There was . . . Th-th-th-there was a man. A dead man and . . . ”

  His eyes grew wider. His pupils visibly dilating as he shook harder.

  “He . . . H-h-h-he looked like a monster!”

  Growing more agitated, he started rocking back and forth, clearly on the cusp of losing his mind entirely.

  “He had no face!” he screamed. “No real face! And—”

  “Okay, that's enough for now,” Nurse Amber said in a silky smooth voice. “You don’t have to tell me any more unless you really want to.”

  She wrapped the blanket tighter around Johnson's shoulders and stood up to address the rest of us.

  “The good news is that this isn’t going to be a long-term situation,” she said, resting her weight on one foot.

  “And the bad news?” I asked.

  “He needs to be sedated. The fastest way is a Valium injection.”

  “Shit,” replied Alvarez, rubbing at the back of his neck and bowing his head. “Is there a law against giving a federal agent Valium?”

  “Depends who you ask,” I shrugged.

  “I’m asking you,” Alvarez said in a terse bark.

  “I say do whatever you gotta do to shut him up.”

  Alvarez looked back towards Johnson, who was still bobbing back and forth like he was in a rocking chair.

  “Is there anything else you can do for him right now?” he asked Amber.

  “Not really,” she said. “Carl needs something to knock him out so his brain can have a chance to process what happened.”

  “And what happens when he wakes up? Will he be okay?”

  Amber knelt down and started rummaging in her bag. When she stood up, she was holding a small syringe. She shrugged as she gave it a few flicks and said, “I honestly don’t know. Only time will tell. If he doesn’t come out of this when he wakes up, he’ll probably need some psychiatric intervention.”

  Holding the syringe upright, she turned back to Johnson who was still staring dead-eyed into the distance.

  “Whatever he saw must have been terrible. The poor guy. I've worked with patients like this a few times. People who’ve seen murders, suicides, nasty accidents . . . They're never quite the same after. It can take them a long time to recover.”

  Once again, I felt a pang of guilt. Poor Johnson, I thought. The dude was an asshat but I didn’t want him to end up scarred for life.

  “Hey, Carl . . . how are you doing, buddy?” Amber gingerly asked as she stepped up beside Johnson. “I'm just going to give you something to help calm you down, okay? It’ll feel like a mosquito bite . . . like when you get your flu shot.” She showed Johnson the syringe and gave a warm smile.

  “No!” Johnson screamed. “No needles! Please! No needles!”

  Alvarez and Amber shared a confused look as Johnson continued to scream.

  “No needles! No needles!”

  “He's got a serious needle phobia. I've been his partner for years and he won't take them unless he’s restrained,” Agent Kozlov piped up. Until this point she’d been completely silent. Now we desperately needed her help.

  “Seriously?” I groaned. If I didn’t feel so bad for Carl, I’d have wrung his neck just to stop him from screaming. I’d heard toddlers whose tantrums were more enjoyable than this bullshit.

  “Yeah,” Kozlov said. “He doesn’t get flu shots for that same reason.

  “Okay . . . ” replied Amber, looking down at the now useless syringe. “Let me get the rectal gel.”

  Not sure if I heard her correctly, my suspicions were confirmed when she took an object out of her bag that resembled a short turkey baster. Kozlov’s eyes looked like she’d seen another ghost, while Johnson started screaming even more.

  As for me, I burst into laughter.

  “Can I leave the room, or do I have to stick around so I can include this in my next report?” I giggled as I glanced at my partner. Logan’s mouth had b
ecome a thin line across his face. I knew what he was thinking. He was the biggest, tallest, strongest person in the room, and he did not want to be in charge of pinning down this prick and seeing his asshole shot full of Valium.

  “Carl, I need you to drop your pants, okay?” Amber told him while pulling on a pair of disposable gloves. I had to turn away when she snapped them into place—that’s how hard I was laughing.

  “Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Kozlov begged. Amber sighed in between Carl’s hysterical screams.

  “The quickest way to get the sedative in his bloodstream is injection, followed by rectal insertion,” she explained, while I burst into another round of laughter. Humans had it so bad when it came to this paranormal stuff. And of all the ways that Carl could’ve been inducted into the Occult Crimes Division, this was possibly the worst I’d seen yet. But on the flip side, maybe he’d quit the FBI before he got around to getting my entire department axed.

  A girl could dream.

  “I suppose I could use the oral solution,” Amber said, interrupting my thoughts. “It won’t work as fast, but you can put it in any kind of drink.

  Agent Kozlov had been growing increasingly upset since our arrival to the break room. It was sweet, how worried she was about her partner.

  “That sounds perfect,” she said, nodding her head emphatically. “It'll be easier for him.”

  Slowly, with a quick peek over her shoulder to make sure Johnson wasn't looking, Amber reached into her bag and pulled out a small, brown bottle. Unscrewing the cap with her slender fingers, she nodded her head towards Alvarez and held up the bottle.

  “Got anything to drink around here?”

  “We have coffee,” said Alvarez, motioning to the fresh pot sitting on the counter by the fridge. “Otherwise there’s a soda machine down the hall.”

  Amber looked to Kozlov for input.

  “Coffee’s perfect,” she said, hoisting herself away from Carl’s side and heading towards the coffee station.

  “Hey, Kozlov, would you bring me one since you’re over there?” asked Alvarez.

  “Me too,” Logan added. “Man, I'd kill for an Americano.”

  “So would I,” said Amber.

  “I’ll just bring the pot over,” Kozlov said, grabbing the coffee and a handful of paper cups. “No sense in making more than one trip.”

  “Well I fucking hate coffee, so I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, grabbing my purse. There was a Mountain Dew in the vending machine calling my name.

  Johnson’s howling faded as I walked away from the break room. It took me a minute to find the soda machine—I’d taken a left when I should’ve gone right. I cracked open my frosty Mountain Dew and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes as the carbonated nectar of the gods filled my mouth and trickled down my throat.

  I felt something cold, dark and ominous. It wasn’t the mysterious ingredients of my drink of choice. No, this cold sensation was more like a breeze moving around my ankles, creeping up my legs, and into my stomach. The air had become thick, as though it was electrically charged. I stood up straight and took a few more steps down the hall. There weren’t any windows in sight, let alone an open one. There weren’t any thunderstorms in the forecast, either.

  I let out an exhausted sigh, leaned against the wall once more, then took another drink. Again, I could feel the cold creeping feeling rise up my legs from the ground and into my stomach. Then it glided up like icy wet hands into my chest and around my heart. I let out a gasp as it squeezed and felt the darkness envelope me.

  It was coming from the building itself. Like, the deep despair and empty sense of grief and sadness was flooding into me through the fucking walls.

  I suddenly forgot all about that delicious soda in my hand.

  I think it had something to do with the mass of shadowy tendrils that were seeping out of the wall across from me. At first I thought I was seeing shadows. Maybe it was just the light playing tricks on me. I blinked and looked closer at the humanoid figure that was now emerging from the wall.

  I stood transfixed as the figure grew taller and more distinct. It morphed from nothing more than a dark cloudy object to a creature with individual fingers and wisps of hair. I could see a pair of worn out boots and tattered overalls hiding two bony, bumpy kneecaps. There was a torn shirt covered in dirt and pale skin that was so white it looked like it belonged on a doll, not a human.

  Then I saw a face.

  Well . . . actually, I saw the space where a face was supposed to be. There was a fuzzy dark line that must’ve been a mouth, along with a small ridge that could’ve been a nose, and slight shadows in the hollows beneath his cheekbones.

  But the eyes.

  There weren’t any. There was nothing but blacked-out holes full of emptiness.

  “Clyde, is that you?” I asked, feeling my heartbeat kick up a few notches. I took a step closer. “Hey, Clyde, my name’s Elena. I’m here to help you.”

  I took another step closer to him.

  “Clyde, I know all about Li Mei and the baby. I know you were just trying to escape Mariposa so you could live your lives in peace. I know about the journals she wr—”

  The ghostly figure slunk back into the wall from where he’d emerged. In an instant, I’d made contact . . . and then completely lost it. My shoulders fell as I inspected the wall he’d vanished in. I thought he’d want my help. That’s why poltergeists always made such a fucking fuss, because they wanted attention. They needed closure. They were spirits who were trapped here and haunted while simultaneously haunting others. So if Clyde wanted help so bad, why did he disappear the second I offered?

  If he was anything like Logan, I’d probably come on way too strong. Especially to a guy from the eighteen-hundreds.

  When I returned to the break room, I was expecting to see Senior Special Agent Logan Hawthorne, Chief Alvarez, Agent Kozlov, and Nurse Amber sitting around the table with a half dozen coffee cups.

  I was not, however, expecting Agent Carl Johnson to still be shrieking and mumbling from where he lay on the couch.

  “Shouldn’t the medicine have kicked in by now?” I asked, pointing my bottle of Mountain Dew at Johnson.

  “It depends how recently he ate, how much he ate, and his metabolism,” Amber said with a weary half-smile. Clearly the hysterics were frazzling everyone’s nerves. Kozlov picked up the coffee pot and refilled Logan’s empty cup.

  “I dunno why you gave me more,” he grumbled as I plopped into the vacant chair beside him. “This coffee tastes like shit.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alvarez said. “I made a fresh pot right before everything went to shit.”

  “Speaking of which, did you know there’s a coffee that’s made from civet poop?” Kozlov chimed in. If she’d wanted the table’s undivided attention, she had it now. “The civets eat the beans, then poop them out, and people use that to make the world’s most expensive coffee.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Logan mumbled.

  “What’s a civet?” I asked, intrigued by the absurd habits of the human species. I’d never been so glad to be born a faerie.

  “It’s like a cross between a raccoon and a cat,” Kozlov replied, lighting up for the first time since we’d met. “They’re really cute. But the coffee makers trap them from the wild and keep them in tiny cages. They get so stressed that their hair falls out. It’s an animal abuse nightmare, but it won’t stop until people quit drinking civet poop coffee.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t civet poop coffee?” Logan sputtered. “Because this crap tastes like ass.”

  “I’ll go get you an Americano if you stop complaining,” I teased. Logan set his cup down clumsily enough that some of it splashed onto the table. I decided I’d better take the keys from him when I had a chance. I’d assumed the news about his dad had sobered him up, but I’d misjudged his state of mind. He started staring at his hand for so long that it was just a matter of time before Alvarez or Amber noticed.<
br />
  Then he started to sway in his seat, his head lolling from side to side.

  “Aw, man I don’t feel so good.”

  I took one look at his face and groaned. Those were the famous last words of a bonafide power puker, and we’d eaten a lot of courses at dinner. I didn’t have much time to act.

  “Shit,” Amber said under her breath, looking at Johnson, and then studying my partner. “I wonder if Hawthorne somehow drank Johnson’s Valium by mistake. Which cup did you give him, Kozlov?”

  “I don’t remember!” she gasped. “They all look the same!”

  “You drugged my partner?” I screeched. Agent Kozlov looked like she was about to start power-puking too.

  “It was an accident! I thought I gave Carl the one with the Valium!”

  Logan muttered some gibberish baby-talk and started sinking down in his chair.

  “Dude! Come on!” I howled as my partner slid to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “That’s like, the third time in eight months!”

  “Hey, Carl,” I said, looking into Agent Johnson’s glazed-over eyes. He’d finally calmed down enough from his ghost-induced hysteria that we were able to speak to him. Nurse Amber had gone home after helping Alvarez, Kozlov and I get Logan as comfortable as possible where he lay on the floor. When he woke up, we’d need to talk about his habit of drinking whatever was sitting in front of him.

  Alvarez had done a good job of keeping the third shift officers out of the break room. None of us wanted them to see two federal agents in no shape to do their job. Between the two guys, it was Johnson who seemed most competent. Kozlov vacillated between silence and tears, brought on by the stress of accidentally drugging a federal officer. I could tell she didn’t completely believe me when I told her everything would be fine.

  I tried telling her it was just part of the job. “You never know what’s gonna happen,” I said after telling her about the time Logan mistook a jar of magic mushroom tincture for some genuine Tennessee moonshine and hallucinated half the night away. Then there was the time he swallowed a bunch of jello shots at a haunted bar, only to be told that the bartender had been collecting samples of the different kinds of slime left behind by a sewer monster. He’d spent the next five hours puking his guts out in a Motel 6.