He paused.
Junior felt fear rocket through the room. He dove in with Amal and Lucio right ahead of him. They landed in a heap as Orin turned the key and the box fell dead to the floor.
The girl Lee tumbled off the top. Junior caught her. He cradled her the rest of the way to the floor beside Diejuste, keeping his eyes averted.
The two girls, indeed all the people on the floor around the dormant box had to focus on breathing for just a minute. Even Bailey, still over by the scattered tables, bent over his knees. While everyone else in the room had relaxed the instant the box dropped, Bailey’s fear hadn’t calmed. It didn’t spread. The boy kept it contained tightly within his own aura and Junior suspected the fear was something he carried with him always. Strange that he’d had no trouble seeing Junior if that was the case.
Morioka moved. Junior shifted to keep himself between her and the girls. She raised her eyebrows with the merest hint of amusement in her black eyes. Then she removed her unharmed coat and tossed it to him, indicating he should give it to Lee.
Feeling like an idiot for his reaction to the woman, Junior helped Lee into the coat. The young shifter girl seemed more interested in examining the seams and construction than in covering her nudity. Diejuste reached a hand toward Junior. He hauled her up to sitting, shoving aside some stools so the three could lean against the bar. They brushed the box as they all swung their legs around and as one, kicked the box away. The brownies disappeared when it slid toward them along the planked floor. The scattered debris of Onioka’s rampage scattered as the box passed. It hit the base of the bar, spun once, and stopped.
Orin reappeared kneeling on one of the stools Junior had shoved aside. He peered over the bar. His sister, Morton, checked in with Junior, Diejuste, and Lee before pulling herself up to a stool beside her brother. One quick look at the bartender and she kissed her brother’s cheek. She held his arms to still him and waited until he looked her in the eyes.
“It’s okay. No one else dies . . . tonight.”
Orin and the other brownies relaxed. Even Lee let out her breath. Diejuste nodded at Dee as if she understood.
Junior asked her, “How does she know that?”
It was Lee who answered. She finished buttoning up the captain’s trench coat and adjusted her seat so she could face Diejuste and Junior. “Dee’s a banshee. She can tell when people are gonna die.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m Lee. Sometimes I’m not a dog.”
Junior stared at the hand for a moment. “My name is Junior Leo.” He shifted his weight and took her offered hand. “My father is the boogeyman.”
She shook his hand like she’d learned how to from cartoons. “Good dancer?”
Diejuste snorted.
Junior didn’t get it. He shook his head. “I’ve never met my father.”
“Me either.” Lee continued to shake his hand. “My dad, I mean, my bio-dad.” After a second thought she added, “Your dad either.”
Diejuste offered her hand to the girl. “I am a loa. My body is Jane. I am Diejuste.”
“Is that like a goddess?” Laylea released Junior to take her hand.
“Yes. I’m like a goddess.” Diejuste allowed only one pump of her hand, though she retained the grip longer. “Junior needs a place to live. Any ideas, Laylea?”
The blonde pulled her hand back. Her eyes grew wide and Junior felt a spike of fear from her.
Diejuste smiled just a little. “I mean, Lee.”
The fear faded and Lee’s face broke into a sly grin. “Actually, I know a place that might work if we let the brownies at it first. I don’t think the owner will mind.”
Voices raised over by the broken and scattered tables. The kids who’d been complaining about the music were starting up with new complaints. Lee’s brother scrambled to his feet to get away from them. He hurried across the room and slunk onto a stool at Orin’s side. Diejuste got to her feet beside him and Dee stood from her stool but both stayed where they were when they saw Captain Morioka stroll over to handle the rabble.
The wings, which had disappeared, showed again as mere shadows in the low lighting. Her face grew just the hint of a muzzle and her hands morphed into claws as they watched. She didn’t speak at first, just slipped a thumb behind the badge clipped to her belt. When she did speak, her esses were accented by a forked tongue snaking out between sharp teeth.
“Bar’s on Irish hours. If you don’t know the name of the dead woman, get out.”
The lead complainer kicked his chair over as he stood. Morioka tilted her scaled head at him.
“Don’t forget to tip.”
Diejuste made her way past the siblings, past Lucio and Amal kneeling by Beth. She picked her way through the scattered quarters and said a goodbye to every person leaving.
Some of the regulars left too, offering apologies and stopping to pay their respects to Beth.
The last two girls to leave were not regulars. They stopped to speak with the brownies. Each lay a quarter at Beth’s feet.
Trembling, the taller of the two faced Morioka. “Thank you.”
Her friend dragged on her arm, pulling her past Diejuste. But the girl caught Junior’s eyes before she disappeared out the door. “Thank you.”
Junior flushed. He dropped his gaze to his throbbing hands. Stripes of skin had been torn from the palms and the length of every finger was burnt. His flesh was a patchwork of bloody red and glossy white. All those fingerprints taken by police over the past eight years would be useless now.
He turned to Lee to see if she’d been hurt. The girl picked a shard of glass out of his own face. “I’m okay. My butt’s a little burnt but I’ll heal when I shift forms. Ow.” She punched at Bailey’s leg. “Stop it. I’ll help Orin if you come here and look at Junior’s hands. They’re shredded.”
Bailey slid off the stool. He shrugged out of his backpack and pulled out a first aid kit. He worked silently while Lee climbed over them to Orin’s side.
“Orin Morton.” Morioka said. “Clean up the bar. The police will be coming.”
Orin turned away from his beer, his heat up. “If you’re in the mood to order people around, why don’t you tell the kids to get out of the bar before your cop friends show up and fine Seb?”
Morioka complied. “Ladies?”
Lee spun her stool. “Two minutes.” She hopped off and made her way down to the brownies and Beth.
Junior wondered if the toll woman had family who would miss her, who would never know how cruelly she had been butchered. He looked up to ask Bailey but the kid turned away to check on the many other injuries in the bar. He’d wrapped Junior’s hands in gauze after slathering them with some miracle ointment. They felt numb already.
“Hey, Scarecrow.”
Junior looked up to see Seb pushing a mug across the bar.
“Drink the glög. You look like you could use it.”
The bartender turned away to search through the surviving bottles and wrestle with the one working tap to pour drinks for them all. Diejuste returned to the bar from where she’d been chatting with the remaining regulars. She drained her milk in two draughts. Then she stood and faced her family.
“I am told you do da barbecue on Thursday for dinner. I will be here. So will all of you.” She looked at each of them. “Now, I appear to be eight and I must get home or my grandmudder will worry.”
She reached up for Junior’s hand. He took one last sip of glög and found Detective Morton blocking his way when he stood.
“What were you doing with Kathryn Leo?”
Morioka interrupted. “That is my case, now, Morton. You can’t investigate your partner’s murder. If he was murdered.”
And Diejuste interrupted. “Tonight is over, Detective Dee. You can question Junior tomorrow during your meeting with his mudda. He will be there at ten.”
Morioka escorted Junior and Diejuste past Morton, past the brownies, past Beth’s broken body and out the front door. Her trench coat lay on the sidewalk just outs
ide the door. She picked it up, shook it out, and pulled it back on. She drew her mirrored glasses from the pocket. Before she put them on she caught Junior’s eye.
“Now you know what a real monster looks like.”
She nodded at Diejuste and headed back into the bar.
14
The Search
Outside in the fresh air of the night Junior looked down at the little girl who wasn’t a little girl. She walked with him back down the side street to the alley that led to the courtyard that led into the back rooms of the bar. Sirens wailed a few blocks away as they returned to the storeroom with a dog bed behind the closet door. They crossed to the closet in silence.
Diejuste spoke up just as they stepped inside, “Maybe that Lee sleep there.”
“Sometimes.” They looked up to see the teenager in question coming in the door, naked again except for her collar. “Seb lets me keep spare clothes here too. Don’t let me keep you. I’ll find out about that apartment and let you know tomorrow at the barbecue.”
Then she closed the closet door behind them.
Junior opened the door into Diejuste’s bedroom.
“Is your grandmother home? Will she come check on you if she hears noises?”
“No, she works a late shift. You can stay.”
He curled up on the foot of her bed and pulled a clementine from his pocket. He ate it while she got ready for bed, tucking the peels in his pocket. She took her nightgown to the bathroom to change. When she returned and climbed into bed, he pulled the covers up to her chin.
“Did you brush your teeth?” He asked.
Diejuste grinned. “I have ridden too many old folks with no teeth at all. I brush and floss and gargle. Jane will have a healthy mouth if her heart lets her live so long.” She frowned. “Did you brush your teeth?”
“May I?”
“Go. There is an extra toothbrush in the bottom drawer.”
He untangled his legs from the comforter and stood. “I have one.”
The couch in the main room was white again. Junior peered around the room. “Hello?”
If Lucio was there, he wasn’t revealing himself. Junior crossed to the bathroom. He brushed, borrowed some floss, and washed his face. He picked up the brush and its travel case and was halfway out the door when something made him stop. He took a step back, holding the toothbrush and case, one in each hand like a sword and dagger. He sucked in a deep breath. And he looked into the mirror.
There he was, thin as a scarecrow. His switchblade haircut wasn’t as ragged as he’d imagined. But his skin was deathly white. He looked down at his hands to compare but he’d forgotten they were wrapped up. He looked back at his reflection, relieved he could see himself. Relieved he wasn’t paralyzed by the sight.
He peered closer. His eyes weren’t haunted. The intake officer at the police station had said his eyes were haunted. He stared at his hazel eyes, his mother’s eyes, in the mirror. They stood out sharply in his sunken face. His eyes were softer than hers. Well, softer than Leo’s eyes. His mother’s eyes had been gentle and kind and a little mad. Like Beth’s eyes.
His heart sped up at the memory of the old woman’s body dangling over the jukebox like a rejected doll. He deliberately replaced that image with the memory of her smiling at Lee when the blonde girl climbed up on a stool and chatted with her. He remembered her talking about her grandson. Beth had a grandson. She’d told Lee he knew all the words to “Cheek to Cheek.”
Junior couldn’t see his face in the mirror anymore but not because he was afraid. His eyes had filled up with tears. He brushed them away and turned to leave the bathroom.
As he crossed the living room, he fit his brush into the travel case and tucked them away in his satchel. The satchel felt much lighter with no evil box full of demon riding around in it. Back in Diejuste’s bedroom, he shut the door behind him and crossed to the bed.
Diejuste lay as he had left her, covers up to her chin, big blue eyes watching him.
He took a stuffed bear from her bedside table. “Thank you for seeing me, Diejuste.”
The loa unburied a hand. She reached out to pat his knee. “You helped me find my family. Tomorrow I help you judge your mudda.”
Junior wasn’t ready to think about that. He lifted the covers and tucked her hand and the bear under. “You should let Jane show you what it’s like to be an eight-year-old girl sometime.”
“It would be creepy for a eight-year-old girl to hang out with a thirty-year-old man.”
Junior smiled wryly. “True. But think about it.”
“Will you sleep in the closet?”
He stood and smoothed the covers where he had been sitting. “I’ll be back later. I have some things to do first. Sleep well.”
Diejuste rolled onto her side. As Junior turned in the closet to shut the door, he saw the little girl snuggle up to her purple bear.
He held the image of the woman in his mind, concentrating on the few things he knew about her. The closet changed around him. Clothes pressed against him, shoving him subtly up against the door. The doorknob faded out of his hand. Junior pressed the flat of one gauze wrapped hand against the door and slid it open onto a stuffy studio apartment.
A futon bed piled high with blankets was tucked neatly into the corner of the small room. It nearly filled the width of the room, leaving only a few feet between the edge and the mirrored closet. Junior saw a tiny galley kitchen through a curtain of wooden beads just a bookshelf’s length from the foot of the futon.
The one window, over the bookshelf, had no curtain or shade. But the view of iron bars and a brick wall was obscured by teetering stacks of musical biographies, chart books, and notation sheets covered seam to seam with words and sketches. Books of compositions ranging from the Carmina Burana to Jumping Jack Flash overflowed the shelf and lay stacked to the height of the bed. An antique picture frame balanced on the books. Junior picked it up.
The frame gleamed. The glass didn’t have a single fingerprint on it. The photo itself was faded and burned on one side. A young boy, maybe ten or eleven crouched on the very end of a playground slide. A giant grin scrunched his face, squeezing his eyes shut. His head was thrown back against the chest of a smiling Jukebox Beth with her legs wrapped around him, bony knees sticking off the sides of the slide. Beth’s skin was smooth, her hair pure black. She looked about forty years and a million tragedies younger than she had looked in the bar. Like Junior and his mother’s hazel eyes, this pair shared the same full lips and dimpled cheeks. Junior hadn’t noted any dimples on Beth. Maybe they only came out in moments of joy.
Junior set the frame back on the books. He searched through the stacks and stacks of notebooks and loose staff paper for clues about her son. In the bathroom beyond the red plastic beaded curtain half blocked by the head of the bed, he found another photo. Beth wasn’t in this one. But her dimples were prominently featured on a man and a different little boy posing in front of bright letters spelling out CedarPo. The picture had a crease in the middle as if it had been folded before Beth put it in the I Heart Cleveland frame. Junior worked the picture out of the frame and flipped it over. Handwritten in blue ink was the name Louis and a date just a few months past.
He had flipped it back over to study the little boy’s face when he heard voices from the hall. He set the picture and frame on the stack of books filling the tub and hurried back through the clicking curtain.
“It’s the middle of the night,” a sharp voice whined, slurring the words just a little. “This couldn’t wait till morning?””
A calm baritone intoned, “We appreciate your assistance. Just unlock the door and you can—”
Keys rattled in the door and Junior didn’t stay to hear more. He took one last look around the sad apartment and waded in among the clothes in her packed closet. He had to duck under the bar and the hangers to fit inside. This time he pictured Louis in his mind. He had to hope the image was enough since he nothing else to go on.
He reached out an
d slid the door shut. The instant it tapped closed a piercing wail filled the darkness. Junior’s head spun and he turned to the sound, nearly wrenching the door off its hinges in his struggle to get out.
The closet door bounced off a wall. Junior rushed to the wailing baby lying abandoned on the floor in the dark bedroom. Light flared up around him the second he reached the poor girl. When his vision returned he saw a half dozen electric candles glowing around the figure of a ten-year-old demon-hunter. The monster sat crosslegged in front of his tools. At the sight of Junior trapped in a cage, unable to fulfill his newfound purpose, the evil magician threw his head back and laughed.
“Sorry, wrong room.” The boogeyman’s son tried to flee back into the closet to continue his quest, but he bounced off a shimmering, intractable wall of air and nearly crushed the tortured infant.
15
The Grandson
“Well?” Ethan threw a Spiderman figurine at the shield surrounding Junior and Dawn. “What happened next? Did he find the kid?”
Junior stopped rocking Dawn. He watched his captor, waiting for the penny to drop.
The penny balanced on the edge of the slot.
“What. Happened. Next?” The kid banged his model Tardis against the bed frame with every word.
Junior set the sleeping baby back down into the middle of the silverware-defined circle. He stood on her far side. Sure he had Ethan’s attention, he said, “Sorry, wrong room,” then threw himself against the magical barrier between he and the closet.
When he turned back, the penny was sliding painfully slowly downwards. He could see when it hit bottom and rolled around for another second before dropping flat. Ethan’s eyes grew wide. They flicked from Junior’s face down to his half-sister on the ground. He sat up.
Junior (A Wyrdos Tale Book 3) Page 9