Then I took another long gulp of my bottle of wine. Were I a smoker, I’d have lit up the whole pack.
“Do you believe me, Stevie Cartwright?” Coop asked in her straightforward way.
“I…” My mouth slammed shut. In all seriousness, how could I not believe her? I was an ex-witch, for gravy’s sake. But a demon fresh outta Hell? Rolling my head on my neck to ease the mounting pressure, I entered this new bit of information with caution. “I believe you believe you’re a demon.”
Which did not satisfy Coop. Not one bit. “I am telling you the truth, Stevie Cartwright. I do not lie, and I won’t have you say I do.” She rose, her knees bent as she spoke, her fists clenched.
But Trixie tapped her on the arm and pointed to the space on to the sofa beside her. “Coop. We talked about this. Sometimes our story’s a lot to swallow. Let Stevie digest this information, please. We can’t force this on someone. Remember?” Then she turned to me, her eyes compelling me to believe. “What Coop says is true. I’d swear on a stack of Bibles, but I suppose that’s not terribly believable since I left the church. I was a nun at a convent in Oregon, which is why Coop calls me Sister Trixie Lavender. To shorten a very long story about how all this came to be, Coop saved me from certain death by an evil spirit, and in the process, escaped Hell. We’ve been together ever since.”
“Not so different than our story, eh, Dove?”
Coop looked around the living room and settled her eyes on the ceiling. “There he is again. The man with the funny-sounding words.”
“Winterbottom,” he introduced himself. “Crispin Alistair Winterbottom. But you can just call me Win, Coop. A pleasure to meet you both, I’m sure. Please pass those words on to Trixie.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Coop chirped and almost—not quite—but almost smiled. Win did that to a woman. Made the unsmile-able smiley.
Trixie, who clearly couldn’t hear Win, frowned and whispered to her friend, “Is he talking again?”
“Yes. He said it’s nice to meet us and I responded in kind, just like you taught me,” Coop assured, clearly pleased with herself.
I was still waiting on words to form when Trixie reached out a hand and patted my knee, her soft eyes sympathetic. “I know this all sounds crazy, Stevie, but we figured it might not sound as crazy to someone who truly can hear ghosts. You’re the first person we’ve ever told, and we’re terrified to share. But if this is too much, if we’re too much—and believe me, I get the ‘too much’ part; sometimes I don’t even know if I can handle our story—we can leave and we won’t bother you ever again.”
I ignored her offer to leave and plodded forward, trying to stick to the facts. “So that’s why Coop is so strong? Because she’s a demon?”
Trixie bounced her head, finally sliding back on the couch and settling into its deep cushions. “Yep, and we’ve talked about her strength and how people can end up seriously hurt because she’s so strong. In Hell…well, let’s just say sometimes she had to fight to keep her place. I liken it a little to prison after hearing her stories about what it was like there. It genuinely is everything we fear and more.”
Prison.
Hell.
Eep.
I know my shock was seeping into my facial expressions, but I had no clue how to stop them from doing so. Coop had lived in Hell. There was a real Hell. Like, real live fire and brimstone. My next question was to ask what despicable crime had landed her in Hell and whether or not I should be sleeping with headgear and one eye open. Yet, Coop didn’t strike me as someone who wanted to hurt you just to hurt you.
Gosh, she was complicated.
“Anyway,” Trixie continued, her voice low and soft. “Sometimes Coop forgets her own strength—especially if she feels like someone weaker is being threatened. She felt like Detective Moore was threatening you, Stevie. I have to give her credit for at least asking him to back off before she knocked him one in the kisser. She did try. She always tries, and she always will as long as we’re a team, but there was a time she would have fought him to a far greater detriment. His detriment.”
That was fair. She’d clearly asked Starsky to back off. But that wasn’t what impressed me about these two; it was the mention of them being part of a team. That’s how I felt about Win, Arkady, and Bel. We were a team. We’d had some really rough times as a team, but we’d had great ones, too. More great than rough, in fact.
And now we were this patched-together earthly/afterlife family, and we were happy. Mostly, anyway.
I wanted to tell Trixie and Coop that. Yet, all I could manage were meaningless words. “That explanation makes sense,” I muttered, still wrapping my head around this fantastical story.
“It’s also why she has no last name or can’t be found online, and why she addresses everyone so formally. She forgets it’s unnecessary to use your full name. Coop doesn’t always know how to interact with people on a social level just yet. She wasn’t taught the things we were—or should I say, you were. But she’s learning every day, right?” Trixie asked with a smile as she gave Coop one more of those reassuring pats on the back—a pat that touched me. “And she’s doing a great job, too.”
Somehow, through this crazy circumstance that had thrown them together, Trixie had ended up being Coop’s human guide to all things, well…human.
And even more ironic, Trixie was an ex-nun guiding what is perceived by most as evil incarnate. They were essentially polar opposites. Which now begged the question, why did Trixie leave the convent with, of all beings, a demon? Didn’t that go against everything she’d ever been taught by the church?
“But to be fair,” Trixie continued, making me wonder if this was a cleansing of sorts for her—a long-awaited chance to tell her story. “I’m sort of stunted in social nuances, too. I was in the convent a good portion of my late teen years right into my adult life. We didn’t learn things like popular slang and such during…prayer. I mean, who knew things like Netflix even existed? Beverly Hills 9021 would have been a whole different ball game had I been able to watch every episode available. I’d have probably stopped season three.”
I almost gasped out loud at that. I couldn’t live without my Netflix binges. How did civilized people survive?
Yet, that statement lent to still more mounting questions. I wanted to know why Trixie had left the church. But that only led to another question pile-up.
Before I could remind myself to quash my curious nature in favor of sensitivity, I blurted out, “How did Coop end up in Hell?”
If we were to go by the biblical nature of tales, you had to be evil to end up there, right? Didn’t that mean she’d done something heinous?
Trixie twisted her hands together again, meaning the explanation was going to be an unbelievable one, but her answer was tinged with seriousness. “She was created there, as are most minions.”
By the time this evening was through, my title was going to be “boozer” for all the chugalugging I was doing.
Taking another sip from my wine bottle, I asked, “Created. Meaning?”
“That means I don’t have a mother or father in your earthly traditional sense. Satan is technically my father. He created me for his sole purpose. I’m his property,” Coop provided.
His property? I didn’t know how to process that, but I can’t tell you the relief I felt knowing she hadn’t spent her life killing kittens and maiming seniors.
“So you didn’t sell your soul to him or do something horrible to end up in Hell when you died, is what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, Stevie Cartwright. That’s what I’m telling you.”
I wiped my brow, noting drops of perspiration on my fingertips. Somehow, her answer was a relief. “But then how did you get here?”
Now Coop smiled, widely, and just like everything else on Coop, it was gorgeous, magical, perfection; her entire face beamed and her eyes lit up like sparklers. “I escaped. When the evil spirit attacked Sister… Uh, Trixie, I took my chances and escaped with my friend
, Livingston.”
Out of nowhere, Trixie jumped up from the couch, knocking pillows to the floor, her pretty face a mask of worry. “Livingston, Coop! Oh, gracious! How could we have forgotten Livingston? He must be starving by now. We have to go back to the store!”
I jumped up, too, and when I did, I was a little wobbly from all that wine. But I couldn’t let them drive in this weather with that old rust bucket of theirs. Looking out the tall windows in our living room, I saw the snow was still falling in white clumps. Surely the roads were slicker than snot by now.
So I gripped Trixie’s arm. “Wait, wait, wait! You can’t drive your car. It’ll never make it without snow tires or chains. Mine has chains. So you drive, Trixie, because I’ve been drinking. And who’s Livingston? Is he another demon?”
Trixie stopped all motion and bit her bottom lip. “Sort of.”
Wine made my lips a little loose, and the decorum I tried so hard to hang onto during this whole bizarre conversation slipped away. “Okay, from here on out, no more secrets, ladies. Please. We don’t have a lot of time to waste, keeping things from each other. Just tell me who Livingston is. Gargoyle? Vampire? Werewolf, maybe?”
Coop’s eyes scoured my face. “Don’t be silly, Stevie Cartwright. Vampires and werewolves aren’t allowed in Hell. Satan says they’re sketchy.”
“But he’s okay with gargoyles?” I found myself asking in wonder.
She shrugged with nonchalant shoulders. “I never asked him.”
“You know, the next time you talk to him, you might want to check,” I commented. “Surely gargoyles are perfect vessels for evil. I mean—”
“Stephania!” Win barked. “Get to the point. We have no time to waste.”
I rolled my eyes and popped my lips. “I was just being social. I mean, who am I if I don’t ask questions, Winterbutt—”
“Stephania!” he howled again with that scowl in his tone.
My sigh was ragged and executed just for Win. “Fine. So what exactly is Livingston, Coop?”
“He’s an owl. Livingston is trapped in the form of an owl. A talking owl.”
Chapter 9
“Hah!” Win barked, clearly unable to keep quiet any longer. “The plot thickens.”
“A talking owl. Now I’ve heard everything,” I mumbled, scooping up the pillows from the floor as the Coop and Trixie headed to the front door. “An owl, for goodness sake.”
“You know, Stephania,” Win drawled in his coolly British way—the way being the one where he’s going to make a point. “I’m seeing a whole new side to you. Dare I say, a discriminating one?”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t discriminate.” I did, however, have too much wine. Phew, my head was a little spinny.
“Is it so ridiculous? That you have difficulty digesting a talking owl, a demon and an ex-nun when you’re an ex-witch who talks to dead people and have your own talking pet says otherwise. You’re the OG of the impossible. Yet, you doubt Coop and Trixie at every turn.”
True that. Win was right.
“I am surprised at you, too, my little jalapeño. Zero is right. You are being, how you say, stuffy pants.”
My cheeks flushed red, and I don’t know if that was from the wine or embarrassment for my behavior. “Oh, all right. Enough with the pile-on, boys. You’re right. I’m one to talk. I’m just in shock. You have to admit that was quite a tale she told us. I mean, escaping Hell, and demons and tattoos and saving Trixie from an evil spirit. It’s a little outrageous.”
“And having your powers slapped out of you by a cruel warlock after defending a young boy whose father was a monster, and being kicked out of your coven, is less outrageous, Dove?”
Point, point, point. Win was so right. He was almost always right, and I felt like a total heel for not swallowing Coop and Trixie’s story whole.
But listen, Win taught me to be skeptical. He taught me to read between the lines. I was just doing what I’d learned from him.
“Okay, guys. I get it. I’m wrong. I just wanted to check off all the boxes. Maybe I’m becoming more human by the day, because you can bet your bippy had they told anyone else this story, they’d be in the psych ward for observation.”
“As would you, Stephania,” Win crowed.
“What Winterbutt said,” Bel chirped from the ceiling as he flew around in a circle.
“Bel! Get down from there. Do you want them to see you?”
He landed on my shoulder with a chuckle. “Because they’re going to find me strange when they have a talking owl? Staahhp, Boss. You’re killin’ me.”
I sighed and chucked him under the chin with a gentle finger. “You up to a little recon, buddy? We might need you to get into the store to help this Livingston. You might be the only way to do it.”
“Yep. I’m in. But there’d better be a heat lamp and some kiwi in this for me when we’re done.”
“Deal. Now quit messing with my head and all of you pipe down about my disbelief. That Hell truly exists is a lot to digest in one night.”
“Well, it stands to reason, Stephania. Plane Limbo exists, doesn’t it? If there’s an afterlife for the good, there certainly should be somewhere for the bad. We all have to go somewhere.”
“Again, also a valid point. Okay, guys. Let’s do this. You two be my eyes and ears up there, please.”
I grabbed my purse from the table in our foyer, and another jacket from the stand by the front door, slipping my arms through it. “Hold the phone, ladies. We have to be careful. You’re not supposed to go into the store. It’s a crime scene, remember? But we’ll figure it out. We just have to be very careful, and whatever we do, we can’t get caught. If Luis knew I was aiding and abetting, he’d chew me a new one, and if you ever need someone on your side, Luis is your guy—you don’t want to make him angry with you.”
I’m not sure if it was the wine talking or my deep desire to meet a talking owl named Livingston, but I was rarin’ to go despite the potential risks involved.
“Before we leave, there’s someone else I’d like you to meet.”
“If there’s a rhinoceros here, I’m heading for the border,” Trixie teased as I handed her the coat she’d used earlier and threw one to Coop, who slipped it on and was left with her long, graceful arms only covered to the elbow.
Laughing, I shook my head and plucked Bel from my shoulder, placing him in my palm and holding him up so they could see him clearly. “This is my familiar. I’ll explain what that word means when we get back if you don’t already know. For now, this is Belfry. Bel for short. He’s one of my best friends in the whole world, and if anyone can get in and out of your store without being seen to find Livingston, it’s him.”
Bel curtsied. “Nice to meet you both. I’m at your service.”
Coop’s eyes went wide, glittering like glass marbles as she bent at the waist to eyeball Bel, using a finger to scratch his round-with-more-pomegranates-than-a-familiar-knew-what-to-do-with belly. “It talks,” she mused.
“It talks a lot,” Win joked, making Bel flap his wings.
“Dah!” Arkady agreed on a hearty laugh.
Coop almost cracked another smile when she nodded her agreement. “Livingston talks a lot, too. Sometimes, he makes my head noisy.”
“Pound, Coop. He makes your head pound,” Trixie corrected on a snicker. “And yes, Livingston can be quite a handful. Just a bigger one than your Bel, at almost five pounds. Is Belfry a play on ‘bats in the’?”
“It is,” I replied, pleased she’d made the connection as I gave Whiskey a scratch on the head and blew him a kiss. “Now, let’s go get your handful so my handful can meet him and they can be handfuls together, okay? But I’m going to caution you both. You must listen to me. It’s imperative. We have to do this right. Coop, if we encounter someone, anyone, no throwing people around like tennis balls. Keep your cool and we’ll be in and out like we were never there. Promise me?”
Trixie halted all motion when she threw up a hand and said, “Ho
ld on! I forgot the keys to the back door inside the store. I was in such a rush to get to Coop, I must have left them on the counter. Good heavens, I’ve made such a mess of things!”
“Don’t panic,” I instructed. “I have an idea. I’ll tell you all about it on the way. That said, Coop, I need that promise from you.”
She held up two hands and nodded solemnly, her surreally gorgeous face somber. “I promise, Stevie Cartwright, and I never, ever break a promise.”
“Good. And Trixie, you, too.”
She barked a laugh at me that literally tinkled, and it was a pleasant, almost carefree sound. I suspected that was something she hadn’t felt in a long time, and I wanted to know why. But that was for later.
“Just so you know, I’m a big chicken. You don’t have to worry I’ll throw even so much as a dirty look someone’s way. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
I winked at Trixie, courage coursing through my boozy veins. “Then let’s do this, girls!”
As we made our way down the snow-covered stairs, Coop whispered to Trixie, “It speaks, Trixie. It sounds like that toy we saw in the pet store when you crush it in your hands.”
“It’s right here, and it flies, too, and if you guys don’t stop talking about me like I’m not two feet from you, I’m going to swan dive right into all your luscious locks, Coop the Demon! Then we’ll see who speaks!” Bel chirped, annoyed.
Coop gasped her outrage as she stomped across the lawn and driveway to my car, muttering, “Will not throw anyone around. Will not.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You be nice, Bel. Don’t upset the demon, buddy. You did see Starsky’s nose, didn’t you?”
We all laughed at that as we piled into the car with snowflakes swirling around us and Trixie at the wheel.
* * * *
I tucked my chin into the neck of my coat and shivered at how dark Eb Falls was, even with all the snow. It was almost eerily beautiful with the waves of the Sound crashing about and the stillness of the deserted streets but for the occasional gust of frigid wind. My wine high was fading fast, and without any food in my belly, I was a little lightheaded.
Good Witch Hunting Page 9