by Sharon Joss
His eyes met mine. “But I couldn’t just leave ‘em there. Wouldn’t be right.” He gave a small nod, as if confirming his own statement. “That cold we felt when we went inside was a warning to keep away. Some kind of foreign magic, I think. I think them swamp lights that came after us on the porch was sayin’ the same thing.”
My stomach churned. “What kind of warning?”
He stared out the window, into the darkness. “Can’t say. Somethin’s coming. Somethin’ bad.”
* * *
I dropped Charlie off at home and drove over to Mystic Properties to meet my boyfriend, Rhys.
Dr. Rhys Warrick is not only a visiting professor at the University of Rochester, he’s an expert on cultural mythology and ancient civilizations. This is mostly due to the fact that he’s lived through them. Rhys is a two thousand year-old djenie. Meaning, he was once an immortal djemon, who, having faithfully served his master, became a djenie in human form when his master died.
And oh by the way, a bad ass biker dude and best boyfriend ever.
I pulled up beside his truck just as he was locking up shop. He lives in an apartment above Mystic Properties. I threw my arms around him, savoring his warm, familiar scent. Nothing shakes off a case of the woo-woo willies quite as fast as kissing your hunka-hunka burnin’ love.
He kissed me good, running his hands over me until I was practically purring.
And that’s the problem.
Rhys is an immortal and I’m not. At some point, we’re going to have to break up. The only question is when. I can’t stand to think that he would stay with me after I’m old and gray out of some warped sense of duty. It’s the big fat elephant in the room between us. Or, one of them, at any rate. It’s making me crazy, and I’m too chicken to say anything. He knows I’m not completely comfortable in this relationship.
I think he also suspects that I hadn’t told him the whole story of the dreamspiders. It was bad enough I still had nightmares over it; the last thing I wanted to do was talk about it. Something like that could change everything between us. Better to pretend nothing ever happened.
“How did it go?”
“Except for the nasty djemon in the basement, fine.” I told him about Charlie getting spooked. “He said there were lost souls trapped in the staircase. Does that make any sense?”
He stiffened. “What do you mean by nasty? Did it come after you?”
I shrugged. “Nasty as in insulting. Pretty colorful vocabulary, too. I wasn’t scared.”
College professor he may be, but Rhys is also a bad-ass warrior—all too familiar with the evils of men and monsters. He calls me his warrior queen, which is, without a doubt, the highest compliment I’ve ever received from a man. Don’t get me wrong—Rhys is very protective, but at the same time, he convinced me to take lessons from his Qhua Bei Master so that I can be my own bad ass when he’s not around. According to Master Foo, I’m nowhere near a bad ass yet. “I banished it. Easy peasy. End of story.”
“You’ve got the heart of a lion, lady.” He opened the passenger door of the truck for me and nodded to a brightly-wrapped package, sitting on the passenger seat.
I grinned. “What’s this?”
“I bought you a present.”
I climbed in and tore at the paper. “You got me a toy?”
He switched on the overhead light in the cab. “No it’s a Speak ‘n Read tablet. For Blix. Now he can learn to speak. And read. All by himself.” He frowned. “You don’t like it? He’s got to learn to speak, Mattie.”
I tried to hide my disappointment. “No, it’s not that. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. The first time a man buys me something and it’s for my djemon.”
I’ve been meaning to start teaching Blix, just as soon as I got chance. Clearly, he didn’t think I was serious. That stung. Like it wasn’t enough that my whole world had been torn apart over the last few months, and that every time I thought my life was finally getting back to normal, I was faced with something like teaching my frikking djemon how to speak. Too weird. “Henri’s the expert. Let him show Blix how to use it.”
Rhys shook his head. “Blix is your responsibility. Besides Henri and the guys are leaving Wednesday, right after the party.”
Rats. I’d forgotten all about it. Henri was going to spend the winter in Florida, touring with Juno and the band. And I’d agreed to take care of the house. That big old, empty house. Rhys and I had been spending most of our nights together, but he was planning another caving trip to the Finger Lakes before Thanksgiving. I was still having creepy crawly rapist nightmares about dreamspiders. What if another one showed up? Ugga mugga.
“Yeah. Riiight.” I ran my hand through my hair. It was growing in fast, but I still wasn’t used to it. I’d never had short hair in my life. Every time I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself. Sometimes, I didn’t really feel much like me anymore, either.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Not a thing.” That man was too smart for his own good. I gave him my best smile. “Can’t wait to ah, get started teaching Blix how to speak. I am good. To. Go.” I waved at the road and gave him a little let’s go signal.
Rhys laid his arms over the top of the steering wheel, and stared straight ahead. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re a million miles away right now.”
“Sorry.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest. “You’re right. I guess I have had a lot on my mind.”
“Share it with me.”
The last time he’d asked, instead of telling him about Lucien Bold, I lied and said I wanted to take dance lessons. And actually, that one had worked out pretty well.
“I was just thinking--.” I glanced over at him. I didn’t like lying to Rhys. I rubbed my sweaty hands along the tops of my thighs. “Since I’m taking care of the house, while Henri and the band are gone, maybe we could try living together. I mean, really living together. Like you’d move your clothes and stuff over. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”
He’d asked me to move in with him previously, but I’d said no. This was right after he’d come back from Scotland and I was still pretty freaked out by Luçien Bold and the whole dreamspider experience. I felt ugly inside and out. I’d been terrified to be alone, but at the same time, I didn’t want Rhys, to touch me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable at his place. It was right on a busy street, and there was a lot of traffic and noise from the bars that went on late at night. Rhys didn’t like spending the night at Henri’s house because of the lack of privacy, and he was right about that. Sharing a house with a vampire rock band is more like living in a frat house than a love nest.
“That is a great idea.” Rhys shifted the truck into gear and winked at me. “Let’s do it.”
“Can’t wait,” I said, and for the life of me, I didn’t know if I was telling the truth or not.
CHAPTER 2
EIGHTH-GRADERS ARE a tough crowd.
From my position behind the center stage podium, I stared across a sea of glassy-eyed eighth graders at Pope Street Middle School’s Gymnasium, and just kept yammering away. If I had the trike with me, the kids would have been all over it, but Principal Williams wouldn’t let me bring it into the gym. Not a friendly face in the place. Principal Williams’ sour expression told me he didn’t think much of my speech, either. Dang that Lacey Lippman; nobody told me to bring swag for the kids.
Sheesh, a roomful of zombies would be better than this.
High School graduation rates in Shore Haven being what they were; the Monroe County Schools Superintendent had initiated the Career Daze program for eighth graders to “light the spark of inspiration in the tender minds of students before they enter high school.” Every Friday, local professionals came to speak to the kids about their jobs. This week, it was my turn.
“One of the best things about being a parking control officer is that you get to ride the trike.”
“You mean scooter,” said a kid in the back. A couple kids snicke
red.
I gritted my teeth and kept smiling. “No, it’s a three-wheeled motorcycle.”
“Like a Big Wheel.”
Every kid in the room thought that was hilarious. Even the Principal got a kick out of that one.
I finished the rest of my speech in record time. I don’t think I inspired a lot of future civil servants. I released my death grip on the podium, smoothing my sweaty hands across my thighs. “Any questions?”
The room went quiet. I tried to catch the eye of one of the kids I knew, Nate Briscoe, but he refused to look at me. I didn’t blame him. I was about to make my escape when there was a flicker of movement in the crowd—a hand shot up.
“Yes, Ryan,” Principal Williams nodded. “Did you have a question for Officer Blackman?”
A freckle-faced kid with nerdy glasses stood up and pointed at me. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
I blushed furiously as a hundred and forty-two kids suddenly pricked up their ears and put me squarely in their sights. Great.
I held up both my hands like it wasn’t a big deal. My entire left hand and most of my forearm up to the elbow looked like I’d dipped it into a bucket of black ink. When I wore my jacket and motorcycle gloves, the stain unnoticeable, but I’d left them on my chair.
“I got bit by a spider. The poison left a mark on my skin. The doctor says it’ll fade eventually.” I knew different, though. The poison trapped beneath my skin was part of me now, like the crescent moon scar or Morta’s shears.
“Did it hurt?” asked a girl in the third row.
“Yeah, it did.”
“My brother got bit by a spider and it didn’t turn his foot black.”
“This was a pretty big frikkin’ spider.”
The class started to throw out more questions, but the principal put an end to it, saying “Thank you, Officer Blackman.”
I stepped off the stage to scattered applause and took my seat in the front row below the stage. The entire student body was between me and the exit—there was no way to sneak out before the program was over.
Next up was Honey Briscoe, the owner of Honey Bee’s Bakery. She’d brought two dozen boxes of fresh donuts to pass around. Honey had the kids literally eating out of the palm of her hand. A willowy, stunner of woman, she was about ten years older than me. I always thought she could have been a dancer, or even a model, but she married Nate Briscoe as soon as they graduated high school. Warm brown skin, doe eyes, and broad cheekbones gave hints of her mixed African and Senequois heritage.
She started the bakery seven years ago, after her husband, Nate Senior, was killed in the line of duty. The shop had been a hit from day one—in part, because every cop and sheriff’s deputy working east of Rochester bought their donuts at Honey Bee’s.
She had two boys: eighth-grade Nate Junior, who had pretended he didn’t know me, and nine-year old Ray, who everyone called Arby. My brother Lance and his wife used to live just up the street from the Briscoes. My niece Mina and Arby played together when they were toddlers, until Lance’s marriage broke up and Violet moved out, taking Mina with her.
Honey explained how she used a lot of math in her recipes and to calculate how much to charge for a donut. She even showed the kids how to twist dough to make pretzels. And when she smiled, the whole room smiled right back at her. By the time she was done, the kids gave her a standing ovation.
Personally, I think they were just on a sugar high from all the donuts. I made a mental note to bring food if I were ever called to do a career day presentation again. Pretty hard to top chocolate donuts, but I bet a pizza would do the trick. Not much chance of topping that.
I was wrong.
Tony Perez, one of the pro soccer players from the Rochester Rhinos, juggled a soccer ball with his feet the whole time he spoke. He was laid-back and charming, with a grin that lit up the room. At the end of his speech he handed out little hacky sack soccer balls with the team logo on it for all the kids. Sheesh, they liked him even better than Honey.
The kids were all kicking around their new soccer sacks, and couldn’t wait to leave. I thanked my lucky stars that the final presenter never showed up. I’d fallen off the sugar wagon big-time. The three donuts I’d eaten were making me sleepy and restless at the same time.
Without warning, the gym door slammed opened, and Lydia Fewkes rushed in. She dumped one of two large cloth bags she was carrying onto the empty seat next to me, and then stepped up onto the stage. She apologized to everyone for being late, but the natives were already restless.
Eighth graders are a really tough crowd.
I didn’t know her, but I knew who she was. She and her brother, John owned a fancy flower shop, located across the street from Dave’s Killer Burgers. It was one of those snooty places, with trendy European antiques, dried herbs, and a tea shop in the back. The flowers were an afterthought, I think. Very popular with tourists. I’d never been inside their shop—I don’t buy antiques, flowers, herbs, or tea. Not my kind of place. But their seasonal display windows were lavishly decorated, and this month’s fall theme was lit with tiny white lights, brightly-colored leaves, pumpkins, and fairy gardens.
“I’m Liddy,” she said, by way of introduction. “My brother and I own of Lotus Floral & Apothecary, but I think several of you might recognize me as the puppet lady. My Saturday morning puppet shows in the display window of our shop have gotten quite popular.”
A scatter of enthusiastic clapping confirmed her story.
“When Mr. Williams asked me to come here today, I think he imagined I would speak to you as a small business owner, but instead, I am going to speak to you about the life of an artist.”
She certainly looked the part. Jeweled flower barrettes sparkled like blood rubies in her long, wavy brown hair. She wore a knee length, turquoise, red, and grey gypsy skirt that looked as if it had been stitched together from antique scarves. Suede cowboy boots with silver conches along the side, and an open knit sweater worn over a lacy camisole completed her funky-cool look.
Must be nice to wear whatever she wanted to work. I glanced down at my navy uniform and square-toed boots, and took solace in my job security. Well, except for this year, when the budget had forced cutbacks. I couldn’t afford cool clothes like that, even if I wanted to--which I didn’t. Although those boots were pretty bad ass.
Sweet, rather than pretty, Liddy made the most of what she had with make-up, using it to accentuate her expressive eyes. She said she’d been a stage actress in England, and I could certainly believe it. Anyone could see she had star quality.
She talked about theatre, costuming, acting, and her lifelong fascination with hand-carved wooden dolls and puppetry. She was animated and lively. I couldn’t help but envy her.
From her oversized cloth bag, Liddy brought out one of the marionettes she’d made. It was an elephant—complete with saggy knees and waggly ears. While she spoke about her life as an artist, the elephant seemed to come alive under her hands. It interrupted her with questions—its long trunk pulling on her skirt or reaching for her long hair. Pretty cute.
Okay, maybe even adorable.
Then, as if noticing the audience for the first time, the elephant winked at the kids and started doing a little hip-hop dance step until Liddy stopped talking. She asked the kids if they wanted to see more, and by this time those fickle little eighth graders were putty in her hands. Liddy and the little elephant did a rap song and jive routine about finding your passion and staying in school—just the right level for the kids. The rap beat was irresistible and the words were really clever. Every kid in the gym was on their feet, entranced by the dancing marionette—even the principal was nodding along to the beat.
I admit it--I couldn’t stop my feet from stepping to the music, either. Rhys and I had started taking a dance class—Dancing for Lovers—and I had a whole new appreciation for all kinds of music.
I must’ve jostled the chair next to me, because Liddy’s other bag, which she’d dumped next to me, fell to the
floor, spewing scraps of brightly colored cloth, spools of thread, and dozens of clear packets of dried herbs out onto the linoleum. I leaned down to pick up the mess.
I gathered up the spilled fabric to shove it back in the bag. There was another wooden puppet inside. The lovely painted face of a dark-haired boy stared up at me. Its charming painted features were cracked and nearly worn off with age. He was dressed in some sort of a carnival costume. So beautiful. Probably worth a lot of money. Its hair had gotten mussed in the fall.
I smoothed the dark locks away from the doll’s face, marveling at the seemingly real hair. The crescent scar on the palm of my hand began to itch.
Help me, Morta! Help me!
I dropped the doll and bag both like a hot potato, strewing pins, thread spools, and glass beads across the floor. I looked round, but the kids were too busy rappin’ to the beat of the elephant stomping it up on stage. The voice was only in my mind.
I shoved the spillage back into the bag. My hand hovered over the wood puppet for a moment, and then picked it up again.
I call upon the Hand of Fate to—.
The door in my mind linking me to Morta was thrown open. The crescent scar on the palm of my hand burned like fire. I dropped the doll and kicked it into the open sack.
Was it alive? No, of course not. It was just a doll. Too many chocolate donuts, that’s all.
I glanced up and saw Liddy Fewkes staring daggers at me from the stage. The audience was still clapping to the beat, even as Liddy ended the performance and shoved the elephant marionette into her bag. The kids shouted and cheered as she stepped away from the podium, but she kept her eyes on me.
“Let’s give Miss Fewkes and all our guests a big round of applause,” said Principal Williams.
Liddy gave a final wave and stepped off the stage, a wooden smile glued on her face.
I’d managed to shove most of the rest of the junk back into the sack before Liddy got to me.