by Jenn Bennett
“I’ve got fifteen dollars in ones,” I said. “How much information will that get me?”
Lon glanced at Hajo in the rearview mirror. “It’s fine. I’ve got cash.”
“See, Daddy will pay.” Hajo waved toward the street. “Looks like I shook the guy following me, so can we get moving? Because the sooner we go talk to my guy, the sooner you get the information you want. And the sooner I get a date with the delicious Kar Yee Tsang. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
Like I said, he never forgets.
We drove through the rain, watching to see if anyone tailed us. Not a soul.
Hajo led us to an old highway on the eastern side of Morella. I don’t think I’d ever been on it, nor did I ever want to again, considering the dismal scenery that surrounded it. Past the exit ramps, disused strip malls, and unpopular fast food restaurants that dotted the roadside was our apparent destination: the Sleepy Hollow trailer park.
I’d visited a trailer park with Kar Yee once in college. It was dirty and cheap, and filled with college students who wanted the independence of living off campus but didn’t have the funds to get an actual apartment. We were there for some party, and I remember walking into a trailer cloaked in smoke with ten guys watching some Italian film that I would’ve called soft-core porn, but apparently it was art. Either way, Kar Yee and I were the only females and ten pairs of eyes looked at us like we were pizza being delivered. That was the first time she’d used her fear knack in front of me. Once the effect wore off and we were long gone, I was impressed.
We pulled up next to a doublewide and dashed through the rain to the small awning that covered temporary wooden steps. Hajo briefly surveyed the area, eyes narrow and cautious. I wondered how many places like this he visited on a daily basis. Such a stark contrast to his penthouse.
Closed blinds shielded our view through the small boxy window flanking the door, but light shone through the slats; someone was home. But I stopped paying attention to the trailer when Hajo moaned beside me. His eyes were closed. “Shit,” he murmured as he swayed on his feet for a moment. “No, no.”
I’d seen him look this way before . . . using his death dowsing knack.
A muffled crash sounded from somewhere inside. Another door slammed. I turned to question Hajo and found Lon gone. Dammit. Swiveling, I spotted him racing around the trailer, Lupara in hand.
“For fuck’s sake,” Hajo muttered, pulling a slim gun out of a holster hidden under his jacket in the small of his back. He darted after Lon.
Now there were two too many guns out. And Hajo had sensed death. A warm panic heated my chest as I jogged after them, my only thought a repeated prayer that Lon remain safe.
As I rounded the side of the trailer, cold rain pelting my face, I nearly slammed into Lon. One shoulder pressed against the corner of the trailer, he was standing with Hajo. They were peering into a field of dry grass that merged with a wooded ravine.
A winding section of the grass was trampled. I thought I heard someone running through the brush in the distance, but rumbling thunder masked the noise.
“Someone ran through there,” Lon said in a quiet voice as I caught my breath. “I heard the panic. Panic mixed with elation. Sounded like . . . the person was happy to have gotten away with something.”
Hajo peeked around the corner. He made a sour face, as if he smelled something repulsive. “Can you hear any emotions inside the trailer?”
“It’s clear.”
Hajo’s shoulder’s slumped. “Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s a dead body in there.”
“What the hell is going on?” I whispered.
“You sure you don’t sense any emotions at all around here?” Hajo asked Lon in a low voice. “I don’t want to walk into a trap.”
Lon glanced at me through hooded eyes. Questioning.
“Go on,” I said, checking behind us. “You either trust Hajo or you don’t. And apparently we do. One big happy family.”
“Trust me for wha—” Hajo said, but his words bottomed out when Lon transmutated in front of him. I was thrilled Hajo was getting to see this. Let him shit his pants a little. It would be good for him to know that Lon was someone he should respect. And from the awestruck arch of his brows, that’s exactly what he was thinking as he stared at Lon’s fiery halo, defiantly flaming tall around his shoulders, and the curling burnished horns that deflected drops of rain.
I glanced at Hajo and snorted. “Hajo Kemme with nothing to say?”
He opened his mouth, made a long, low sound, then mumbled, “Damn, am I glad we’re all friends.”
Lon tilted his head toward the trailer. “We’re clear. Closest around is two people in the distance—in the next trailer down the road, I think.” He slipped the Lupara inside his peacoat. “I can barely hear the person running away—getting too far out of my range.”
“Just how far is your range when you’re . . . like this?” Hajo quizzed.
“Far enough.”
“He can read your thoughts now,” I informed Hajo.
“Ah.” His shock lasted about five seconds before a slow smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I’m rethinking my business plan. Bell, you’re still the enforcer. But this . . .” He spread his hands, gesturing toward Lon as if he were a prize on a game show. “This is a beautiful thing. Very useful. Why the hell are you a photographer again?”
Lon squinted in amusement at Hajo. “So I don’t have to hang around places like this to earn a dollar.”
“Point taken. Let’s go inside. Might as well see who’s dead.”
We cautiously approached the back steps. The screen door was standing open, flapping against the side of the trailer when the wind blew. Lon dug in his coat pockets and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. After tugging them on, he opened the door and peered inside.
“You can hear if someone’s coming, right?” Hajo asked, still scanning the area.
Lon didn’t answer. He stepped inside the trailer, long legs disappearing into shadows.
“Is that a yes?” Hajo said to me, bemused.
Oh, good. It was sort of nice to see Hajo flailing, unsure of how to interpret Lon’s low-level communication style. I smiled to myself and skirted around him up the steps.
“Yep.”
The inside smelled musty, but cleaner than I expected. Dark. Sparsely decorated. The door led into a depressing living room. Two couches had been pushed against the walls and a large, round table that sat in center of the room. Chairs were knocked over. A few bills were scattered on the floor. I leaned down to look at them. Hundreds.
“Christ,” Lon said. “Someone got robbed. Explains the emotions I was hearing.”
“Not good,” Hajo murmured. He pointed to the far end of the room. “Body’s in there.”
We rounded the breakfast bar counter into kitchen and stepped into what could’ve been the aftermath of a tornado. Pots and pans were strewn everywhere. Cabinet doors had been ripped off their hinges. The old avocado colored refrigerator had been toppled to the floor. And sprawled beneath it, like the Wicked Witch of the East, was a crushed body.
My heart pounded against my rib cage as I approached. A man’s limbs jutted out at awkward angles. Salt-and-pepper hair crowned his head. Blood pooled around his body.
“This your contact?” Lon asked Hajo.
“That would be him.” He stooped to look at the man’s face. “Poor Tabor. What a way to go. This bionic shit is more holy grail than sømna, and that’s saying a lot.”
“Telly did this,” I said as the shock wore off. “Who else would kill this way? Anyone else who wanted to rob a drug dealer would use a bullet or a knife.”
“It’s just like the Road Runner and the bridge,” Lon agreed. He toed a small gun lying a few feet away from the body. “This was no use against Telly’s bionic knack.”
Hajo sighed. “Maybe we should look around and see if we can find anything else.”
The three of us scoured the trailer. Lon found
a stash of amphetamines in the first bedroom. The door was ripped off the second bedroom. Inside, the floor was covered in broken glass. A small desk sat in the center of the room. On it were three glass bottles. Two of them contained clear liquid. The third was red. But next to it sat an open container of food dye.
“Asshole was lying,” Hajo said, sniffing one of the bottles. “Tabor wasn’t holding—he was going to try to sell us sugar water.”
I looked around the room. Red was splattered on the white wall, broken glass beneath it. “Telly must’ve realized the same thing. Smashed a bottle against the wall.”
“Maybe Tabor ran out and couldn’t get more,” Hajo said. “Thought he could pass this off.”
“Too big a coincidence that Telly showed up right before we did,” I said. “This isn’t Telly’s dealer. He acted hesitant when he was talking about him. Said he couldn’t go back to him, like he was scared of him. Why would he be scared of a gray-haired man in a trailer with one little gun?”
“You said everyone started giving you Tabor’s name all the sudden today,” Lon said to Hajo. “Maybe Telly heard the same noise you did. Maybe he came here thinking Tabor was easy pickings.”
“No idea,” Hajo said. “But frankly, I’m not interested in following this thing any further. Tabor’s dead, and I don’t want that punk kid dropping something on my head. Not to mention the car that was following me earlier. And even if I wanted to help, this was my only lead. I’ll keep my ears open and let you know if I happen to hear anything else. But maybe you need to look outside of Morella if you think this wasn’t the dealer.”
Outside of Morella. That put us back in La Sirena. And if Mr. Lucky, Peter Little, didn’t know who brought the drug to his party two weeks back, then the only other lead connected to the elixir in La Sirena was Merrimoth, and he was dead. That left us with nothing.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas,” Lon said, reading my thoughts as we went outside while Hajo stepped into the living room to make an anonymous 911 call on the trailer’s landline about Tabor’s dead body. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all the years I spent with Yvonne, people tend to self-medicate during the holidays. I’ll make a few phone calls around La Sirena. See if anyone knows any other bionic knack stories.”
I gave him a halfhearted smile. “Merry freaking Christmas.”
• • •
By Christmas morning, I’d managed to block out the image of the drug dealer crushed under the refrigerator and took a break from obsessing over Telly. The Butler household was buzzing and busy. Everyone was in good spirits—even me. Maybe it was because, being the daughter of crazy occultists, I’d never experienced a big Christmas celebration. But Jupe was so damn excited that it was hard not to go with the flow.
Mr. and Mrs. Holiday came over and we did the whole gift exchange thing. I got Jupe a couple of DVDs, graphic novels, and a 1977 Godzilla toy. It was rare and vintage and he totally loved it. I knew he would. He’d tried to buy a similar one last month but lost the bid, so I’d contacted the seller and paid twice as much for him to find another one. Most expensive toy I’ve ever bought, but it was worth every penny to see his eyes go big when he opened it.
I got Lon a book for his library. Danger in Our Midst: How to Recognize and Identify Magicians was a quirky field guide written in 1955 by an Earthbound psychologist. The only copy I’d ever seen was in my occult order’s library in Florida, but I found another one online. It had hilarious drawings of 1950s occultists and a plethora of helpful tips for Earthbounds: how to recognize magicians by their clothing, a glossary of occult symbols, a chapter on how to avoid a binding trap and what to do if you found yourself caught in one—“don’t panic”—and a list of known occult temples.
“Do you like it?” I asked, curled up on the couch next to him, morning sun spilling across the room from the patio doors. It was a clear day, and the Pacific sparkled jewel-blue in the distance. Near the Christmas tree, Jupe was tearing open another gift from the Holidays, who were in some sort of friendly competition with Rose for the title of Who Can Give Jupe the Most Presents.
Lon carefully turned the pages. “I had no idea this even existed.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Love it.” He flashed me a lovely smile, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Ready for yours?” He handed me two things. The first was a bulging manila envelope filled with travel reservations, luxury chalet brochures, and a guide to the French Alps. It was real: we were actually going to go on a vacation. He corrected me, mouthing “sex vacation” when no one was looking, but I think Rose was too caught up in the gift-giving to have noticed anyway.
“And this,” he said, handing me a small, flat box. Inside was a silver bangle bracelet. Two beautifully molded snakes looped around the bangle. Their heads twined at the center over a pair of wings.
“It’s a caduceus,” I said in surprise. One that was designed to fit a circle instead of the usual straight staff. Around the inside was a Latin phrase: quod est superius est sicut quod est inferius. As above, so below.
“It’s reputedly from a medieval mage’s tomb in Rome,” he said as I slipped it on. Good God, this thing was probably worth a small fortune. “It doesn’t seem to have any practical uses, but I thought you might like the aesthetics of it.”
I threw my arms around his neck. “It’s wonderful. I adore it.”
“I’m glad,” he said, definitely pleased with himself. “I have something else for you, but I wanted to wait to give it to you . . .” He nodded toward the mayhem in front of the Christmas tree. “. . . when things return to normal around here.”
“Might be waiting a long time.”
“It’ll keep.”
Once Jupe noticed we were exchanging gifts, he paused his chaotic present-extravaganza. “Get your laptop, Dad.”
Lon reached over me and handed me a computer, while Jupe bookended himself on my opposite side. “What’s all this?” I asked.
“Hold on,” Jupe said, leaning all over me to type an address into the web browser.
I watched a page pop up on the screen. It was Tambuku’s website. But nicer. Way nicer. It wasn’t just a static page with our address and a badly lit photo that Kar Yee had taken when we first opened. It had style. Professional photography. A drink menu. And on the page with our hours, it even said that we were temporarily closed for construction and would reopen after the holidays.
“What? How . . . Who did this?”
“I did!” Jupe announced proudly. “I mean, Dad took the photos and helped me with some of the graphics, and he said that I couldn’t use Papyrus or Comic Sans for the fonts. And that the background up here couldn’t be purple. And that I couldn’t post photos of you and Kar Yee because it just encourages weirdos—”
I gave Lon an appreciative look.
“—but I did most of the CSS and I got Kar Yee to send me the drink menu and I got this little map thingy to work and I wrote all the stuff about the bar and it was all my idea,” he ended, inhaling a big breath.
I clicked around, going back through all the pages.
“Do you love it?” he asked. Not “like,” but “love,” as if he meant “isn’t it the greatest thing in the world and didn’t I do a good job?” It was such a Jupe thing to say, and he was so eager and enthusiastic.
I pressed my forehead against his. “I love it so much. It’s my favorite gift.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Dad’s going to be pissed. His gift cost way more. Like, mine was free, and his—”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Lon said. “We don’t talk about the cost of things.”
“Oops.” Jupe glanced at the French chalet brochure on the coffee table. “Hey, what’s all this?”
“Our vacation stuff,” I said. But I wasn’t concentrating. I thought I heard a strange noise, but I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I wanted to shush everyone, but Jupe plowed on.
“We’re going to
France?
“No, we’re going to France,” Lon said. “As in Cady and me. You’re going to stay here with Mr. and Mrs. Holiday.”
“Hey, no fair!”
“You let him think he was coming with us?” I said to Lon. Maybe I was just imagining the noise. “That’s not nice.”
“I—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You never said anything about a vacation,” Jupe clarified.
“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly confused. “Kar Yee said she was keeping a secret for you.”
Jupe cringed. “Uh . . . that was nothing. Barely even a secret. Don’t ask her about it, though.”
While Jupe hedged, the strange noise became clearer. No wonder I couldn’t pinpoint the source: it was coming from inside in my head. And when it repeated, louder, I realized what was going on.
May I show myself?
“No!” Hell no. Not here, in front of everyone. “Hold on!”
Jupe frowned. “What?”
“Not you,” I said, handing him the computer as I scrambled off the couch. “Be right back.” I jogged to the back of the house, to a place that was the farthest distance from the living room—and, hopefully, far enough away that the clairaudient Earthbound in the house couldn’t hear me—and pressed my finger into the security lock on Lon’s library door
“Okay. Now,” I commanded, standing in front of the unlit library fireplace, pulse pounding. Polished wood built-in shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, all of them filled with hundreds and hundreds of occult tomes: grimoires and goetic tomes, spellbooks and hand-painted illuminated bibles, all carefully arranged and cataloged according to Lon’s exacting standards.
The air shuddered as a black line of light appeared in the middle of my palm. A mass of crackling white light whooshed a few yards in front of me. When it flashed, Priya flew out of it.
Black wings brushed over book spines, knocking several grimoires off the shelves.
He just took up so much space with those wings. It was one thing out on Kar Yee’s rooftop, but quite another in this room. Startling, really. He began to fly forward, but his black-haired head clunked against a dangling pendant light. He made a very human face, while gritting a pair of very non-human silver pointy teeth, and said, “Oww.”