Crossroads of Bones (A Katie Bishop Novel Book 1)

by Luanne Bennett

  She glanced at Mouse and gave me a warning look. “Not here, baby,” she whispered.

  “Mouse,” I said, eyeing the clock on the wall, “Sugar and I are going over to Lou’s to get some breakfast. You want me to bring you anything?” Mouse shook her head. “Sea Bass and Abel should be dragging their asses in here any minute now. They’re already late.”

  Sugar and I headed to the diner across the street to have a quick come-to-Jesus about what was going on in this town. I also planned to find out if Fin had inadvertently left out any important details that might inspire me to go back to Lillian Whitman’s house to turn in my membership card.

  We crossed the street and headed into the diner. Lou’s buttermilk biscuits were second to none. The hash browns were just as good, nice and crispy on both sides. But it was the atmosphere I liked the most. No pretense and no bullshit. If you didn’t know what you wanted when you got up to the counter, Lou or Mae would decide for you. And if you didn’t like it they’d move you to the back of the line until you made up your mind. I learned that the hard way the first time I walked in and hemmed and hawed over the menu. And God help you if you caused a ruckus in their fine establishment.

  Sugar ordered two fried eggs and a side of bacon, and I decided on the egg and cheese biscuit. We sat at the end booth where the sun shining through the front window had a little mercy, with my hangover and all. “Like a little egg with that hot sauce?” I asked as Sugar practically poured half the bottle on top of her sunny-side-up eggs. Then she shook enough pepper on them to make it look like an army of ants was travelling over her plate.

  “Don’t you mind my food, baby.” She glanced up at me through her long lashes and grinned. “How do you think I stay so spicy?” Taking a heaping bite, she continued around a mouthful of food. “All right, now. You better ask me them questions you got on your mind before I finish this plate.”

  After considering my options, I just came out with it. “How do you know about the book—the grimoire? And why didn’t you bother to mention it to me yesterday, or the day before that, or—”

  “All right, you’ve made that point of yours.” She chewed thoughtfully as the wheels turned in her head. “You got to understand something, Katie. Folks around here ain’t all what they seem.” She took another bite of eggs and quickly swallowed before leaning into the table. “I ain’t what I seem,” she muttered. The butt of her clenched palms landed on the table with her fork held tight. “Lord Jesus! What the hell is wrong with me?”

  Now, Sugar wasn’t a particularly religious person, so the mention of Jesus was a sign I’d hit upon a sticky subject requiring her to have a little faith in me. I leaned in with my brow pulled into an exaggerated knot. “You mean you weren’t born looking like this?” In all the months she’d been patronizing my shop and breaking bread with me, we’d never actually had that conversation. But everyone knew who Lady Sugar was—and what she was.

  “Don’t you go there, Katie B,” she warned.

  I smiled and ended her misery, because clearly we both had some sharing to do. “Look, Sugar, you need to tell me if you know about that book and all the evil things trapped inside of it.” I guess she knew now, didn’t she?

  “Well, what in Hades do you think?” she hissed. “Of course I know. But it wasn’t my business to tell.” Her frustration leveled off. “But now that Fin has taken care of that little detail, maybe you can tell me why the Crossroads Society has taken such a shine to you. That Victor Tuse clown has something to do with it.” It wasn’t a question. She’d smelled the connection the second Fin came in asking about that tattoo.

  “You still haven’t told me what your connection is to the society,” I said. “Exactly how do you know about the grimoire?”

  She pushed her plate away and squinted her eyes at me. “I consider myself a pretty savvy judge of character. And since you’re a member of the club now.” She stopped and cocked her head. “You are a member now, right?”

  “I agreed to work with them, but now I’m wondering if I’m being played.”

  She sat deeper into the booth and rested her arm over the top of the worn yellow vinyl. “Well baby, if you’re being played, so am I.”

  I gaped at her in disbelief. “You’re a member?” Council members were direct descendants of the original keepers of the grimoire, but I got the distinct impression that all general members had some kind of unique connection to it—or special talent.

  “Do I look like the kind of girl who joins them silly little clubs?” she asked.

  Yeah. Stupid question. Sugar would no more join the Crossroads Society than the local garden club. “I guess that would be a no?”

  “Mmhmm. I knew you had some sense in that pretty little head of yours.” She sipped her coffee, keeping up the suspense for another minute or two before explaining her connection to Fin Cooper and Lillian Whitman. “Ever hear of hoodoo?” she asked. I slowly nodded. “Then you know what a conjurer is?”

  I didn’t see that coming. “You?”

  “I dabble a bit, but my mama,” she shook her head, “now she’s the real conjure woman in the family. Her mama was one of the best in the South. My whole family goes way back with them society folks.”

  “You still haven’t told me how you know so much about them. If you’re not a member, how do you know so much about their business?”

  “I guess you could call me and my kin honorary members, except we don’t have to go to all them boring meetings unless we need a cure for insomnia.” She relaxed deeper into the booth before revealing the final piece of the puzzle. “You know them slave quarters where that book was found? Well, guess whose ancestors lived in that little room? Hell, Mama and me are on speed dial for just about any news comes out of that motley crew. Now why don’t you tell me why the most exclusive club in Savannah just made you a card-carrying member? I’m gonna find out anyway when I talk to Fin. Might as well hear it from you.”

  It took less than six months for my crazy past to catch up with me. Did I really think I could leave it all behind, raise a nice little family of baby dragons under the guise of being as normal as the Joneses?

  “Come on now, baby. Tell Sugar your big secret. You a witch or one of them faery folks? Ain’t nothing surprises me in this town. I seen it all.”

  In quid pro quo fashion, I obliged. “Ever heard of a shifter?” Based on the indifferent look she was giving me, I assumed the answer was yes. “I’m kind of like one of those.”

  She just sat there staring at me, squinting her eyes and pursing her lips. Just as I was starting to regret telling her, she relieved the uncomfortable tension strangling the confines of our booth. “I see,” she said. “I knew there was something funky going on with you. Ain’t no one that gorgeous without a little extra specialness in their blood.”

  I smirked. “Yeah, well, that ‘extra specialness’ put a target on my back. Apparently one of the spirits previously trapped in that book has chosen me as its accomplice. Victor Tuse is just an innocent host, and that tattoo it tricked me into applying to Tuse’s back was its ticket to manifesting into the poor man’s body. Now I guess it’s just waiting for its other half to break free, and according to Lillian and Fin we’re all going to war if that happens.”

  Sugar looked like she’d just seen Christ himself walk across the table. “Well, fuck me!” Just as quickly, her astonishment turned to anger. “Wait a damn minute! You telling me one of them things is free? Well, why the hell haven’t the members been notified?”

  I was about to tell her to direct that question to Fin when a loud rumbling noise distracted the entire diner. “What the hell is that?” I scooted against the window and watched the bikes roll past the shops lining the street. The noise from the engines hurt my ears as three choppers pulled into the parking spaces across the street—in front of my shop.

  “Uh-uh. Hell no,” Sugar said, shaking her head and climbing out of the booth. “Them fools ain’t parking there.”

  Sugar was no shrinking v
iolet, but a man in a dress taking on a pack of bikers wearing club jackets was a bad idea. I stumbled out of the booth and chased her toward the door. “Sugar, don’t! They’re going into the shop.”

  They’re going into the shop!

  I hadn’t seen Sea Bass or Abel arrive yet, so that only left Mouse to deal with the three intimidating men. Maybe my tardy employees had come through the back entrance. Without bothering to look both ways I ran cross the street, with Sugar running after me in her platform shoes. She was in a seventies mood today.

  “Hold up, Katie!” she yelled. “These shoes ain’t made for running!”

  I ignored her and pushed the front door open. Two of the bikers turned to see who’d just come barreling through the front door, ogling me once they got a good look. Sugar came through a few seconds later. One of them made a remark under his breath as he stared at the confusing figure in front of him. Of all days for Sugar to go wigless with a face full of makeup and a purse dangling off her forearm.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” That was a stretch. I was relieved to see Abel and Sea Bass in the room. They’d come in through the back door as I’d hoped.

  Sea Bass looked up. “Morning, Katie. These guys want tattoos.”

  “Well, obviously,” I mumbled under my breath. The one who was too preoccupied with the drawing Mouse was sketching finally looked up. His hair was almost as black as mine, reaching down past his huge shoulders before stopping halfway down his back. Along with his pale skin and intense eyes, he looked gothic. He assessed me for a minute before turning back to Mouse. “All three of you want tattoos?” I asked.

  “Is that a problem?” the guy working with Mouse asked without looking back up. His voice was bottomless, as baritone as I’d ever heard.

  “Not if you make an appointment.” I walked over to the computer and checked the schedule. “We only have one open slot today,” I lied, feeling an overwhelming and unexplainable need to get rid of them.

  “You can do mine today.” He stood up, revealing his true size. The guy had to be at least six and a half feet tall, with a modest two tattoos on each of his biceps, not the full sleeve you’d expect from his type. There was a smaller one on the inside of his forearm.

  Mouse handed me the drawing. It was a detailed image of a red-tailed hawk with its wings in mid-flight. “I’ve got a client coming in at eleven,” she said. “I told him the boss might have some time to do it, though.” I don’t know why but I found myself stuck in place, unable to respond as if she’d lost her freaking mind. She picked up on my strange reaction. “That’s okay, isn’t it? I checked your schedule first.”

  He looked at me with his brooding eyes a little bit longer than he needed to, realizing that I was the boss—a mere female. Then he glanced at Sea Bass. “I want him to do it.”

  “Oh no, he didn’t,” Sugar muttered just loud enough for me to hear.

  Sea Bass shook his head. “Sorry, dude. I got a client coming in any minute now. Katie’s the best in the shop. Believe me, you want her to do your tattoo.”

  He turned to his friends to have one of those silent conversations that everyone in the room seemed to be having. After concluding that conversation, he turned back to insult me directly. “Any other shops around here?”

  I huffed, incredulous at his audacity, like he’d just walked into a bar and asked the bartender where he could get a good drink. “Sure,” I said with a whole lot of sincerity. “There’s the bakery across the street and a real good auto repair shop about a block north of here.” I mused further as he crossed his arms and leaned his ass against the table behind him. “Oh, and there’s a great thrift shop right over there.” I pointed through the window. “We’re just loaded with shops around here. I guess that means you boys aren’t locals?”

  The perpetual scowl on his face softened into a more amused grin. “Got a little attitude, don’t you?” He lifted away from the table, closing the gap between us. “I like attitude.” Then he looked at Sea Bass again. “When can you fit me in?”

  Feeling the passive aggressive vibes between me and the giant biker, Sea Bass hesitated as if waiting for permission. “Go on,” I said to him. “Check your schedule.” I backed off and got busy fiddling around the front desk.

  “I can do it Tuesday at two.”

  “And we can fit your friends in on Wednesday,” I added.

  The guy nodded and gave Sea Bass his name and number before leaving the shop with the others.

  Sugar stared out the window as they walked toward their Harleys. “Dicks! Coming in here like they own the place.” She had her eyes on the tall blond one with the lanky limbs. “I do kinda like that little blond boy, though.”

  “Yep,” I agreed. “Real dicks.” I joined her at the window and watched them pull their helmets on and straddle their bikes. The engines revved with the same annoying decibels as when they arrived.

  “Ain’t there some kind of ordinance against all that?” she asked. “All them pipes sticking out all over the place.”

  I walked over to the computer and looked at his name on the appointment list. “Jackson Hunter,” I muttered. As soon as I heard the bikes roar down the street I locked myself in the bathroom and gripped the side of the sink, staring in the mirror at the deep green fighting to take over the blue of my eyes. My dragon was wide awake, and if I hadn’t been able to control it so well we would have had a real problem a few minutes earlier. My pulse was racing so fast I nearly dropped down on the toilet seat to steady myself. But the worst effect Jackson Hunter had on me was the heat throbbing between my thighs, traveling like a thermal snake all the way up to my navel. “Fuck.”

  9

  Everyone deserved a sanctuary like MacPherson’s Pub. Cheap drinks, no tourists, and plenty of discretion made it the perfect place to unwind—and get Jackson Hunter out of my head. Like Sugar said, he was a real dick, and a brooding one at that. But you know what they say about attraction. I’d spent the entire afternoon trying to shake his voice from my head, but that deep baritone and those penetrating green eyes wouldn’t go away. Thank God it was Sunday so I only had to make it through a little more than seven hours of clients. At six o’clock I finally flipped the CLOSED sign on the door and headed over for a drink.

  Like most Sunday nights, the crowd was small. Most of the regulars were at home by now, recuperating from the weekend before going back to work Monday morning. Lucky for me the shop was closed on Mondays.

  MacPherson’s wasn’t very big, which meant the busiest nights were standing room only. The place consisted of a bar with a dozen stools, a smaller room for the pool table, and a single unisex bathroom which I’m fairly certain was breaking some kind of city code. But the Irish cops who patronized the place seemed to turn a blind eye. The bar actually had a second bathroom, but the one marked LADIES had an out of order sign hanging on the door ever since I first stepped foot in the place.

  “What can I get you, Katie?” Fiona asked as I grabbed a stool at the bar. I’d been coming here since the first week I moved to Savannah, and the bartender knew me by name. She also knew I ordered a Guinness about ninety-nine percent of the time.

  “The usual,” I said. Thinking about it for a second, I stopped her as she held a glass under the tap. “You know what? I think I’ll have some scotch tonight.” She grabbed the cheap but drinkable Dewar’s blend. I shook my head and pointed to the bottle of Talisker, feeling generous with myself and spoiled from the night before. Tomorrow morning I’d regret spending that much money on a half inch of liquor. “I’ll take that Guinness, too.”

  She placed the two glasses in front of me and leaned her elbows onto the padded edge of the bar, pushing her breasts over the edge of her scant tank top. Her grandfather owned the bar. She had a beautiful head of auburn hair the first time Elliot and I found the place, but since then she’d decided to shave it off and get a tattoo of the Horned God on the top of her head.

  “Rough weekend?” she mumbled around the tiny red straw she was chewing on.
Fiona liked boys and girls, especially girls with ink. We’d come to an understanding early on in our relationship that while I was flattered by the attention, I liked boys exclusively—and at the time I was taken. I guess now that I was single again it didn’t hurt to keep throwing suggestions my way.

  “Rough?” I replied. “Goddamn freak show is what it’s been.”

  She gave me an exaggerated look of sympathy. “Look on the bright side, sweetie. Tomorrow is Monday.” She straightened up and dipped her fingers into the foam of my beer, flicking it at me playfully as she walked toward the guy sitting a few seats down.

  I swiveled around on my stool and eased my elbows back against the bar. Although I could drink most of these guys under the table, that small glass of liquor had me feeling a little loose. Maybe it was all the stress. There was a guy at the pool table who kept glancing between me and the ball at the tip of his cue. I smiled back at him, swinging my leg and sipping the foam off my beer. Anything to keep Jackson Hunter’s voice out of my head.

  Something kept clicking, like a tiny little horse galloping in place on top of the bar. I turned back around and glanced at the guy a few stools down and noticed his fingernails tapping on the wood. He stopped when he caught my eye. He had a blazing red mohawk and a set of piercing blue eyes that rivaled mine. I looked away and stared at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. A moment later he was doing the same. There was something creepy about people staring at each other through a mirror, like their souls were being projected, bouncing off the glass into the other person’s mind. My eyes casually rolled around the bar and back toward his legs when I heard his knee bouncing with that same impatient rhythm. The guy looked jacked up on speed or Red Bull.

  “Can I get you another one of those?”

  I turned toward the voice and looked at a different guy offering to buy me a drink. “Sure.” I motioned to the stool next to mine. “Fiona, I’ll have another Talisker, please.”

  “You’ve got good taste,” he said, referring to the pricy drink I’d just added to his tab. He nodded to Fiona and held up two fingers. She came back with two glasses of scotch and smirked at me.