I padded down the stairs, finding Lucas unmoving in the living room, thoughts preoccupied.
“What was that about?” I asked.
He turned slowly, eyes drifting down me. Reaching out he touched my hair, fingers cascading down the strands and continuing on to my waist where his hand gripped me. “I’ll tell you,” he said. “Just not now.”
Essentially it was the same thing I’d said to him upstairs. Had that hurt him? It was certainly painful for me to hear. But I understood. Secrets were secret for a reason, and heedlessly giving them away was careless. But a secret shared in confidence could be the most rewarding of investments.
The two of us were getting there.
* * *
My shift on Monday was something of a spectacle. It started with Ben, he was pacing when I stepped into the office, a sure sign he was waiting to pounce. “So you’ve decided to join us,” he said, grizzled beard twitching.
Sighing, I tossed my purse onto the counter. “Go on, just shout and be done with it.” He was chomping for a fight, but for once I wasn’t in the mood.
“Go on? Go on, she says!” He thumped the counter with two crumpled fists, my purse rattling in response. “I ought to fire you,” his voice crackled, both from age and anger. “Shrugging off an entire shift, getting your friend to make excuses for you,” he said, voice steadily rising. “Well you don’t look sick to me!”
“I didn’t say I was sick,” I answered. Countering, “I said I wasn’t well, similar, but not the same.”
“You didn’t say anything, you little smart ass, Francesca did—a half-hour after your shift was over!”
“You obviously misheard the first half of my message—I suspect old age has made you deaf—so let me skim over the second. It was an apology,” I said, glaring into his eyes.
They were hooded and rheumy, but for some reason this only made his stare more direct. The grooves along his cheeks were like a ventriloquist’s doll, and they cracked deeper when he said, “I had plans and I missed them. Your apology won’t fix that.”
“Plans?” I smelled blood in the water. “With Florence?”
He glanced at the door, as if saying the name might conjure her up. “Piss off, Adelaide,” he growled, rounding the counter and brushing past.
Gone. That fight might have lasted an hour, but Ben had flown the coop. Such was the power of Florence, her name evoking his flight response. I guess I was wrong in thinking I had interrupted their date with my absence. He probably never had plans, that liar, just making it up to layer on my guilt.
Being Monday it should have been a nothing day, with lots of blinking to keep my eyes from crusting shut, and little to no customers. But Stephen arrived early, just minutes after Ben’s departure, laughing as he shoved through the office door. Tim was with him, they were in the middle of a conversation, though the words were entirely lost on me.
I was focused on Stephen’s face. He seemed carefree, and leaning over my desk, inching forward, I caught a whiff of corresponding emotions. He was carefree. Obviously he hadn’t been informed about the body. Smith’s body. I guess it took time to sort out the identity. Dental records, DNA samples, who knew?
“You’re staring,” Stephen said, collapsing into one of the wingback chairs. Tim took the other seat, guitar across his lap. They were both sweaty.
“You’re dripping on the upholstery.”
“We went for a jog,” Stephen explained. He reached around to the window unit behind him, twisting the knob to full blast so the air conditioner whirled to life, blowing the potted plant into a shiver.
“With your guitar?”
“Nah,” Tim said with an easy laugh. “Just picked it up,” except he said peeked.
“And you know what else?” Stephen asked, trying to keep things upbeat. “Tim can play anything, go on, name a song.”
I stared at them blankly. I couldn’t name a song to save my life. But more importantly, I didn’t want to. If Tim played his guitar again I might just break the damn thing.
Stephen grew worried seeing my stony expression, but just then Francesca arrived, strolling into the office. He beamed, as if the world was saved. “Name a song,” he said to Francesca.
Distractedly looking up from thumbing her smartphone, Francesca’s gaze settled on Tim. “I’m too sexy,” she answered without a moment’s hesitation, eyes still locked on the Aussie.
Real subtle.
Five minutes later and she was perched on Tim’s armrest, listening while he plucked the strings. I didn’t for a second believe she would throw Conner over for a transient motel dweller. Francesca just liked pretty things, and she liked the attention even more.
Stephen was always fascinated by her, though she never strung him along, treating him more like a younger brother or casual friend than anything. And Tim was pleased by his pretty audience. I watched them interact, breaking down the dynamic to entertain myself.
Being an empath, I knew that socializing was a self-satisfying activity. The observation that each person was just waiting for their turn to talk always proved true. Stephen enjoyed hanging out with Tim and Francesca because it made him feel mature. Francesca was comforted by the affirmation that she was desirable and liked. And Tim was an extrovert through and through, needing company, thriving on it. Alone he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. They were all getting something out of it, little parasites come to feast.
Alright, so that was a bit cynical. I wasn’t always like this. Before falling into the well I was a social butterfly, and I didn’t examine why friends and parties made me happy. They just did, and things were easier then. But I didn’t fit so well into my old mold, and when Tim tried to wave me over (Stephen and Francesca knew not to bother) I ignored him, staying walled up behind the high counter, tucked behind my desk, watching them have fun.
That was where Elaine found me. She strode into the office, pushing the door open so hard it slammed into the wall, blinds shushing back and forth from impact. Her eyes instantly honed in, as if she’d cased the joint and knew where I’d be sitting.
I straightened up, watching her approach. She was wearing a babydoll dress, the hem skimming her thighs. The fabric was rich red, just a few shades darker than her hair, the blush color complimenting her creamy exposed skin. I hated that she had found me at work, and yet I was grateful too. I didn’t want Lucas seeing her this way, sexy and feminine.
“Follow me outside,” she said, voice low and husky. “You don’t want them to hear what I have to say,” she added, glancing back at Francesca, Stephen and Tim.
The strumming had stopped, and they were all checking her out, even Francesca, especially Francesca. My friend wasn’t used to being upstaged.
“I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” I answered, unwilling to follow her lead. Elaine’s confidence was strong, reminding me of Reed, and she expected me to snap to.
“Fine,” she said, annoyance carefully hidden. “Lucas is not himself. He’s so distracted by your relationship that he’s not interested in my help, or even questioning the obvious. But I am, and I know what you are.”
She couldn’t mean...
“He’s all wrapped up in your feelings,” she continued. “But don’t fool yourself, the moment I break the curse he won’t need you. We have history, years together, I know him better than anyone. We. Belong. Together. So do yourself a favor and break things off before you get in too deep. The sooner the better, Lucas needs my help.” She stared down at me, feeling victorious, waiting for my sniveling response.
“If you’re not here to rent a room then get out,” was all I said, my face blank as a slate. I didn’t want to tip her off to the facts: I didn’t have a clue what she was on about, but I knew enough to be worried.
“He loved me,” she said, wanting to draw blood. “He can’t love you, not really.” And with that she left, gliding over the cheap carpet and out the door.
“What was that about?” Francesca asked, feathers ruffled and angry o
n my behalf.
“That was Elaine, Luke’s ex. She wants him back,” I explained, knowing that part was obvious.
“I recognize her, she’s staying at the Crowne.” Francesca sent me a sharp smile, ruby lips beautiful and cruel. “It’ll be the worst time of her life,” my friend promised.
Chapter 28
Tim kept Stephen and Francesca entertained for a few hours more, regaling them with tales from his time down under. He was a surfer (talk about a stereotype) and had more than his fair share of shark encounters (if the stories were true). I suspect at least one of those fins had belonged to a dolphin.
Stephen eventually left, it being his time to get elbow-deep in toilets, and Tim trailed him out. Francesca finally got around to the point of her visit. She knew better than to fuss, but she did check me over, making sure I was alright.
I didn’t tell her that after the horrific events, which I refused to discuss, I went home and got laid. She would be mad at me for keeping it from her. But it was... private. Or meant to be private, stupid Elaine.
All alone in the office I thought things would finally settle down. But like I said, that shift was a train wreck, one crash after another.
Ring.
Ring.
“Sterling’s Motel, how may I help you?”
“Hello, Adelaide.”
I hung up.
Ring.
“What!” I yelled into the phone.
“Don’t be petulant,” Reed said. “We have things to discuss.”
“Sure,” I said. “How about we discuss Raina Thompson, and how you sent her to break into my house. ‘I took care of it,’ you told me afterwards. What a joke, you orchestrated the whole thing!”
Reed made a noise; I had no idea what it meant. My gift required proximity, so I hadn’t a clue about his emotions. His gift was also altered by the phone, becoming somewhat diluted. The only charm that washed through the line came from his buttery smooth voice, but that was nothing to the complete punch of Reed Wallace. I easily ignored the tug in my stomach, the little flip that made me want to pull him through the cord and hold him close.
His silence was easy to fill. “She was going to let Beagban kill me! How could you hire that woman?”
“It may appear backwards, but my actions will only ensure your protection,” he said sounding sure. “It’s better to have her on our side rather than fighting against us. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“On our side? You sent her to break into my house, you patronizing asshole!”
“As much as I enjoy hearing your righteous indignation, Adelaide, this isn’t the reason I called.”
“Uh, I think you skipped the apology part,” I said, uninterested in his change of subject.
Of course he ignored me. “Your local police got an anonymous tip informing them of a body. The remains were found, along with some incriminating evidence and two injured men. The one, ah, what was his name?” Reed remembered perfectly, he just wanted to torture me. “William Shrader, yes, William is in a comma, he suffered head trauma and may never wake up. The other man, Edward Marks, well his injuries were not so severe, and when questioned, he sang like a bird. Interesting story that.”
My breath huffed out, tension replacing it. I honestly hadn’t worried about the fallout. I didn’t think on what Smith had done to his murderers, I didn’t care. And if they survived, they surely wouldn’t mention me to the authorities. Being an intended victim, my say wouldn’t help them any.
I obviously hadn’t thought things through. Marks had talked, not surprising really. He was weak. And this call meant my involvement had been called into question. I already knew that Reed kept a source at the Brunswick Police Department who he paid to keep tabs and who knew what else, obviously they had been prompt, tipping him off in time to keep me out of trouble.
I remained silent, unwilling to ask, but needing to know.
“It’s the same old story really,” Reed said sounding bored. “Greed leads to murder. They have some sort of tape to prove it, as if the body wasn’t proof enough. An easy case, not like your typical homicide. There’s just one question left to answer—who made the anonymous call? Marks mentioned some red-head, but he was cagey on the details. The police would have questioned him further, but they lost interest.”
Lost interest, yeah sure.
“Well,” he said after a long, drawn out moment. “Explain yourself.”
Seeing as he’d likely bribed a few people on my behalf I probably owed him an explanation, but I would sooner choke on it than spill my secrets. “It’s a nice story. Gruesome, but a happy ending never goes amiss. What of the body? Do they know his identity yet?”
“His?”
“I just assumed—”
“Adelaide,” Reed said, cutting through my lie. “Are you in trouble?” He sounded very serious.
“I can take care of myself,” I answered. “Just ask Raina.”
“Yes,” he said sounding grim, “very mature.”
“Well, I’ve got to go. Some of us actually work, you know,” I told the billionaire business mogul.
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“Uh, I think it is.”
The phone was almost in its cradle when I heard his parting words; they came out thinly through the line. He said, “We’ll finish it sooner than you think.”
And still my night wasn’t over.
Missy’s arrival heralded the end of my shift. It also meant I had to put up with her, even for just five minutes was asking a lot. She’d painted the center of her lips orange, a little rosebud mouth, the corners covered over in concealer. Her eyebrows were shadowed black, thick caterpillars that hung over her eyes like rain clouds. I didn’t mind a little diversity, but jeez that girl was weird.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked, sugar sweet.
I didn’t say anything.
“I was really worried about you,” she lied. “Ben was so angry when you didn’t show up, I thought he’d fire you for sure.” She looked at me, feeling hopeful.
No such luck, I still had my job.
“You must have been really sick,” she went on. “I’m lucky I guess. I’ve never been too sick to call off work.”
I fished my keys from my purse and left, not bothering to say a word. Sparring with her didn’t interest me.
It was time to go home. The only thing I’d wanted this morning was for it to be evening so I could see Lucas again. But after Elaine’s visit, her words still skipping through my brain on repeat, thoughts of Lucas no longer excited me.
They worried me.
What was going on?
And did I really want to know?
* * *
The house was empty when I got home. I called for Smith and made kissy noises to attract the ghost dog, but neither appeared. A niggling worry set in, but I brushed it off. Smith had disappeared for days at a time before, it was a ghost thing. He was probably at Stephen’s house, waiting for the moment when his family learned the truth.
I debated what to make for dinner, kicking off my shoes as I puttered around the kitchen. Luke would grill me something, steaks maybe. I stopped what I was doing and went to the medicine cabinet, hurrying to gulp down some NyQuil. If I got drowsy and dropped directly into bed then I wouldn’t have to see him. Not that I didn’t want to see Lucas. I just didn’t want to... question everything, but Elaine had made it inevitable.
Wanting to duck away from my thoughts I went into the closet, pulling out Demidov’s diary. There was a crumpled piece of paper in the fuse box with it. I recognized Smith’s blocky handwriting, and for a second I was very happy. But all it said was Dusty Antiques. I didn’t know what it meant or when he’d written it. I sat on the floor, thinking it over.
Dusty Antiques.
Dusty Antiques.
Why did that sound familiar?
I folded the note and put it in my pocket, thinking it would come to me, and if not I’d just mull it over later. Then I cracked open the diary, real
izing I was almost to the end.
Summoning the demonkind has been ritualized, mostly from ignorance. Circles of salt. Chanting and spells. Sacrifice. The truth is anyone can call a demon. All that is required is the creature’s name. I had learned this, learned about the veil that separates us and their need for a mortal’s invitation, yet the more I called upon Raulriechmydl, the more I made up my own little rites. You see, these beings were cleverer than I could comprehend. When I first called him into my home, his eyes skimmed over my belongings, taking note of each and every little thing. He was learning me, learning my weaknesses, how he could exploit me. And he did, manipulating me with ease. So I stopped calling him into my personal space, emptying my basement to bare walls, exposed beams, and concrete floors. I painted my own circle, a ten foot wide diameter of red. I commanded him to stay inside the lines, removing some of his control and leverage. You see, the demons we call are accountable to us, following our commands as we are their hosts on this side of the veil. But that capacity only extends so far, and the line marking its beginning and end can blur, a dangerous pitfall. A summoner can make requirements of a demon, stay here, go there, but the moment he asks for more, wanting to take a demon’s knowledge for his own, that is when the negotiations begin. From experience I can report the dangers of this, can confess my fear and regret, and yet, as much as I would like to, I cannot deny the allure of demon dealing. That seductive essence of power can drown a man.
Chapter 29
Tuesday morning I woke up feeling guilty. I had avoided Lucas, crashing in my own bed after reading another entry from Demidov’s journal. I should go over to his place, call him at work, leave a note, something. I halfheartedly toyed with the idea while getting ready for the day.
The trouble with my hair always matched my mood, if I was annoyed or frustrated it would become unruly and difficult. It seemed especially ratty after my shower, and combing it into submission was hard work. I had my hands up in the air so long the blood drained out and I had to stop and take a breather halfway through braiding the beast.
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