by Jan Eldredge
Evangeline stood motionless, not even breathing.
With a rustling of branches and leaves, a four-legged beast stepped from the camellia bushes. It stood not more than five feet away. The night was dark, and the creature was black, but she would recognize its glowing yellow eyes anywhere. The grim had followed them to New Orleans.
It gazed silently at her, twigs and bits of pine straw stuck to its matted fur, the smell of dirty dog wafting off it.
“Gran,” Evangeline whispered, her heart falling to her feet. “No.” She shook her head, and her voice rose. “No. You can’t have her.” Her voice rose higher, shriller, and she shouted and stomped her boot. “Go! Get away!”
When the creature didn’t retreat, she snatched two metal trash can lids and clanged them together like cymbals, but the grim stood its ground. With a shout of fury, she flung the lids at it. They bounced off the dog’s shaggy matted side, clanking and clattering to the sidewalk.
The grim bared its teeth and growled.
Evangeline took a step back.
Hot breath hit the base of her neck, and a foul odor rose in her nose, wild and savage and spoiled with the taint of old blood.
Thrusting out her mama’s talisman, she spun around and came face-to-face with a second creature.
Red eyes glared down from the monster who loomed seven feet tall, his broad chest and narrow waist bristling with wild brown fur. He snarled long and low, his dark lips quivering and exposing a mouthful of dagger teeth.
Evangeline’s heart seized, and the strength drained from her limbs. “Rougarou,” she whispered, the word slipping from her mouth like a dead, papery leaf.
At the sight of the talisman, the hulking beast staggered back on his two hairy, bowed legs. He raised his clawed paws, shielding his face from the power of the silver as though protecting himself from a blinding-white spotlight.
Evangeline whipped her knife from its sheath and held it out before her. The weapon trembled in her sweaty grip. Behind her, the grim gave another menacing growl.
With his burning red eyes fixed upon her, the rougarou dropped to a crouch. His snout wrinkled back, and he snarled again.
The hairs on Evangeline’s arms stood on end. She tightened her grasp on the knife handle, knowing her weapon and talisman were no match against such raw, primordial power. Her eyes never leaving sight of the rougarou, she took a side step toward the gate, willing her legs not to crumple.
Flattening his pointed ears and flaring his black nostrils, the rougarou pressed his furred paws to the sidewalk, watching her, tensing his muscles, and readying to lunge.
Evangeline took another small step toward the gate, her hand shaking so badly that the knife bobbed in her hand. There was no way she would make it to safety. She braced herself for the impact of claws and teeth. To the other side of her, the grim gave a deep, guttural bark. Snarling, its hackles bristling, it flew at the rougarou and bit down on the monster’s left paw.
With a yelp, the rougarou bolted up. Sweeping his fiery gaze from Evangeline to the grim, he gave a lip-quivering snarl of his own. Then, cradling his injured paw to his chest, he hunched his hairy shoulders and loped away, disappearing into the night.
Evangeline didn’t wait for the grim to round on her next. She swung the gate open and dashed through it. She flew up the back steps just as Julian opened the kitchen door and stuck his head out. “What’s all the commotion? Did I hear dogs?”
She shoved him back, nearly knocking him from his feet as she rushed in. She slammed the door and locked it. Trembling, she scrabbled around inside her leather satchel for a piece of chalk.
“So, you have an abhorrence of dogs too?” Julian grimaced. “It’s their noses I can’t stand, so cold and slimy all the time.” He shuddered. “Did you know that when dogs want to follow an odor, their noses create a thin layer of mucus allowing them to absorb scent chemicals and thus utilize their sense of smell more efficiently? They can then lick the scent chemicals from their noses, allowing the olfactory glands on the roofs of their mouths to taste those odors.”
She’d just nearly been attacked by a rougarou and a grim, and this boy was afraid of wet noses?
“And their breath! It’s always so rancid!” He closed his eyes at the horror.
Evangeline did her best to ignore the rising tidal wave of annoyance. She fumbled her knife back into its sheath. With her fingers shaking, she used her stick of chalk to sketch a series of protection symbols against the kitchen door.
“Hey!” Julian protested. “What are you doing? Stop that! You’re defacing private property!”
“You don’t understand.” Evangeline was still trying to catch her breath. “These protection symbols will keep the beasts away.”
From the other side of the door a set of claws raked against its surface.
Julian’s eyes widened. A loud snuffling sounded at the crack underneath.
“It’s the grim.” Evangeline motioned toward the chalk marks, about to explain how they worked, when she stopped. Did she really want to keep the grim away? If she succeeded in repelling the creature, it might go searching for Gran elsewhere. It might find her at the hospital only four blocks over. She rubbed her palm against the door, smudging the protection symbols away.
“A grim?” Julian raised his eyebrows in amusement.
Paying no attention to him, Evangeline nodded to herself. Yes. Let the stupid grim keep nosing around here. The longer she kept it away from Gran, the more time Gran had to recover, to rest up and grow strong.
“Grims, psychopomps, guides to the afterlife searching for lost souls . . . they don’t really exist.” Julian folded his arms across his chest, staring down his nose at her like a disappointed schoolteacher. “I suppose the next thing you’ll tell me is that it’s Cerberus himself, the three-headed hellhound who guards the entrance to the underworld.”
But his words didn’t needle her. Returning her mama’s talisman to its proper place beneath her shirt collar, she bolted from the kitchen and raced up to her room. She ran back down, carrying Gran’s steel-toed work boots and one of Gran’s dresses.
Julian’s mouth hung open as he watched her stuff the dress into the gap underneath the door, then push the boots snug against it.
Oh, but she was clever. Not only would the scent of Gran’s belongings keep the grim here—and away from the hospital—but the grim’s presence should prevent the rougarou’s return. She smirked to herself. You didn’t have to be an official haunt huntress to know that rougarous, and most other evil creatures of the dark, were afraid of grims.
“It’s just a dog.” Julian gave an exasperated sigh. “Honestly.” He turned his attention to a large pot simmering on the stove. He lifted its lid and sniffed the contents.
An aroma of heavenly spices flooded the room, stopping Evangeline where she stood. “Is . . . is that jambalaya?” Her stomach snarled, grumpily reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since the beignets that morning.
Julian nodded. “Camille cooked dinner tonight.”
Evangeline’s legs went wobbly. She pulled a chair out from under the table and dropped into it. She rubbed her weary eyes. There was no way she could send Julian, Mr. Midsomer, and Camille out into the night, not with that rougarou prowling about. And Percy. He’d be at risk too if he drove up and encountered the creature waiting there. She sat for a moment, reevaluating her promise to Gran.
A whistle of wind rushed past the house, rattling the trees and shrubs outside. Evangeline rested her fingers against her satchel. Her words of power whispered back to her: Trust your gut.
She knew what she had to do.
“Sorry, Gran,” she murmured, the cold hand of guilt tugging at her conscience. She would not be calling Percy to come get her. Not tonight. The people inside the Midsomer house had to be kept safe from the rougarou, and the grim had to be kept from the hospital, things she could not do while lounging around back home in the swamp. Gran’s plan had to be adjusted. There was no getting around it.<
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But something else gnawed at her thoughts. The rougarou’s behavior. It’d been abnormal. She’d never heard of one coming out so early in the evening. The beasts always possessed enough self-preservation instinct to wait until the very late hours before roaming the streets of town.
Had he come for Mrs. Midsomer? But that made no sense. The woman was already well on her way to becoming one of them. His actions just didn’t add up, unless . . . unless the rougarou had come to attack another member of the Midsomer family.
Evangeline leaped up. “Julian, where’s your daddy?”
Julian, still standing over the pot of jambalaya and holding its lid, shrugged.
“Mr. Midsomer’s in his study,” Camille said as she entered the kitchen. “He’s reading a book, trying to relax.” She set an empty tray on the counter and wiped her hands on her apron. “He’s had a lot on his mind lately, poor man.” She shook her head sadly.
Evangeline released a sigh of relief, about to collapse into the chair again, when Camille swept her hand toward the doorway. “You two go on upstairs. Quietly, please. I’ll bring your dinner in a moment, and then I’ll go sit with the missus for the night.”
Julian returned the lid to the pot and left without argument. Evangeline started to tell Camille they could just eat there in the kitchen, but then she remembered Mr. Midsomer saying Julian preferred to take his dinners in his workroom.
Evangeline trudged after him. She would have to come up with a plan, as well as a backup plan. If she failed to keep Mrs. Midsomer weaken-bound when the change overcame her at midnight, everyone in the house would be in grave danger.
She thought on it as she went. One thing was for sure. Julian, Mr. Midsomer, and Camille would have to lock themselves in their rooms. She would draw chalk protections on their doors and nail up whatever pieces of rye and mistletoe she had. But it wouldn’t be easy. They’d never agree to barricade themselves away. She had to try, though, and she’d start with Mr. Midsomer.
She hurried up the hallway and toward his study.
When she reached his door, she stopped and glanced at the loudly ticking grandfather clock in the foyer. There were still three hours left before she had to begin the process of weaken-binding Mrs. Midsomer, plenty of time to get everyone settled in and affix her protections outside their rooms.
Taking a deep, readying breath, she opened the creaking door. “Mr. Midsomer. I’m sorry to bother you, but . . .”
Mr. Midsomer sat slumped in his leather wingback chair, his head tipped to one side as he snored softly. A book lay facedown on his lap; the remains of his half-eaten bowl of jambalaya rested on his desk.
For a moment, Evangeline allowed herself to hope the remainder of the night would go this smoothly. She removed the old iron key, clicked the door shut, and locked it. “One down. Two to go.” She tucked the key behind the grandfather clock for safekeeping and headed for the stairs.
But when she passed the dining room, she stopped. She fixed her eyes on the silver tea service atop the buffet, and an idea came to her.
Moving quickly, she piled the tea tray with as much silver as she could find in the room, pitchers, cups, bowls, and utensils clinking and clattering as she did so. Then she lugged her haul up to Julian’s third-floor workroom and dropped it all in the center of the floor with a crash.
Julian looked up from his seat at the worktable, a wooden model of a trebuchet in one hand, a paintbrush in his other. He frowned at the heap of serving ware. “Now what?”
Evangeline didn’t answer. She didn’t have time for his picayune questioning right now. She dashed down to her room and took the rye, mistletoe, and jar of aconitum from Gran’s valise. She shoved them into her satchel as Fader strolled in yowling up at her. She poured a mound of cat food into his empty dish and dashed back out.
Making sure each person in the house survived the night was going to take everything she was made of. With a gut-squeezing sadness, she remembered she wasn’t made of much. All she could do was draw from the knowledge and skills Gran had taught her. She had no idea if it would be enough to keep the family safe. She would do what she could with what she had, and then hope for the best.
Back inside Julian’s workroom, she pawed through the mound of silver, sorting out which items would best suit each person.
“For the love of God, what are you doing?” Julian had paused again, his paintbrush held in midair.
“Making sure you and Camille are well armed.”
Pursing his lips, Julian shook his head, then returned to his painting project.
Evangeline was in the midst of divvying up the silver teaspoons when Fader sauntered into the room clutching a used Band-Aid in his mouth. He dropped it at Evangeline’s booted feet, then sat and stared at her.
“What’s this?” Evangeline furrowed her brow as she picked up the wilted peach-colored bandage. What use could she and Gran possibly have for such a thing? She dropped it into her satchel anyway. Maybe Fader was going senile.
Footsteps mounted the narrow staircase outside the room, and as a rich, spicy aroma floated up, Evangeline’s mouth watered painfully. Camille entered carrying a tray topped with two Cokes and two steaming bowls of shrimp jambalaya. She stepped around the mountain of silver without so much as raising an eyebrow.
With a swish of his tail, Fader jumped onto the tall bookshelf and hunched down, eyeing the housekeeper and her food.
Camille cleared a spot on Julian’s worktable, set down their dinner, and pulled an extra chair over for Evangeline. “Eat. You look like you’re runnin’ on empty.” Then she left with her tray, again stepping around the pile of silver without a single question.
A wave of gratitude washed over Evangeline. Whether Camille believed in her methods or not, she’d never once scoffed at them. Unlike other people in the household. Evangeline shot a sullen glance at Julian.
The aroma of jambalaya drifted enticingly throughout the room. The evening was slipping away, but maybe she’d take a few quick bites, just enough to give her some nourishment and strength. Then she’d get Julian and Camille settled into their protected areas, and Mrs. Midsomer into her weaken-binds.
Evangeline didn’t bother taking a seat. She speared a plump Gulf shrimp with her fork, and as she raised it to her watering mouth, Fader leaped from the tall bookcase. He crashed onto the worktable and slid across it in a furry gray streak, knocking both bowls and both cans of Coke to the floor. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the table, gazing down at the rice and shrimp strewn below.
Evangeline couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even breathe or blink, her anger boiling to the point of eruption, more steam rising inside her than what had come off the hot bowls of jambalaya. Fader suffered no such paralysis. He turned and shot past her, snatching the shrimp from her fork as he went. Gripping it in his mouth, he leaped back to the top of the bookshelf.
Evangeline exploded. “Blast it! Fader, you worthless, no-good scat of a cat!” She stomped toward the bookcase, but he was too high to reach. He hunkered at the edge of the topmost shelf, the shrimp clutched in his mouth like the carcass of hunted prey. He gazed down at her and swished his tail.
“Dag blam it.” Evangeline dragged her chair over. She climbed up, but it was too late. Fader chomped down on the shrimp and swallowed it.
She was too dog tired to fight, and too much work lay ahead of her. She gave the cat a withering glare and climbed off the chair. She joined Julian, kneeling alongside him, assisting as he scraped warm shrimp and rice back into a bowl. “I’m sorry. Gran’s familiar . . .” She sighed. “Well, he’s just rude.”
“He’s a dumb animal. He’s not capable of consciously misbehaving.”
“Oh, yes he is.”
Julian’s watch alarm beeped. He clicked it off.
“Dinnertime?” she asked.
He shook his head sadly. “Since dinner was late tonight, my entire evening schedule has been thrown off. Nine o’clock is normally when I go downstairs and watch Dr. Who. Now I’
ll have to move that to ten o’clock, and that will cut into my hygiene routine.” He frowned.
Evangeline cleared her throat. Now was as good a time as any to break the news to him. “Um, you won’t be able to go downstairs and watch your television tonight.”
A look of raw panic swept over his face. “Is the TV broken?”
“No. Well, I don’t know. But for safety reasons, you’re going to have to lock yourself in this room until sunrise tomorrow.”
He gave her a blank stare.
Evangeline thought it best not to explain the particulars of his mama’s condition, how she would soon transform into a raging, bloodthirsty, hair-covered beast. That was information she could relay tomorrow, hopefully accompanied by the good news of his mama’s recovery. “Don’t worry, I’ll place protections outside the door.” She motioned to the mound of serving ware behind them. “If things get really bad, you can build a small barrier out of these silver pieces. Use a pair of tongs or a platter to defend yourself if you have to.”
He opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, a thump sounded from near the bookshelf. They both turned.
“Fader?” Evangeline gaped at the cat. He lay on the floor, eyes glassy and staring into nothingness. The tip of his tongue jutted out between his teeth.
An icy terror seized her by the throat. She rushed to Fader and dropped to her knees beside his motionless body. “Fader?” She tried to keep her voice steady, but it cracked anyway. “You better just be playing possum, you stupid cat.” She nudged him with her fingertips, but he didn’t respond. She shook his shoulder, and his head lolled side to side. His jaw went slack, and a thread of drool trickled out of the corner of his mouth.
“Fader!” A rock-hard lump rose in Evangeline’s chest. Tears prickled her eyes. She shook him harder, but he remained as limp as a lizard’s tail.
“He’s dead,” she whispered.
Evangeline’s eyes blurred with tears. In the course of one evening, she’d lost so much: first her identity as a haunt huntress, and now Fader. And if Fader was dead, that meant—