by Jan Eldredge
Behind her, Julian cleared his throat. “If I might—”
“No!” She held her hand out to hush him. One rude and senseless remark from him, and she would lose her grip on the last shred of sanity she was clinging to. She would fly into a crazed rage, and all the silver, mistletoe, and rye in the world wouldn’t protect him from the eye blackening she’d give him.
He wisely remained silent and kept his distance.
Evangeline hung her head. She was tired. She was hungry. She was alone, and she wanted to go home. She wanted her life to be the way it used to be.
“He’s not dead.”
Evangeline spun around.
Julian crouched beside the spilled jambalaya, holding a silver platter in front of him as though it could shield him from her wrath. “Fader’s not dead, just sedated.”
“What are you talking about?” She squinted at him, not sure she’d heard correctly.
“One of my phobias—my fear of waking from a drug-induced coma only to discover my face has been permanently painted with mime’s makeup—led me to do a fair amount of research into anesthesia.” He pointed toward the shrimp and rice scattered across the floor. “I believe the jambalaya has been drugged with a sedative.”
“A sedative?” Evangeline’s heart jumped with hope.
Julian cautiously lowered the silver platter. He scooted toward them and rested his head against the cat’s side. He sat up with a nod. “He’s fine. Have a listen.”
She pressed her own ear to Fader’s warm fur. A soft lub-dub, lub-dub rewarded her. She sprang up and threw her arms around Julian.
Julian’s body went as rigid as a wrought-iron fence post. “Please let go of me. You’re invading my personal space.”
“Thank you.” Evangeline released him and pulled away.
He shrugged. “He’s just in a deep sleep. I’m surprised he’s not snoring.”
Just like your daddy, she thought. “Your daddy!” She shot to her feet. “He’s sound asleep. Down in his study.”
Julian’s face paled as he stood. The door to the workroom slammed shut with a bang. On the other side, a key turned in the lock, and heavy footsteps pounded down the staircase.
They rushed to the door. The key was gone. Evangeline twisted the knob, but it wouldn’t open.
“Camille!” Julian pounded his fist against the door. “Camille, you food-drugging villainess, let us out!”
“Shh!” Evangeline leaned close and listened. “Camille would never have done such a thing,” she whispered. “Anyone could have messed with that shrimp before she put them in the pot.”
“Oh, really? Like who?”
Downstairs, people argued. Evangeline pointed toward the door. One of the arguers was Camille. The other two voices were male, and very angry.
Julian’s eyes widened. “Burglars?”
Evangeline twisted the knob again. She stepped away, drew back her booted foot, then paused. Even if she could kick it open, what would they do? If they managed to make their way downstairs and past the intruders, then what? Run outside and hope the rougarou hadn’t returned? She lowered her foot.
They were trapped good.
She turned to break the bad news to Julian, but he was no longer beside her. She spun around and spotted him across the room.
His head hung low, and he leaned against the tall bookshelf, appearing to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“Whoa there. Take it easy.” Evangeline held her hand out toward him. “It’s gonna be okay.”
With a grunt of effort, he shoved the shelf aside. It slid along the wall, revealing a dark opening behind it.
“Well, knock me down and steal my teeth,” Evangeline murmured.
Julian grabbed the homemade crossbow off the table and slung it over his shoulder. “It’s my secret passageway. No one other than Mother and Father knows about it.” He cast a quick glance back at the opening, then met her with a serious stare. “You have to give me your word you won’t reveal its existence to anyone else.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Evangeline was already poking her head into the darkness. “So this is how you appeared out of nowhere last night. Where does it go?”
“My parents had the inoperative elevator removed when they purchased and remodeled the house two years ago. This is the remaining shaft. My father helped me install a wall-mounted ladder inside that leads down to exit closets on the second and first floors.” He grabbed a plastic sandwich bag of marbles off the table, stuffed it into the front pocket of his pants, and stepped through the opening.
“Wait! What do you think you’re doing?”
He turned his gaze toward the superhero posters hanging on the wall, his posture straightening. “I’m going to defend my family.” He gripped the ladder and placed a foot on one of its metal rungs.
“No you’re not. You stay right here until we can figure out—”
Julian climbed down.
Evangeline huffed in exasperation. That boy was going to get himself killed as sure as she was standing there. She knelt beside the unconscious Fader, no doubt in her mind that the ornery old cat had intentionally saved them from eating the tampered-with food. She gave him a quick caress between two of his four soft, furry ears. “Thanks, Fader. This job will be over soon, one way or the other. And then we’ll go home. We’ll all be together again, just like we should be.”
She stood, then scrambled into the musty-smelling passageway, working things out in her head as she whispered them down to Julian. “I locked your daddy inside his study. He’ll be safe there. But your mama . . .”
Well, if she couldn’t get to Mrs. Midsomer in time to attempt a weaken-binding, she would morph. And if these robbers should still be here, Mrs. Midsomer would kill them. It would be best for them if they took what they came for and got out right away . . . unless they were here for Mrs. Midsomer. Acting as some sort of vigilantes. A sick feeling seeped up inside her. If they somehow knew about her condition, they might have come to kill her, to prevent her from transforming at the stroke of twelve. Her stomach roiled like cream in a butter churn. “Julian, we have to hurry!”
They descended to the first floor, Julian drew a wall panel aside, and they stepped into the back of the closet, right behind a rod hanging with jackets and raincoats. They squeezed through the clothing, eased the door open, and peered out.
The men’s voices floated over from Mrs. Midsomer’s nearby bedroom.
“Ridiculous old bat of a woman. If we hadn’t been ordered not to hurt anyone, I would have knocked her head in. Yelling at us not to mishandle her lady. As if we’d harm one hair on her beautiful head.”
“Shut your mouth, or I’ll bust your face,” the other man said. “Calling her beautiful could be misconstrued as disrespectful behavior. And I, for one, am not prepared to die for your disrespect.”
“Okay, okay,” the other replied. “No need to get all riled up.”
“In fact, don’t say anything else at all. Let’s just get her loaded into the truck and safely delivered.”
“Truck?” Julian mouthed.
Evangeline strained to hear any sound of Camille’s voice, but there was none. She didn’t want to think about what that might mean.
Julian stepped out of the closet and into the hallway.
“Wait!” she whispered. She hurried after him, following him into the kitchen and halting when he strode through the back door, which had been left standing open. She poked her head outside. “Hey! Julian!” Heart thundering, she glanced around the dark yard for any sign of the rougarou. That boy had no idea what he might be getting himself into.
A boxy delivery truck with the words Perigee Dry Cleaners printed on its side sat in the driveway. Evangeline was pretty sure the men inside the house hadn’t come to deliver a bundle of clean clothes.
Julian leaped off the back porch.
“Dag blam it! Julian, wait! This is dangerous!” She hurried down after him, nervously scanning the moonlit yard for any sight of the rougarou. There
was no sign of the grim either. She sniffed deeply, and the aroma of dirty dog met her nose. The grim was still there, hiding, and not off searching for Gran. That was one thing in her favor. And as long as it stayed put, its presence would hopefully keep the rougarou away.
Julian climbed through the truck’s open back doors.
“Get out of there!” Evangeline frowned, waving for him to come down.
“You heard them.” His eyes were as wide as a coyote-cornered rabbit’s. “They want to put my mother in this truck and drive away with her. I intend to stop them.” He paused, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His shoulders slumped, and his voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I can’t let them take her from me.”
His words speared Evangeline’s heart. She would have said the same about her own mama—if her mama had still been there. Her throat tightened; her eyes stung. This boy might not always show it, but he truly loved his mama. That was for sure.
She wiped her sniffly nose on her shirtsleeve. There was no way she could let him do this thing alone. He’d end up dead. Without haunt huntress powers running through her veins, she’d most likely end up dead too. But Gran’s words had seeded themselves deep in her heart: When you see others in need, you help them, even if it means a risk to yourself.
Evangeline straightened her spine and drew back her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll help you.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“But you’re going to need it.” She climbed into the truck and assessed her surroundings.
A narrow cot lined one wall. It’d been made up with a fancy lace-trimmed pillow and pale-blue velvet covers smelling faintly of lavender. Boxes were stacked at the front of the cargo hold. At the rear, between the wall and the back door, hung floor-to-ceiling racks displaying gray pants and turtlenecks inside clear, crinkly dry-cleaner bags.
If she was going to do this harebrained thing, she owed it to Julian to be honest with him. “I have to tell you something.” She took a deep breath then spat the words out before she could lose her nerve. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not really a haunt huntress.”
Julian pressed his lips into a tight line. “So you and your grandmother are frauds, trying to trick my father?”
“No!” She shook her head vehemently. “I thought I was a haunt huntress. . . .” She paused and looked down, forcing out the bitter truth. “I found out today that I’m not.” She glanced up. “Gran’s the real thing, though. I can assure you that.”
“There’s no such thing as supernatural beings, therefore you never could have been a haunt huntress in the first place.” Julian shrugged. “Thus, you’re still the same person to me.”
Evangeline glared at him, not sure whether she should be exasperated or grateful he didn’t care about her lack of haunt huntress status. Either way, this wasn’t the time to argue. She cast a troubled glance at the house. While Mr. Midsomer would be safe locked away in his study, she had no idea what would become of Camille. She could only hope the men would obey their orders to not hurt anyone. At least whoever was behind this didn’t seem to want to harm Mrs. Midsomer. But why in the world would someone want to kidnap her? Especially if they knew of her condition.
The silhouettes of two men appeared in the kitchen windows. They moved toward the back door, carrying a stretcher between them.
It was too late for an escape now. “They’re coming!” Evangeline’s nerves jittered something fierce. She’d rather face down a legion of Dixie demons than confront a pair of up-to-no-good humans.
“Let them come.” Julian unslung the crossbow from his shoulder and thrust out his chest. “I don’t know who these villains are, but I’m not letting them take my mother.”
“What?” Evangeline’s eyes widened with exasperation. “These men are professional . . . professional whatever-they-ares. You can’t confront them. You’re not one of those superheroes from your comic books and wall posters.” She grabbed him by his ear.
“Ow!” He slapped at her hand, but she had a firm grip. She dragged him into a hiding space behind the crinkling bags of clothing and reslung the crossbow over his shoulder.
“Keep absolutely still!” She eyeballed the back of the truck, doing her best to slow the hammering of her heart, praying the men wouldn’t discover them there.
“That hurt.” Julian rubbed at his ear, scowling.
Evangeline had no sympathy to spare him. In a few hours, they’d all have a much bigger problem. And with the blessed ropes upstairs in Gran’s valise, how in the world was she supposed to get Mrs. Midsomer weaken-bound now? The men, wearing the same gray outfits as the ones she and Julian now hid behind, climbed into the truck, balancing the unconscious Mrs. Midsomer on the stretcher. They quickly tucked her into the bed. “Let’s move,” one of them said as he settled the covers around her. “I want to get her delivered before she wakes up.” He sat down next to Mrs. Midsomer.
“Yeah,” the other man said as he jumped out. “And then she’ll be somebody else’s problem. Good thing it’s only twenty minutes away.” He slammed the back doors and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine growled to life, and the truck rolled out of the driveway.
Evangeline put her mind to it, but she was completely befuddled. For the life of her she couldn’t make heads or tails of what the men were up to. If Gran were here, she’d have had the situation figured out and under control by now. Gray misery curdled inside her. If she was the only protection Julian and his mama had, they were in deep trouble.
With Julian glaring at the man seated beside his sleeping mama, the truck pulled onto the road. Evangeline turned her gaze out the back window, and there in the darkness glowed the yellow eyes of the grim staring after them. The rumbling vehicle picked up speed, and the black dog faded into the night.
There was nothing she could do about the grim now, nothing but hope and pray the beast wouldn’t realize her trickery and find its way to the hospital where Gran lay.
The truck bounced along the pothole-filled streets of New Orleans, passing old brick warehouses and rusty corrugated metal ones while the moon beamed down on them like a cold white spotlight. Evangeline fought hard not to fidget, her nerves so bad that butterflies weren’t filling her stomach, they were dive-bombing it.
She pressed a hand to the leather satchel strapped across her chest. The contents inside were sparse compared to Gran’s large valise, but she was grateful to have what few tools she’d stashed inside it, as well as any additional help the gris-gris bag might offer. Possessing no haunt huntress magic, she could only hope she’d find a way to make the items work. As Gran always said, Determination leads to celebration.
The truck slowed and turned into what sounded like a graveled parking lot. A garage door screeched open somewhere ahead of them, and they pulled into a huge corrugated metal warehouse. With a squealing of brakes, they came to a stop.
The garage door rolled shut with a thump, blocking out moonlight and streetlight, and leaving them in darkness.
The truck’s back doors swung open. Evangeline held her breath, willing her runaway heart to slow to at least a gallop.
Without a word, the kidnappers carefully unloaded Mrs. Midsomer and carried her away.
Julian moved to go after them, but Evangeline placed a restraining hand on his arm. She listened as the men’s footsteps echoed off the polished concrete floor and faded into the distance. A door opened in the darkness, then closed. All remained quiet.
She stepped out from the curtain of crinkly plastic bags, and with Julian right behind her, they hopped out of the truck.
Julian sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”
“Lower your voice!” Evangeline hissed. She breathed in deeply. “It’s fresh-cut lumber. And paint.” She walked around to the front of the truck and glanced about, further assessing her surroundings.
They were parked inside a large warehouse. A dull orange light burning somewhere far ahead of them provided enough illumination to display a line o
f windows high above covered with horizontal blinds. Rows of posts held up the soaring ceiling crisscrossed with steel beams. Cloth bunting hung in swags from the beams; foil garlands spiraled around the posts. It was hard to tell through the dim light, but the place appeared to be done up in the purple, green, and gold colors of Mardi Gras.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.” Julian gave her a sour look. “And if you had a cell phone, we could call for help.”
Evangeline returned his sour look right back to him. “Well, why don’t you have one?”
He crossed his arms defensively. “A number of studies have linked cell phone radio-frequency waves to the development of brain tumors.”
“Oh, for goodness’—” She motioned for him to follow. “Come on. We can’t stand around jawing all night.” Midnight was drawing near. She’d soon have to break the news to him about his mama’s condition. Not a task she was looking forward to.
She set off in the direction of the muted orange light, passing boxes and crates, mindful to soften the clacking of her boots against the concrete floor. They rounded a stack of plywood, and she stopped, the hairs rising on the back of her neck, her hand dropping to her knife.
In the distance, standing between them and the glowing light, a gathering of tall, hulking forms waited, motionless. They faced one another in two long lines, forming an alleyway running between them.
“What’s wrong?” Julian whispered behind her.
“Nothing.” Now wasn’t the time to be getting a case of the heebie-jeebies. She forced her feet to keep moving.
They drew closer, the aromas of paint growing stronger, and the shadows dissolved around them. The looming forms turned out to be nothing more than a series of giant sculpted heads, each as huge as an outhouse, with eyes as round as dinner plates set inside scowling, jeering, laughing faces.
Their gaping expressions made Evangeline’s skin go skittery. She pressed her fingers against her mama’s talisman and moved into their midst, sweeping her gaze at their faces as she went. To her right, a simpering jester stared down at her, its head covered with a multicolored cap drooping with gold bells. Beside it, a bald-headed cyclops peered out with a single blue eye from beneath its creased forehead. She glanced to her left, and a scarlet-faced devil, complete with a set of horns and a pointy black beard, sneered back at her. “What is this place?” she whispered.