Don't Dream It's Rover

by Misty Simon

  “Don’t move a muscle.” His voice was gravelly and his looks craggy. He either hadn’t shaved in a few weeks or he purposely liked to have that rough look. His eyes were clear, though, and the way his mouth flattened told her he meant business.

  “I have to at least breathe.”

  “Your mouth is a muscle. I suggest you don’t move that again, either.”

  She dropped that mouth open, and he clicked the cocking mechanism.

  This was some serious trouble.

  A ghost flew up and smacked the guy on the head with a jewelry box, another came at him with a tire, and yet a third swung a long piece of wood. While he defended himself, she had just enough time to yank her taser out of her belt with one hand and the pepper spray with the other and hit him with both at the same time.

  He went down, and then Becker was there with rope and—call her Madonna and give her diamonds—he hogtied the guy in two seconds flat.

  “I was in 4H when I was a kid,” he said, and she laughed and laughed.

  Now to go find Jennifer and tell her the danger was over so they could get back to the norm, whatever that was anymore, since now she was going to have a dog. She’d tell the cops that the guy had come into her place, trespassing, and shot a gun. That should be enough to at least get him in jail. And once they separated Mumford from Dougal, they should be able to have enough evidence to keep him locked away for a very, very long time.

  Speaking of Mumford, he was the next one she needed to find as soon as she made contact with Jennifer.

  After calling Chester, she waited, but he didn’t come to her. She tried again and then looked to Becker for help.

  “Chester!” he yelled.

  “Uh, yeah, Chester is the one with the pinstriped suit, is he not?” a female voice asked.

  Mel had only spoken with Jennifer a few times on the phone, but she did not recognize this voice at all. Plus, she knew Jennifer was almost six feet tall and had thick black hair, where this woman looked more like a pixie or a doll, with her porcelain skin and shiny blonde hair.

  “He is,” Mel answered cautiously, glancing at Becker and not knowing what to do. She did not like having yet another unknown player on the field. Maybe her dad had sent this woman. He did that sometimes, but he usually called with a warning.

  She’d try that honey first, to see if she couldn’t find out what was going on while the taser was recharging.

  “You can let the ghosts go now. The bad guy who was shooting them is tied up on the ground and not going anywhere. Becker, here, was a Boy Scout or something and can hogtie with the best of them.”

  Becker put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  “Well, aren’t you just as odd as I’ve been told.” The pixie eyed her up and down with a smirk on her face that Mel wanted to knock off in the worst way.

  “Who’s been telling you what?”

  “Oh, I was supposed to find the girl who got stuck in an eighties loop. I could have sworn that you would have been older, though, since you probably weren’t even born in the eighties, much less old enough to even know who Madonna is.”

  How dare she? And who the hell was she? Because she definitely wasn’t Jennifer, who sent her Madonna memorabilia whenever she found some.

  “So since you didn’t answer my last question, then maybe you’ll answer this one. Who are you? And what the hell are you doing on my property?”

  “That’s two questions, sweetheart. Surely you haven’t used so much hairspray on those overpermed and frizzy bangs of yours that you’ve killed the math brain cells in your head.”

  If she’d had her taser ready, Mel would have already hit her with it at least three times—count them! Three! Or maybe just once, but she wouldn’t have let the trigger go. Either sounded good, with the ridiculousness that was this woman.

  “I’ve had it with you not answering and just being a bitch. Tell me who you are, or I’m calling the cops.”

  “And how are you going to get there?”

  A huge wall of ghosts formed up behind Mel, their eyes glowing red. She’d only ever seen that once before, and it was scary when it was just one. Here were over a hundred, and she nearly peed her high-waisted jeans.

  “Becker can…”

  “Becker is not going to do anything, because he has the same number of ghosts on him. And in case you haven’t noticed, I have a little something that makes them all do my bidding.” She whistled a shrill whistle, and Mumford came trotting up to sit at the woman’s feet.

  Holy shit! Then who was the guy who had been shooting all her ghosts, the one left hogtied on the ground behind her?

  She wanted to scream, and she wanted to cry, and she wanted to puke. But mostly she wanted to cry because Mumford looked so sad sitting at the bitch’s feet, like he had peed on the carpet or something.

  But a few things clicked in her mind. So this woman could control ghosts, which meant she controlled Dougal, which meant that with Dougal being around Mumford’s throat probably meant that she controlled Mumford. Well, not for long. Mel would figure something out, and she’d figure it out fast, and then she’d thwart this scum woman if it was the very last thing she ever did. The evil dragon woman had her dog!

  ****

  Mel marched through the front door and into the office. Not by any will of her own but because she had an army behind her, slavering and moaning, turned into mindless ghost slaves instead of the carefree and loving ghosts she had harbored for years. Now they were like the worst B movie from the eighties you’d ever seen, and she was still working on how to save them and herself and Becker and her dog.

  Nothing was coming to her, though, especially since she was very afraid that her life was about to end.

  “Nice digs you have here, princess.” Even though the woman was small, she felt gigantic in the room, especially when she pointed to the corner and an obedient but fierce-eyed Becker dropped the shooter, the first bad guy, into a chair. Becker was watched by two ghosts that were normally benign but under this woman’s control had already torn at his hair and ripped the sleeve off his shirt. Becker’s obedience had nothing to do with the woman and everything to do with trying to survive, just like Mel was doing.

  No one else moved. It was like seeing everything in stop motion. As much as Mel admired the films that used the technique, seeing it in her own life made her want to scream the freaking house down.

  “So what now?” Mel asked, just to get the ball rolling. She had to have this woman talking if she had any hope of coming up with an idea on how to thwart her. Something she said or did would tip off her weakness, and then Mel could swoop in like a valkyrie and take off her head. Maybe she was mixing mythologies there, but she didn’t care in the least.

  “Now you show me how your operation works, and who you have in this lovely piece of property, and then you sign it over to me. I think Douglas has outstayed his welcome in this world, and that dog looks just a little bit mangy, not to mention they think they can get away from me now. I think I’ll have your precious Becker put them both down, and I’ll start all over again, this time on a much, much bigger scale, thanks to you, darling.”

  Mel wanted to spit on her. The bile rose in her throat, and she almost released it just to take the woman by surprise, but a dark head popped up outside the window, and Jennifer shrugged her shoulders. Next to her was Becker’s great-grandfather. Had he dropped the watch? How was this ghost not under the woman’s control? Why had the evil woman called the ghost Douglas when he’d said his name was Dougal? All questions for another time. Right now she was just happy to have the smallest shred of hope thrown out to her.

  “Uh, yeah, you might have control over them right now, but that’s not how this works. And if you think I’m going to hand over my family business, then you are crazier than you are cute.”

  “Well, thank you for the compliment, darling. I don’t happen to be able to return the favor, but it’s always nice to be admired. Now, as to your thinking that you’re going to
be able to keep me from doing exactly what I want, let me just take a brief moment to let you know that that is not how my life works. I’m blessed, child. I was blessed by a priestess to be able to do anything I want, and then I killed her, so I am perfectly capable of doing it all, because she resides inside me.”

  Um, ew! All the time? Mel could not imagine sharing space all the time. It was bad enough when Chester popped inside for that brief auto-writing session. All the time would be torture. And did the woman actually think she was in control? Or was the priestess the one who was doing the controlling?

  Mel had heard of forced deaths to keep people at their optimal power or to go beyond into ultimate power, but she had never actually known someone who’d done it.

  “And what’s the priestess’s name? I’ve probably heard of her, and she would be very upset to know what scum you are now.”

  “Carolina Newton was a sniveling bitch who deserved to die, and no amount of her meddling is going to interfere with my life goals. I only use her as I need her. I keep her locked away in this tiny bottle, so don’t even try to do anything stupid.”

  Did Mel have all the things she needed for a summoning? Part of her wanted to say yes, but the other part really did not want to be wrong. And she didn’t know if Dougal or Douglas was the guy’s name. And she had to be sure, because to summon, she’d have to be absolutely positive or she’d be calling something she might not be able to handle.

  Crap!

  “Mistress Newton certainly must be able to hear and feel what you do. Is she entwined, or do you just take her out to do parlor tricks? Chester likes to do parlor tricks, too. If you tell him to do one, he makes them look almost real.”

  The other woman glared at her. “I don’t do parlor tricks, and if I want your precious Chester to do anything, I’ll make sure it is real, not just that it looks real. You can bet on that.”

  “And what’s your end game here? I mean what are you looking for? So you have all these ghosts at your disposal, and you’ll do what with them?”

  “Oh, I’ll pretty much rule the world, is what I’ll do.” And she gave one of those classic evil laughs. Her head was thrown back and her hands on her hips, her chest thrust out. Did she practice that pose in the mirror? Probably.

  “Rule the world? Like take over countries and stuff?” How was she going to do that with a bunch of ghosts that Mel could barely get to straighten up the junkyard sometimes?

  “Not the whole world, just the underworld.”

  “As in Hell? Like you want to rule there instead of the devil, whatever each religion calls the Bad Place?”

  “God, you really are that stupid.” The witch woman walked up right in Mel’s face, and behind her, where she couldn’t see, Jennifer lurched at the window. Mel held a hand to both of them.

  “The underworld as in the black market, and the drug rings, and the stealing, and the murder, and the assassins, and all the deals made in back rooms with henchman and bad guys and girls. That underworld.”

  “Ah.” Yeah, she’d already figured that, but again, the more she kept her talking, the more an idea was coming to her. “And owning the underworld will get you what?”

  “Fame, riches, freedom.”

  “But won’t someone bigger and badder come after you to take it away? Isn’t that how the bad stuff works? That there’s always someone bigger and badder? Someone willing to take more lives or risk more to be the top dog?”

  Mumford perked up at the word “dog,” just as she had hoped.

  “There won’t be anyone stronger. Now, surely you have something here for me to celebrate with. A wine? A cognac?”

  “It’s in the kitchen.” Mel thought quickly. She hadn’t seen any of the other ghosts that lived exclusively in the house under this woman’s control, and that gave her yet another ray of hope.

  “Then get me something, but the dog is coming with you because I have to stay here and keep an eye on things. If you do one thing out of place, I will have him rip your Achilles tendon out. He’s done it before, and believe me when I say I can make him do it again.”

  Poor Mumford. That must have broken his and Dougal’s hearts.

  “Fine, but don’t you dare hurt Becker, or nothing and no one will be able to stop me.”

  “Big words from someone with more frizz to her head than brains, but I’m not going to hurt your precious Becker. I’m thinking I might actually take him along with everything else you have. He’s attractive, in a nerdy way, and having a vet on hand can help with all kinds of things.”

  Now Mel really was afraid she might actually throw up. There were so many possibilities for her to take this woman down, whatever her name was, but she didn’t know which would work most effectively. She could motion Jennifer in and have her bring Becker’s great-grandfather, and they might be able to take her down. Or they might get hurt and they’d all be prisoners. She might be able to get control of Mumford, once he was out of the woman’s line of sight, and sic him back on her. But she was hesitant to do that because he was already sad enough, and she didn’t want to make him hurt anyone else. She could try to get to her mother through the back of the kitchen, but she wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish with that. There was also a back door she could sneak out of and hope to come back to fight another day. But she wasn’t a coward, and she wasn’t leaving without her man. And her dog, dammit.

  So that left her with possibilities, but nothing concrete.

  Her heart heavy and her mind racing, she walked into the kitchen and let the door swing shut behind her. The hope was fading, and she didn’t know what to do or how to do it.

  Opening the freezer side of the fridge, she got out some ice cubes and put them in a highball glass. She slammed the door shut, rattling the cookie jar on top. Mrs. Hatchett flew out, and Mel knew exactly what she was going to do.

  Chapter Five

  “Now, to pull this off, we have to be fast, and we have to be determined.” Mel poured the cognac from her father’s personal stash into the glass and swished it around to get it cold.

  Mrs. Hatchett sniffed. “We don’t have to be either of those things. We need to be smart, and we need to be methodical.”

  “Please don’t argue with me. I know you think you’re always right, but you haven’t seen this woman, and you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

  “I know precisely who we’re dealing with, since her grandmother was in my class, and we’ve talked about this granddaughter of hers and what a disappointment she is.”

  “What?” Mel fell back against the fridge.

  “Her grandmother is here, you know. And the woman’s name is Cherise. Take her power from her, and she’s a useless nothing. I’ll bet you the spirit is controlling her even though she thinks she’s controlling the spirit. So take the scissors out of the cupboard in the office, the ones with Henrietta in them, and use them to cut the cord on that necklace she wears. You should be able to undo everything.”

  Could it be that easy? Mel was almost afraid to hope, but not so afraid that she wouldn’t try it. “I will never ever rattle your cookie jar again if this works, Mrs. Hatchett.”

  “Oh, child, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Now go get this evil girl, and make her pay. And I want that priestess, too, because there is something very special we can do to her that will absolutely put her exactly where she’s wanted to be this whole time.”

  Vague, but Mel was not going to argue at this point, because hope was blooming through her, and Cherise had just yelled out her name. She’d better not take too long, or the woman might come in and try to take control of Mrs. Hatchett. That would be very bad indeed.

  Mel snagged the glass of alcohol, wishing she’d had some kind of sleeping pill or something to put in it, and headed back out to the office, where her fate might be awaiting her if she wasn’t able to pull off getting the scissors, cutting the cord, and getting out of the way, all in about a split second. She gulped. What sounded fabulous in the kitchen now felt li
ke a pipe dream.

  Becker’s great-grandfather stood just inside the office now. His eyes did not glow red, and he leaned against the doorframe as if he had nothing at all going on for the next little while. Why wasn’t he freaking out? The house was under siege, and his great-grandson was very possibly in mortal danger.

  But he gave her a thumbs up, opened and closed his first two fingers like a pair of scissors, and winked at her. They were definitely going to have to have a talk about all these hand gestures.

  As she approached Cherise, Mel considered throwing the cognac in the woman’s face. It might not be as effective as the pepper spray and the taser she’d used to subdue the shooter guy, who she’d thought was the dog owner, but it would still sting. As an added bonus, it might give her just enough time to grab the scissors and cut the necklace.

  She decided at the last second not to do it because there was no guarantee. In fact, there was every possibility it would just make things worse if she wasn’t successful.

  However, Mumford took that decision back and remade it for her.

  She was falling, and it was because he had run between her feet and made her lose her footing. The glass went flying, the contents splashing in Cherise’s eyes and down the front of her shirt, over the glass bottle hanging at her throat. She screeched, and the rest happened in a blur. Mumford, despite his short legs, jumped high enough to knock the vase with the scissors down to crash on the floor. Mel could almost swear that a ghostly hand had lifted him up high enough to get to the vase, since there was no way he could have gotten that high without some assistance. She’d glue Mrs. Sellers’ vase back together as soon as they got out of this mess.

  The dog ran over with the scissors in his mouth and laid them in her hand.

  Okay then.

  Jumping up from the floor, she grabbed Cherise’s hair, pulled her head back to expose her throat, and cut the cord.

  The woman screamed, clawed at her neck, and screamed again.