by K. F. Breene
“You’re back,” he said without preamble. “Been a long time.”
“A couple months. What’s…” I put my hands on my hips, facing my house. “What’s new?”
“Around here? A lot and nothing.”
“Yeah. Regarding a lot…”
“I take it the rich dude did it behind your back?”
“Like usual, yeah.” I rubbed my eyes, shook my head, and turned away. “That fucking vampire.”
Mikey stood. “I got used to not hearing shit like that while you were gone.”
Mikey was human, knew the supernatural existed because of me, and hated anything to do with it. He’d prefer no one mentioned it. He was uncomfortable often. It was hard to be in even the periphery of my life without getting splashed with any of the weird seeping out.
He fell in beside me, topping my height by half a foot. “Been anywhere I’d be jealous of?” he asked.
“It’s not like you to make small talk.”
“Yeah. It’s boring as shit around here lately. I don’t gotta police nothing. It’s like some sort of ritzy neighborhood at this point.”
I looked around at the weed-choked yards, the peeling paint, the broken-down rocking chairs that wouldn’t hold a cat, and the old, dented cars that lined the streets. “Yeah. I see what you mean,” I said sarcastically.
“You’ll see.”
“Super.”
Smokey crossed the street as we approached my house, and I veered off the curb to get a better view of it.
My…much larger…house.
My…much taller…house.
“What the fuck?” I breathed, looking up at the two-story structure with brick columns supporting the redone front porch, equipped with four new rocking chairs. The planter boxes at the base of the house, in front of the plush green grass, had been replanted with different colored flowers to match the new paint, a bluish gray with white trim. “Why?”
A figure shambled out of the shadows on the right side, the leaves of the bushes getting caught in her tangled fire-engine-red hair. The reaching branches pulled taut, but she kept walking, ripping the leaves free, now stuck in her huge mop of hair. She paused in the center of my lawn, crouching and stooping and leaning to one side with her head cocked like a crow, staring at me.
“Red Prophet,” I said dryly. “How nice to see you again.”
“I’d say you picked up some manners off that rich boyfriend of yours,” Mikey said, stepping off the curb to join me in the street, away from the Red Prophet, “but it’s pretty clear you don’t mean it.”
“Caught that, did you? I was laying it on pretty thick.”
“She’s been here for the last week, solid,” Mikey said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Hi, Reagan. Nice to have you back,” Smokey said, stopping beside me and nodding.
“Hey, Smokey.” I crossed my arms to match Mikey. “I think I know the answer, but you didn’t think to remove her?”
“At first, yeah. Pointed a gun at her and everything.” Mikey spat to the side. “She started spouting off all this shit that she no way coulda known. No way coulda known. Personal shit, about my past ’n’ shit.”
“It occurs to me how much I missed punctuating sentences with swearing,” I murmured, and this time it wasn’t sarcasm. I liked the color Mikey could bring to any conversation. The menace.
“Then she started talking about my future, and I got the fuck outta there.” Mikey shook his head and spat again. He clearly had not handled the situation well. “I know I was supposed to look after your place, but fuck, there are limits. She is over that limit.”
“She’s harmless if you leave her alone,” Smokey said, and a certain gravity rang in his voice.
“What happened?” I asked, back to looking over the completely redone house. It looked like they’d torn down the old one, which had already been completely remodeled, and started over. How the hell had they gotten it done so fast? I’d only been away for two months this time.
“She looks like she escaped an old folks’ home and is suffering from dementia,” Mikey said. “Add to that the gold she was wearing around her neck, and the bright orange clutch she was carrying, which looked stuffed full, and she was a target to be mugged. Easy pickin’s.”
“First of all, you know what a clutch is?”
“Yeah. What am I, stupid?”
“I took you for a man who doesn’t carry purses, actually, but sure. Stupid works,” I said. He huffed out a laugh. “Also, let’s rewind. You tried to mug her?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind did I try to mug her?” Mikey stepped back and gave me an incredulous look. “No, I did not try to fucking mug her. I tried to scare her off your property, realized she was one of your type, and made myself scarce. But I saw her ambling down the street like her back was broken or some shit—it’s not, by the way. That question has been answered. Then I saw three guys approach her. I put a little gas in my step, heading down to sort it out—she’s a whack job, but that doesn’t mean she needs to be harassed in my neighborhood. Those dudes should’ve known better than that. Easy pickin’s or not, this is my spot.”
I nodded to show I was following along. Mikey was a sort of self-appointed neighborhood watch, although he relied on vigilantism rather than engaging with the cops.
“One guy took that bright orange clutch and another pushed her back against the wall and tried to get at her necklaces.” Mikey shook his head. “It happened fast, so I’m not sure of the details, but fuck. In a split second, she had one guy on the ground, unconscious. Another dude was whirled around in some sort of kung fu move and had his dumb brain busted on the wall. The third dude, with the clutch, had already opened it, and he was just staring down into it like his brain had broken. She watched him, like she’d planned for that. So I stopped, because I did not want to know what was in that clutch. The dude kinda shook himself out of it, dropped the clutch, and then tried to turn and run. That old dame was so fucking fast…” Mikey took a step back even though the Red Prophet, still hunched on my front lawn, hadn’t moved forward. “She ran so damn fast. Had that guy on the ground on his back in two shakes. Sat on his chest. Then held him there and started jabbering something at him, I don’t know what. I figured she could handle it and got scarce again.”
“We have zero crime,” Smokey said reverently.
“Zero fucking crime,” Mikey agreed. “That old dame has scared everyone off. We don’t even get the bad sort of fake witches ’n’ shit in the cemetery anymore. She has them scared off, too.”
“You know what they say about appearances,” the Red Prophet said, her voice musical. “It is a weapon like no other.”
“That’s not what they say.” I sighed and started forward.
“She is truly insightful,” Smokey said, keeping step. “I enjoy having her around. She even talked Mikey into borrowing money from me and putting it into the stock market.”
“What did I tell you about talking about my business?” Mikey growled.
“One good turn deserves another,” the Red Prophet said.
I pointed at her as I passed by. “Cut out the crazy. I’m not in the mood. What’s your plan? Are you going to force your way in, or do you plan on loitering?”
“Penny erected the spell, among other things—”
“She’s dirty, too,” Mikey cut in. He still stood on the street, and Smokey had taken up a position on the sidewalk. “I forgot to mention that. She is rough as hell with the sexual innuendos.”
“I know all about the ward. I can feel it. Are you coming in or not?” I stopped at the top of my completely redone porch steps. “Roger said I was supposed to meet you before coming home. I decided not to.”
“Correction—you decided to, and chose your preferred location,” the Red Prophet replied.
“No.” I put out my hand and wasn’t surprised when she clambered up the steps to take it. I pulled her through the ward. If she left, she’d need my help (or Penny’s or Emery’s) to
get back in. If I took a blood offering from her, she’d be able to get in by herself. I did not want a blood offering.
“Talk to you later.” Mikey turned toward the end of the street as Smokey drifted back toward the cemetery. “And don’t worry if you don’t see Mince,” Mikey called over his shoulder. “He’s scared of that woman and admits it freely.”
“Well, congratulations,” I told her as I opened the front door. There was no need to lock it with the ward in place. “You’ve done what no one else has been able to do.”
“Scare your friend?”
“No. Make the neighborhood crime-free. Maybe I can go back to parking Darius’s cars out front again.” The living room was roomier, longer, and equipped with more furniture. The kitchen was a different shape, too, and they’d added a dining room down the hall. A quick look revealed a huge library had taken the place of the rooms at the back of the house, and a stairway led up to the second floor, where the bedrooms had presumably been moved.
I stopped at the back door and looked out the window. The house behind me was gone. Darius had clearly bought out the shotgun-toting neighbor and extended the backyard into his lot, equipped with a training area and a lovely little oasis with what looked like a koi pond.
Shaking my head, I backtracked to the stairs and looked up. Then aimed for the kitchen. I wasn’t in the mood to see the new addition. That sonuvabitch hadn’t mentioned any of this. He hadn’t even hinted. He certainly hadn’t asked.
“They made it bigger.” The Red Prophet put up a gnarled finger from her position by the front door.
“Yeah, no shit.”
“You’ll need the space.”
“Great.” I checked my supplies. A little light—the vampires who came every night and stocked my fridge and pantry, not to mention cleaned my house and did my laundry, clearly hadn’t expected me back. Still, they’d left me with enough staples to get by.
I grabbed the bottle of whiskey.
“Want a drink?” I asked the Red Prophet.
“Sure. Have any Fireball?”
I paused in taking down glasses, then couldn’t help but grin. “Of course.”
After serving us each a generous pour, I brought the glasses over to the same kitchen table I’d had before, some things clearly having survived the rebuild. I fell into one of the chairs, and the Red Prophet sat down opposite me and reached for her glass.
“So,” she said.
“So,” I repeated. “I was supposed to meet with you.”
“Yes. Tomorrow you will finally take me to meet my nemesis. Then we will plan your trip into the Realm.”
I drained my glass, then got up, brought the bottle back to the table, and poured myself a generous refill.
“The Realm?” I asked.
“Yes. Your journey will converge with the Third’s for a time. You need the Second’s help. The Second also needs your help, though he doesn’t realize it yet. The Third cannot finish her quest without you, though they don’t know that yet. You have always been the catalyst.”
“Cool.” I leaned back, learning the new look of home. “You’re definitely a Seer, right?”
“Yes. Definitely. Also, I am becoming something of a ‘crackhead,’ I am told. As I work through all the drugs this new land has to offer, I have been given that label by the people of this neighborhood, though I didn’t much like that strain of cocaine. Still, it’s nice to be remembered.”
“Sure. And you learn things through your craft that you don’t share with others? Because if you told Romulus and Charity all of this, it would probably help them out.”
“I reveal that which needs to be revealed, when it needs to be revealed, so that it will do the most good. If you give away all the answers, no one will learn the lessons of the journey.”
“Yet you told Smokey and Mikey to invest in the stock market?”
“That’s different. They’ve learned all they need to about how hard and unfair life is. I figured it was time they got a payoff, and since this world didn’t intend to settle the debt, I figured I’d step in. I believe they call that insider trading here.”
“No, that’s something else, and it isn’t magical.”
“I learned of this sure bet while checking out some of the backyards in the Garden District. Very pretty, that area of town. It reminds me of a blue version of the Flush. Anyway, someone there will go to prison for the part he has played in tampering with the stock market, but No-Good Mikey and Smokey will just get rich. After a short investigation of their windfall, of course. They’ll hardly be affected. The rewards will be plentiful for their brief time of pain.”
I stared at her for a moment, then couldn’t help laughing. I doubted Mikey would’ve touched anything to do with the stock market if it meant he’d have the cops up in his business. Lessons of the journey, definitely. Mikey would probably never play the stock market again.
“I have something to do before I hitch a ride on Charity’s journey.” I finished the second glass of whiskey, thought about a third, and then pushed the bottle away. “I need to answer a summons.”
“Ah. Yes, I heard about that. You will answer a summons, all right, though probably not in the way you intended.”
“Ugh!” I held up my hand. “Don’t say any more. I don’t want to know. I’m not real keen on your line of work.”
“I know. That’s what makes you so fun.”
“A real hoot, yeah.” I put my hands on the table and pushed up to standing. Maybe it would be smart to poke her for details, but if I knew answering the summons, or attempting to, would end with me getting kidnapped by a bunch of demons, I didn’t think I’d have the courage to keep trucking. I wasn’t interested in the future—I’d deal with it when it became the present. “Tell the natural dual-mages, if they come over, that I am not to be woken up or it will result in some sort of catastrophe.”
“Will do.”
“See you later.”
“Okay.”
A good host would’ve asked her to stay and shown her to an empty room, but that would require an equally good and respectful guest. It was clear this woman beat a drum to her own tune, often interrupting a currently in-progress jam session to do so. She’d figure things out.
I let myself into the master bedroom, which was in the same position it had been, only now on the second floor. The furniture hadn’t changed much either, although the space was larger and there was more of it. I breathed a sigh and headed to the shower. That finished, I slipped into something slinky and slid between the covers. Before I closed my eyes, I hesitated, and then reached for the throw-away phone I’d put on the nightstand. A phone Vlad didn’t know about and couldn’t trace.
He answered on the first ring.
“Reagan.” I smiled at the sound of Darius’s deep voice.
“Hey. I called to say sweet dreams.”
His silence matched the frustration rolling through our bond. He was pissed that I’d left without him. That I was spending the following day on my own. That I had been able to so easily slip out, unnoticed (I was so glad that druid was on my side).
For all that, I heard his deep breath as he pushed it aside. “I will miss you today, mon ange. Sweet dreams and stay safe. I will see you come the evening.”
“Love you.”
“I love you. Stay safe.”
“Yes. I heard you. I’m inside one of the best wards in the world. I’m good.”
“Yes. Stay there.”
I rolled my eyes and snuggled in a little more. “I’m going to get back at you for what you did to my house.”
“We are even on that score.”
“How do you figure?”
“That very expensive desert island you bought with my money, without telling me, has very few benefits.”
I grinned. “Touché. Well, if anyone can figure out a way to make it profitable, or useable, it is you.”
“Your confidence in me is inspiring,” he said dryly.
I laughed and signed off with him
. Before sleep pulled me under, I wondered how long it would take for demons to start invading my town again. I hoped not long. I felt like kicking a little ass.
Seven
“Hey, Red.” I dug my thumb into the soft spot at the edge of his jaw and just under his ear. The hard clang of a metal band spilled out of the doorway to my back, and people ambled by in the failing evening light with smiles and staggers, holding clear plastic cups with straws and lids, taking in the musical scene. Late summer in the French Quarter, my kinda jam. “Miss me?”
I’d gone against Darius’s wishes and left the ward without him, but at least I had waited until he was nearly able to travel outside. I called that quite responsible.
Red, a dog shifter who acted as an informant for Roger’s pack, let out a high-pitched squeal before clamping his mouth shut to save a little face.
I marshaled him up to standing and against the wall for no other reason than I was pretty sure he expected it.
“Re-Reagan,” he stammered, his lithe frame shaking. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“And now you do.” I let him go. “Fancy a drink?”
“You know I don’t drink.”
“True. Let me revise. Fancy watching me have a drink?”
“Not really,” he said miserably, hunching as I grabbed his upper arm and pulled him down the sidewalk.
“What’s new? What’s the scuttlebutt around here?”
I stopped in front of the doorway to the shifter bar, smooth jazz flowing out of it, the opening blocked by a large guy with a unibrow and an entrancing mystery he just would not help me solve.