We had to wait several minutes before the two guys emerged with many paper bags. They loaded the bags in Wade’s trunk, then Wade brought my lemonade, for which I hugged him.
They followed me back along Jefferson. Left turn out of town, toward ancient battlefields, into a world of darkness with no streetlights and only the rare house or farm in the countryside.
I had no experience taking men home when we’d just met. I still didn’t want to go home at all, regardless of company. But, again, I wasn’t sure what else to do.
Oddly, one thing I did know for sure in that short drive in the dark was that I needed them. All of a sudden, these strangers, who didn’t feel anything like strangers, were the three people in the world whom I could ask for advice. Who maybe knew what to do next when I hadn’t the faintest idea. Anyway, even if they had no answers, it was worth everything to no longer be alone.
19
This house had been a project in itself. A two-story Victorian, plus huge attic, they had taken pains over clearing it, then started on physical cleaning and updates. Now the house was in bits. The odd room was painted, others still with wallpaper, more stripped with chunks of plaster having come away with the paper, or clinging in tatters.
They’d had the outside painted but hadn’t gotten to replacing windows, light fixtures, or working on the wilderness of landscaping, including a driveway like a rabbit’s rollercoaster track due to a massive maple tree growing alongside it. Mom wouldn’t dream of chopping into the tree’s roots to fix the problem.
Because of the paint, the house itself looked fine from the outside in daylight. Eye-watering purple with white trim and a teal door. Coming up on it in the dark it just looked like a mess. Wreck of a driveway, shrubs and trees totally out of control, broken fence. The woods that loomed off to the right were as wild as the main property. The brick path to the front door boasted more weeds than bricks. But at least it was painted. Mom had her priorities.
If there was one thing that was a hallmark of her work, it was purple. She’d had a laundry list of reasons. Troubled spirits are soothed by purple because it is a sign of peace and higher knowing. Purple invites harmony and diplomatic solutions. People wearing purple have an easier time hypnotizing other people than if they wear any other color. And so on. Then she turns around and paints the house the most screaming, least peaceful shade of purple in the world. Sometimes I had to suspect she liked purple and the rest was justification.
Having just finished making the move myself, I had yet to invite anyone over. I wouldn’t have felt embarrassed if Mom was still around. She was self-explanatory. Long skirts, purple highlights in waist-length hair, yoga, cat on her shoulder, ghost-hunter, witch. What more do you need to know?
Not having her here made me feel so … responsible. It made me want to point out that I wasn’t responsible for the condition of the place, or color of it. The trouble was it wasn’t true anymore. Besides, I’ve never been big on excuses. It’s here, it’s mine, it’s a disaster, deal with it.
I didn’t comment, just pulled into the carport and got out, grabbing the extra flashlight from the glove compartment. Naturally, no outside lights worked because calling out an electrician was pretty far down the list. There was one on inside, as I’d left it, shining from what used to be a front sitting room or parlor or whatever they called those rooms in 1850. They’d been turning it into a consultation room to meet clients.
This yellow glow offered a hint of light to the brick path and headlights also blazed from the car just behind us.
Wade killed the engine as Gideon came up alongside him. He’d wisely driven around through the weeds instead of tackling the driveway on a motorcycle.
Flashlight aimed at the ground, drink in hand, I let Adam out of the car, then fumbled with keys beside the trunk to pop it open when I remembered his clothes in there.
“If you come inside like that, you’ll have to stay … in the front room? You’ll scare the cats.”
Adam was sniffing, nose in the air.
Gideon and Wade collected our bags.
I shoved open the trunk. A furry creature rocketed from the trunk in my face.
“What the—!” Leaping back in terror, dropping both light and drink, I threw up my hands, ready for magic or just to protect my face from attack.
A flash of red, gray, and black, Adam spinning to see what happened, and the flying form was gone.
“What is it?” Wade came running.
Adam also took off, giving chase.
“It was a fox! Holy crap! Was that the fox from the house?” I tripped back from the car, feeling the magic tingling around us, ready to explode but nowhere to go.
“How did it get in there?” Wade asked.
“Never mind that! Why did it get in there?” I was almost screaming at him. Then, aware of steps, I spun to the right in time to see Gideon vanishing from sight beyond the faint window light, also chasing past the front of the house. “Gideon! Hey!”
All three were gone.
Wade rested a hand on my arm. “I thought that fox wasn’t … real? Solid?”
“Yeah…”
“But aren’t spirits bound to the houses they haunt?”
I shook my head. “If they happen to stay at a house, which many do, that’s their choosing. They’re dead, after all. They can go anywhere.”
“Oh.”
I spun again, this time to face him. “You really don’t know a thing about this work, do you?”
Wade managed a light chuckle, obviously forced. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
A sharp yelp split the darkness, way beyond the house toward the woods.
“Adam!” I shouted.
Silence. Then, far off, I heard Gideon calling him.
“We have to go after them. They can’t see anything.” I grabbed the flashlight, all sticky with the lemonade that had popped open, mostly just ice left after my gulping in the car.
“Uh…” Wade said. “Are you sure?”
“About what?”
“Going after them. They can look after themselves against a fox.”
“If you think that’s a normal fox you have biscuits for brains.”
“So? It hitched a ride, it ran off…” He shrugged. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
“No, it’s not. It’s an oven out here.”
“The cats want feeding,” he tried again.
I looked around. Three whiskered faces were indeed lined up in the window, watching us. I glanced at the mage. “Are you afraid to go after them?”
“Of course not.” He stood close, smiling a bit by then. And, no, he didn’t look nervous. He’d sounded way more nervous on the speed date. He focused on my eyes, his own looking washed out, smoke gray in the yellow light. My eyes were gray. Not his. “I’m confident in their ability to succeed at any physical violence they put their minds to, even in the dark. Are you afraid to be alone with me?”
“Of course not,” I echoed, almost laughing, panic ebbing away. “I mean, I’ve never known anyone who could blow up heads before. But if a guy like you would do that to someone on a third date, I’ve totally pegged you wrong.”
He moved his hand up my arm, inching even closer.
Gideon called something but I couldn’t make it out. I hurried along the bricks, knowing to pick my feet up on each step, they were so uneven, shining the light at the woods.
“Gideon?” I shouted.
“We’re okay,” he called back distantly. Those guys could run. And apparently see in the dark. “It got away again.”
“What about Adam?”
“Fell in some sort of ditch.”
That would be the drainage ditch bordering a bit of the woods, heading for the road. Dry as a sand dune all August.
“Okay,” I conceded to Wade, who’d managed to carry all the bags, bringing the heavenly odor of spicy buffalo wings to dance through my senses.
As I unlocked the front door, I shouted to Adam that his things were still in the trunk. Then q
uietly to Wade, “It’s a bad sign that that thing followed us here. In case you care.”
“It’s not lingering.”
“Yeah … and if it doesn’t come back, I’ll eat my socks.”
20
Two cats greeted us, so we had to slip in and get the door shut lest anyone make a dash.
“Hi, Pickles. Hi, Blue. I fed you before I left. Don’t you remember that?”
“Days ago in cat years,” Wade said, unable to bend toward the cats with his armload of bags but making little clicking sounds to them. Pickles rubbed across his shin without preamble, not even bothering to sniff, and yowled up into his face—a desperate cry of starvation.
I sighed. “He’s such a hustler. Come on, bags on the counter.”
I led Wade to the kitchen, flipping on a couple of lights—not too many. Best not to look too closely at the doors leaning against walls instead of hanging on hinges, the plaster dust all over the floor, crooked doorframes, or broken fixtures. The place smelled of cat, paint, incense, and antiques. Our paper bags drowned most of that out.
Everything lately had tasted of sawdust. Then that peach. Those two succulent, warm, melt-in-your-mouth peaches at twilight. Was that when this new ravenous thing had started? Like someone had tapped my shoulder and said, Remember me? Delicious, tender, juicy, yummy, sustaining, vital food?
If there was one getting your appetite back special occasion junk food in Midway City, it was First Chance’s wings. Not just any wings. The Devil Wings, hottest buffalo wings, or anything else, I’d ever eaten. They might leave your mouth numb afterward, but you sure knew your senses were wide awake when you ate them.
“Plates are there. Utensils in the basket by the stove.” I carefully washed my hands while Wade set down the bags and looked around the kitchen with interest. Not one to pretend he didn’t notice that half the cabinets were missing, or the stovetop was new but the oven was harvest gold and approximately 75 years old, or the countertop was gone in places so you saw down into the drawers—one of which was inhabited by a cat. She sat up and peered at us over the top.
The cat fur drifting in clumps on the floor like an infestation of lemmings also caught is attention while Wade moved from cabinet to stove. He followed my lead of no comment.
Dirt left my skin easily in warm water. Dried blood, where I’d scratched both palms, called for rubbing with rag and soap. What I needed was a cool shower. Even that sounded good. How had everything suddenly started feeling so good or shocking or thrilling or … alive again?
“I should put Olive and Pickles in the laundry room,” I mused as I washed and Wade started unpacking. “They won’t like it if Adam comes in.”
Pickles yelled up at me. Wade paused to squat and rub the tabby’s head. The purr exploded, instantly replacing the yowls and filling the kitchen. His sister, Olive, had followed only to the threshold, eyeing Wade suspiciously.
“Mouse? You too. Let’s go.” I dried my hands and waved at the calico sitting up in the drawer of towels and oven mitts. She yawned.
Blue was all attention, a sleek black shadow darting ahead to lead the way to his feeding station.
“Kitty, kitty, kitty, come on. Olive, Pickles, Mouse, here kitty.”
Pickles abandoned his new BFF, beating Olive to the laundry room and flying onto the counter to scream in my face. They had kibble, and had already eaten their wet supper, so I doled out cat treats and shut the door on the three.
Mouse remained resolutely in her kitchen drawer. The others would be hiding under the beds due to the sound of a strange voice in the house so they would be all right.
I’d decided to grab Mouse and toss her in with the others when the front door opened. Even if I could get her in there, she would make Olive’s life miserable. Best just to leave her.
“Ripley?” It was Gideon at the door.
“In the kitchen. Can Adam stay there? Or transform or something?”
“It hasn’t been long enough.” Gideon was sniffing as he walked in. “How many cats do you have?”
“They’re not…” I sighed. They were my cats. “Uh…”
“You don’t know?” Gideon asked.
“That’s a bad sign.” Wade’s grin was totally uncalled for.
“No, uh, six,” I said. “There are six now but one’s a foster. Not that he’ll ever be adopted because he’s always hiding under the bed. Adam, no, don’t come in here.”
Mouse heard claws on the wood floor. Spotting the wolf’s head come into view across the kitchen, she crouched until only eyes and ears peeked from the top where a counter should be, pupils dilating, silently watching for developments.
Did cats gossip? I could just hear Mouse telling the gang, You’ll never believe what I saw!
The wolf looked even bigger indoors and lit. As out of place as a dolphin at a drive-through.
“Go out to the dining room,” I told him. “Why is he stuck like that? Sink, food, plates.” Pointing. “Bathroom is down the hall past the stairs.” I pulled open the refrigerator for a six-pack and grabbed a roll of paper towels.
Adam ignored me, nose working as he craned his neck into the kitchen.
Wade washed his own hands and asked about mine—which seemed fine. Gideon sniffed into each bag, determining which was his and his friend’s by smell.
It took us a couple minutes to all reach the dining room with mismatched yard-sale chairs and a table made of plywood on sawhorses—spread with a violet tablecloth and set with three white taper candles in a silver holder. While we moved, Gideon explained that Adam needed a break because their transformation—he simply called it changing—was such a physically taxing process. He needed longer to rest his system since serious shit like brain damage could happen if they changed too much too close together.
“Maybe he can tell us how that fox disappeared when he—Gideon! You left the door open! Hello? Cats. Not to mention the AC, feeble though it is.” I hurried to close the front door while Gideon claimed he hadn’t left it open and glared at Adam. Like the guy with paws was supposed to be the doorman.
We sat haphazardly around the table for our midnight snack, no one mentioning the hour, the house, the situation—anything. Like we broke into infested houses each night of the week and grabbed wings after and came here and no biggie.
With chicken under his nose, Gideon finally didn’t seem to care about the fox anymore. I’d been getting the impression that Wade was a little neurotic, so it was reassuring that he also didn’t appear worried about having been followed.
I lit the candles with magic, passed around the cans of Creature Comforts’ Tropicália, pulled off paper towels, and we set to. Adam stood on the floor by Gideon, who gave him a box of mozzarella sticks to snarf up. Wade had also ordered Devil Wings, elevating his character considerably in my estimation. Gideon had the mild stuff—kiddy wings. I could tell by the color of the sauce.
I forgave him this when I saw how he ate them. Gideon wiggled each wing between thumbs and forefingers to detach the cartilage, pulled the small bone out, then put the whole remaining meat stick in his mouth and withdrew the larger bone, ending with two clean bones and nothing else. A quick chew and swallow and he moved to the next. Each wing took about eight seconds—the drumsticks even faster.
Here was a master at work. I had to pause over my own plate and box of bones to watch while my mouth burned.
Gideon didn’t look up, didn’t talk while he ate, and didn’t pause. Adam chased his box around the floor, licking it out.
Wade, who’d been going with the amateur nibble around the outside approach, also stared.
I wiped my face and took a long drink from the tropical-edged beer overlaid with orange zest. It was my favorite for summer. Like a great beer and fruity cocktail in one, brewed down in Athens. Soothing complement to ten kinds of fire in the Devil Wings. And yeah, it tasted just as amazing as the wings, bright and vibrant.
“Are you like … a competitive eater?” I asked Gideon after a long pause in whic
h he ate and Adam slurped at his empty box.
Gideon didn’t seem to notice I was speaking to him, so fixated on his task I could tell he was in the zone. I didn’t push the matter.
Wade and I finished off our boxes and beers. I changed my mind from the peach to this blue cheese being the best thing I’d ever eaten. I shared with Wade since he’d only bought one box and I had four. Two for now. Two already in the fridge for tossing in the oven tomorrow.
Who had paid for them? I needed to reimburse someone. At some point…
Buffalo wings are so my stress food. Forget mashed potatoes or macaroni and cheese, just hand me the hot sauce. And ice cream sandwiches. That was all I’d wanted to eat for three days after the news. Yet they’d been tasteless. Now I was even enjoying watching someone else eat wings as much as gobbling them myself.
Gideon followed up his mild box with his own serving of mozzarella sticks. Adam, however, had to wait until he had thumbs to take on his box of chicken. When Gideon grabbed his cheese box Adam growled at him.
“It’s mine, crow-bait,” Gideon snapped. “Yours is there.”
Adam paced, maybe trying to decide if he could transform again.
I swear to God, Gideon swallowed those mozzarella sticks just like Adam had in his wolf form. A quick chew as they were going in, get the salty, greasy flavor, and gulp. How long had it been since the poor guy ate? I thought they’d gone back to that deer just a matter of hours ago.
But what was the one thing they didn’t like? My precious, zesty, mango-tinged Tropicália. Gideon sniffed, wrinkled his nose, offered it to Adam to sniff, then shoved it back at me when Adam curled his lip.
“What’s wrong? The citrus?” I knew how some animals were about citrus and peppermint. It had never occurred to me that a shifter in a human form might be sensitive to those smells.
Gideon shrugged. “Sorry. We’re not big drinkers anyway. Are you going to change?” At Adam, who seemed agitated. Wrestling with his decision? Wanting wings? “Meat’s in the kitchen. Don’t rightly know if you should, though.”
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