by Gary Jonas
“Your father didn’t say that.”
“Well, not in those actual words, but you know what I mean. Pretentious crap he thought would motivate me, but just made me want to try even less. My dad, in case you hadn’t noticed, is a complete prick.”
“He pays well, so I don’t share your opinion.”
“Just get this damn ghost out of me.”
“Sorry, Brett. You have to do it yourself.”
And it suddenly dawned on me, why she wouldn’t leave her shop to go to the house when I called, and why she wasn’t helping me now.
“You called my father, and he told you not to help me.”
“I’m giving him regular progress reports. Or in your case, non-progress reports.”
“Thanks for that.”
“He told me how to expel Regina, but I’m not allowed to do it unless your life is in immediate danger.”
“Wow. And you’re going to go along with that?”
“I have bills to pay. Business is slow.”
“Fine. Tell me how to get rid of the ghost.”
“Your father said not to. He wants you to figure it out.”
“Thanks for nothing,” I said.
Die die die! Regina said.
Shut up, lady.
I could picture Lakesha rubbing her temples. “Be here at ten in the morning. I should have the location spell worked out by then. I’ll have Cynthia watch the shop while we go hunting witches.”
“Who’s Cynthia?”
“My part-time employee. You haven’t met her.”
“Is she cute?”
“She’s sixty years old.”
“Never mind.”
“Ten o’clock.”
“See you at one.”
“Ten.”
“Fine. See you at one-ten.”
“Why do you hate mornings?”
“I don’t hate mornings. I like to greet them from the other side. One, two, three. Those are good times. Still hanging at a party, drinking, getting laid, having fun. The later hours of the morning suck balls. People are at work, TV shows are all soap operas or stupid game shows, so I sleep through them. The one time I saw ten in the morning this week, I was getting tortured by an insane tattoo artist. My arm still hurts, by the way, thanks for asking.”
She didn’t respond.
“Lakesha?” I said.
I held the phone away from my ear. The call had been dropped. I hit the green circle to call her back.
“What now?” she asked.
“The call dropped. Where was I?”
“The call didn’t drop, Brett. I got bored and hung up on you.”
“How rude.”
“And guess what? I’m doing it again right now because it’s bedtime.”
And she hung up on me again.
“Witch,” I said.
Die die die, Regina said.
I started singing “Bored to Death” by blink-182.
Chalk up another win to yours truly because Regina stopped fighting and I fell asleep on the sofa.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sleeping on the sofa was a bad idea. I woke up with a crick in my neck, but worse than that, it was still morning. I checked my phone. Ten minutes to noon. I didn’t even like seeing noon. I had a couple of text messages from Lakesha bitching that I was late. She didn’t really expect me to be there at ten, did she?
I texted her back: Awake now. Too early. Going back to bed.
As I moved to the kitchen, I rubbed my aching neck. I opened the refrigerator, and saw a takeout box. I recognized it this time, so I closed the door. My stomach growled. I started opening cabinets. I found a box of Ritz crackers. That would have to do. I pulled a sleeve of crackers out, and started munching away while gazing out the kitchen window at the backyard.
My phone rang. Lakesha.
“Hello?” I said around a mouthful of crackers.
“Don’t you dare go back to bed, Brat. Shower, shave, dress, and come down to the shop. You need to be here inside of an hour. Got it?”
“That was a lot of words.”
“Clean up, come to store. Now.”
I munched a few more crackers. “I’m still half asleep.”
“Wake your ass up, boy. We have to save Demetrius.”
That perked me up faster than coffee. “Have you found him?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“On the move. Get over here. I can track him, but I’ll need you to amplify my spell.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I do. Get a move on, Brat. The day’s a-wasting.”
I went upstairs to shower, and as I climbed the stairs, I called up to Sabrina. No answer. Wow, she must have stayed at Michael’s place the entire night. Maybe they were getting more serious than I realized because he never lets anyone stay at his place, for obvious reasons. There is the occasional girl who thinks coffins are kinky, but the majority, not so much. No big. It was time to get cleaned up, and since she wasn’t home, I could sing in the shower without her judging me for my song choices. Which was great, since I had The Psychedelic Furs song “The Ghost In You” stuck firmly in my head and I’ve never gotten Richard Butler’s voice right.
***
Thirty minutes later, I parked in front of Something’s Brewing. When I opened the front door, Isis shot outside before I could stop her. I watched her race across the street and disappear into some bushes. Good riddance.
I went inside. “Cat’s out,” I said.
Lakesha came through the beaded curtain. “What did you say?”
“Your cat. She got outside.”
“Oh no! We have to get her. She’s not supposed to go out.”
Lakesha hurried to the door, and took only a moment to glare at me before going out.
“Sorry,” I said, following her. “She was fast.”
“Don’t just stand there. Help me find her.”
I pointed. “She went across the street.”
“Come on. She’s tough to catch for an old woman like me.”
“I vote we let her have some outside time. Let her come back when she’s hungry.”
“She might get run over. People ‘round here speed up when there’s someone or something crossing the street.” Lakesha looked both ways, waited for a car to pass, then trotted across the street. “Isis! Come here, Isis Baby!”
I sighed. I thought we were hunting a ghost-napping witch, but instead we were hunting a runaway cruel cat. Isis hated me, so I can’t say I was all that excited to try to catch her. Cornering the cat would just get me scratched. I didn’t feel like losing any blood.
But I trotted across the street anyway.
“Isis,” I called. “Where are you, demon cat?”
“She’s not a demon,” Lakesha said.
“Could have fooled me.”
We went to the bushes. If the cat was under them, I wasn’t going to try to crawl in after her. I shook the top of the bush, hoping the little branches moving beneath it would drive Isis out.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I said.
“Don’t shake the bush,” Lakesha said. “If she’s under there, you might smack her in the face with a branch.”
“You wouldn’t care if I got smacked in the face with a branch.”
“That’s true. Get down and look under there.”
“Forget that,” I said. “If she’s down there, she’ll scratch me.”
“Isis, baby, come out,” Lakesha said. She tried to get down to look, and I knew if she got down there, there was no way she’d be able to get back up on her own. I don’t know how much Lakesha weighed, but I didn’t want to have to try to pick her up.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll look.”
“Thank you, Brett,” Lakesha said.
Offer to get scratched in the face and you get called by your actual name. I made a note.
Meanwhile, I got down on one knee, leaned over and peeked under the bush, ready to try to block an at
tack if necessary.
It wasn’t necessary.
Isis wasn’t under the bush.
I got up and walked to the back of the building, which led into an alley.
“Isis?” I called. “Here, shitty kitty.”
Lakesha hit me on the arm. “Be nice to her.”
“You never tell her to be nice to me.”
“She’s a cat.”
“Meaning she can’t be nice? She doesn’t listen? She ignores suggestions she doesn’t like?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“Take your pick.”
“So, all of the above,” I said and headed down the alley.
The pavement was broken and cracked. Shards of glass littered the ground, along with dirt, smashed beer cans, crumpled pieces of paper, and other things I didn’t want to examine too closely. I didn’t need to know if the condom by the Dumpster was used or not. I just needed to avoid touching it.
“Check the Dumpster,” Lakesha said. “She might be after a snack. She tried to bury the can of cat food I opened for her this morning.”
“She was making a statement,” I said.
“She doesn’t like the same flavor two days in a row, but I haven’t been to the store.”
“Right.” I lifted the rubber lid of the Dumpster to be assaulted by a smell from the mouth of Hell.
I let the lid drop and waved a hand in front of my face.
“Is she in there?” Lakesha asked,
“I didn’t look. The Dumpster needs to be power-washed with Febreze.”
“I don’t care if it stinks. Look inside.”
“You think the cat can lift the lid?”
“You’d be amazed what she can do.”
“I’m not buying it.”
“Isis?” Lakesha said.
“No sound from the trash. I think we’re good.”
I continued down the alley. A stack of black plastic pallets leaned against a brick building. Behind the pallets, a homeless man curled up with a bottle. He wore dirty shorts, cracked flip flops, and a torn Hawaiian shirt with colorful rhododendrons, though some of those colors were not original to the pattern.
I kicked his foot.
“Dude,” I said. “You see a black cat come through here?”
He opened an eye and held out a grubby mitt. “Can you spare some change?”
“Did you see a cat or not?”
“I’ve been napping.”
“A man after my own heart,” I said. “I should be napping.”
He patted the pavement beside him. “There’s room here.”
“Pass,” I said. I dug a bill out of my pocket. It was a fiver, but I didn’t have anything smaller. I shrugged and handed it to him. “Thanks anyway.”
He accepted the bill, crumpled it, and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “No cats around here lately. No rats either. Just the old man who sits on the roof and watches everything. He’s up there now, unless I slept through him coming down, or unless he got down somewhere else.”
“Not sure I care about some old man. We’re trying to find the cat.”
“Cat won’t be up there. Animals run away from the old man.”
“Don’t pay him any mind,” Lakesha said.
“You don’t think there’s an old man?” I asked.
“Of course there is. The old man is a ghost from the Great Storm. He sits on the roof at night, hoping to catch people floating by in the water.”
“There’s no water up there.”
“He’s in a loop.”
“Maybe he saw the cat.”
“He sees the year 1900, Brat. I’ve seen him for as long as I’ve had a shop here. Let’s go.”
“Demetrius sees the present.”
“Regina doesn’t.”
“Don’t wake her up,” I said. “I don’t want her telling me to die over and over again. She’s been quiet so far today.”
Lakesha moved down the alley. “Isis!”
I put my hands over my ears because Lakesha’s yell could have carried over a Manowar concert.
I stopped halfway down the alley and pointed at a sigil painted on the building. “Your work?”
Lakesha glanced at it. “Of course. I have sigils all over Galveston Island.”
“Can’t you locate Isis using them?”
“I have a few location sigils, but none in this alley. I have wards around to signal me if anything evil passes by.”
“How often does that happen?”
“More often than you’d think.”
“If it happens once, it’s more often than I’d think.”
“You already know my magic works.”
“I just don’t buy into the whole notion of things being evil. I think we’re all a mix of good and bad.”
“There are evil things in the world, Brett. Evil people, too.”
“Then I’m glad it’s daytime, because at night, the way you said that might creep me out.”
“Evil can operate in broad daylight every bit as much as good can operate under cover of darkness.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Good. You need to know that because as you start working on your magic, you’ll draw things to you that crave your power.”
“And that’s more incentive to not do anything at all. Far better to stay off the radar.”
“You can make a difference,” she said. “Hell, I make a difference. But with your power, you can make a big difference. Once you develop your skills, you can face down the darkest evils crawling in our dimension.”
“Time out,” I said. “I didn’t sign up for fighting evil. I just want to keep my money coming in.”
She nodded. “And you want to do as little as possible to manage that.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I said. “And I’m always interested in doing the least I can do.”
Lakesha crossed her arms. “That attitude can get you killed.”
“Not if I don’t get involved in any crazy schemes to fight evil.”
“You’re hunting Abigail.”
“She’s not evil. Besides, I just want to sleep with her. That damn spell boosted my already rampant sex drive. But once I tap that ass, I’ll probably get bored with her and move on. It’s a gift.”
“It’s a fear of intimacy and connection.”
We reached the end of the building and moved back toward the main street. No sign of the cat.
Over by the entrance to the shop, a man leaned against the building holding Isis. He stroked her back, and when I spotted him, he waved.
I recognized him instantly. It was Gene Gene the Dancing Machine. Not the Gong Show dude, but Abigail’s warlock guy. I had no idea whether or not the guy could dance, but Isis sure proved she has shitty taste in humans because when we walked up to Gene, the damn cat was purring.
He wore a white shirt, though, so maybe that had something to do with it. To a black cat, a white shirt is like catnip. I wanted to believe that, anyway. Mostly, I just thought the cat was stupid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Well, if it isn’t the bad guy,” I said.
Lakesha slapped my arm and moved past me. She reached for the cat. “Oh, Isis, where did you go, baby?”
“She was sitting in front of your door,” Gene said.
“Thank you for holding her for me.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “I’m here so we can have a friendly discussion.”
“Nice try, Gene,” I said.
He looked at me funny. “My name isn’t Gene.”
“Get the door, Brett,” Lakesha said. She stroked Isis.
I opened the door. Lakesha carried Isis inside. Gene went next, and I followed him after looking up and down the street in case Abigail was waiting to make a sneak attack. I sniffed the air in two directions. No sign of the perfume.
I went inside.
Lakesha set Isis down on the counter. Gene, or whatever his name was, went over and scratched her under the chin. She rubbed up a
gainst him. Had to be the shirt.
I wore a black T-shirt, so when I reached over to try and pat her on the head, she took a swipe at me. I pulled back my hand just in time.
“You’re right, Lakesha. Some things are evil.”
“Hush, child.” She motioned for Gene to follow her through the beaded curtain.
I walked behind him, ready to try and block him should he try to avoid going back. That seemed silly since he’d come of his own volition, but if I was going to think words like volition, I had to be ready for anything.
Lakesha sat in one of the chairs around her omnipresent table. There I went, pitching out ten dollar words again. I was baffled by the damn cat. Why did Isis like a bad guy, but not me?
“Have a seat, sir,” Lakesha said.
Gene sat.
“I’m Lakesha,” she said, “and you’re…”
“Not.”
“Ol’ Gene doesn’t want to give his real name,” I said, spinning a chair around so the back faced the table. I straddled it and rested my arms on the back. “Doesn’t want us to have power over him, so we’ll have to detest him incognito.”
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all day,” Lakesha said.
“Why are you calling me Gene?”
“Because that’s what your name tag said in the jewelry store.”
The light went on over his head. Not literally, of course. I shouldn’t have to mention that, but with magic involved, it’s probably a good thing to make sure I’m clearer than I would be if I were talking to my bandmates, Chuck or Teddy.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “I borrowed the tag from the employee I tied up behind the counter. Just call me Mr. Black.”
I smiled. “Maybe I should call you Quincy.”
He looked surprised, but his mouth twitched into a telling grin as he nodded. “Abigail’s phone.”
“As I doubt that’s your name either, I’ll just keep calling you Gene,” I said.
“Suit yourself.”
“What can we do for you, Mr. Black?” Lakesha asked.