Demon Hunting In Dixie

by Lexi George

  “Go away,” Brand said.

  The Wilsons forgot their differences and turned their attention to him.

  Dean, the biggest of the three brothers, frowned at Brand. “Biggest” being a relative term, of course. All the Wilson boys were built like bulldozers.

  “What did you say, pretty boy?” Dean said, hiking his britches up over his belly.

  “Go away,” Brand said again.

  Dean advanced on Brand. “Why don’t you try and make me, Hollywood.”

  “Very well.”

  Brand released Mr. Willis’s arm and took Dean down hard and fast. One moment Dean stood in front of Brand, three hundred fifty pounds of hulking testosterone and bubba menace, and the next he was out like a light. Afterward, Addy could hardly say how it happened. The same could be said of Dean. He never saw it coming. Even with her new and improved vision, all Addy saw was a blur of movement followed by the solid, meaty sound of flesh on flesh, and Dean hit the ground.

  Darryl and Del stared at their brother in shock, then threw themselves at Brand. Brand stepped in front of Mr. Willis. Grabbing Darryl and Del by the hair, he slammed their heads together and tossed them to the ground like a couple of rag dolls.

  Darryl and Del groaned and rolled to a sitting position.

  Brand towered over them. “Apologize to Adara and the old ones for your behavior.” Brand gave the unconscious Dean a scathing glance. “Your brother, I will excuse this once.”

  Darryl and Del mumbled something that sounded like “sorry.”

  Addy hurried over to the fallen brothers. “You boys all right?”

  She checked Dean and was relieved to find him breathing.

  Darryl held his head in his hands. “No, I think I got me a concussion. Shit, my head hurts. Jesus H. Christ, who is this guy, Addy?”

  “You watch your language, Darryl Wilson, or I’ll tell your mama,” Mr. Duffey said.

  “Sorry,” Darryl muttered a little clearer.

  Brand picked Addy up and set her down away from Darryl. “Do not touch the cur, Adara. I saw his thoughts. He wants to fornicate with you.” He pointed to Del. “This one also.”

  Del squinted painfully at Brand. “Hate to break it to you, Mister, but anybody with a dick that don’t bat for the other team will want to do her. She’s a real hottie.” He dropped his head in his hands again. “No offense, Addy.”

  “None taken, Del.”

  “It offends me.” Brand gave Darryl and Del a death glare. “Adara is under my protection. Stay away from her, or the consequences will be most unpleasant. Do I make myself plain?”

  Darryl and Del gaped at him.

  “Answer me, louts,” Brand said. “Do you understand?”

  They nodded.

  “Good. Adara, we are leaving.”

  Addy glared at him. “Way to mark your territory, dude. Next time, why don’t you pee on me and be done with it?”

  Brand ignored her and helped the two old men to Mr. Duffey’s land yacht, an emerald-green 1976 Cadillac Fleetwood in mint condition.

  Mr. Duffey gingerly lowered himself into the driver’s seat and waited as Mr. Willis climbed in on the other side. The engine rumbled to life. He rolled down his window. “I like the way you handled yourself back there, young man,” he said to Brand. “All in all, this has been one peach of a funeral. Ain’t had this much fun since the pigs ate my little brother.”

  Mr. Willis stuck a bony arm out the passenger-side window and waved. “Me, neither.”

  Mr. Duffey made a wide circle in the grass and motored off. Brand watched them leave with a puzzled expression.

  Taking him by the hand, Addy led him over to the van. “The pigs didn’t really eat his brother, Brand. He was being funny. Mr. Duffey has four sisters.”

  “Yes, now that the swine has eaten—”

  “Ever, Brand. He was an only son.”

  “Humans are most strange. They rarely say what they mean, or mean what they say.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Very well, although I do not see the point. Humans are most—”

  She pushed him against the van and shushed him with her mouth. “That whole ‘I am warrior, hear me roar’ thing you did back there got me going. You ever had sex in the back of a van, big guy?”

  “No.”

  “Ooh, a virgin. What say we pop your van cherry? I know a place down by the river that’s cool and quiet. I can have my wicked way with you before we go back to the shop.”

  He tugged her closer and nuzzled her neck. “I like your wicked way. Is popping a van cherry anything like hot monkey sex?”

  “If you want to know, get in the van.”

  By the time they got back to the shop it was close to one thirty. Evie was writing something down on an order pad while Ansgar slouched lazily on a nearby stool. He watched Evie as if she was the most fascinating creature in the world. Wow, poor Blondy had it bad. She almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost.

  Evie looked up. “ ’Bout time you two got back. I was getting worried. That must have been some funeral.”

  Addy flashed her a smile. “Oh, you know how it is. These things always take longer than you expect.”

  “You look flushed. You get overheated?”

  “Noooo . . . Well, maybe a little.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Oh, God, Evie knew. Probably the multiorgasm glow on her face gave her away. She might as well have a neon sign on her forehead that blinked: ATTENTION. ADDY GOT LAID. She’d never look at that old van the same way again. She and Brand almost broke the back axel. It was the Van of the Sacred Hump, the Scream Machine, the Pink Passion Pit, a palace of love on four wheels.

  Might as well brazen it out.

  “Anything exciting happen at the shop while we were gone?” she asked.

  A tell-tale blush crept up Evie’s neck and spread to her cheeks. “Oh, you know, the usual.”

  “The usual” her hind foot. Girlfriend and Blondy had been having sex, too.

  “So, Brand,” Evie said brightly. “What did you think of your first Southern funeral?”

  “Most enlightening. I found the sepulchral speeches a bit tedious, but the part at the end where the two females chased one another around the burial ground was quite interesting.”

  Evie’s eyes widened. “Who—”

  “But, my favorite part was when Adara took me down to the river and popped my van cherry.”

  Note to self: Explain the meaning of TMI to new boyfriend. If Evie had any doubts about what she and Brand had been doing, the Dalvahni blabber mouth dispelled them. Thank goodness it was only Blondy and Evie. Evie was her BFF and Blondy merely looked confused. Now, if Brand had said it in front of Mama that would be a different story. She’d get lecture number 238 from the Mama Handbook about the cow and the milk and giving it away for free, and how all things come to those who wait but she hadn’t waited, so she’d get bupkis.

  As if on cue, the front bell jingled and Muddy and Bitsy walked in.

  “Mr. Dalvahni, fancy meeting you here,” Bitsy said, turning on the charm. Uh oh, Mama was up to something. “You and my daughter seem to be joined at the hip these days. Everybody in town is talking about what a beautiful couple you two make.” She gave a tinkling little laugh. “Why, I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if I’m planning another wedding in the near future.”

  Of course. Matchmaking, that’s what she was up to. Mama was on a mission from God to get her hitched.

  “Mama, Brand and I only met three days ago.”

  Three days. Had it really only been three days?

  “Oh, well, I believe in being prepared.” Bitsy turned to Ansgar. “And who might you be, young man?”

  He stood and made a little bow. “I am Ansgar. I am Dalvahni.”

  Bitsy’s eyes widened. “Dalvahni? Oh, you must be Mr. Dalvahni’s brother. My goodness, you don’t look a thing alike, do you? Are you staying at the Hannah Inn, too?”

  “I stay with Evangeline.”
<
br />   “Really, Evie dear, is that wise?” Bitsy lifted her finely arched brows. “You know how people talk. A reputation is a delicate thing.”

  Hah, lecture number 239. More of a codicil, really, than a separate lesson, a clarification of lecture number 238.

  Poor Evie turned red and began to stutter.

  “The Hannah Inn was full, Mama, so Ansgar is renting a room at Evie’s,” Addy said, coming to the rescue.

  “Adara, I do not think—”

  Addy held up her hand. “I know, I know, Brand. You don’t think Evie’s charging him enough for the room. But, that’s between the two of them.” She emphasized each word. “Their business, not Mama’s, if you know what I mean.”

  “I understand,” he said. But there was disapproval in his eyes.

  Addy swallowed a sigh. They were so unalike. He was Mr.-I-Cannot-Tell-A-Lie, and she was the Mistress-Of-Little-Fibs. But, he didn’t know her mama. Let him live a few thousand years with Bitsy, and he’d be lying like a rug. As far as she was concerned, white lies were a matter of survival when it came to dealing with Mama. He could get over it.

  “I had no idea you were running a bed-and-breakfast, Evie,” Bitsy said.

  Evie looked more flustered. “Well, I’m not exactly—”

  “But I’m delighted to hear it.” Bitsy bulldozed right over Evie. “I’m sure Addy has told you that Muddy and Amasa Collier are getting married. We might need to book a room or two, depending on who comes into town for the wedding.”

  “Land’s sake, Bitsy, who in the world you think is coming to this wedding?” Muddy asked.

  “Scads of people. No one will want to miss this.” Bitsy set her purse down. “Now, let’s talk flowers for the bridal luncheon and the wedding.”

  “Ansgar and I will wait outside while you converse,” Brand said.

  He scooted out the door with Ansgar hard on his heels. He was such a guy. The merest mention of girly stuff, and he bolted.

  “Oh, but the heat—” Bitsy protested.

  Addy put her hand on Mama’s arm. “Let them go, Mama. I don’t think they want to listen to a bunch of women talk about flowers.”

  Bitsy wrinkled her brow. “Too frou-frou?”

  “Definitely,” Addy said.

  Thirty minutes later, they were winding things up when Brand tapped on the front window and pointed down the street. A minute later, Meredith Peterson walked through the door looking like Death eating a cracker. She’d exchanged the pink terrycloth housecoat for a loose shift of pale blue linen. A heavy layer of makeup covered the mass of pimples on her face. The Queen of the Hannah social scene looked like the Joker.

  Bitsy’s mouth fell open when she saw Meredith, but she quickly schooled her features into an expression of bland welcome. “Meredith, what a pleasant surprise,” she said. “How are you doing?”

  “I look like something out of a horror movie. How do you think I’m doing?”

  “Now that you mention it, you do seem to have some sort of rash,” Bitsy said. “Have you tried Calamine lotion?”

  Muddy inspected Meredith. “That’s no ordinary rash. Looks like impetigo to me. You’d best get yourself down to Old Doc Dunn and get an antibiotic, girl.”

  “It’s not a rash.” Meredith glared at Addy. “It’s a curse your witch of a daughter put on me, Bitsy Corwin.”

  “Addy, a witch?” Bitsy tittered. “You must be joking.”

  “Mad as a hatter,” Muddy declared. “She probably has syphilis. That philandering husband of hers probably gave it to her.”

  “I do not have syphilis,” Meredith shrieked.

  Addy held up her finger in warning. “Inside voice, Mer.”

  Meredith gritted her teeth and tried to smile, which did scary things to the pancake makeup on her face. “I’ve come to apologize, Addy, and to ask you to take this curse off me.”

  “I don’t believe I heard the magic word.”

  Meredith reddened under her thick makeup. “Please.”

  “Very nice, Meredith, but you’re talking to the wrong person. It’s Evie you owe an apology.”

  Meredith’s face got redder. “I’m sorry I was ugly to Evie.”

  Addy considered this. “Nope, doesn’t do it for me.” She turned to Evie, who was staring at Meredith in fascinated horror. “What about you, Eves? That do it for you?”

  Evie started. “Oh, well, I guess it—”

  “Nope,” Addy said. “Doesn’t do it for Evie, either. You’re going to have to do better than that, Meredith.”

  “Perhaps you should give me some idea what it is you want me to say, Addy.”

  Addy thought about this. “Okay, I guess that’s only fair. And fun. Listen carefully, Meredith, and repeat after me. ‘I’m sorry, Evie, that I’ve been such a poisonous bitch to you since we were twelve years old.’ ” She gave Meredith an encouraging nod. “Go on. Give it a try.”

  Meredith’s expression was wooden, but she repeated the words.

  “ ‘And I’m sorry for all the hideous things I’ve said to you, especially the times I called you Lard Ass or Whaley Douglass or some other version of fat,’ ” Addy said. “ ‘And I promise not to be mean or unkind to you again, and if I am, may the boils on my behind and on my face come back three times as bad.’ ”

  Meredith’s lip curled. She opened her mouth and Addy stopped her.

  “Look at Evie when you say it, Mer,” she said gently.

  Meredith looked like she was trying to swallow her own head, but she did it.

  Addy beamed at her. “Very good. Buy half a dozen bars of Evie’s complexion soap and ajar of her special bath salts, and go home and have yourself a nice long soak. That should fix you right up. Make sure you use Evie’s soap, or it won’t work.”

  Evie scrambled over to her display table and quickly shoved the soaps and the bath salts into a bag. Meredith flung some money in Evie’s direction and stalked out.

  Bitsy looked thoughtful. “You know, Addy dear, I don’t think Meredith likes you.”

  “No? You think?”

  “I feel sorry for her.”

  Addy stared at her mother in surprise. “You do? Why? She always gets what she wants, including Trey.”

  “Sometimes you get what you think you want, and you find out too late it wasn’t what you wanted at all,” Bitsy said. “I think Meredith is very unhappy, in spite of being Mrs. Trey Peterson.” She paused. “Or maybe because she’s Mrs. Trey Peterson.”

  “He’s got little ears and a skinny mouth,” Muddy said. “My mama always said don’t marry a man with little ears or a skinny mouth, ’cause he’ll be mean. I’ll bet that Trey Peterson is mean.”

  Bitsy nodded. “Could be.”

  “And I’ll bet he’s got a little dick,” Muddy added.

  Bitsy gasped. “Muddy! Such language!”

  Muddy gave Addy a hopeful look. “Addy dated him in high school. Does he have a little penis?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Muddy, but Trey and I never slept together.”

  Which, in fairness to Trey, was probably why he ended up banging Meredith. As a general rule, teenage boys were walking sperm banks looking for a place to deposit.

  “You sure?” Muddy persisted. “You might not have noticed.”

  Addy rolled her eyes. “I’d have noticed. It never happened.”

  “Huh,” Muddy said. “Well, if he’s got a little dick that might have something to do with why Meredith is such a sour puss. Think about it. You’d be ornery, too, if you went to bed with a Vienna Sausage.”

  “Mercy.” Bitsy fanned herself. “I’ll never be able to look at Trey Peterson again.”

  “Forget that,” Addy said. “I’ll never be able to eat another Vienna Sausage.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Before Bitsy left the flower shop, she confided to Addy that she was worried about Shep. “He didn’t come back to Corwin’s after the funeral,” she said. “And that’s not like him.”

  “I’ll go by the house and check on him
after I close the shop, Mama,” Addy promised.

  Bitsy’s worried expression eased. “Would you, dear? I’d go, but I don’t want him to think I’m hovering. You know I try not to stick my nose into my children’s business.”

  Oh, yeah, since when?

  Mama was right, though, Addy thought as she went about the business of closing up for the day. It was not like Shep to blow off work. He was the consummate professional, always Mr. Cool. Today at Old Man Farris’s funeral, however, he’d seemed distant, mechanical, like he was going through the motions.

  Then there was the spontaneous singing thing. The Shep Corwin she knew didn’t burst into song in public. Yet today he’d belted out a hymn like it was the most natural thing in the world. Something was going on with him, and Addy meant to find out what.

  Shep and Marilee lived on the river outside of town about two miles from the gated community that Muddy called home. Addy and Brand bumped down the long, gravel drive in the pink van and pulled up to the house, a sprawling one-story cottage with a tin roof, triangular-shaped dormer windows in the front and back, and a wrap-around porch. She got out of the van and looked around. Shep’s car was there, but the house showed no other signs of life. The wind blew through the trees and scattered a few dry leaves across the driveway. The air was fragrant with the scent of pine. From nearby, she heard the river’s rough music, water over stone. She clunked up the steps to the porch. Brand followed silently behind her, his expression watchful. The shuttered windows were dark, empty eyes in the skull of the house. The porch swing creaked gently in the breeze.

  “Shep?”

  “ ’Round back,” he hollered.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Addy moved toward the sound of Shep’s voice, but Brand got in front of her.

  “Wait. There is something amiss here. I sense a presence . . .” He shook his head. “I do not like it. I will go first in case there is trouble.”

  She grabbed his arm. “This is my brother we’re talking about. Don’t you even think about sticking him with that sword of yours. If he’s infested with something nasty, deal with it some other way. Call the exterminator or hold a séance, but you’re not—I repeat, not—shish-kabobbing Shep with that sword.”