by Lexi George
Why leave the coffin car? she wondered. Maybe the Dalvahni didn’t know what to do with a coffin car. Whatever the reason, she was glad they left it. She’d have been hard pressed to explain Shep’s injuries without it.
It provided an excuse for her and Evie as well. The chief and Sheriff Whitsun had a ton of questions, which neither of them answered. Amnesia from the explosion, Addy explained. Evie’s was genuine, hers feigned. A little amnesia would have been a blessing at this point. She remembered everything. That was the problem.
He was gone.
The park was enclosed in crime scene tape, the grisly evidence of the murders photographed and collected, and the raving inmate loaded into the sheriff’s car.
“Crazy as a loon.” Chief Davis shook his head. “Babbling on about demons and avenging angels. There’s one murderer who won’t see the inside of a prison again. Headed for the nut house and a straitjacket, if you ask me. Thorazine City. Too bad. No closure for the victims’ families.”
Sheriff Whitson grunted. “Yeah, I’ll be surprised if that one stands trial. But his buddies are out there somewhere. I’ll find ’em. Those sons-of-bitches are going down. We got the whole thing on video at the store. I think they knew they were being filmed and didn’t care. It was like they were posturing for the camera.” He looked at Addy, his expression unreadable behind the sunglasses. “You sure you don’t remember anything?”
“I remember drinking lemonade and the chief and Dan going off to check on the bank alarm. That’s it.”
The sheriff turned his attention to Evie. “What about you, ma’am?”
Evie huddled in a knot on the bench under the sweet gum tree, her arms crossed over her chest and her legs drawn under her. The big bloodstain on the front of her shirt was gone. So was the arrow hole. She looked confused and embarrassed, and utterly miserable.
“The last thing I remember is coming into the flower shop.” Her brows drew together. “What was that, Addy, Friday morning?”
“Saturday,” Addy murmured.
Saturday morning Evie met Ansgar, and Tuesday night Evie burst out of her cocoon and danced at the Grand Goober Ball, a beautiful, soaring butterfly. And now she was a caterpillar again.
“Saturday morning, and what’s this, Wednesday?” Evie asked.
“Right,” the sheriff said.
Evie tightened her arms across her chest, as if she could make herself smaller. “I don’t know how I got here or why I’m dressed this way. These aren’t my clothes. I don’t wear shorts.” Her chin quivered. “I don’t feel well. My chest hurts. I want to go home.”
“Of course you do.” The chief patted Evie on the shoulder. “Addy, you take Evie on home and call Doc Dunn. He still makes house calls. I think he ought to take a look at the both of you. A lick on the head is nothing to sneeze at. Y’all could have a concussion same as Shep.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Addy said.
“Your aunt Muddy went home with Mr. Collier,” Chief Davis said. “Wedding plans, you know.”
Addy felt a surge of relief. Thank God she didn’t have to face Muddy. Not now, not when the pain was still so raw. She needed time alone. Time to grieve. Time to figure out how to go on without Brand. The future stretched ahead of her, a gray, meaningless void.
Somehow, she got Evie home and called Doc Dunn. Waited until the irascible old man completed his examination of Evie and prescribed bed rest. Thanked Old Doc and helped Evie into her pajamas and tucked her into bed. Addy refused treatment for herself. All the medicine in the world couldn’t fix what ailed her.
She stopped by the hospital to check on Shep. He had a concussion, all right. Big bro was puking up his toenails. Lenora and Mama were with him. She and Mama seemed to have established an uneasy truce. Lenora had ditched the string dress and was wearing a pair of pink sweatpants and a matching T-shirt that said HANNAH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL across the front. Addy detected Mama’s subtle influence at work here. As in Mama marched down to the gift shop and bought her son’s new girlfriend-the-pole-dancer some decent clothes to wear. Too bad Mama didn’t buy Lenora a bra while she was at it. The thrall’s puppies were straining at the leash. A woman who dressed in yarn probably didn’t rank undergarments high on her list of must-haves.
Addy drove home in the Van of the Sacred Hump in a fog of misery. Gone. Gone. Gone.
Dooley met her in the foyer. “Addy home. Dooley miss Addy.” The Lab ignored the flying kitten sailing around her head and stuck her nose in Addy’s crotch. “Addy home.”
Addy shoved Dooley’s head away. “Dooley Anne, that is so rude. Lord.”
Dooley wagged her tail. “Addy. Dooley love Addy.” She pushed past Addy, feet scrambling on the wood floor and ran to the front door. “Where Brand man?”
That was it. The tears started to flow and would not stop.
She cried, great wracking sobs that came from some bottomless well of grief. Dooley and Mr. Fluffy hovered around her, anxious and eager to please. Only this couldn’t be fixed. Wailing like a banshee, she stumbled out of the foyer and into the living room. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the foyer mirror as she went past. She was not a pretty crier. Her eyes swelled shut and her face turned red and scrunched up like a constipated Cabbage Patch doll. Who cared? Bump it. Nothing mattered. Brand was gone.
She staggered over to the couch. She would bury her face in the cushions. With any luck, she’d smother to death. Her heart hurt. Her chest hurt. Her damn brain was whirling with images and memories of Brand—his scent, his touch, his kisses. She could smell him. She could still taste him. She felt his body moving on her, in her. He’d left her drowning in an ocean of misery. She wanted to die. She wanted to—
A man stared at her through the double French doors that looked out on the backyard, a man with a familiar hollow-cheeked grin. The man from the parade. The doors burst open and he stalked inside, his horrible, wobbly purple Jell-O gaze fixed on her.
“Addy.”
That grating sibilant whisper made her shudder with dread.
“You’re dead,” she said through lips stiff with disbelief.
“Hardly. I told you I would come for you. I always keep my promises.”
“But, I saw you! I-I heard you! It was you!”
Mr. Nasty chuckled. “Foolish girl, that was one of my minions, a lesser demon, not one of the morkyn such as I.”
“Morkyn?”
“A powerful, ancient race of demons far superior in strength and magic to the dross you saw today. You should be honored to be chosen by one of the morkyn.”
“Yeah? Well, before I do the superior dance, what exactly is this honor you’re thinking of bestowing on me?”
“I have been watching you. You are no ordinary mortal. You proved that when you resisted me. You reek of Dalvahni. At first, I thought it was because you took one of the spawn as your lover. But soon I realized it was something else. The Dalvahni saved your life the other night after I stabbed you, did he not? He gave you part of his essence, making you something greater, something more. You are part Dalvahni, part human. The first of your kind. I have been drawn to you since I marked you. But, now that you are Dalvahni, you are irresistible.”
“Whoopee.”
“You jest, because you do not understand. I could kill you and feed upon your soul, but I have chosen you to be my vessel.”
“Wow, I’m flattered. Really, I am. But, it looks to me like you already got a vessel, so I’m going to say no.”
“This shell? It is nothing. Less than nothing. I will prove it to you.”
The man’s body contorted and twisted, like a fleshy towel being wrung by unseen hands. Repulsed, Addy staggered back. She tripped over something and sprawled onto the floor. Dooley and Mr. Fluffy were lying in a furry heap under her legs.
She looked back at the demon. The once human body was a thing out of a nightmare. Muscle, tendon, and flesh shrank and dried up, exposing the skeletal frame underneath. As she watched, the bones crumbled to dust. A black
mist rose from the pile of ashes and floated over the couch. Wind howled through the open French doors, scattering the powdery remains of the demon’s victim into the night.
“The human body is too frail to contain the djegrali for long.” Mr. Nasty’s voice slithered inside her head, a raspy, husky sound that made her shiver. “Aside from the obvious drawback of a short life span, mortals cannot sustain us for any great length of time,” he said. “A few years, a few decades if we are frugal, no more. Perhaps it is their fault. Perhaps it is ours. Our desire for physical sensation and pleasure is our great weakness. It leads us to excess and, too often, we consume our human vessels from within. Certainly, if we use any great magic or shape-shifting, the process of degeneration is hastened. I believe you saw evidence of that today. But you are part Dalvahni and thus imbued with their strength and immortality. You will be a fitting container for me. We will do great things together.”
“What have you done to Dooley and Mr. Fluffy?”
“The creatures are alive, lying in slumberous state. Cooperate, and I may let them live.”
“I get it. I let you possess me and eat my soul and turn me into a purple-eyed whoozit, and you might let Dooley and Mr. Fluffy live. But no promises.”
“Exactly,” Mr. Nasty said.
Addy got slowly to her feet. The demon was right about one thing. She was part Dalvahni now, part warrior. She needed a kick-ass weapon, something befitting a foe of darkness. She needed a weapon, something really cool. Something like . . . like . . .
She looked down. She held Muddy’s portable mixer in her hand. It was top of the line as far as hand mixers went, but it was a mixer all the same. Brand got a flaming sword and Blondy got a bow and arrows . . . and she got a hand mixer. Jeez, the damn thing wasn’t even connected to a socket. The cord and the three-pronged plug dangled at her feet.
She heard a dark chuckle inside her head. Mr. Nasty swooped down. She slid the power button to high. The stainless steel turbo beaters whirred to life. It wasn’t a light saber, but at least it worked. Her own bit of magic, it would seem. She thrust her arm and the mixer into the dark mist. She screamed in pain. The demon was cold, the heart of an Arctic glacier, liquid fire. Her arm burned and went numb. The spinning blades caught the shrieking demon, whipped him to pieces, and flung him back out again. He floated in the air like bits of foamy licorice meringue.
Mr. Nasty’s spell was shattered, too. Dooley and Mr. Fluffy sprang up. Mr. Fluffy hissed at the bits of dark fluff wafting around the living room and flew up to sit on the ceiling fan, tail twitching in agitation.
Lenora materialized by the couch. Dooley barked and then looked embarrassed, like she just remembered she could talk.
“Addy, Addy! Stranger! Stranger!”
“It’s okay, Dooley. I know her.”
Dooley trotted over and inspected the thrall. Dooley was an equal-opportunity crotch sniffer.
Lenora looked around the room. “I thought I heard something as I arrived, a scream and then a terrible wail. Is something wrong?”
“Demon,” Addy said through her teeth. Searing pain shot through her right arm, which hung useless by her side. The mixer clattered to the floor.
Lenora glided toward her. “You are in pain. I can help you.”
“Not on your life, lady. You keep your sharp little succubus fangs away from me. I’ll take an aspirin instead. What are you doing here anyway?”
Lenora shrugged. “I came to tell you your brother is doing better, although he will have to remain in the Hall of Healing for a few more days.”
“Thanks.” Addy limped over to the cabinet and found a bottle of pain reliever. Her arm hurt like hell. She shook three pills out of the bottle and swallowed them. “Mama didn’t see you do the time warp, did she?”
“Of course not. I am not a fool.” Lenora gazed at the shreds of black confetti that wafted about the room. There was a strange, almost hungry look in her eyes. “Is that the djegrali?”
“Yeah, what’s left of it.”
“You do realize it is weakened, but not dead?”
“What?” Addy looked around for another weapon. What was she supposed to do for an encore, microwave the damn thing?
Lenora plucked a wafting piece of black confetti out of the air and popped it in her mouth.
Addy’s stomach heaved. “Gross, you did not just do that.”
Lenora licked another floating shred of demon out of the air. It melted on her pink tongue like cotton candy. “It has a spicy tang. Probably all that concentrated evil. It is quite delicious. May I consume the rest?”
“Uh, sure,” Addy said. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a shower.”
“But of course. Do you mind if I watch television while I eat?” Lenora snatched a black wisp as it sailed past and ate it in two bites. “I have become quite fond of the show Loins of Lust. So much melodrama and strong emotion. Quite addictive.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Turning, Addy fled into the bedroom and shut the door.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Addy leaned against the bedroom door and closed her eyes. She needed a shower. She could not remember feeling dirtier in her life, not after mud bogging with Shep or cleaning fish down by the river. She was covered in bug funk and gobbler funk and demon funk, and sweat and plain old dirt. She was bone tired, and there was a ball of sadness the size of a Buick lodged in her chest. Her arm hurt. She could add grossed out to the list, because her brother’s freaky girlfriend was in the living room eating what was left of the creature of darkness she’d almost killed with a kitchen appliance. Her life was so weird.
Stripping off her clothes, she went into the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror. From fingertips to elbow, her right hand and arm were bone white and stiff as marble. How was she going to explain this one to Bitsy? Well, you see, Mama, I shoved my arm up this demon’s butt and then . . . Oh, yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon. A tear ran down her cheek and dripped off her chin. She wiped it away angrily. She would not do this. She would not.
Getting in the shower, she washed her hair and body as best she could one-handed. She dried off and put on an old pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt. By the time she was dressed, her arm and hand felt better. They were still hard to the touch and white as alabaster, but at least a little of the feeling was coming back. By tomorrow morning, her hand and arm would probably be good as new. That Dalvahni DNA was strong stuff. If only her broken heart would mend as easily.
Unbidden, the hurt welled up inside her, choking her. OhGodOhGodOhGod. He was gone. How would she bear it? How would she go on without him?
A gray shroud of grief enveloped her, heavy, unbearable. She sat down on the floor and burst into tears.
“Why are you crying, little one?”
Addy squeezed her eyes shut. That deep, husky growl sounded like Brand. Holding her aching arm next to her chest, she rocked back and forth. “I’m losing my mind.”
“Why do you say this?”
“Because you’re gone, and this isn’t real,” she wailed. “But it feels real, and I want it to be real. I want it like crazy. I can smell you, for Pete’s sake. But I know I’m imagining it because I miss you so much. And now I’m talking to you, and that means I’m losing it. Big time.”
A pair of strong hands lifted her to her feet. “Adara, you are not crazy. Look at me. I am here.”
She opened her eyes. Brand stood in front of her. She drank in the sight of him, his beloved face, the sexy mouth and chiseled features, his big, hard-muscled body. How could she have forgotten how gorgeous he was? It had only been a few hours.
“Brand?” Her mouth widened in a grin of delight. With a squeal of happiness, she flung herself against him. “I thought you were gone. I thought I’d never see you again.” She rained kisses along his neck, shoulder, and chest. “Oh, God, I’ve been so unhappy. I wanted to die I was so miserable.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and stepped back. He scowled d
own at her, his expression stern and disapproving. Why wasn’t he glad to see her? Her stomach did a sickening little flip-flop. He couldn’t stay. He’d come back to tell her he couldn’t stay. OhGodOhGodOhGod.
“You are hurt.” His tone was accusing. “How did this happen? You were uninjured when I left. I am sure of it.”
Suddenly, she was furious. Balling up her good fist, she slugged him in the chest. It was like slamming her hand into a brick wall. “How the hell would you know? You walked off into the sunset without saying good-bye.”
“I did not walk into the sunset. The sun was at its zenith when I left. But that is beside the point. How did you injure your arm?”
Addy squelched a sigh of exasperation. He was so literal. “Mr. Nasty did it. Or to be more accurate, I did it when I killed him.” She made a face. “Well, I sort of half-ass killed him. Lenora’s doing the rest.”
“Adara, you are not making sense. Ansgar and I slew the djegrali.”
“Yeah, but Mr. Nasty wasn’t at the park. He was waiting for me when I got home.”
Brand looked momentarily confused, and then outraged. Yikes, somebody had their leather panties in a wad.
“I leave you alone for a moment and you fight a djegrali?” he roared. “You could have been killed.”
Addy winced. “Brand, my ears.”
Ignoring her protests, he picked her up and strode over to the bed. He sat down with her in his lap and examined her arm. Bending his dark head, he kissed her frozen fingers, nibbled her palm and the top of her hand, and trailed his lips past her wrist and up her arm. She gasped in pain. Heat flowed from his hands and lips, thawing her frozen flesh. Her injured arm and hand tingled and grew warm. Healthy color returned to the tissue. She flexed her fingers. Good as new.
“Thanks,” she said, snuggling against him with a happy sigh. She kissed his chin, his neck, his chest, breathing in the scent of him and savoring the feel of his arms around her. He was big and warm and smelled oh-so-delicious, and he was here. “My arm feels all better now.”