The sight of Jean standing at the window in the back of the house holding a BB gun cut her off. Lorelei stood there with her lips parted as Jean leveled the gun out the open window.
“Now be careful, Jean,” Josephine cautioned her. “We don’t want to hit bare flesh. You know how that stings.”
“This is not my first shot, Josephine,” Jean said primly.
“Jean, don’t—” I warned.
Too late. The gun went off with a small shot of air, and the two women ducked inside, giggling like school girls. A cry from the backyard came through the open window.
“Mom!” a boy yelled.
“Jean, what did I tell you about the BB gun?” I asked tiredly.
Jean held the gun to her chest as if I’d threatened to take it from her. “We agreed that I would use it only to defend our property.”
I glanced out the window. A boy that couldn’t be more than seven years old wearing a red Tony Hawk T-shirt and black shorts was running to the house that sat behind the Brewsters’ property. Based on his speed and the distance between him and the house, I was guessing he’d been messing about in the graveyard that occupied the rear half of their property.
“He’s a child.”
“A child who insists on trespassing.” Josephine crossed her hands in front of her and straightened her spine like a school teacher about to give a civics lesson. “A graveyard is no place for a child to play. You’re a witch, you know graveyards are full of creatures only too happy to snack on a fat child like that. Not to mention the danger of falling and striking his head on one of the larger gravestones. Why, that angel is downright deadly, and he’s always climbing it.”
Andy walked farther into the room, staring out the window. “Seems like his mother wants a word.”
Jean wrinkled her nose. “Best get out the wine. You know what a lush she is, maybe it’ll stop her complaining.”
“It didn’t last time,” Josephine said sourly. But she sighed and left to retrieve a bottle. “One of these days we’ll have to let her try the elderberry wine.”
Jean grinned, but then noticed me watching her. Immediately, she composed her face into what I’m sure she thought was an innocent expression.
I made a mental note to check the elderberry wine before we left.
Lorelei was still gaping at the sisters as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. She blinked at me. “She shot a child?”
“With a BB gun,” I protested. “He’s fine.”
Lorelei blinked again. “Do they do that often? Shoot children, I mean?”
I glanced at Andy who was watching the child’s mother storm across the yard for the back door. “Not…that often.”
“Ms. Brewster,” the woman snarled, bursting through the door like a force of nature. The sunlight bounced off the blinding lime green of her yoga pants and the matching baggy tank top. “You have gone too far. Scaring Dallas with stories about ghouls and ghosts and zombies crawling out of the graveyard to eat him was bad enough, but shooting him?” She tightened her grip on the boy’s hand until he winced. “I’m calling the police!”
“Oh, the police are here, dear.” Jean waved at Andy. “Allow me to introduce Agent Bradford of the FBI.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at Andy, and I would have sworn I saw some of the grey eyeshadow caked on her eyelids break off and fall like miniature boulders onto the snug grey shirt beneath the tank top. “You’re from the FBI?”
Andy pulled his jacket aside to reveal his badge. “Yes, ma’am.”
Dallas’ jaw dropped and he took a step forward as if mesmerized by the badge. He raised his free hand to swipe his longish blond hair off his forehead and out of his eyes, trying to get a better view. His mother jerked him back and he scowled.
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Jonathan,” Josephine said. “I’m afraid we can’t tell you that. Can we, Agent Bradford?”
Andy’s face revealed nothing, but I suspected we would talk about this later. “No, I’m afraid I can’t talk about why I’m here.”
“Besides, Dallas is a tough boy, aren’t you, Dallas?” Josephine held out the plate of chocolate peanut butter no bake cookies. “Would you like a cookie?”
The boy perked up. “It didn’t hurt at all,” he agreed, reaching for a cookie. His mother glared at him, and he shrank away, gaze lingering on the sweets.
“And perhaps a glass of wine for your mum?” Jean offered. She smiled. “We know how fond your mum is of wine, don’t we Josephine?”
“Well, that’s certainly the impression Mrs. Peters is giving everyone,” Josephine agreed.
Mrs. Jonathan’s face turned red, and for a few moments, there was a real concern that her head would explode. She opened her mouth, looked at Andy, and closed it again. I stepped closer to the sisters, ready to intervene if the outraged mother went for broke and tried to throttle them both with her bare hands. I really needed to confiscate that BB gun…
Finally the furious parent whirled around and stormed out of the house without a word, dragging her son behind her.
Andy crossed his arms.
“I’ll talk to them,” I promised.
“Well, that was rude,” Jean said indignantly. “She could have said no thank you.”
“There’s no accounting for manners anymore, Jean,” Josephine said, setting the cookies on the squat coffee table in front of the flowered couch. “None at all.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Lorelei agreed, sitting on the couch and helping herself to a no bake cookie. “She lets her monster tear around your property unsupervised—a risk to his own health—and she has the nerve to be cross with you when you try to guide him to a safer path.”
Jean sat down beside her and patted Lorelei’s knee. “Well, you understand, don’t you? We’re only trying to help. Better a kiss from a tiny BB pellet than a smashed skull, wouldn’t you say?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. No one who’d ever been shot by a BB pellet would liken it to a kiss. “Jean—”
“You know, we haven’t been properly introduced,” Jean continued. “I’m Jean Brewster, and this is my sister Josephine Brewster.”
“How do you do?” Josephine said, smiling.
Lorelei grinned. “Lovely to meet you both. I’m Lorelei.”
Jean picked up the plate of cookies, holding them out to Lorelei. “And tell me, Lorelei, what are you?”
The demon paused with her hand on a second cookie. “I’m sorry?”
“Well, we know Shade is a witch,” Jean continued, shaking the cookie plate until Lorelei took another cookie. “And if she’s brought you here to hide from something, then either you’re not human, or the danger must be something serious.” Lorelei had ditched the blouse in favor of the skimpy camisole, and Jean gave her shoulders a pointed look. “Perhaps you’ve upset your pimp?”
Lorelei’s jaw dropped. Andy arched an eyebrow.
“Jean,” I chastised her, half-heartedly.
“Oh, dear, did I say the wrong thing?” Jean looked at Josephine. “Pimp is the right word, isn’t it?”
“I’d say so,” Josephine agreed. “That’s what you call the man who controls hook—”
“She’s a bit of a hodge-podge,” I interrupted. “A little of this, a little of that. She won’t be any trouble, I promise, I’ll be right here to make sure of it.”
“I’m a demon,” Lorelei said smoothly. Her eyes glittered with red flecks as she leaned closer to Jean. “Dybbuk, if you like to be precise.”
“Well, I always like to be precise,” Jean huffed. “A…dybbik you say?”
“Dybbuk.”
“Dibuck?”
“Dybbuk,” Lorelei said, annunciating each letter.
Jean eyed her as if she suspected Lorelei was putting her on, then smiled. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“I have to make a couple calls.” I stood from the couch. “I trust I can leave you here and you’ll be on your absolute best
behavior?”
“I promise, Mother,” Lorelei said sarcastically.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Lorelei blinked, then turned to Jean and Josephine. The two sisters huffed and folded their hands and sniffed in offense. But when I continued to fix them with my best witchy look, they sighed.
“Yes,” Jean promised. “Our best behavior.”
“As we always are,” Josephine added, a touch of reproach in her tone.
I didn’t answer that. Instead, I left the small living room and went outside to stand on the front porch. Andy followed.
“Who are you calling?” he asked.
“A shaman.”
“A shaman?” Andy echoed.
“Yes.” I fished my cell phone out of the side pocket of my pouch. “We need to talk to Laurie and Lorelei and figure out who might have wanted to stop the exorcism. The only way for me to talk to both of them at the same time is to go to the astral plane.”
Peasblossom climbed up my hair and knocked on the top of my head. “Listen to what you’re saying. You want to go to the astral plane with a demon. As if there aren’t enough monsters waiting there to steal your body, or eat your spirit.”
“What?” Andy asked sharply.
I held up a hand. “Yes, there is danger on the astral plane, but that’s why I’m calling a shaman. He’s more familiar with astral travel, and he’ll know how to keep everyone safe. I’m calling another friend over as well, and I’m hoping that he’ll be able to help with ballistics. You have the bullet, right?”
Andy patted the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Yes.”
“Good.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to have her here with the sisters?” Andy asked.
“Oh, yes. Believe me, the Brewsters can take care of themselves.”
“They’re not human?”
“They’re human. Just…survivors.” I sighed. “Which reminds me. We have to find that elderberry wine.”
Chapter 7
Not five minutes later, I was standing in the dining room with the BB gun in one hand, the other held out toward Jean. Andy stood behind me and to my left, his back to the corner of the room, staring at Jean with an expression equal parts disapproval and disbelief.
“Jean,” I said, keeping my tone calm and even. “You are not shooting anyone else today.”
The sixty-year-old prankster worried her hands in front of her, looking for all the world like someone’s grandmother watching her grandchild juggle her best china. “Oh, Shade, be reasonable. You don’t want to leave us defenseless, do you?”
“You shot Andy in the…backside,” I reminded her. Peasblossom snickered from her nest in the bulky black material of my mock turtleneck, and I felt a crumb from her piece of no bake cookie skitter down my spine. I pursed my lips. “You shot him,” I continued, “after I specifically told you not to.”
Josephine exited the kitchen with a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
And a can of Coke.
Oh, she’s playing dirty.
“Shade, you’re not considering this from the proper perspective,” Josephine said, smiling as she put the Coke down on the table in front of me. “Jean was thinking of the future, and our safety. How many thieves would bother us once word got around she’d shot an FBI agent?”
I rolled my eyes. “No thief has been stupid enough to bother you since that creative Christmas in 1986. And please do not tell people you shot an FBI agent.”
Jean shook her head. The gold chain around her neck slid around with the movement, and the tiny cat charm hanging from the chain caught on the lace at the front of her dress. “Oh we wouldn’t dream of it. But stories like this get around. Some people are awful gossips.”
She plucked at her necklace, freeing the gold charm from the lace. “And if the story gets around—through no fault of ours—everyone will remember it. Even the ruffians. I’ve found that the best way to make certain you have a man’s attention, is to work the word ‘butt’ into the conversation.” She gestured to Andy. “And since that’s where I shot him, you can believe any conversation of the event will have that word.”
“It’s true,” Josephine agreed. “Use the word ‘butt’ in a conversation and you’ll have the attention of every man from two to one hundred and two.” She held out her offering of baked goods. “Wouldn’t you rather have this plate of cookies than that ugly old gun?”
The gun sagged in my grip. “I am not a child—”
The doorbell rang, and Josephine perked up. “Oh! More visitors! Jean, get more cookies.”
“And the wine?” Jean asked, giving her BB gun one last longing look before scurrying toward the kitchen.
“We’ll wait and see who it is first,” Josephine called out.
“That will be Gary and Silence. Gary is—”
Josephine flung open the front door before I could finish. Two young men in their mid-twenties stood on the porch. The first arrival was five foot eight with red hair and green eyes, and didn’t weigh over one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. He stood there like a newborn deer, all awkward limbs covered in blue denim jeans and a long-sleeved green cotton shirt that looked like he’d borrowed it from an older brother.
The second arrival towered over the first at a good six foot four. Where the first boy was all pale skin and unruly hair, this one had jet black hair that hung in a straight line down to the middle of his back, and skin the color of an ancient redwood. He wore a black T-shirt and black jeans. Brown eyes so dark they matched his clothes took in the room and its occupants with hypnotic focus.
“Oh, you must be the shaman and the…technomancer?” Josephine offered the cookies to the skinny young man first. “Hello, Gary, I’m Josephine Brewster. Shade tells me you’re quite the wiz with computers.”
Too late. I winced.
Gary straightened his spine, puffing out his thin chest. “Oh, I see. You’re expecting a shaman and a technomancer, and I must be the latter because I’m skinny and pale, is that it? I couldn’t be the shaman. I couldn’t be anything other than tech support.”
Josephine waggled the plate. “You sound like you need a cookie.”
I stifled a groan. “Josephine, Gary is the shaman. Silence is the technomancer.”
Josephine eyed the large, red-skinned boy. “Are you certain? You know how I hate to criticize, Shade, but I think you might have got it backward.”
“This is the final straw,” Gary seethed. “Constant mockery. That’s what I get, constant mockery.”
Silence let out a sigh and shook his head. I offered a sympathetic smile. “You can set up in there, Silence.” I pointed to the coffee table in the living room in front of the couch with the enormous rose pattern. “Andy, can I have the bullet?”
Andy retrieved the bullet in the plastic bag from his pocket and passed it to me. He watched Silence as I gave him the bullet, following every movement as if waiting for Silence to do something magical.
Josephine peered at Silence’s large black computer bag as he passed her to get to the living room. “Oh, you are the computer person.” She turned to Gary. “You’re really the shaman?”
“You don’t look like a shaman,” Jean said, entering the room with more cookies. Peanut butter, I guessed.
Gary’s face turned bright red, and I stepped forward before he could let out whatever speech was waiting behind those flushed cheeks.
“Gary, I’m so glad you’re here.” I waved at Andy, who was still standing with his backside to the corner. “Andy, I want you to meet Gary Norton. Gary is one of the greatest shamans I’ve ever had the privilege to meet.”
“Please stop flattering me as if that will nullify the insults I’ve received without even stepping over the threshold,” Gary snapped. He stomped into the room. “I’m sick of it. I am. How could you invite me here with this walking stereotype?”
He gestured at Silence, but the large technomancer was too busy setting up his computer to pay him any mind. He opened the sleek, si
lver laptop he’d brought with him. I watched the machine paint glowing designs on his glassy eyes as they twitched back and forth, following lines of code.
“I would never insult you by offering you empty flattery.” I crossed my arms. “And I’m offended you would even suggest such a thing.”
I watched a war play out over his face as he debated whether to hold onto his indignation or let it go. His shoulders sagged. “All right. Thank you.” He paused, then jerked a chin toward Silence. “Why’s he here? Seems odd to call a shaman and a technomancer?”
“What is a technomancer?” Andy left the corner to stand beside me, but I noticed he didn’t take his eyes off Jean.
“Technomancers are…” I stopped. “This is hard to explain.”
“A technomancer is a living computer,” Gary offered.
“Like a cyborg?” Andy asked. “So he’s part machine?”
“No, not like that.” I bit my lip. “All right, bear with me. You know how you can hook up a scanner, and scan a picture, and then that picture goes to a computer, and then from the computer, you can upload the picture to the internet?”
“Yes.”
“Silence can stare at something, and that information codes to his brain as if his eyes were a scanner and his brain the computer.” I paused. “That’s not the limit of what he can do,” I added. “Just an example. A technomancer’s senses operate the same way a lot of our machines do, and their brain codes the way a computer does instead of the way a human’s does. Wait, no, it does both. He—” I stopped, frustrated. “This isn’t coming out right.”
“I think I understand the gist.” Andy crossed his arms. “What’s he here for?”
“My question exactly,” Gary muttered.
“He’s going to compare our bullet to the others in the database.”
“I could do that,” Andy pointed out. “I have access to NIBIN—the National Integrated Ballistics Information Network.”
“But not the Vanguard’s system,” I pointed out. “The Vanguard keeps track of firearms involved in Otherworld-related crimes. You won’t have access to those, because they’ve been wiped from your system.”
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