Hell Fire

Potluck

I woke up with both hands shiny with salve. The blisters around the brand on my left palm had gone away entirely, leaving the smooth imprint of the flower pentacle. For a while, I lay there savoring the peace and the softness of the mattress beneath me.

Even minor creature comforts impressed me these days. I’d driven myself long and hard, and I desperately needed a break. But I couldn’t relax until we’d finished there. Then I’d go home and ease back into my old routine at the pawnshop. I’d take Shannon with me, if she wanted to come. I even had a spare bedroom. Otherwise, I’d help her get wherever she wanted to go.

Butch bounded in, made the short leap to join me, and curled up beside me. “What do you think?” I asked him. “Do we do more legwork today?”

He yapped in the negative. It seemed he’d had enough of crawling around in the woods. Sadly, he was probably smarter than the rest of us put together.

That day we listened to the dog and didn’t move much. To my amusement, the other three joined forces to keep me under house arrest. They didn’t want me doing anything more strenuous than sitting on the couch.

For the most part, we passed the time talking with Shannon about the Gifted community. She had a number of questions about the kinds of powers other people had. We explained the way Chance’s ability usually worked. I was glad of the quiet, for all it reminded me of the calm before the storm.

In the afternoon, I called Booke to thank him for saving me—and to confirm I wasn’t losing my mind. He picked up on the second ring.

“I’m so glad you called,” he said.

We then spoke at the same time.

“Did I imagine—”

“What happened to you—”

“It was real,” I breathed in relief. “I wanted to thank you.”

His deep voice revealed his abashment. “It was nothing.” Booke hastened to change the subject. “But I did find something out about the spell components you sent me.”

My interest sharpened. “Oh?”

“After a number of esoteric tests, I’m relatively certain it was meant to be used in a binding spell.”

“Like to bind demons?” Unexpected. Had Sandra been trying to sic a monster on me while I was in the bathroom? That didn’t seem sporting.

“No,” Booke answered. “If it had worked, it would have prevented you from moving until something more . . . permanent could be done to you.”

I cast my mind back to that day. Sandra had seemed insistent that we stay to dinner, and her husband had been quietly miserable. Plan B?

“So it would’ve immobilized me,” I guessed. “But something went wrong. Do you have any idea what?”

“If I had to speculate,” Booke’s tone became a touch pedantic, “well, I’d say it could have been any number of things. The person may not have been skilled enough in the dark arts. It is rather a precise business. The spell may also have failed because there were two of you in a small space she’d guessed would contain only one.”

“The not-being-skilled part tracks with our observations here,” I said.

“Perhaps they are dabblers.” His voice reflected his disdain for such dilettantes. “Did you find anything out about the library?”

Crap, I hadn’t even asked. I made a note to check with Shannon. After a few more pleasantries, Booke advised me to take care of myself and disconnected. While I was making calls, I checked in with Senor Alvarez, who assured me everything was fine at the pawnshop. Then I went looking for our resident speaker for the dead.

When she heard what I wanted to know, she said, “Yeah, actually. The library used to be a church, a really long time ago. My grandpa had the new one built in . . .” She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure when, actually, but it was before I was born.”

“Thanks.”

In late morning, Shannon took a trip with Jesse to find out whether Mr. McGee had any connection with Curtis Farrell. She came back aglow with her success.

“They were related,” she said with a bright smile. “I had no idea, but apparently Farrell was Mr. McGee’s great-nephew on his mother’s side.”

“So McGee had a stake in anything Farrell might’ve been doing.”

She nodded. “That’s the size of it.”

Shannon and I talked all afternoon. Chance holed up in his room, trying some experiment related to his luck. I didn’t know what Jesse was doing, but from Butch’s excited yapping, they must be playing in the yard. All in all, it was an odd, domestic day. We all came together in the kitchen for dinner, a makeshift meal cobbled together from our survivalist-style supplies.

That evening, I called Chuch’s place, intending to see if he knew how to send spirits to their final rest. From the looks of things, Kilmer had a number of restless ghosts. But Eva answered, and she wasn’t interested in why I’d called. She had her own agenda.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I haven’t talked to you in weeks! How are you? How’s Chance? I heard Saldana took off after you like a bat out of hell. So did you make up your mind yet?”

I laughed as I tried to answer her questions in order. “Well enough, fine, yes, he did, and no, I’ve had other things to think about.”

We talked a little more, and then she dropped a serious bomb on me. “Guess what?” Eva didn’t wait for me to guess. “We’re having a baby!”

The news hit me hard. I imagined a sweet little boy or girl who would round out the normalcy of their lives. They wouldn’t want weirdos like me traipsing in and out; they had a real family to think about now. So distance offered the best solution. Considering Montoya’s vendetta could endanger them, I couldn’t be sanguine about losing the few friends I had.

“Congrats,” I managed to say. “That’s fantastic, Eva. When are you due?”

“Summer,” she answered, chattering on about needing to see a doctor to get an exact date.

I listened quietly, smiling. When I got a chance, I said, “I really need to talk to Chuch. Can you put him on?”

More small talk, but Chuch wasn’t a phone guy, so he asked what I wanted pretty fast. I told him. Jesse came along as I was explaining my question about Shannon’s gift and restless spirits, and stood behind me, shamelessly eavesdropping.

Unfortunately, Chuch didn’t know. “Sorry, prima. That’s not my thing. You take care of yourself, okay? I want you here after the baby’s born. We’re naming you and Chance godparents.”

“Really?” That surprised me. I’d expected him to make excuses about why we shouldn’t come around anymore.

Then I grinned, thinking I’d figured it out. Lord, save me from Chuch’s matchmaking. I got off the line quickly after that.

As I turned, Jesse looked thoughtful.

“What?” I asked.

“I can post that question to Area 51,” he answered, producing his cell phone.

He had Web access, and inside the house, technology worked just fine. It took him a while to get the message typed on his tiny keypad, but he seemed confident we’d have an answer by morning. That was good; I suspected we’d need it.

I borrowed his phone and looked at the post I’d made requesting a witch to do a cleansing. We had one taker, but she couldn’t leave Atlanta for two weeks. That might be too late to do any good, but I slowly typed a thank-you on the message board.

I picked Butch up and went to bed shortly thereafter. You’d think the nightmare would have come like it always did when times got tough. But maybe I’d simply reached my tolerance threshold. Thankfully, my mind shut down, and my sleep was dreamless.

In the morning, I felt ready to tackle whatever might come. We had to be getting close to the end of the line. I took a quick shower and ate a PBJ for breakfast.

Jesse spent the day banging around in the kitchen. Chance was still meditating, or whatever he’d been working on the day before. I suspected it had to do with his confession of how much he hated being helpless. If I had to guess, I’d say he was trying to jumpstart his luck. Shannon listened to whispery music on the old transistor radio; if she was bored, she didn’t complain, but she did spend a lot of time looking out the window at the woods.

I spent the day doing laundry. Ever since Mexico City, I’d been living out of a backpack, and I hadn’t washed my clothes since we left Chuch’s house, weeks ago now. Though we’d picked up a few things on the way here, I still didn’t have an extensive wardrobe. Then I had to decide what would be suitable attire for a church social.

Shannon wore black leggings, a plaid skirt, combat boots, and a black T-shirt, layered with a black and white flannel. I’d never gone through a Goth phase like that, but I could see myself in her, especially the attitude she projected. Deep down she was nothing like she looked at all.

As for me, I chose a demure black peasant skirt, a black camisole, and a black lace sweater. My long red hair streamed over my shoulders, contrasting with the sober attire. Studying myself in the mirror that gave a wavering reflection reminiscent of a fun house, I realized I looked like a witch. All I needed was a pointy hat and a broomstick. As Butch trotted in, I realized I even had a familiar.

Had I intended to do that? To drive home the point about the witch’s daughter? Well, I didn’t plan to change, so this would have to do.

But I’d sure get my share of attention at the church social.

By early evening, we were ready to go. I stood waiting in the living room, tapping a dainty ballet flat against the hardwood floor. Chance came in, wearing charcoal dress slacks paired with a black and silver striped shirt. He flashed me an admiring look.

“We match.” He seemed pleased, reaching out a hand to smooth the hair that fell past my shoulder. “You look gorgeous. Witchy hot.”

I felt the sheepish curve to my answering smile. “Too obvious?”

Chance shook his head. “No, it’s great. Should be funny.”

From her place at the corner of the sofa, legs curled under her, Shannon stifled a snicker. “For sure.”

“What’s wrong with you people?” Jesse asked. “You don’t show up empty-handed.” With a grin, he flourished a pan.

I stepped forward for a peek beneath the foil and then blinked at him. “You were making a cobbler in there?”

Not being overly domestic, I hadn’t recognized what he was doing when I’d wandered in and out. Impressive—he’d baked dessert out of the bare staples we had on hand. Jesse Saldana would make a great husband, no doubt about it. For a few seconds, I imagined him in nothing but an apron, but I didn’t know where else to go with that mental image, so I shooed it out.

Jesse playfully smacked my hands away, giving me a little grin. “Yeah. My mama taught me. I have two older brothers, and she got tired of waiting for a daughter.”

“So Jesse is short for Jessica,” Chance said with a smirk.

Was Jesse’s family worried about him? Shit. I had nobody, and Chance had only his mom. We weren’t exactly poster children for normal relationships. Maybe that was why we’d gravitated together. I tried to see myself assimilating into what I imagined to be the big, boisterous Saldana clan.

Jesse slapped Chance upside the head in answer as he went out to the Forester.

I glanced down at Butch, who was waiting expectantly by the front door. “You want to come?”

He yapped once.

Why did I bother asking? This dog didn’t like letting me out of his sight. Given what he’d been through, I couldn’t blame him. There was no point in asking him to behave himself, and he seemed to find the request offensive. It wasn’t like he’d ever given me any trouble, apart from the time he’d run off into the woods. I wished he could give me some more insight as to why he’d done that, but we were limited to yes and no questions.

As I headed out, I reflected that it was sweet that Officer Saldana had church-going in his past. That certainly dovetailed with his becoming a cop to fight for truth and justice. Climbing into the front, I realized I could easily fall in love with him.

“I got an answer about the restless dead,” Jesse told me, sliding in back. “But we need a witch or a medium to lead us in the ritual.”

Well, the witch from Atlanta might be able to take care of that, but I hoped we wouldn’t be here in two weeks. So it looked like we were on our own. Given the state of the town, it was probably just as well.

Shannon drove because she knew the way. The guys didn’t seem to mind that we were both in the front, and I figured it was my turn. I brooded all the way to the Methodist church, a sprawling white stone building with an ostentatious steeple.

“Someone’s compensating,” I muttered. I quite forgot I was talking about Shannon’s grandpa.

She cut me a disgusted look. “That’s . . . so wrong.”

Belatedly, I remembered she had said he had the place built before she was born. The lot was lit up like a bingo parlor in marked contrast to the dark all around the place. Cars crowded the parking lot; some had overflowed to the street and the neighboring field. It seemed everyone who was anyone in Kilmer attended the weekly potluck.

“You guys ready for this?” I asked, hopping down from the SUV. The chill in the night air swirled my words around in a white mist.

“Absolutely,” said Chance.

With no forethought, we fell into Reservoir Dogs-style formation, with Jesse leading the way. I had to admit, it amused the crap out of me to stroll into this holiest of holy buildings behind a blue-haired septuagenarian. If she hadn’t been tiny and doddering, I have no doubt she would have favored us with a sniff and a disapproving glare.

My first thought as we stepped into the hall was, Who the hell knew there were so many flowered dresses in the world? Older women stuck to gray, black and white, or navy; young ones ran around in pastels. They were unified by the floral prints.

Men, on the other hand, wore button-up shirts and belted slacks in varying hues. Everyone milled around, talking a mile a minute, while a handful of women fussed over a table laden with food. Kids wove in and out, playing tag around the masses. It was at once completely wholesome and achingly foreign.

Despite the darkness plaguing this town, I sensed such genuine warmth. The normal folk here cared about one another. When a stout, middle-aged lady crossed the room and gave a hugely pregnant young woman a hug, she meant it.

I smiled as she rubbed the woman’s stomach. “Oh, you’re carrying low this time, Millie. Must be a boy.”

The younger woman giggled. “I sure hope so. Dan’s out of patience with the girls.”

Conversation paused as people noticed us. All of us wore black in some form, but Shannon and I stood out more than the guys. In button-up shirts and dress slacks, they both fell within the bounds of normal for this gathering, even if Chance was one hundred percent more urbane than the elder gentleman wearing polyester pants and a plaid shirt.

Before I could think better of this idea, Jesse took my hand in his and led me toward the buffet. I followed since he qualified as our ranking expert on such occasions. He gave the woman in charge his extra-sweet smile and proffered the pan.

“Here you go.” At her questioning look, he clarified. “Peach cobbler. Mrs. Walker invited us here tonight.”

I didn’t know whether that was true, as Chance had spirited me away before they finished in the forest. Even if it wasn’t, her suspicion melted into a warm welcome. A round little pigeon of a woman, she came around the table, practically cooing with delight.

“You’re the hikers,” she exclaimed. “The ones who found Robert Walker. Oh, mercy me, I’m so glad you came. I heard on the prayer chain all about how you waited with the poor boy out in the woods. Not everyone would’ve done that.” I had no idea what a prayer chain was, but she seemed to think our actions stemmed from respect rather than a fear the corpse would vanish. She couldn’t know too much about the secret workings of Kilmer, then.

Jesse made small talk, thanking her for making us feel at home, while Chance and Shannon stood mute. The woman introduced herself as Alice Buckner, chair of the social committee. We shook hands, and I must admit, she seemed genuinely pleased to see us. I wasn’t used to that.

Alice pointed out various people of interest from the Who’s Who of Kilmer. I recognized Phil Regis, the real estate agent, towering over a truly diminutive woman. Why did giants always go for the daintiest flower they could find? He raised his glass in my direction, and I smiled. His wife caught my gaze and gave a sweet little nod. I spotted Ms. Pettigrew watching them from across the room with sadness in her eyes.

“Have you ever been out to the bar outside town?” I asked Alice, somewhat abruptly, if her expression offered any clue as to her feelings.

“Oh my, no,” she said. “I think my Harold has a nip out there every now and again, but it’s not really a respectable place.”

“Because they sell liquor?” Chance asked. “Or because it’s a new business?”

Interesting question. Perspicacious too, I thought. I waited for her answer.

Alice thought about that. “A bit of both? We’re not a dry county by any means, but too much drinking leads to”—she struggled for the right word—“shenanigans.”

Shannon looked like she wanted to laugh. “What exactly is a shenanigan, Mrs. Buckner?” she managed to ask with a straight face.

The older woman leveled an assessing look on Shannon. “You think you’re so clever, missy. But here you are in church again, no matter what you told your grandpa.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, that qualified as a polite, ladylike burn. I smothered a grin as Shannon lapsed into disgruntled silence. Jesse covered the slight awkwardness with more of his honey-sweet Texas charm.

Alice lapped it up, concluding her admiring remarks. “And here you’ve brought another lost lamb back into the fold.” She nodded at Shannon. “After a row in the middle of the parking lot, she swore she’d never set foot in this church again, oh, four months ago or so. Is there any limit to the good you’ll do here in Kilmer?”

Could she be flirting, despite the mention of her husband?

“I never get tired of good deeds,” Jesse said with a straight face. He’d probably been a Boy Scout too.

Mrs. Buckner took us onward then, introducing us to every last soul in town. They all professed to be pleased to meet us, so tickled we’d set Mrs. Walker’s mind to rest at last. Some of them muttered about the worthless nature of local law enforcement.

By the time we’d been there an hour, I’d received hateful looks from Shannon’s mother and her grandfather, Reverend Prentice, but they didn’t dare make a scene—not here, not now. But it was coming; I could feel it. Shannon’s dad was nowhere to be seen. That worried me.

Concern didn’t stop me from enjoying the homemade food: fried chicken, green beans with bacon, sweet potato casserole, ambrosia salad. I slipped bits of chicken to Butch in my handbag. Every now and then he’d growl low in his throat and I’d make a mental note of the person he didn’t like. His instincts were excellent.

In this setting, it’d be impossible to poison us, as much as Sandra Cheney would like to. If she didn’t want to kill us when we first arrived, she did now. As she saw it, we’d stolen her daughter, but I didn’t trust her intentions toward Shannon. Studying Sandra, I suspected the girl had been right to fear. The woman’s expression didn’t contain maternal concern; instead, it was all thwarted rage. By helping Shannon, we’d interfered with something she planned. Sandra’s icy gaze followed me as I wove through the room, tugged by Alice Buckner as if I were a barge.

Single church-going females snagged Chance and Jesse early on; every now and then, they shot me a desperate look, but they needed to man up and pump for information. If I could handle charged objects when my gift had clearly gone haywire, then they could take a few hours with marriage-minded Southern belles.

Shannon stayed close to me. I didn’t blame her.

I was about to call the whole endeavor a bust, when I saw a tall, thin figure across the room. The church hall spun, then seemed to recede. Well, holy shit. Maybe I went pale, because Shannon clutched my arm.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

I waved the question away. “Who is that?”

I pointed at the gray-haired man who stood a head above everyone else. It wasn’t the real estate agent; Phil was much beefier. This man looked like he lived on pickled beets and malice. And he wore a horseshoe tie tack. Remembering what Miss Minnie had said about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, I knew that couldn’t be a coincidence.

Now we had to find the rest. We were looking for twelve total, but I had an idea the others followed the lead of the top four.

Shannon searched the crowd, trying to follow the trajectory of my gaze. In a crush like this, it was impossible, so I described him, leaning toward her so nobody could overhear.

She stared at me, wide-eyed, before answering. “Augustus England. He practically owns the whole town. Why?”

“Of course he does,” I muttered. “He’s also the man who choked Curtis Farrell behind his garage until Farrell promised to do his bidding.”

My mother had glimpsed this man pushing back his cowl as she died. She hadn’t seen the others—and so neither had I—but I’d never forget. Oh, blessed day. At long last, our enemy has a face.