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?”
“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.
“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,
“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.
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
