Autumn Bones

alarmed me. As a part-time employee, I didn’t have health insurance, which had never worried me that much because I never got sick. And I’d never had to explain the quirks of my hell-spawn physiognomy to unfamiliar doctors. They’d probably want to hospitalize me for my temperature alone. “I just . . . it really might be a hex, Jen. Or a migraine! What if it’s a migraine?”

“What if it’s not?” she asked with acerbity. “And by the way, why do you think it might be a hex?”

“Long story.” I cupped my right hand over my pulsating jaw. “I’ve got a toothache, too.”

“A toothache?”

“I know, I know! But seriously, it feels like someone’s trying to chisel it in half.”

“Okay, listen.” Jen’s tone was pragmatic. “It doesn’t sound like you’re dying. More like maybe you have an impacted wisdom tooth or something. Maybe you’re having a severe reaction because you never freakin’ get sick. Let me call Doc Howard and see if he can take a look at you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Call you back in a sec. Oh, and, Daise? If he can’t, I am taking you to the ER,” she warned me.

“Okay,” I repeated.

Within three minutes, Jen called me back to say Doc Howard would see me and she was on her way to pick me up. Within ten minutes, her ancient LeBaron convertible pulled into the alley. I grabbed my messenger bag, put on my hobgoblin-cracked sunglasses, and fumbled my way down the stairs, my head swimming with pain. Even with the sunglasses, the sunlight hit me like a ton of bricks. Closing my eyes again, I began feeling my way around the LeBaron to the passenger side.

“Jesus!” Jen got out of the car and steered me by the elbow. “You look like crap, Daise. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the ER?”

“Yeah.” I slid into the cracked vinyl seat. “I’m sure.”

“Are you aware that your sunglasses are broken?”

“Uh-huh.” I leaned my head against the headrest.

She put the car in gear. “Just checking. Now what the hell’s up with this hex business?”

I got the gist of the story out on the drive to the doctor’s office. Jen listened in disbelief, saving her commentary until after my appointment. I’d known Doc Howard since I was barely out of diapers. Even though I never got sick, Mom took me to the town doctor for all my regularly scheduled checkups. He took my temperature—which he pronounced Daisy-normal at a hundred and five—and blood pressure, listened to my heart, peered into my ears and eyes and throat with the bright-light scope thingy; or at least he did his best. It hurt so much I had a hard time keeping my eyes open during that part.

Bottom line, there was no sign of anything physically wrong with me, not even an impacted wisdom tooth.

Damn.

A part of me had been hoping for an impacted wisdom tooth.

“Daisy?” Doc Howard’s concerned face floated blurrily in my vision. “I’m going to write you a prescription for migraine medication and recommend that you make an appointment with your dentist as soon as possible just to be sure about that tooth. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

He scribbled on a prescription pad. “But if the headache and blurred vision continue for more than seventy- two hours, call me and I’ll refer you to Appeldoorn Community Hospital for a CT scan.”

I took the slip of paper. “Okay.”

“Have a lollipop,” Doc Howard said sympathetically, holding out a jar I remembered from my childhood. “It might help bring up your blood sugar level. Just be sure to eat something healthy when you get home.”

I tried to smile, but it hurt to move the muscles of my face. “Thanks, Doc.”

Then it was back out into the skull-shattering sunlight. Swear to God, I had no idea pain could be this fucking painful. My head felt like it was swollen to twice its normal size and misshapen, ballooning around the jackhammering agony in my jaw.

Bring it on, bitch.

I had a feeling it had been brung.

“So what’s it going to be?” Jen asked me. “Are we going to the drugstore to get your prescription filled or are we going to go kick some obeah woman ass?”

If I could have laughed, I would have. “Drugstore. Right now, I couldn’t kick Stacey Brooks’s ass.”

Back in downtown Pemkowet, Jen double-parked outside the drugstore and came back with a vial of Imitrex, a bottle of water, and a pair of the darkest cheap sunglasses she could find. “Here.” She popped the lid on the vial and shook out a tablet, handing it to me. “The pharmacist said to take one now, and another in two hours if the migraine persists.”

“Thanks.” I cracked open the bottle of water to wash down the pill.

“What happens if this doesn’t work, Daise?” There was a worried note in her voice. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” I switched my hobgoblin-cracked sunglasses for the new ones. “I need to lie down in a dark room and think about it.”

“Okay.”

Jen drove me home and insisted on staying with me while we waited to see if the meds kicked in. She went around the apartment and closed all the shades while I lay on the futon with my eyes closed and held a plastic bag full of ice against my jaw.

“Do you need me to call in to work for you?” she asked softly when the room was as dim as it was going to get.

“Not yet,” I murmured. “I’m not scheduled to go in until this afternoon. What about you? I don’t mean to keep you.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t have anything today but end-of-season cleanup on a couple of places that were just vacated.” Jen worked for the Cassopolis family business, cleaning houses and rental properties. “What about Sinclair? I mean, if this is obeah, he ought to know what to do about it, right? It’s his fucking sister that hexed you.”

“Probably.” It was easier to think while lying prone. “No, don’t call him. Not yet. I need to figure this out on my own.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that working out for you so far?”

“Ha ha. If I call Sinclair, he’ll confront dear Emmy,” I said. “And I don’t want her thinking I needed her brother’s help to beat this.”

“Even if you do?” Jen sounded skeptical. “No offense, Daise, but isn’t pride one of the Seven Deadlies you’re supposed to worry about?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s not just pride. It’s about status, too. That’s a big deal in the eldritch community. I need to show Emmeline Palmer she can’t sail into Pemkowet and fuck with Hel’s liaison without consequences, which means I need to fix this before Sinclair hears about it.”

“How?”

“Good question.”

Now that I was past the panicking stage, my wits were working again. Slowly and painfully, but they were working. Option one: I could try to strong-arm Emmeline into unhexing me. Well, not me personally, not in this condition, but I could call on allies. The fact that Emmeline was wearing some kind of protective ward strong enough to make a two-hundred-year-old ghoul wary was an issue, but I was pretty sure that it wouldn’t dissuade oh, say, Lurine. No matter what mojo dear Emmy was packing, I doubted it was a match for an eldritch being with fond memories of the Bronze Age and the physical capability of crushing her to death one vertebra at the time. Or maybe Gus the ogre. He could always threaten to bash her over the head and eat her.

Of course, that also meant getting someone else to fight my battle. Which wasn’t entirely unappealing— delegating wisely is an important skill and dear Emmy ought to know that there was more to Pemkowet’s eldritch community than sparkly fairies and one brother-dating hell-spawn.

On the other hand, there was option two: I could get myself unhexed without the assistance of either of the