I study him for a moment before blowin’ out a breath. “Well, I’m glad. Who knows where I’d be right now if y’all hadn’t been there?”
“We’re just sorry we didn’t come in sooner,” Alder tells me, and I can see the worry clear on his face. “But we didn’t want to scare you or smother you with our attention.”
I’m grateful that they showed up, even though they did follow me. But I can cut them some slack right now, seein’ as how they were right about me bein’ attacked. “Anyway, what happened yesterday?” I venture. “When I was in the bar with y’all. What did I do?” I ask nervously. My tribulations always leave me tangled up in knots with the not knowin’.
Alder and Flint share a look over my head before Flint answers evenly. “Oh, nothing much. You threatened us a bit. Got a little aggressive. But we managed to talk you down, and then you left to go home. No harm done.”
The vise that’s been banded around my nerves seems to relent a little bit. “Really?” I ask with obvious relief. “Damn, I’m so glad. My tribulations are usually much worse. I’m glad I didn’t do anythin’ too crazy to y’all.”
“You did keep yelling at us,” Alder tells me with amusement.
“What did I say?”
“I’m Medley Bell, and I will mess you up if you even think about comin’ at me,” he says in his best impression of my Southern accent.
I choke on an embarrassed laugh. “I did?” I say with a cringe. It’s not nearly as badass as I was hopin’ for, but this is me we’re talkin’ about, so I’m not sure what I expected.
“You did,” Alder replies with a grin, like he enjoyed my threats very much. With the way Flint behaved earlier, sayin’ my sassy mouth got him hard, maybe they just like an antagonistic woman?
“Mm-hmm. Many times,” Flint agrees. “You even scared our poor bartender, Mickey, and that son of a bitch is never scared.”
That probably shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. I’m both impressed with myself and a little embarrassed that Tribulation Medley seems to be a bad shit talker.
I probably shouldn’t be too surprised, but this is the first time I’m really gettin’ any insight into one of my episodes. Usually, I have to deal with the aftermath, but everyone is too shook up to give me a rundown of everythin’ I did. It’s not like I could ask, because then people would know I blacked out, or they’d just think that I was givin’ some kind of excuse.
We finally reach the dilapidated boards of the porch in front of the bar, and Alder walks up and presses his hand against the doorknob. But instead of shovin’ in a key to unlock it like I thought he would, his palm glows yellow, makin’ me flinch back in surprise. “What in the hell?”
“It’s alright,” Flint tells me. “He’s just deactivating the wards to open it. If we don’t do that, then any damn demon Dick and Dolly will help themselves to our bar while we ain’t here. Think of it as a demon’s security system.”
“Well, I’ll be,” I reply, just as Alder swings open the door and flips on the light.
He’s no sooner taken one step into the bar, when he suddenly stops in his tracks, makin’ me run right into his back.
“What’s the hold up?” Flint asks as I rub my forehead where it connected with a very solid demon spine.
“Dammit,” I hear Alder curse under his breath before turnin’ over his shoulder to look at Flint. “I thought Mickey was going to clean this place up today?”
Flint’s lips press into a thin line. “He was supposed to.”
My eyebrows pull together. “What’s wrong?” I ask just as I sidestep around Alder. Flint tries to grab me, but I slip past them both.
As soon as I see what Alder’s seein’, I immediately grind to a halt as my jaw drops at the sight before me. The bar I was in just yesterday is a complete and utter disaster.
Stools sit in piles of splinters on the ground, tables look to be hacked in half. There are gouges in the wall that appear to be evidence of some kind of visit from a feral animal. One of the wine barrels that makes up the bar has huge holes in it, and old wine has leaked out onto the floor. Glass from broken bottles is strewn all over, and the wood floors and bartop have stains from whatever dark liquor sat long enough to soak into the grain.
I look around in complete awe. What the hell happened?
The question sits ready on the tip of my tongue, but when I turn to Flint and Alder to voice it, my face falls and the question dies on my lips. Neither one of them are lookin’ around in shock. They aren’t lookin’ like they can’t believe the sight of this place and what appears to be evidence of a Tasmanian devil rippin’ through their bar.
No, instead, they’re both watchin’ me.
Their intense eyes are fixed on my reaction, and I sense worry and unease in their gazes. That right there says it all. It’s not some Looney Tunes character that did this. It’s not some mystery break-in or bar fight that tore this place apart.
It was me.
Tribulation Medley strikes again.
13
“Good Lord,” I exclaim, my gray eyes swoopin’ over the space. Everywhere I look, I catch another hint of destruction, and guilt starts to pace around in my stomach like a worried daddy waitin’ for his daughter to come home from a night out.
The aftereffects of my tribulations always look a little different. When I was a kid, it was usually
