“What happens in the nightmares?”
Candace looked down at her shoes, turning her feet out and in.
“Why don’t you want to say?” asked Dr. Lanton.
“Because the dreams mean I’m not really getting better.”
“Maybe it’s just taking longer than you would like.”
“You don’t understand. They’re not just dreams.”
Dr. Lanton felt her skin crawl. She already knew what the girl was going to say.
“Everett will never die,” she said plainly. “And he’ll never stop killing.”
* * * *
When Maisie’s jaw began to ache, she realized she had been tensing it since the moment Violina arrived at the Blue Moon Inn.
After the biker’s de-transformation ritual, Maisie and Ysabella had plummeted into their beds and slept as deep as a sea, until Violina rang them from the lobby.
The wealthy witch had long been at odds with Ysabella. “Personal differences” was the cover Maisie had rehearsed in case any outsiders asked. The true reason behind their enmity would rightfully shake the confidence of everyone counting on them.
There was a coldness when they went down to greet Violina in the Blue Moon’s lobby. Maisie noted a faint fog accompanying her speech and realized that the coldness was manifesting in a very literal sense.
Now, quietly alarmed by Ysabella’s trembling, constant since the healing of Aura, Maisie held her mentor’s hand and sent waves of vitality into her.
Though Violina and Ysabella were outwardly professional, the tension between them was worse than ever. Maisie was beginning to feel crushed between the conflicting energies.
As they walked to the Ember Hollow Community Center entrance, Violina maintained a default smile that seemed more like an imperious sneer.
“Ooh!” she lilted. “Maisie, what’s another word for quaint?”
Maisie only gave her a quick smile. Violina had a stronger vocabulary than Maisie or anyone else she knew. She never needed anyone’s help with antonyms or anything else. The query was an oblique dig at Ysabella and at this small-potatoes endeavor.
The coven queen did not dignify it, remaining as placid as a Zen monk.
On this summery-warm day, the Center’s doors stood open, allowing in sunshine and errant leaves. With the Community Center serving as an ersatz church during Saint Saturn Unitarian’s “mold” crisis, McGlazer maintained the same habit he had at Saint Saturn’s, of staying available during daylight hours and leaving doors open for folks to come and go.
Stella appeared at the door to sweep out a cluster of leaves that would soon wander back. “Morning! Hope you all slept well! That was some adventure you had!”
As she regarded the guests, Stella had to hide her alarm at Ysabella’s wan, almost sickly appearance. The elder witch clearly had not fully recovered from the exertion of taming Aura. The newcomer who accompanied them, attractive as she was, bore a smile that would shame a shark.
“Hello, dear,” Ysabella grasped Stella’s hand, skipping the small talk. “Is there a private room we could use?”
Stella felt a slight tremble in the witch’s hand. As a wave of agitated energy washed over her, she looked at Maisie and saw a confirming tension in the girl’s face.
The quartet made their way in absolute silence across the center and to the office where the door stood ajar. Stella stuck her head in. “Visitors!”
McGlazer stood up from behind a mountain of paper, ping-pong paddles in mid-repair and decorations for the center’s Halloween lock-in, offering his gracious smile and hand to Violina. The way she extended hers was like a queen expecting a kiss upon her ring. The reverend returned only a kind pat upon it.
“Could they use the office?” Stella asked.
“It’s a terrible mess…”
“Thank you,” said Violina, patting the reverend’s shoulder with what might be condescension as she breezed in and took the seat behind the desk.
Ysabella’s gratitude, though strained, rang sincere.
In the echoing click of the closing door, McGlazer pivoted to Stella. “What’s wrong here?”
* * * *
The plain, wooden office door was like a thick snow cloud, quiet yet pregnant, radiating cold.
Reverend McGlazer and Stella filled the silence by telling Maisie how they had adjusted to using the Community Center as a church. Then they made some small talk about planning the party. Both topics dried up quickly, leaving them all to glance around the basketball court for a new filler.
“Know what? We should introduce Maisie to Pedro,” Stella told McGlazer, starting toward the closed door of the weight room at the other end of the wall from the office.
“He’s the…bass player?” asked Maisie.
“Yes. They’ve been rehearsing h—”
Stella was interrupted by a resounding crack, like a long-dead pine succumbing to gravity and decay. The trio tensed with alarm as they realized it had come from the office door. They looked at it, just as it exploded.
Three large, jagged sections and a mist of splinters flew from the frame like a grenade had gone off.
McGlazer threw himself over both women and brought them to the floor. He covered them with as much of his body as he could, certain that the terrible and towering specter of raging murderess Ragdoll Ruth had escaped both the grave and his nightmares, to claim revenge.
He shot a look back at the now-empty door frame. To his relief, no cackling, doll-costumed harridan emerged to finish the job of killing him.
The weight room door swung open. “What the jumped-up jack-o’-lanterns is going on out here?”
Neither McGlazer nor the stunned ladies he sheltered had an answer for Pedro.
“Is everyone all right?” Ysabella asked from the office threshold. She looked pale and drawn before the skull session with Violina. Now she looked ashen and exhausted.
Pedro, in his sweaty, sleeveless, bloodstained Sex Pistols T-shirt, helped McGlazer and the ladies to stand.
Despite her alarm, Maisie found her appreciation for the male form well intact as she regarded the big bassist. The feel of his calloused fingertips and palms were an appealing contrast to her own well-kept hands.
“I’m Maisie,” she said before she was fully on her feet.
“Pedro.” His smile was as boyish as his arms were powerful. “But you might as well call me Petey.”
“Sorry about the door,” said Violina,
