“Nah, I like wrecking my eardrums slash rescuing you losers from terrifying deities.”
“‘Entities’ you mean.”
Pedro kicked back in his dingy and ripped recliner, a gift, coincidentally from Ophelia’s parents as a thank-you for his work with Ophelia, and settled the tranquilizer rifle across his lap. “But you should definitely give me a badge and uniform, Hudsy, as much sheriffin’ as I do these days.”
“Babysitting a grouchy mongrel-man doesn’t show up in any of the sheriffin’ scenarios I’ve ever seen,” Hudson answered, absently thumbing through Pedro’s vinyl record collection, which numbered well into the thousands. “But I can get you on as a dogcatcher.”
Pedro’s cat, Joan Effen Crawford, appeared from the bedroom. She halted on catching Yoshida’s scent and ran behind the recliner.
“Sorry, Joanie,” Yoshida said.
“Don’t you worry, Yosh. We’ll get our witch pals on the case and have you smelling like your old square self in no time.”
“Sure,” Yoshida responded. “Just keep that thing aimed right at me, if you don’t mind. Every time I change, it seems to last longer and become more dangerous. You sure you don’t want to put the chains on?”
“I’m a little concerned about this sudden chain fetish, weirdo,” Hudson quipped. “You never changed twice in one night. With a little luck, we’re good for at least twenty-four.”
He put on his hat and went to the door. “I’ll come back and relieve you at the end of my shift.”
“Forget it. You need sleep too, tough guy,” Pedro said. “Me and Yoshi’ll just crash here and doze till Dennis gets back with the bruja babes.”
Chapter 19
Psycho Magnet
“Passengers, it looks like we’ll have to make an emergency landing. This is gonna be…” Captain Winchell searched for a word that balanced truthfulness with reassurance. Not finding it, he clicked off.
Herve, milky sweat dripping from his eyebrow, looked at Brinke, seeking more comfort. She patted his hand, trying to remember the words of a Tibetan spell that would stabilize his condition, hoping he was generally healthy enough to survive the stress of the attack on his heart.
Lightning pulsed, thunder cracked and the plane shook like an alarm bell, drawing panicked yelps from all around.
Herve gritted his teeth and clenched his eyelids shut. His breath came in abrupt rasps.
* * * *
Settlement era
“You were right to come only to me,” praised Conal with a grin that was indistinguishable from his more common grimace. “This could shake our settlement to its soul.”
Schroeder covered his nose against the stench, marveling that O’Herlihy seemed untroubled by it. He felt more relieved than sad that Hezekiah’s corpse, worse for wear under the autumn sun and the pecking of crows, was at least still here.
“Who could be responsible?” he asked the Irishman.
“I gamble we’ll soon know,” Conal answered. “But that’s not important now.”
“It’s not?”
O’Herlihy held out his ruddy hand. “Give me your knife.”
Schroeder drew the bone knife from its sheath and handed it over without hesitation. Conal immediately set about stabbing Hezekiah’s body several times, distributing more scent of decay.
“What are you doing!?”
O’Herlihy wrapped the knife in a handkerchief and stuffed it in his waistband, penetrating Schroeder with his fiery stare. “I need to know I can trust you.”
“Well…of course, you can. But…”
“This is God-sent,” whispered the big Celt, “our chance to do away with that blasphemous robber baron!”
Schroeder still did not understand why O’Herlihy had jabbed the corpse with his knife, but he was beginning to. As for the “robber baron,” Schroeder had no doubts just who Conal meant.
“Now help me with this.” O’Herlihy took a large oilcloth from his horse, and together the Dutchman and the Celt wrapped Hezekiah up. No words of mourning were spoken for him, only an oath of loyalty to Conal.
* * * *
“It appears we have a killer in our midst,” Bennington said, examining the wounded guest. “Or someone who would be.”
Once he and maidservant Chloris got the unconscious stranger into the guest-room bed, Bennington watched over him while Chloris fetched calming tea and an herb poultice. Once these took effect on the peculiar man and he began to doze, Bennington decided to remove the burlap hood.
Underneath was the strange face of a young man with unruly black hair matted around pale, gaunt features. Despite Everett Geelens’s present placid state, Bennington and his maidservant remained ill at ease—there was something about him.
“He can be no more than twenty,” said Chloris. “Where could he have come from?”
“Perhaps there’s another settlement nearby,” Bennington answered. “But there is still the matter of his dress.”
“Taken from Schroeder’s effigy, you say.”
“The boy could have found the figure and taken the clothes. But then…the wound.”
“Wild animal? Cherokee?” wondered Chloris, patting Everett’s face with a handkerchief.
“It’s too clean and deep a wound for bear or wildcat.” Bennington leaned close to peer at the gash between the shirtless guest’s rib. “And it’s unlike the Cherokee to leave a foe alive.”
“When he’s better, perhaps he’ll be more lucid.”
“Yes, delirium seems likely. Yet there’s something else about him. Something very odd.”
“He should sleep for many hours, and the medicines will rejuvenate him. Then we could query him?”
“I hope.” Bennington pulled the quilt up to Everett’s chin. “Don’t speak of this to anyone else, Chloris. Not yet.”
Chapter 20
The Bottle Called
Modern day
Ever genteel, Violina covered her yawn, looking at Steve with no concern for his bedraggled state. “You stand at the window and keep watch while I get my beauty rest.” She sipped her chamomile. “Come nightfall, we’ll be busier than ever.”
“We?” asked Steve, as his enslaved legs took him to the window for the coming hours of tortured vigilance.
“There’s still some dirty work, dear.”
Steve had no reason to think she was being anything but literal. The well-heeled witch had made him break into the library to steal the ancient cask containing the last of the mushrooms, bury Maisie’s body, scrub off the blood sigil and generally return the church’s underground chamber to its previous state.
He had to hide his rig in the depths of one of the abandoned cornfields, then drive her home
