She didn’t even bother to make her own tea, commanding his hands to do it while she sat three feet away and nitpicked.
“When can you…whatever you’re gonna do?” Steve asked. “Kill me, I guess.”
“Don’t be whiny, or I’ll have you do nasty things to your little family,” threatened Violina, as she applied her nightly cold cream laced with the powdered uterine flesh of a pregnant woman. “If anyone comes, tell them they have the wrong house. If they’re persistent, either kill them or keep them busy until I can get away.”
Violina dimmed the lights to a pleasant ambience and closed the bedroom door, leaving Steve to hate his already-aching feet and hope his family never learned of what he did.
* * * *
Brinke was initially relieved that medical professionals, undaunted by the storm, were on the ground waiting to take charge of Herve. As they rushed aboard with a stretcher and started preparing him, she realized she had a pitiably small window of time to undo the magic-induced heart attack.
She needed to touch and speak to him simultaneously, but the EMS workers strictly enforced their no-contact rule. As he was being transported out, Brinke had no choice but to hit full-on giant crazy bitch mode. She leaped up, shoved past the rearmost med tech and lunged across Herve, beginning the incantation as soon as her hand touched his hand.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, lady!?” The forward tech grabbed her hand and tried to yank it away, forcing her to grasp Herve’s hard enough to make him cry out in pain.
Then the other one grabbed her around the waist from behind and called to the shocked stewardess, Helene, to get an air marshal.
“I have to do this!” Brinke screamed, barely maintaining her grip as she continued the chant.
She did not look at anything but Herve. Even a witch of her skill could lose focus if highly distracted.
Three repetitions were in order—but given the circumstances, one would have to do, with hopes that Herve’s system was strong enough to bridge the gap.
The tech behind her wrestled her off and tried to drag her away, but Brinke stopped his spin with her foot against a seat, an inch from the face of the wispy teen girl sitting there judging her.
“I’m sorry, Herve!” she called. The apology added nothing to the reversal chant, but Brinke’s conscience demanded nothing less.
“Calm down, lady!” said the restraining tech, but she already had.
Brinke relaxed so abruptly the EMS worker released her for fear she had passed out, or worse. She took her seat—Herve’s, actually—and looked up at the confused tech. “I’m okay. You should get going.”
* * * *
Violina had just closed her eyes, gratified and calmed by the sounds of the growing storm she had raised. A different rumble disturbed her relaxation: a powerful motor coming into the drive.
Recognizing the roar of The Chalk Outlines’ hearse, she went to the living room, where Steve was trying to stop himself from taking up the fireplace poker he would use to kill the newcomer.
“Stop!” Violina ordered. “He could be useful.”
“Are you going to take over his body too?”
“‘Too’ is not accurate,” Violina answered. “He’s going to replace you. Now get in the closet.”
Dennis took a closer look at the Caddie in the drive to be sure it was Violina’s, then went to the door and knocked softly.
In less time than he expected, Violina answered, smiling graciously as she pulled her red satin robe around her. “Dennis, isn’t it?”
“Sorry to bother you this late.”
“Come in.” She stepped to the side and raised the lights by a degree. “Tell me what’s the matter.”
“There’s not a lot of time.” She moved to take his jacket, but he didn’t give it up.
“Oh,” she went to the kitchen, “let me at least get us drinks.”
“Just water.”
“I didn’t take you for a teetotaler.”
“These days, yeah.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “Say no more. Surely, I can find you something more interesting than water though.”
“Got any Drenal-Ade?”
Violina laughed. “Sounds like this might take a while.” Her smile bore the tiniest hint of innuendo. She took a bottle of organic cherry cola from the refrigerator and poured it over ice.
“I was looking for Maisie too. Seen her?”
“Hmm. Not since yesterday. Isn’t your bandmate interested in her?”
“It’s about our deputy buddy.” Dennis gave the short strokes about Yoshida’s unusual strain of lycanthropy.
Violina distracted him with a pair of vaguely pertinent questions, while prepping his beverage.
As she returned with the potion-infused cola, a muffled bustle sounded from the closet, where Steve had been made to hide. Amusing as it was to make the hapless trucker stand in place for hours, she cursed his occasional involuntary muscle reaction.
“What’s that? You got somebody else here?”
“No, I…propped my bag rather precariously in the closet,” she said.
“Your witch gear? Shouldn’t we check on that?”
“It’s fine.” She glanced at his cola, mentally urging him to drink.
“Look, I don’t wanna keep you. I just need you to help my buddy. He gets worse every night.”
“Of course, I will. But I’ll need assistance.”
Dennis stood and went to the house phone. “I’ll try the Blue Moon again for Maisie and Ysabella. If that’s a bust, I’ll get Hudson to swing by.”
“No, don’t.” Violina stood and took the phone receiver out of his hand. “Shouldn’t you…kiss me?”
Dennis stepped back from her. “What gives, lady? You on somethin’?” He yanked the phone back. “This is an emergency.”
“You need release, Dennis.” Violina put her hand on his groin. “I can feel it.”
Dennis slapped her hand away. “Only reason I don’t slug you is ’cause Jill’s gonna want first crack. I’m leaving.”
“Steve!” she shrieked. “Come out and knock this man unconscious!”
Dennis laughed at the clunky exclamation, shaking his head. If he had known that she had to be very specific in her commands, he would not have so easily dismissed Violina as out of her mind.
The closet door swung open.
The man who lunged at Dennis
