Harvey returned to the phone call. “Well, I’ll give ‘er a try, Coop, but ya know cell phones get sketchy out thatta way. With this snow, I reckon the signal will be scarce as gone.” He nodded at whatever his nephew said. “Yeah. Keep an ear to the scanner. If anything happens, we’ll flag down a plow.”
A grunt or two later, Harvey hung up. “Coop says we’re all two pickles short of a picnic fer tryin’ to drive to Rapid in this mess, but he wishes us a Merry Christmas anyway.”
Natalie sighed loud enough for my ears only. It sounded torn and heart-achy. I squeezed her leg, earning a shoulder bump and small smile in return.
We rolled past the hospital, one of the few places that would remain open for business besides the Deadwood police station. Everyone else could close up and head home to be with their families, taking the time to enjoy the buildup for the big day, watch holiday specials, and wrap those last-minute gifts. Images of my kids’ smiling faces filtered through my thoughts, giving me a bright spot to focus on instead of Susan’s sharp claws and menacing grin.
“Psychology,” Cornelius said out of the blue.
“What about it?” I asked.
“That’s what I majored in when I was in college.”
“You have a degree in psychology?”
“No. I just majored in it.” When I continued staring at him, he added, “I quit after my third year at the university.”
“Why?” Natalie asked.
I wondered if it had anything to do with having enough family money that he didn’t need to be concerned about a college degree or a career in the psychology field.
“My grandmother was growing weak with age. She told me that if I wanted to study under her and learn about being a soothsayer, I was running out of time. I decided that real-life experiences were far more important in my desired profession of paranormal studies and quit college, moving into her spare room.”
“Did she teach ya about voodoo as well as bein’ a seer?” Harvey asked.
“Voodoo and more. She was a patient and well-versed teacher. Christmas often reminds me of her.”
“Why’s that?” I asked. “Because you spent the holidays with her?”
“Because of mistletoe.”
“What about it?”
“She kept bunches of it strung around her house year around.”
“Why?”
“While mistletoe is a hemi-parasitical plant that can eventually kill its host tree, it has long been considered a good-luck plant. Hanging it throughout your house protects you from werewolves, as well as saving your children from being swapped with faerie changelings.”
“And here I thought it was only good for kissing,” Natalie joked.
Changelings, huh? I grimaced. Too bad the parents of the changeling ghost I agreed to help Cornelius trap didn’t hang some mistletoe throughout their house.
He leaned back to look around me at Natalie. “Here’s a bit of good news for ovulating females: The fresh juice from mistletoe berries increases fertility.”
I cringed. Talk of babies often made my uterus run and hide under the nearest bed. Birthing and raising two kids on my own had sort of scarred me mentally as well as physically.
“You’re scaring Violet’s ovaries, Cornelius,” Natalie said, grinning at my expression.
I glanced up and caught Doc glancing my way in the mirror. I made a cross with my fingers, warding him off. He chuckled and focused back on the road.
“Mistletoe also brings good luck,” Cornelius told us.
“So did your grandmother have it hanging all over for good luck, or was it for protection from werewolves and changelings?” Natalie asked.
“In the voodoo religion,” Cornelius explained, “mistletoe has other purposes such as keeping evil at bay and making love charms and sachet powders.” Again, he leaned back and peered at Natalie. “Mixed with the right herbs, mistletoe is said to make a true-love powder.”
“Really?” Harvey butted in, spinning partway around in his seat. “Do ya have the recipe fer this love potion?”
“Love powder,” Cornelius clarified. “Yes, the recipe is somewhere in my grandmother’s notes.”
“Like you need that,” I told the old goat. “You already have a harem of women at the senior center waiting for you to ask them to do some mattress dancing.”
He snickered and turned back to the front. “Nothin’ wrong with sprinklin’ a little nookie guarantee into their prune juice, is there, stallion?” He nudged Doc with his elbow.
Doc shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. He slowed to make the left turn onto US Highway 385.
“Here we go,” I said under my breath.
Everyone quieted for a moment as we approached the bottom of Strawberry Hill. I waited until we were partway up to lean forward and touch Doc’s shoulder. “How’s it handling the snow?”
“Surefooted so far. Coop was right, though. The plow just went through, I can tell. But there are patches of ice that are only going to get worse.”
I hunched my shoulders, feeling our escape window close. I crossed my fingers and toes, my gut knotting tighter with every mile we put between us and our warm, safe beds.
Doc leaned forward, both hands on the wheel as he rounded a corner with a steep dropoff on the passenger side into the ravine below. Even in the summer on dry pavement, some of the curves on Strawberry Hill had taken lives.
Natalie tugged my arm, pointing out her window. “Looks like the lanes coming down Strawberry haven’t been cleared yet.”
She was right. The other side of the road had several more inches of snow on it. I couldn’t even see any tracks.
“In the past, when the snow comes down this hard and fast,” Harvey explained, “the plows are stretched thin tryin’ to keep up. The blade that we’re followin’ might be the one that’s supposed to scrape back down into Deadwood.”
Several minutes later, we
