Bittersweet (3 page)

 

 

Peterson. The man who spoke to me so cryptically on my birthday, greeted me like an old friend.

We weren't.

“Lorelei, are you there? Do you remember who I am?”

My hand trembled slightly as I spoke. “I remember you,” I said, questions lining up in my mind. He was as impossible to forget as his phone conversation that had irked my great aunt that morning.

“I trust you are well. The time will soon come for us to meet again. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

“Do you know where Camilla is?” I blurted. I'd never make a good detective; no time to play it cool, I just wanted answers. The last time he'd called, he'd made Camilla furious and then he'd asked to speak to me, mentioning something about my needing to get her to come into the city for some mysterious reason. It had been all cloak and dagger, no detail and none of it made much sense.

That was then.

Now, after my journey into another realm, it seemed highly unlikely that Camilla's absence was an innocent impromptu vacation. Not with the way her house had been pulled apart.

“I do have information regarding your great aunt. But it will necessitate a trip into the city. Are you prepared for that?”

Against all common sense, I mumbled a hasty yes, and scrounged for a scrap of paper and a pen to jot down his instructions.

“I suggest you come without his accompaniment. They can detect their kind and won't take kindly to it.”

“Who's ‘they'?” By
his
, I assumed he meant Adrius, but I didn't get the chance to ask.

The phone clicked and his voice was replaced by the hum of a dial tone.

****

One day later, Abby, Brianne and I were on our way to Lynchbrook. I made the mistake of mentioning my trip to Abby, and she'd invited herself along. Brianne's company was forced on me. Under normal circumstances there was no way I'd have agreed; it was hard enough keeping the truth from Abby, but I wasn't really given much of a choice. Davin had a basketball game out of town this weekend and he insisted Bri and I spend some ‘girl time' together. He totally played the best friend card, as usual, and I totally caved, as usual. Suggesting it happen some other time hadn't worked. He'd practically strapped her into my car himself.

“You two are going to get along if it kills you both.” His words. Not mine. I'd managed to keep my opinion of his asinine idea to myself. Brianne was the one protesting loudly. We'd been even more at odds since the vocal competition. I'd won singing a duet with Adrius, and her hatred had escalated. Last thing I wanted was to be her babysitter, today of all days.

Abby didn't help matters. “The GPS is busted. She could navigate.” She shrugged when Davin forced Bri into the car.

After shooting her my “you're so not helping” glare, I looked at Bri in the rearview mirror. “Fine, you can come, just don't ask any questions.”

Then I cranked the radio loud enough to make backseat-front seat conversation impossible.

One hundred and twenty-seven minutes later we were in Lynchbrook.

Life never quite goes as planned. That was my exact thought as we approached the address scrawled on the scrap of paper crumpled in my bag. 12345 Everley Boulevard wasn't in the nicest part of town. The whole block looked deserted. Decrepit remains of buildings and piles of rubble were all that was left of some buildings. Most of the others had boarded windows and paint-chipped signs, and random graffiti covered every available wall space.

Brianne climbed out of the car and fixed her hair. She looked around, and scrunched up her face. “Where the heck are we?”

“I said no questions. Remember?”

This was going to be fun… trying to keep not one, but two people completely in the dark about why we were really in the middle of ghost town looking for my great aunt at some random business address.

Abby was on board because she loved an adventure and one involving a missing aunt and a secret location... didn't have to ask her twice. Brianne, on the other hand, couldn't care less what had happened to Camilla. Her main concern was what had happened to her hair, which she continued to finger like she was prepping for a nightclub instead of a creepy hotel.

“If you're not going to tell me what kind of
drugs
you're
obviously
buying here, then can we at least get it over with, like, as soon as possible? There are a million places I'd rather be than slumming it with you two.” Brianne huffed.

Abby and I exchanged a look.

“We're not buying drugs,” I snapped. “I have to meet my great aunt here.”

She made a face and rolled her eyes implying she didn't believe a word of it, but thankfully didn't bother to comment.

Craning my neck, I gazed up at the building. This was not what I was expecting at all. Not by a long shot. What appeared to be a well-kept posh hotel in the past was anything but now. I looked inside, unable to move any further into the circa 1800 bordello lobby. Dimly lit floor lamps illuminated the peeling red paint on the walls and shone a sickly jaundiced glow on the crumbling ceiling tiles scattered across a crumbling floor. The rotting and decayed remains of a desk leaned precariously against a wall with multiple marks that looked suspiciously like bullet holes. One wall had claw marks that ran from floor to ceiling. No rational explanation for that one. But if the sight was scary enough, it was nothing compared to the smell. Like mold and rotting meat mixed with full strength ammonia.

Brianne looked inside and screwed up her face. “Nice. It's an e-coli factory... a breeding ground for hepatitis. I am so not going in there,” Brianne uttered, folding her arms.

I shrugged, not sure what to say. Mostly because I agreed with her, not that I'd ever tell her that. But this was the address Peterson had given me, and if Camilla was somewhere in here, I had to find her. Why my great aunt or her lawyer would be hanging out in a place like this was only the first of my questions.

“Oh quit being such wusses.” Abby marched straight inside, disappearing in the fog of dust. Brianne and I stood there exchanging glares meant to force the other into entering next. I lost and reluctantly followed after Abby, who had disappeared down a long corridor.

“Nothing fazes that girl, it's not normal,” Brianne muttered close behind me. The click and crunch of her heels on the chipped floor echoed around us.

“Could you walk quieter?” I whispered.

She huffed, but the clicking softened. A door at the end of the hall was slightly open, enough to see the stark white light pouring from the cracks beneath the frame. Holding my breath to keep from puking from the stench, I knocked softly.

No reply.

I entered.

Brianne froze at the doorway, unable to make her feet go any further. “Okay.” She held up her hands. “It's like a homeless drag queen threw up and then died in here.”

The floor was covered with floral and paisley printed clothing in violent shades of fuchsia, orange and lime green. Tobacco stains and cigarette burns marred every surface and the room smelled like a giant ashtray. Abby picked up a small furry handbag and then dropped it with a squeal when it started to move on its own in her hand. “Who lives here?”

“Seriously, I need to get out of this place. I did not agree to some kind of crazy insane suicide mission to the place Manson, Dahmer and Bernardo shacked up to compare body counts.”

Abby sighed. “You watch way too much true-crime TV.”

After walking past a dresser with every drawer opened and overflowing with more of the same hideous attire, I pushed open the door to the washroom and gagged on the stench. Foreign black stains splattered the ripped shower curtains and peeling mildewed wallpaper. And the sink looked and smelled like someone had mistaken it for a urinal. Jurassic-sized cockroaches scaled the crumbling tile surrounding the tub and hanks of reddish brown hair were resting on the floor, as though freshly cut from someone's head. What had gone on in here?

The door to the room slammed shut and Brianne screamed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“Shhhhh. Do you want everyone to know we're here?” I whispered, mostly because I couldn't get enough air into my lungs to speak any louder.

“What
everyone
? This place is a friggin' tomb.” She came up behind me to peer over my shoulder at the bathroom. Her other hand flew over her mouth and nose, since one evidently wasn't doing an adequate job of keeping out the reek. “Well, now we know where the lovely aroma is coming from,” she mumbled through her fingers.

Abby frowned. “Maybe you should call that guy back, the one you were supposed to meet here. My psychic sense tells me he's going to be a no-show.”

“Ya think?” Brianne muttered. “And what guy? I thought we were looking for your aunt? Shouldn't you call the cops or something?

Sheriff Duncan? Davin's uncle? Oh sure, I could just see him investigating something that involved supernatural forces. “It's too soon for that. She might be totally fine,” I said. Though not one part of me believed that.

“Well, maybe you wrote the address down wrong.”

I ignored Brianne and hit redial on my phone. It beeped and redirected to a recorded message. Tossing it back in my bag, I looked at Abby. “The number's been disconnected.”

“Then I say we take off,” she replied. “Obviously there's nothing here that has anything to do with Camilla.”

“Check this out. The drag queen heroine junkie actually owns a non-neon scarf.”

We turned in unison to see Brianne holding up another piece of clothing, very different from the rest. It was a simple crocheted scarf, in neutral tones of beige and cream stripes, with wool fringes at the end.

“Guess we know a drag queen wasn't the only one who's been in here,” I said, fear rising in the pit of my chest.

Brianne swung her gaze from Abby, to me, back to Abby. “What do you mean? What does she mean?”

I couldn't take my eyes away from the scarf; it was as good as finding the smoking gun.

“Camilla was here.”

Brianne's impatience escalated. “How could you possibly know that for a fact?”

“Because that's her scarf. I know because I made it for her. Maybe she left it here on purpose.”

“Like a clue.” Abby frowned. “But why?”

Brianne tossed the scarf at me. “Probably on the run or hiding out. Who cares? Let's just go already. It's getting creepier by the second.”

Pieces of what Adrius had said floated back to me. He'd sensed someone from his world had been in Gran's house. Maybe Camilla had packed the mystery box for me, and maybe whoever broke in found her there.

“I don't think she's running or hiding,” I said solemnly, fingering the fringe of the scarf.

“I think she was taken.”

 

 

Spending time in another world, hunting and being hunted… it leaves an indelible stain on your soul. It made returning to normal life almost impossible. Still, it was what I had to do to stay sane.

I sighed and checked my watch. Not even 10 am and already I'd had enough of work. If I had to brew one more low-fat half-caff tall soy latte for another pretentious faux-vegan anorexic cheerleader, I was going to lose it. I mean what happened to coffee with cream and sugar?

The door opened, and a pack of ‘tweens walked in. No Neil.

Where the heck was he? He was supposed to open this morning. Now it was two hours past my patience limit and he was still a no-show. Probably off at that Irish pub all night with Brigit. They were known to drink the night away together on too many occasions.

I was grumpy. Too much worry with nowhere near enough sleep. It had been days since I'd heard anything from anyone. Days since our weird trip to search for Camilla. Days since I'd last seen Adrius. And to say I was on edge was more than an understatement. I hated not knowing what was going on. Wiping down the spotless counter for the twentieth time, I recalled his words,
“
I'll be back before you can miss me.
”
He was already too late for that. Hopefully he'd return soon, because I couldn't wait to get his insight into things.

Finding Camilla's scarf had seemed like a clue, but in reality it was just a scarf. It didn't tell me where she was now. She might have been at the Bates Motel Peterson sent us to at some point, but who knows when. Or why, or for how long. Adrius wouldn't be happy I'd gone without him, but everything turned out fine and I was safe. Peterson's number came up unknown and with that link broken, I had no idea what to do next.

Maybe it was time to involve the cops. But all I had was a disconnected phone number, a broken door, my missing aunt's scarf and a card for some MBD, whoever that was. Not much to go on. Plus, if whatever was going on involved witchcraft or faerie magic or both, it made everything that much more complicated… and dangerous. Didn't it always?

I poured another round of vanilla lattes infused with healing lavender into takeout cups and smiled warmly when they left me a substantial tip, before leaving.

Another customer walked in, carrying an attaché, wearing three inch silver heels and a cloud of cheap perfume. Phyllis. The secretary of my excommunicated elven royal shrink.

Yes, I know how crazy that sounds.

She clicked over to the counter and smiled. Red lipstick smeared her front teeth and I started to tell her, but then stopped when I saw she was crying.

“Phyllis, what is it?” Had something happened to Dr. Greenbalm? Or… my stomach lurched violently… Adrius?

“It's…” She sobbed, buried her face in her hands. “E…E…”

“Who?” I gripped the counter, held my breath.

“Eli…” She hiccupped, swiped at her eyes, sniffled. “Elijah.”

Familiar tingles prickled a warning up and down my arms. “What happened?” I whispered.

“He's….he's… gone.”

I frowned, staring at her, not sure what to say. Adrius' uncle was a well-known and respected psychotherapist. He wouldn't just take off without notice. “What do you mean he's gone? Gone where?”

“I don't know…” She pulled out a tissue to sop up her tears, then blew her nose. “We planned to have breakfast together, but he didn't show up or answer his phone, so I went to his house, and when there was no answer, I went inside.”

“He keeps the door unlocked?” I asked.

She looked up, her lashes clumped together, black mascara streaming down her pale cheeks. “I have a key.”

Ah, was Phyllis his new mystery girlfriend?

“But when I got in…” She inhaled a shaky breath. “He was gone. They took him.”

“Who, Phyllis? Who took him?”

She sobbed harder.

“What do you mean someone took him?” I said it too loudly.

Several sleepy heads turned a semi-curious gaze in our direction.

I motioned for her to follow me in the back.

She stepped into the kitchen and froze. “They're coming, Lorelei. They'll come for you, too. It's only a matter of time.” Her tears morphed into hysterical laugher, heavy black mascara streaking down her face.

“Um… hold on.”

Scanning the shelves, I grabbed a box of tissues and pulled out a handful, a little freaked out by her sudden 180. I poured some chamomile tea, to help soothe and calm. I handed Phyllis the cup and watched her closely. None of this made sense.

She took a few sips and I could feel the tension ease inside her a little. With a deep breath she continued. “It's the Shadow . They stake their claim on those they choose in payment for debts, and all are powerless to oppose them.”

Okay, wait… she knows about this? “I don't get it,” I said. “Why would the Shadow fey take Dr. Greenbalm? And what makes you think they're after me?”

She sniffled, swiping her nose with the back of her hand. “They killed him. I know it,” she mumbled so softly I barely heard her. Her eyes glazed over, turning foggy like cataracts.

Then her head snapped back.

Too far back.

My eyes widened. What the heck was happening?

Her head kept drooping back. I feared her neck was going to break right off. Her hands fell useless to her sides. The cup and saucer shattered against the ground, splashing us both with warm chamomile tea. So much for calm.

“Phyllis?”

The blue veins underneath her skin engorged, turned dark green, raised rapidly to the surface of her arms, her neck, her face. Spreading quick and ugly, like a million spider legs, until her entire body pulsed the color of a giant dying bruise.

I froze.

Her mouth dropped open and a dozen voices spilled out at once. Old, young, deep, high, ghostly, earthy, threatening, whimpering.

I clamped my hand over my mouth.

Her body contorted, limbs twisted, bending into positions a lifelong yogi couldn't achieve.

If I hadn't seen the things I'd seen in Nevermore, I would have seriously peed my pants.

Every bit of fat drained from her face, leaving her looking gaunt and sallow. Her milky eyes bulged. The green, pulsing veins carpeting her skin turned to thin, thorny vines and lashed out like gnarled fingers.

To keep from being hit, I staggered back, barely missing a barbed strike as my heart slammed against my chest.

She crouched, and looked up at me with the eyes of an ancient troll. "
You
." Her voice was a snake, hissing, gyrating. "It's
you
they want. Not him." Her sightless eyes narrowed, muscles tensed. She sprang.

I jumped out of the way and grabbed the teapot and whipped it at her. Boiling water hit her and she screeched in a chorus of voices.

I ran for the back door, fumbling with the key to unlock it. I could curse Neil for being so overly obsessed about break-ins.

The twisted creature that was once my shrink's secretary had recovered from the hot water and slunk forward toward me, like a zombie dragging its in-turned feet across the floor. Living vines snaked from every bodily orifice, flailing like wild hoses.

I turned the key and it snapped off in my hand. Panic welled up inside me.

“Open!” I pounded my fists against the door and shoved it with my hip.

All on its own, the broken key turned and the lock clicked open.

I was hemmed in between a brick wall and the dumpster. I ran outside, turned the corner and hid behind the dumpster, leaving the door open behind me. Half of me hoped she'd stay inside. But the rest of me wanted her to follow. The last thing I needed was for someone inside the café to get hurt, and since I had no idea what kind of dark magic we were dealing with, or whose… it was best to get her as far away from the café as possible. I grabbed a board from a broken pallet next to me, folding my shaking hands around it, then peeked around the side of the bin. Deep breaths. I tried to calm myself, certain she'd hear my pounding heartbeat. I stood up, holding my board like a baseball bat.

Phyllis followed me though the door and dragged herself directly toward me. But then, as the sunlight hit her face she stopped dead.

Like a transformer, her limbs and body clicked back into place, the vines withered and died, falling to the ground. The veining vanished and her eyes returned to normal. Whatever had possessed her had left, leaving no trace of ever having been there. If it weren't for the pounding in my chest, I might have believed I'd imagined it. But there was no way this was anything but real. She shook her head and gave me a sad smile. Then frowned, looking slightly confused.

My hand went limp and I dropped the board, but my heart was still thundering wildly. I didn't return her smile.

“Lorelei? What are you doing here?” She looked around. She must have registered the look of bewilderment on my face because she frowned in concern. “Where are we?”

She didn't remember any of it? Could this get any weirder? I cleared my throat.

“I uh… I was showing you the herb garden,” I said cautiously, then gestured to the gate just beyond the wall. “And you got a little light-headed, or something. You were about to head home.” I narrowed my eyes. “Should I call someone for you?” I hoped that was the end of whatever it was that had happened to her.

She shook her head. “What about Elijah?” she murmured.

“I don't know what's going on, but I promise we'll find out. As soon as Adrius comes back. Try not to worry.”

She nodded once, brushed a stray piece of shriveled vine from her sleeve and then turned toward the parking lot to leave.

I carefully closed the door behind us. Heaving a sigh I leaned against it. Relief washed over me, but I couldn't still my trembling hands.