Broken Heart Tails (19 page)

“What box?” she asked, sniffling.

“Do not lie, child. We are not pleased. We must have the box.”

“I hid it in my closet.”

Carrying the trembling little girl, Ash-Morrigan hurried to look. On the top shelf was an intricately carved black box, which she grabbed. She gave it to Margaret to hold.

“I didn’t open it.”

“Only because you didn’t know how.” Ash-Morrigan hurried down the stairs.

“Where’re my mommy and daddy?”

“We sense no others.”

“They’re in the kitchen! We can’t leave without them.”

She put Margaret down in the foyer. “Go to the car. Keep the box safe. We will find your parents.”

As soon as the little girl ran toward the Mercedes, Ash-Morrigan hurried to the kitchen. Food and broken dishes littered the floor. The smell of garlic and marinara sauce filtered through the rusty scent of blood.

Margaret’s mother was pinned to the refrigerator by the wide, sharp blade of a butcher knife. Her unseeing brown eyes accused the soul shifter of being too late.

Rick Huntson laid face-down on the floor, covered in spaghetti noodles. The red spattering his clothes was not sauce. Gently, Ash-Morrigan rolled him over.

Stab wounds covered his chest. His T-shirt was tattered and stained. He was an older version of the boy Ash had known. Still handsome with careless brown hair and slanted cheeks and that dip in his chin.

Ash-Morrigan could see the residual soul of Rick Huntson. Unlike his wife, he was still tethered to his body. She laid her hands on his chest.
              “We ask the Goddess for Her blessing. Heal this warrior, this father, this husband. Give him his life so that he may serve You and others, our Holy Mother, Creator of All Life, Bringer of All Healing.”

Energy emanated from her palms, basking Rick’s body in a gold glow. His wounds sealed shut. His breath returned. The soul so close to leaving its host settled with purpose into his chest. 

Rick groaned and his eyes fluttered open. “Sarah. Mag Pie.”

“Margaret is safe.”

He seemed to comprehend that his wife wasn’t. Perhaps he had been spared seeing her murdered, which meant she had seen him attacked. Her last thoughts must have been about her husband and daughter.

              Rick’s eyes closed again and he slid into unconsciousness.

Ash moved away. She knelt, took a deep breath, and stripped herself free of Morrigan. Removing a soul felt like having her skin peeled from her muscles, and having her muscles torn from her bones. Souls could be coaxed into becoming one with her, but none of them liked going back into the mental limbo.

She screamed—she
always
screamed—as the soul ripped free of its binding and returned to its place within her psychic core.

After several moments of deep breathing, Ash climbed unsteadily to her feet. She refused to panic, but she felt a crazed sense of urgency. The demons would be back. The only question was when.

In the dining room, she took off the table cloth, uncaring about the dishes and glasses that clattered to the carpet. She returned to the kitchen, spread the cloth, and rolled Rick onto it. She tied one end around his feet then grabbed the corners of the other end and dragged him from the house. The stairs weren’t fun to navigate and the cloth snagged on the sidewalk. Once she got it to the grass, though, it was smooth sailing to her car. The driver’s side door opened and Margaret popped out, still clutching the black box.

“Daddy!”

              “Open the back door,” directed Ash.

              Margaret did as she asked while Ash rounded the trunk and opened the other back door. Then she crawled through, took up the table cloth and dragged Rick into the back seat.

              She shut the doors. She was sweating now, from exertion and fear. “Get in the car, kiddo.”

              Margaret looked at her with wide blue eyes. “Is he dead?”

              “No.”

              “Is Mommy?”

              “Yes,” said Ash. “Get your ass in the car.”

              The little girl did not burst into tears. Instead, she climbed into the driver’s side, scooted across the gear shift, and sat silently in the passenger seat.

              Ash opened her jacket and withdrew a black ball, about the size of an orange, from her pocket. She re-entered the house, placed the ball in the foyer. Standing out in the yard, she put her palms out and shouted,
“Eradico!”

Ash was not a sorcerer. She could do magic, but for powerful spells such as this one she needed triggers to engage her own abilities. The black ball was such a device.

The house erupted into flames. Within moments, it would be reduced to soot. No bodies would be found. The family would be assumed dead. Neighbors would call 9-1-1, but fire trucks would be too late. Since the fire was magic, it would not spread. It would do its job and disappear.

Ash returned to her old house and parked by the curb, leaving the engine running. She needed to get the hell out of the neighborhood, but damn it, she came here to do one thing and by God, she was going to do it. She removed another black ball from her jacket, lobbed it onto the front porch and screamed,
“Eradico!”

Fire consumed the only true home she’d ever had. She wished she could destroy her whole past so easily.

She jumped into the Mercedes and sped away.

*  *  *  *  *

When Tashie awoke, she found herself in a room she didn’t recognize. Everything was white—the walls, the floor, the bed, the covers. Even though there were no beeping machines or IVs hooked up to her arm, she realized she must be in a hospital.

She felt sick, both hot and cold, and she shivered so hard her teeth chattered. A light blanket covered her and she simultaneously wanted to kick it off and draw it up to her chin.

              A gentle hand pressed against her sweaty brow.

              “M-mom?”

              The woman who knelt beside the bed was not her mother. She was dressed in a white robe, like the one Gandalf wore in that Lord of the Rings movie. Around her neck was a thick gold chain. Dangling from it was a glittering symbol: Two snakes winding through a heart pierced with a sword. What was she? A nun? A nurse? A professor at Hogwart’s?

              “I don’t feel good.” Tashie could barely get the words out. Her throat was so dry she felt as though she’d swallowed cotton.

              “I know, Natasha. But your suffering will soon pass.”

              Tashie believed the woman. Her soothing voice was filled with confidence and sympathy.

              “My name is Gwendolyn.” The woman looked ageless. She wasn’t young, wasn’t old. She wore no make-up and her shiny brown hair was tucked into one long braid. Her brown eyes were filled with concern. Whoever she was, this mystery lady, she seemed truly worried about Tashie.

“Where are my mom and dad?”

“They’re dead.”

The unflinching confirmation of her worst nightmare brought all the memories flooding back. Mom and Dad sprawled in the bloodied bed. Jack’s lifeless body. The creature so intent on killing her. Only she had somehow killed him. Hot tears fell and the sorrowful cry like that of a wounded animal escaped.

“No,” she cried. It wasn’t true. She had dreamed everything, the way she was dreaming now. Wake up, Tashie. Wake up!
“No.”

“Yes, Natasha. The sooner you deal with it, the sooner you can heal.” Her no-nonsense tone was not unkind.

Tashie’s mind, her body, her entire being rebelled against the idea of Mom and Dad being dead. How could she live in a world without her parents?

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

Those were the last words she had uttered to them. Oh, God.

Tashie leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited.

* * * * *

Ash woke with the certain knowledge that someone was in the room. She whipped her witch blade from under the pillow and pressed it against the throat of the man hovering above her.

“Hello,” he croaked.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Ash removed the knife and rolled across the bed. She sat up and glared at Rick. “You and your daughter should learn not to sneak up on people.”

“Noted.” He stared at her and she stared back.

Ash had checked them into a two-bedroom suite at the Crowne Plaza in downtown Tulsa. She didn’t have time to answer questions about the unconscious state of the man with her or about the frightened girl clinging to her leg as if she might disappear. So, she hid them. She put them on a luggage cart and created the illusion of suitcases, insisting on bringing them up herself.

“You told Maggie that Sarah was dead.”

“She asked me, I told her.”

“Yeah, well, you just don’t tell a kid that her mom’s dead.”

“I do a lot of things, Rick, but I don’t lie.” Ash got off the bed and stretched. Her pink jacket lay discarded on a nearby chair. She had already placed the black box into one of its magical pockets. The great thing about her jacket was that no one else could wear it. In fact, thanks to Bernie’s spellwork, most people were unconsciously repelled by it.

“What’s the deal with your daughter, anyway?”

His gaze flicked away, then returned. “What do you mean?”

              “She can trigger spells and hold magical objects.” She paused, not wanting to ask.
They’re not my problem.
She sighed. God, she was such a schmuck. “How is Margaret?”

“She’s still asleep.” His gaze was hard now. “You talk about magic like it’s real.”

“It is.” She was restless. She needed to leave. Rick could keep himself and his kid safe.
But not from demons.
Shit, shit, shit. She really wanted to not care. “What happened when you were attacked?”

Rick shrugged. “I don’t know. We were making dinner. Maggie had just finished her bath and was picking out a storybook. I smelled this … Jesus, I don’t know … like something rotten. Something burning. Everything in the kitchen went wild. I heard maniacal laughter then the knives flew off the counter and…”

He didn’t finish, but he looked devastated. Waking to a life ruined was a feeling she knew all too well.

Ash strode to her jacket and put it on. “Get the hell out of town. Whatever life you had here is over.”

“Like yours, Natasha?”

“My name is Ash.” So, he’d recognized her. Goody for him. She reached her jacket and pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills. She tossed it at Rick and he caught the roll. “Stay off the grid. No credit cards, no ATMs, no cell phones, no contact with anyone. She pulled a glittering silver card out of another pocket. “Contact this man, tell him I sent you. Kael will get you and Maggie everything you need to start over.”

Rick looked at the money then at her. “I’m sorry about your parents. I guess you survived.”

“If you want to call it that.” Ash zipped up her jacket. “I’m sorry about your wife.”

The silence that stretched between them was filled with seven kinds of misery. She had spent so long shoving down her feelings, that moments such as these felt like getting filleted by a dull knife. “You’re paid up in the hotel for the next two days.” She withdrew the Mercedes keys and the valet ticket from her pocket. “The car is yours. Kael will give you the title.”

“This is surreal. I just can’t believe it’s all happening.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Ash turned and started toward the door.

Rick grabbed her arm and swung her around. “That night at the party, I wanted to kiss you. I always regretted not doing it.”

In a weird way, she was glad she hadn’t been the only one lamenting that lost opportunity. So, Ash pressed her lips to his. Startled, he returned her kiss, but she knew his response wasn’t about attraction or lost love or even about regret. It was anguish. It was the need for connection. It was, she supposed, penance.

When she stepped back, he looked so wounded that she wished she hadn’t been so damned impulsive. The man had obviously loved his wife and was still grappling with her loss. Everything he knew was gone.

“Would it make you feel better to slap me?” she asked softly.

He laughed and the darkness cleared from his eyes. “No, but thanks.”

“Take care of yourself.” Once again, she turned to go.

“You’re just leaving?”