Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (13 page)

“A-ha,” she said, leveling an accusatory finger at Tommy. Her short gray hair was frowzy from the humidity off the river. “You ate my cauliflower, you plant mo-lester. I saw you.”

“Tommy, is this true?” Beck said. “Did you raid Ora Mae’s garden?”

“I was hungry. “Tommy turned his hands up in a helpless gesture. “Them cauliflower looked like brains. I got cravings, you know. It was eat them cauliflower or something else. Something
worse
.”

“Brains?” Ora Mae’s expression sharpened. “What’s he talking about?”

“Vitamin deficiency,” Beck said, improvising. She did
not
want to explain Tommy’s “delicate” condition to Ora Mae. “It makes him crave meat. Very upsetting—Tommy’s a vegetarian.”

“That right? My cousin Mert’s a vegetarian. ’Cepting she eats scrimp. Reckon she figures scrimp don’t count, somehow.” Ora Mae gave Tommy a stern look. “But that don’t mean you get to gobble up my produce, young man. You’re worse than a plague of rabbits. I’ll expect you to pay for the damage.”

“Can’t,” Tommy said with a cauliflower-scented burp. “Ain’t got no money.”

“I’ll pay for the damage,” Beck said. “Tommy works for me. I’ll run you a tab.”

“That right?” Ora Mae’s eyes gleamed behind her glasses. “You fronting him?”

“Yes. What say, fifty dollars?”

“Fifty dollars?” Ora Mae blew out a raspberry. “That won’t even pay for the fertilizer. I had three rows of cauliflower in that garden. A hundred and fifty bucks would be more like it. Or I could turn him over to the sheriff for trespassing.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Beck said quickly. “I’ll run you a tab.”

“Top shelf at the bar-brand price?”

Beck winced. Crafty old lady. But she couldn’t let Tommy go to jail. He might eat his cellmate.

“Done,” she said.

“How nice.” Ora Mae gave them a sunny smile. “Guess I’ll scooterpoot back home. Y’all have a nice day.”

Beck watched her bustle out of the bar. “Now I know how Georgia felt after Sherman marched through.”

“I’m going to look for Annie,” Tommy announced. “You got any more of that tuna? She likes tuna.”

“In the store room,” Beck said.

Tommy shuffled off without another word.

“The zombie is making a valiant effort to stay true to his ideals, but he suffers for it,” Conall said when Tommy had left. “He hungers for flesh. You must send him away before it is too late.”

“Send him away where? He’ll eat somebody and I’ll be responsible.”

“You will not be responsible. His maker bears that burden.”

“Yeah, and when I find that son of a bitch, whoever he is, I’m gonna kick his ass. In the meantime, Tommy stays here, where I can keep an eye on him.”

“And when he succumbs to his terrible need for flesh, as he surely will do?”

“Then I’ll take care of it,” she said, though the thought made her cringe.

“No, you will not,” Conall said. “When the time comes, I will do the deed.”

Toby sauntered in from the kitchen dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. His long, gray hair was damp and neatly braided.

“That dang zombie’s crawling around in the kudzu looking for the Wampus Kitty,” he said. “Hope he finds her.”

Beck stared at him in surprise. “I thought you didn’t like Annie.”

“Don’t like her,” Toby said. “She scares the hell out of me. Been thinking, though. Maybe we ought to keep her around. Kinda like a secret weapon, you know?”

Beck bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling. Toby Littleton’s bark was definitely worse than his bite. It was one of the things she loved best about the old coot.

“She knows how to clear a room,” she said. “Thanks for cleaning up the place, Tobes. What’d you do, call in a favor?”

“Negatory. I didn’t clean squat. Went home, like you said.”

“Then who did?” Beck said.

Junior Peterson materialized. “Where’s my piano?”

“What piano?” Toby said. “And who the hell are you?”

Junior drew himself up. “I’m Junior Peterson, of
the
Petersons. I’m the new piano player.” The ghost gave Beck an accusatory glare. “Or I would be if someone had done what they said they’d do.”

“I’ve been busy,” Beck said.

“That’s no excuse,” Junior said. “I can’t haunt the Episcopal church forever, you know. Sooner or later, Father Ben’s going to figure out I’m a ghost. He pulls out the holy water and the
Book of Common Prayer,
and I’m a goner.”

J
unior was dressed in a pair of tan trousers and a navy-and-white–checked button-down shirt. He looked elegant, urbane, and totally pissed.

“So you’ll cross over,” Beck said. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Maybe I’m not ready to leave,” Junior said. “Maybe I still have things to do. Besides, we made a deal.”

“Hold the phone.” Toby looked at Beck in disbelief. “You hired a ghost and didn’t tell me? And not just any ghost, one of them uppity Petersons?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Toby waved his hand at her. “Remember me, your partner?”

“Things broke out in crazy and it just sort of happened.”

“Huh.” Toby folded his arms across his narrow chest. “How do you even know the guy can play?”

Junior stiffened. “I beg your pardon. I’m classically trained.”

“Hear that?” Toby said. “He’s classically
trained.
He plays Old Dead Guy music. Like anybody in a bar wants to listen to that.”

“I can play anything,” Junior said. “Put me in front of a piano and I’ll prove it to you.” He did a head smack. “Oh, wait. You haven’t
got
a piano.”

“Hannah’s a small town and pianos are expensive,” Beck protested. “Besides, I’m still trying to figure out who cleaned up the place.”

Junior rolled his eyes. “Buy a clue, honey, and ask your boyfriend.”

“Conall is not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Is he right?” Beck demanded. “Did you do this?”

Conall returned her perusal, calm and impassive. “Yes.”

“Why?
How?
”

“I wanted to be of service. I do not wish you to regret your decision to hire me.”

“What?”
Toby’s eyes bulged. “You’ve gone and hired him, too? Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes, yes, I’m certifiable,” Beck said. She waved her hand at Conall. “Explain.”

He shrugged. “The djegrali seldom come peaceably. The Dalvahni must be able to set things to rights once the battle is won, or else we are in violation of the Directive Against Conspicuousness.”

“The what?”

“The Directive Against Conspicuousness.”

Conall enunciated each word like she was slow, or something. And maybe she was, because she was having a hard time with this. He was talking about magic. Magic she knew about; she was a demonoid. But it was one more weapon to add to his already overstocked arsenal.

“You are dissatisfied with the results?” he asked.

He was doing it again, studying her like she was some kind of science project.

On any other guy, it would have come across as anxious to please, but not on him. On him, it came across as predatory, the Big Bad Wolf sizing up Little Red Riding Hood for a snack.

“The results are Jim Dandy, but you should’ve damn well asked first,” she said. “I don’t like being beholden to you.”

“Now, Becky, that’s plain rude,” Toby said. “I don’t appreciate you hiring him without my say-so, but the guy did us a favor. I mean, jeez, look at this place.”

“Favor schmavor. You don’t know him. He’s not the type to do something for nothing.”

Conall raised his brows. “You had no such complaint last night.”

Beck’s cheeks grew hot. How dare he bring up last night in front of other people? She glanced at Toby and the ghost. Junior was studying the edges of his perfectly starched cuffs, and Toby was staring off into space pretending like he hadn’t heard.

She knew better. Junior was being polite, and Toby’s hearing was just fine.

Conall moved to her side. “I have embarrassed you. Forgive me,” he said in a low voice. “You were upset last night and I wanted to give you ease.”

Oh, he’d given her ease, all right. They probably heard her “ease” clean over in Baldwin County.

“So, what did Charlie Skinner want?” Toby asked. “I saw you talking to him out back.”

Beck tried to collect herself. “He heard about the fight last night and wanted to square things.”

Toby snorted. “Bet he didn’t offer to pay Earl’s tab.”

“No. He wanted to leave Earl at the bar to work it off.”

Toby hooted in disbelief. “Earl,
work
? He ain’t never hit a lick at a snake in his life. Don’t even help his daddy with the family b’ness.”

“Which is?” Conall asked.

“Moonshine,” Toby said. “And b’ness must be pretty good. You get a load of them boots Charlie had on, Becky?”

“Couldn’t miss them. They were butt ugly.”

“Ugly, hell,” Toby said. “Them boots were Paul Bonds. Custom made. Pair like that’ll run you fifteen hundred, easy.”

Beck gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot of moonshine.”

Toby chuckled. “Sho’ is.”

“Earl said he had a new hunting dog,” she said, thinking. “A Brittany spaniel.”

“Pure bred?” Toby asked.

“I got that impression.”

“Well, well, well.” Toby’s nose twitched like he was on the scent. “Looks like the Skinners are living high on the hawg.”

Beck pulled the envelope out of her pocket. “Charlie delivered this invitation. Seems the kith are gathering at the Peterson hunting cabin this afternoon.” She looked at Junior. “Charlie said he and Trey are tight.”

“Charlie Skinner and my son don’t run in the same circles.”

“And since when do the kith gather?” Toby asked.

“I was wondering the same thing.” Beck smoothed the wrinkled invitation against her palm. “I’m going to the meeting to find out.”

“I should not be surprised if your brother is at this gathering,” Conall said. “It cannot be a coincidence that this meeting and his arrival coincide.”

Toby’s bright gaze darted from Conall to Beck. “Brother? What brother?”

Oh, boy. This was going to be hard to explain.

“A guy came up to me as Conall and I were leaving the wedding,” Beck said. “His name is Evan. He’s my twin.”

“Baby girl, you know that ain’t possible.” Toby’s tone was gentle. “This feller, whoever he is, is pulling your leg.”

“I don’t think so,” Beck said. “When I was a little girl, I had an imaginary friend named Evan. Only, turns out, he’s real.”

“You had an imaginary friend?” Toby’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “You never told me this.”

“Evan said grown-ups wouldn’t understand.” Beck looked away. “Daddy already thought I was a freak. I was afraid he’d send me away if he found out.”

Send her away from Toby; she couldn’t have borne that.

Toby gave a low whistle of surprise. “My God, Becky, you’re serious. You really think this guy’s telling the truth.”

“I know he is.”

“Son of a gun. Does your daddy know?”

“No, and we’re keeping it that way.” She pressed her lips together. “I want to find out more about Evan and what he’s been up to all these years.”

And, more importantly, why he smells like demons
.

“I’m going with you to this meeting,” Toby said. “I want to take a gander at this Evan fellow.”

Junior heaved a plaintive sigh. “I’d go, too, but Trey can’t see me. He doesn’t want to.”

Poor Junior. Sometimes, family sucked.

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Beck said. “Lots of people can’t see ghosts.”

Junior’s face tightened. “He can see that bitchy dead wife of his just fine. He blocks me because it reminds him of—”

He stopped.

“Reminds him of what?” Beck prodded.

“My death, all right?” Junior snapped. “Trey saw me die when he was ten years old.”

Beck’s eyes widened. “The accident out at the mill back in the eighties—that was you. There was an article about it in the paper. They named the annual turkey shoot after you. It was a big deal.”

Junior’s eyes blazed. “I
loathe
hunting, and my death was no accident. My father threw me into a saw to teach Trey a lesson.” Energy whirled around the ghost, lifting Beck’s hair and making her skin prickle. “He said he didn’t want Trey to grow up to be like me. He said I was weak because I love music and play the piano.” His eyes glowed hotter. “That son of a bitch murdered me in front of my own son. That’s why Trey can’t see me. It hurts too much to remember.”

Crack.
Junior disappeared, shattering the
MILLER LITE
sign on the wall in his wake.

“Whew, somebody’s touchy,” Toby said.

Conall repaired the broken sign with a negligent lift of his hand. “I will accompany you to this gathering in the event things should go amuck.”

Amuck. Not a word people used much anymore, Beck reflected. A mucking shame, too, because it was so apt. Things frequently went amuck when the kith were involved.

“Bad idea,” she said. “You stay here and keep an eye on things while we’re gone.”

Conall frowned and Beck could have sworn the lights in the room dimmed. “No.”

She propped one hand on her hip. “You said you trusted me. Time to put your money where your mouth is, Mr. Dalvahni.”

“This has nothing to do with trust and everything to do with duty,” Conall said, his deep voice stiff with disapproval. “One of the kith may have information about this secret weapon the djegrali have discovered. If so, it is imperative I be at this meeting.”

“You’re not from around here and you’re not kith. You’ll stick out like a turd in a bucket of buttermilk.”

“I concede the rationality of your argument that my presence at this gathering might draw attention—”

“Duh, you think?” Beck said. He was big and beautiful and he radiated power and menace. Showing up with Elvis in drag might create a bigger stir, but she doubted it.

“—therefore I will make myself invisible.”

“No,”
Beck said. “The place will be crawling with kith. Just because
I
can’t see you when you’re wearing your invisible Underoos doesn’t mean no one else can. The kith have different abilities. Right, Toby?”

“Yup,” Toby said.

“Toby and I will go to the meeting,” Beck said. “Alone. We’ll be your eyes and ears.”

“Rebekah, I do not think—”

“I want your promise.”

Conall fell silent. “Very well,” he said at last. His mouth thinned. “We will do it your way this once. But not unless I get a promise of my own.” He slipped a silver ring off his hand and slid it on her left index finger. It was way too big, but the band magically shrank until it fit. “At the first sign of danger, speak to the ring. Do not hesitate. This you must promise me.”

Speak to the ring? What was she, Gollum? She’d feel like an idiot.

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

He stepped closer, his eyes hard as agate. “I gave you my word, Rebekah. Now I want yours.”

“Okay, okay, keep your panties on. I promise I’ll speak to the fricking ring if there’s a problem. There, satisfied?”

“No. I am not accustomed to sitting idly by whilst others ride into battle. But I am inured to this course, for the moment.”

“Relax. Nothing’s going to happen. It’s beer and barbecue. Says so on the invitation. People will get drunk and run around naked and throw up, and somebody will get their truck stuck in a ditch. I’ve seen it a million times.”

“Proceed with caution,” Conall said. “ ’Tis an age-old trick to lull one’s enemies into complacence by plying them with food and drink.” He made a slashing motion in the air. “Once they are sleepy and replete, you move in for the kill.”

Hoo boy—Mr. Look on the Bright Side of Life.

“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” she said, shoving the invitation back in her pocket. “Don’t overeat and don’t get wasted. Piece of cake.”

 

Later that afternoon, freshly showered, her hair washed and dried and a smattering of makeup applied, Beck stood in her walk-in closet trying to decide what to wear. After some deliberation, she opted for comfort, pulling on jeans, a moss-green cable-knit sweater, her favorite brown boots, and a leather jacket. No sense getting gussied up to go tromping around in the woods.

“Nice,” Toby said, getting to his feet when she emerged from the bedroom. “We’ll take my truck. Wouldn’t want that fancy ride of yours to get scratched, and you can’t hurt old ’Retta.”

Beck smiled to herself. Loretta was Toby’s name for the ancient Ford he kept as a second vehicle. Loretta was kind of like Toby, a little worse for wear on the outside, but the innards worked just fine.

They climbed in the truck and took off, following the directions in the invitation. The Peterson hunting cabin was located on a chunk of privately owned land in the northwest corner of Behr County. Privately owned by the Petersons, of course—more than ten thousand acres of thick woods stocked with game for the Petersons’ pleasure.

The closest bit of civilization was Musso, a one-traffic-light hole in the road with a gas station. But Musso was three roads and ten miles back, leaving them drowning in trees. Beck was at home in the woods. But these woods made her nervous. She couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. The trees seemed to press in around them, like silent, green giants. These were not friendly woods. These were scary woods straight out of
Grimm’s Fairy Tales
or Middle Earth, full of dark, hungry things.

Death crouched in those trees. Beck felt it waiting.

Get a grip,
she scolded herself.
This is Conall’s fault. All his talk of enemies lying in wait has made you jumpy. Don’t let him spook you.

She gripped the seat with both hands to keep from bouncing onto the floorboard as Toby aimed his battered pickup down yet another dirt road. Hog trails disappeared from the road into the thick brush.

“Good thing that invitation included a map, or we never would’ve found the place,” Toby said, taking a right at a fork in the road.

“No kidding,” Beck said. “And I thought we lived in the boonies.”

“We must be getting close.” He eased the old truck through a line of vehicles parked along both sides of the road. “Look at all the cars.”