Authors: Lexi George

Demon Hunting In Dixie (15 page)

BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie

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“She can't hear you,” Addy said. “Come on. I'll take you to her.”

Brand pushed off from the table. “Allow me.”

He reeled, and Addy leaped around the table to catch him.

She guided him to the wall. “Don't move.”

“Feisty.” Brand closed his eyes. “I like it.”

“Uh huh.” She returned to Ansgar's side and took him by the arm. “Come on, Blondy, you first.”

Brand opened his eyes and pushed upright. “No, Adara, this I cannot allow.” He removed her hand from the other warrior's arm. “I will take him.”

Brand ignored her protests and helped Ansgar to his feet. The two warriors lurched toward the entrance. Addy darted ahead of them. She held open the door, and they reeled outside.

Ansgar grinned and waved at Evie. “Greetings, fair one.”

Evie's frowning gaze moved from the blond warrior to Addy. “He's plastered.”

“Told you,” Addy said. “So's the other one.”

Brand swayed but managed to keep a grip on Ansgar. “The other one is right here, and he can hear you.”

“And they got this way on
chocolate
?” Evie asked.

“Yep,” Addy said.

Evie shook her head. “Unbelievable. Addy, did you know there's a tree in the middle of the Sweet Shop? A great big
silver
tree.”

“Yeah, I know, Eves. I'm not a happy camper about it, either. How in the world are we going to explain this to people?”

“Do not be troubled,” Brand said. “The tree is no more.”

“But I sawâ” Evie looked back through the window. “It's gone,” she gasped. “It's all gone, the flowers, the trees. All of it.”

“Thank God,” Addy said. “That's one problem solved.”

Brand gave her a crooked grin, and the sidewalk at her feet exploded with flowers. “I told you all would be as it was. You worry too much.”

“For goodness' sake, stop smiling!” Addy scolded. “When you smile, something sprouts. What about Vi and Del and the others? They'll think they've had a mass hallucination. How you going to fix that?”

“Peace, little one. They will remember nothing but a sense of contentment and well-being.”

Addy gave him a black look. “You mean you messed with their brains.”

“I altered their memories.”

“I don't like it, but I guess it can't be helped.” She turned to Evie. “Come on. Let's get them out of here before something else happens.”

“We could go to my house,” Evie suggested. “It's not far.”

“Good idea.” Addy patted Brand on the shoulder. “Come on, big guy. Bring Blondy. We gotta walk off some of that pie.”

Brand's handsome features assumed a blissful expression. “Pie.”

“P-i-e,” Ansgar echoed.

“Oh, no you don't.” Addy caught them at the door to the Sweet Shop and turned them around. “No more chocolate for you. Not so much as a Milk Dud. You're quitting, cold turkey.” She gave Evie a pleading look. “Help. Blondy likes you. Talk to him.”

“Sure, Addy, sure.” Evie hurried up and took Ansgar by the arm. “Would you like to see where I live?”

Ansgar gazed down at her, his silver eyes unfocused. After a moment, recognition seemed to dawn.

“Evangeline,” he said.

With a drunken grin he burst into song. Evie's face went slack.

She mooned up at Ansgar. “Pretty.”

“Good grief,” Addy said.

Chapter Fifteen

S
omehow, Addy coaxed Brand, the still-singing Ansgar, and a stupefied Evie past the drug store, the hardware store, and Toodles, then around the corner onto Church Street without anybody seeing them. Evie trailed after Blondy like an eager little puppy. She was flotsam drifting on the mesmeric tide of Blondy's alluring voice, a leaf helplessly swirling in the seductive eddy of Ansgar's song. He was a male siren, and poor Evie's ship had been lured from the safety of deep water and dashed upon the rocks.

With Addy in the lead, they left the small cluster of businesses that constituted downtown Hannah and entered the quiet neighborhood that Addy and Evie had grown up in and Evie still called home.

Addy loved this part of town with its hodgepodge of cozy 1920s arts-and-crafts-style homes, rambling two-story Victorians, and occasional Tudor dwelling. A few blocks over, the older homes disappeared, choked out by the drab, uniform ranch-style houses that sprang up in the 1960s like crabgrass and dandelion weeds bespoiling a once well-tended garden. But, on Magnolia Street, magnificent towering oaks shaded the deep, narrow lots, and dignified magnolias splayed limbs studded with broad, glossy leaves. In spring, dogwood, redbud, pear, and crabapple trees festooned the yards with a lacy profusion of pink and white petals, and banks of pink, orange, and white azaleas lifted their skirts to show off their colorful bloomers.

Alas, spring was gone, and the dogwoods, redbuds, and azaleas had shed their bright petals for a more sedate garb of summer green.

Evie lived down the block from Bitsy's house in a brown Craftsman bungalow with stone accents and a deep, squarecolumned front porch. Addy looked anxiously up and down the street. What if Ansgar's seductive crooning ensorcelled the entire neighborhood? She envisioned a zombified stream of blue-haired old ladies, old men tipsy on Dalvahni happy hormones, and bedazzled young housewives shuffling mindlessly after them. She was exhausted and running on raw nerve by the time they reached Evie's house and climbed the steps to the porch.

“Put him over there.” Addy pointed Brand toward the porch swing that hung from one of the rafters.

Brand heaved Ansgar into the swing. Ansgar sighed and stretched out his long legs. He closed his eyes and lapsed into quiet humming. From the top of the steps, Evie gazed down at him, her expression adoring but not quite so befuddled as before. Huh. Seemed like Ansgar's humming only
addled
Evie's brains, instead of scrambling them the way his singing did.

“Your turn.” Taking Brand by the hand, Addy led him to a large wicker arm chair and gave him a little push. He dropped into the chair. “You sit here while I talk to Evie about something.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just around the corner of the house. I need to get Evie away from Blondy so I can detox her. He's like Dalvahni crack or something. His singing messes with her head.”

It seemed to take Brand a moment to process this. “You refer to a drug, and not a narrow opening or a witty remark.”

“Uh yeah.”

“Very well.” Brand put his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “Do not wander any farther. The djegrali . . .”

His words trailed off as he fell asleep. Taking Evie by the hand, Addy eased off the porch to the side yard.

“Evie.
Evie.
” Addy patted her on the cheek. “Snap out of it. I need your help.”

“Huh? Whaâ” Evie blinked at Addy. Gradually, her eyes cleared. “He did it again, didn't he?” She sounded disgusted with herself. “Whammied me with that si-reen voice of his.”

“ 'Fraid so. Listen, I need to run, and check on the shop. Think you can handle both of them for a few minutes? I'll be right back.”

“Sure.” Evie made a face. “I've had plenty of practice, remember?”

Addy felt a rush of sympathy for her friend. Evie's father had been a weekend drunk. At his job at the feed store clean and sober Monday through Friday, week in and week out. But come five o'clock Friday, he started drinking and wouldn't quit until he passed out Sunday night. Poor Evie had poured him into bed, cleaned up after him, and been his caregiver until his death two years earlier. Drunks Evie knew about.

“I won't be gone long,” Addy said, “but I need to close the register and check my messages and that kind of stuff. You set the alarm when you left the store, right?”

“ 'Course I did.”

“Good. Don't tell Brand. He's asleep. With any luck he'll stay that way until I get back.”

“But, Addy, what about the demons? Suppose something happens to you? Suppose . . .” She shuddered. “Suppose
Old Man Farris
happens on to you? I saw him, Addy. He's out there.”

“I'll be fine. It's broad daylight. What are the chances he'll show up at the flower shop while I'm there? I'll pop over and right back, I promise. If I see him, I'll run like hell. How fast can a dead guy be, right?”

Evie shook her head. “Think what you're doing. You're acting like those dumb people in the horror movies we make fun of.
You're going to the flower shop alone, and there's a creepy dead guy out there looking for you!
If this were a movie, we'd give you the Darwin award for being colossally stupid.”

“I'll be fine.” Addy assured her again. “Trust me. I wouldn't go if I didn't feel like I had to. You know I hate dead guys. But the thermostat on one of the new coolers is acting up, and I can't afford to lose a whole shipment of roses. I'll check on it and be back in a flash.”

Addy peeked around the edge of the porch at Brand. He was still sitting in the wicker chair asleep. She hesitated, captivated by the beauty of his chiseled features in repose. Hot damn, he was gorgeous. Why did guys always have the longest eyelashes? It was so unfair. Women gooped their pitiful little eye hairs with mascara, and guys hit the planet naturally follically enhanced.

The corners of Brand's finely shaped lips curled, and she stepped back with a little gasp. Cripes, if he smiled she was done for, as loopy and brain dead as Evie high on Blondy's yodeling. Taking a steadying breath, she tiptoed into the neighbor's yard, slinking from tree to tree so Brand could not see her if he happened to open his eyes. She felt ridiculous, a grown woman playing hide-and-seek from a man she hardly knew. The back of her neck tingled, and she was as jumpy as a frog in a frying pan. The feeling did not subside until she reached the next yard over.

Shaking off the jitters, she set out at a trot for Main Street. In what seemed like two steps, she was standing at the front door of the flower shop. She looked down. Smoke curled from the bottom of her shoes. She'd done the Speedy Gonzales thing again. At this rate, she'd blow through half a dozen pairs of shoes a week. She put her hand on the door. It swung open. The alarm was off. Evie said she set it, didn't she? The hair on the back of her neck stood up and saluted, and she got an unpleasant crawly sensation along her spine.

“Get a grip, Addy,” she muttered.

She stepped into the shop and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. She was greeted by the low hum of the coolers and the familiar sweet smell of blooms and greenery mixed with the herbal scent of Evie's soaps. Then why did she have that creepy, itchy feeling, like someone was watching her? She was overreacting, that was all. She hurried over to the troublesome cooler and checked the thermostat. Thirty-nine degrees, plenty cool enough to keep the roses at optimum freshness.

She stepped behind the counter to turn off the computer and close out the cash register. The answering machine light was on. She was trying to decide whether to check the messages or leave them until first thing Monday morning when she heard the storeroom door creak open. She whirled around expecting to see Dwight Farris's waxen figure standing behind her, but the doorway was empty. Probably a draft, she thought, relaxing a little. She wrinkled her nose as she was assailed by the rancid buttery smell of microwave popcorn. The odor was coming from the back room. She started for the storeroom door and stopped. What was she doing? Evie was right. She was acting like those stupid bimbos in the horror movies, the ones who went into the darkened basement without a flashlight or walked down a deserted alley alone in the dead of night.

The shop lights flickered and went out. Addy froze at a scuffling noise in the back room. In her mind, she was up and running, survival instinct in full gear. She raced around the counter and fumbled for the front door. But, in reality, terror glued her feet to the floor, the legs that ran her more than thirty miles a week as useless as the palsied limbs of a paralytic. It was the old childhood nightmare of being rooted in place, petrified with fear as the monster under the bed crept out to gobble her up.

A low groan sounded from the inky well of the storeroom. Her skin did a strange, shivery dance like thousands of invisible insects were running a road race up and down her body.

“Ad-d-d-y. ”
Her name was a whispered moan from the other side of the door. She heard the slow drag of feet on the concrete floor. This was no dream. The monster was here, and it was coming for her.

“A-a-d-d- -y.”

Crappy doodle, where was a flamey sword-carrying-demon-chasing guy when you needed one?

Asleep on Evie's front porch sloshed on chocolate pie, that's where.

Perfect.

BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie

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