Rescue From Planet Pleasure (24 page)

Chapter Forty-three

Carmen and I stepped back inside Coyote’s doublewide. She pulled the curtain over the window and used binder clips to seal out the impending morning sun.

Antoine and Gullah’s visit should’ve comforted me with the news that we weren’t alone in the showdown against Phaedra. But her powers seemed to grow whenever we were unlucky enough to run against her. Besides mental mojo, she had suicide bombers and psychotronic disrupters in her arsenal. What could Antoine, Gullah and their mysterious Blood Force do that Carmen, Jolie, and I hadn’t already tried? Plus we couldn’t discount whatever mischief Cress Tech might add to the fray.

Coyote step-crutched from his bedroom, a comforter gathered under his free arm. “Hey
vato
, why the long face? If you wanna look like a horse, choose a more impressive part of his anatomy.”

He dumped the comforter at my feet. “Cover up,
ese
. You get roasted, and Rainelle will compost your ash. That’s not a good end for a hero.”

Coyote retreated to his bedroom and closed the door. Carmen and I finished securing the curtains and blinds around the living room. We spread the comforter on the floor and slithered underneath to lie face-to-face. Her aura was an orange blob surrounding her head. For the next few hours we couldn’t do much except hide from the morning sun and worry. Hunkered down like this, we were at our most vulnerable. Coyote’s watchdog should be reassuring, but he could be silenced like he had been once before. I turned up my vampire sixth sense to maximum gain.

Carmen asked, “Do you think that Phaedra has to hide from the sun like this?”

“Good question. I don’t know. Maybe her enhanced psychic powers have made her more vulnerable.”

“Or less.”

“Either way, she could still send her human goons. And if they show up …” I flashed my fangs.

“I hope Jolie is okay,” Carmen said.

“I’m sure she is. She’s with Rainelle, and the skin-walkers are looking after her.”

“I want to think our situation isn’t hopeless.” Carmen’s aura darkened a shade, then brightened again. “When we’ve gone fang-to-mano against Phaedra and her lackeys, we’ve held our own.”

I smiled to encourage her optimism. But the fights weren’t entirely one-sided. A wounded Coyote and the dead chalices on D-Galtha testified to that. Her aura undulated with the rhythm of her concerns. Without prompting from me, she said, “Coyote’s mom can find Phaedra. She did it before. When she ratted on us to save him.”

“Maybe the deal’s still on.”

“What do you mean?” Carmen asked.

“We’re still around. Marina could make another offer, us for Coyote.”

“I hope not,” Carmen replied, sounding conflicted. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to rest one cheek against the backs of her hands. She looked like a thirty-something taking a break after a hike instead of a vampire who had only recently escaped from years of alien imprisonment.

Dawn arrived. The gloomy air beneath the comforter grew heavy from the incandescent pressure of the sun beating against the doublewide. My kundalini noir tensed. I imagined the rays of light as poisonous tentacles searching for our skin. The weight of the air increased and slowly rolled over me and then lifted as the sun rose above its deadliest zone.

My watch read 8:30 a.m. Carmen and I threw the comforter back. The glow of sunlight outlining the blinds and curtains stung my eyes. While Carmen made blood-infused coffee, Coyote returned to the living room with a vintage makeup case banging against his crutch. He set the case on the coffee table.

Carmen and I watched from our perch beside the counter and drank our blood-infused java. Coyote said nothing, just step-crutched to the kitchen to pour himself coffee and blood. Curiosity got the better of Carmen, and she eased off her stool. She popped the brass latch on the case.

Plastic cases rattled in the tray that swiveled beneath the lid. The case contained dozens of tubes and jars of cosmetics. She picked through the items and read labels. Vampiric contact lenses. Ezee-On makeup especially formulated for the undead complexion, now with SPF 110+ sunblock.

I had gotten so used to seeing Carmen and Jolie au natural that our anemic flesh and red vampiric eyes looked normal. We needed the makeup and contact lenses to circulate in public and the sunblock to protect our skin.

She opened several of the jars to peruse the skin colors. She found one she liked and dipped her fingers into the cream. She smeared lines of beige across her cheeks and neck and covered the blue veins throbbing beneath her translucent skin. I pushed away from the counter to join her. We removed our shirts, Carmen her bra, and smoothed the makeup over one another’s backs and arms. She gooped makeup into her hands, cupped those magnificent breasts of hers and massaged each perfect mound.

“You expecting to go topless?” I kept my voice even to hide my arousal.

Carmen pinched a teasing glance through her narrowed eyes. “If duty calls.”

“What about your legs and the rest?”

She slapped her ass. “When it comes time to show this, I expect to be under cover.”

Coyote stood beside the counter and leered, his fangs extended. The penumbra of his aura formed curled branches that straightened—
sproing—
into a mantle of boners.

“Careful, you might kill him.” I tipped my head in his direction.

“
Vato
,” he panted, “mind your own
pinchi
business. There are worse ways to go.”

Carmen folded the cuffs of her jeans. She balanced on one foot while she rubbed makeup on the other, ankle to toes. Her breasts jiggled invitingly in an R-rated show. She paused to consider the old vampire. “What would Rainelle say if she caught you looking at me like that?”

“She would say that I am
bien macho.
”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” Coyote whimpered. He lowered his eyes and the protuberances on his penumbra shriveled, broke free, and fell like withered fruit. They bounced on the floor and disappeared in puffs of supernatural vapor.

Carmen slathered makeup over her other foot and straightened the cuffs of her jeans. She put her bra and blouse back on.

I finished applying the makeup and yanked on my t-shirt and shirt. I opened a contact case and put one contact in and then the other. I blinked to mold them against my corneas. Auras vanished and Carmen and Coyote appeared to be ordinary, boring humans. I pocketed a tube of makeup and a handful of contact cases.

Outside, Che barked, no growls, just friendly
woofs
. If it was Rainelle, I should’ve heard her rattle bucket of a truck. So who was here? Coyote hobbled to the back wall of the living room and peered out the window. His pained expression alerted me to uncomfortable news that he didn’t bother to explain. Steps tapped up the back porch. The door opened and Doña Marina emerged from the brilliant splash of sunlight. Coyote greeted her with a scowl.

She wore a colorful sundress with a matching bow on her wide-brimmed straw hat like she was on her way to a Derby Day party. She halted between the door and the counter and panned a glossy smile at Carmen and me. “You made it back!”

I wanted to pounce on Marina and wring her neck for betraying us and revealing the psychic portals to Phaedra. But she was Coyote’s mom so I kept my claws retracted.

Carmen leveled a stare so cold it could freeze nitrogen. “Doña Marina,” she said curtly.

Coyote’s mom removed her hat and frisbee tossed it onto the sofa. “Don’t you want to say, La Malinche?”

“Where have you been?” Carmen’s question frosted the air.

“Adding to my reputation … like it’s any of your business. Where are Rainelle and your friend, the redhead?” She raised her hands to the ceiling and announced, “Everyone, please save your shame and blame for someone else. I’m quite used to
el ojo malo
. People want something from Doña Marina, they get all kissy-face.…” she pursed her lips and repeatedly smacked the air. “But when I act to protect my own,” she looked at Coyote, “then I’m La Malinche.”

“Mom, leave me out of this,” he said.

“Where’s Phaedra?” Carmen’s gaze lost its chill but there was still no friendly warmth.

“I don’t know,” Coyote’s mom answered.

“How did you find her before?”

Marina batted her large brown eyes. “When Coyote was laid up, about to die, and I was going to lose another one of my children, I only did what Fate has condemned me to do. Wander the wilderness and cry for my lost babies.”

“So you didn’t find her, she found you?” asked Carmen.

Coyote winced and hung his head.

“Yes, Phaedra found me and offered a deal.”

I started, “That doesn’t—”

Marina glared at me. “Do you have children?”

“That doesn’t make a difference.”

“You say that because you’ve never been a mother.”

I felt my face wrinkle as if my skin wrestled to keep anger from seeping out my spores. I pressed the issue. “Whose side are you on?”

Marina replied, “Coyote’s. And mine.”

“You sound like King Gullah.”

“Then he must be a smart man.”

“Mom!” Coyote yelled. “It was a simple
pinchi
question.”

She rotated her head toward him like it was a gun turret and her eyes twin laser cannons. “
Desgraciado
, is that how you talk to your mother? In front of guests? The woman who suffered to give birth to you and—”

He placed both hands against his head and squeezed. “Just answer the question. Are you with us or Phaedra?”

Marina walked to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. “I already told you. I’m with you,
mijo.
” She said “mijo” like our five-hundred year-old vampire trickster was barely out of diapers.

Coyote sputtered like he was about to explode. Before he did, I said, “That’s fine, Doña Marina,” to end the argument.

Carmen, Coyote, and his mom quieted and their thoughts turned inward. With this welcome break in the drama I could focus my attention to our mission.

Che barked again, another chorus of friendly yaps. A truck clattered and wheezed to a halt. Its doors creaked open and slammed shut. Footsteps climbed the back porch. Two sets, light and quick, joined by a third set, heavy and deliberate. A man. A big man. Wearing boots.

The door opened and Rainelle stepped in first. Jolie followed. She removed a battered cowboy hat, and then large sunglasses and a bandana from her face. Without makeup, those had been her protection from the sun. Appearing next was Francisco Yellowhair-Chavez, the super-sized Navajo skin-walker who had sold me the Marlin. He dipped his head to keep the crown of his Stetson from scraping the top of the doorway. The glint from massive gold rings drew my attention to his huge, dark fingers resting on Jolie’s shoulder.

Her step hitched when she recognized Marina and then hitched again when she realized that Carmen and I wore makeup. Against her milky skin and its network of veins, Jolie’s red hair shined like crimson wire, though it was matted into a tangled brush like she’d just dragged herself out of bed. Yellowhair-Chavez gave her a tender squeeze before dropping his hand.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Rainelle closed the door behind him. His right hand gripped the handle of a battered army surplus .50 caliber ammo can. She invited him to the living room. “Coyote,” she scolded, “where are your manners? Say hello to our guest.”

“Don’t you start,” he snapped. “I’m getting enough shit from my mom.”

Yellowhair-Chavez reacted to the exchange with as much emotion as a rock to the rain.

His visit puzzled me. The skin-walkers had stated they would stay clear of the fight between Phaedra and us vampires as long as Rainelle was left alone. “What can I do for you?”

He entered the living room and set the ammo can on top of the map. “Bloodsucker, you got the question backwards. I’m here to help you, specifically her”—he pointed a sausage-like finger at Carmen—“find the devil-woman, Phaedra.”

A grin just barely creased Jolie’s lips, and I knew that Yellowhair-Chavez was here to return a favor. While Carmen and I hid from the sun beneath a comforter, Jolie must’ve been playing Indian bride in his hogan.

***

Chapter Forty-four

Jolie regarded Marina with suspicion. When she and Carmen had first met Coyote’s mom, they felt empathy with her plight. Now that we had been burned by Marina’s double-sided deals, we weren’t so eager to have her in our camp.

Marina acknowledged Jolie’s glare with a hard look of her own. She walked out of the kitchen and disappeared into Coyote’s bedroom.

I didn’t ask Yellowhair-Chavez what was in the ammo can, figuring he’d let me know when he wanted to. Rainelle offered him coffee but he declined, asking instead for a hatchet and rope, an odd request but I wasn’t from around here so I didn’t judge. Coyote said he’d get the items and step-crutched out the back door. Yellowhair-Chavez picked up the ammo can and lumbered after him. He asked Carmen to join them. Her eyebrows did a little cha-cha as she pondered his offer. She put on her sunglasses and followed.

Jolie peeled off her jacket and pistol harness and dumped them on the sofa. She asked about a bath and Rainelle pointed to the hall. Jolie snatched the makeup case and took it with her to the bathroom. Faucets squeaked and water splashed in the shower.

I heard a chopping sound outside and opened the door to see what was going on in the backyard. Yellowhair-Chavez whacked the hatchet at the middle of a pine tree log about as thick as my calf and maybe ten feet long. Carmen unfolded a small blue tarp in the middle of the yard. Coyote stood behind them and was busy untangling a rope. The three of them were discussing something in hushed voices and became quiet, turning as one toward me as if I had interrupted them.

“You need help?” I asked.

Yellowhair-Chavez returned to chopping. Hens pecked around his feet, oblivious that one day, that hatchet would come for them.

“You know anything about magic?” Coyote asked.

“I know enough,” I replied.

Coyote sneered. “How about you don’t know
caca
. Now get back inside and leave this to us professionals.”

“So you don’t need my help,” I replied, crossly. “What’s this for?”

“To locate Phaedra,” Carmen answered. “According to Francisco, this will let me use the psychic plane to find her no matter where she is.”

Yellowhair-Chavez didn’t add anything but only kept chopping the log.

“Leave this to us,” Carmen said. “Why don’t you get the guns ready?”

Her words were a pat on my head, but there was no point staying out here if I was getting in their way. So I returned inside. Rainelle must’ve overheard Carmen because she waited with my backpack. I’d left it here the night Jolie and I had left for D-Galtha. I pulled out a gun-cleaning kit and the boxes with the remaining silver-tipped, depleted-uranium ammo. I emptied my magnum revolver, swabbed the barrel, wiped the dust and fingerprints with a flannel rag, and worked the action. After feeding fresh rounds into the cylinder, I set the magnum aside and started on the carbine.

The shower squeaked off, and Jolie rustled in the bathroom.

I loaded the Marlin and replenished the ammo cuff on its butt stock. Jolie emerged from the bathroom, a large towel wrapped her torso and moist hair matted to her scalp. She brought the aroma of soap and shampoo and freshly scrubbed vampire. What I could see of her body was expertly covered with makeup. I was hoping she would ask me to help touchup her hard-to-reach areas, then remembered Jolie didn’t have any considering she was as flexible as Gumby.

The chopping sound outside was replaced by digging. She nodded at the door. “What’s going on?”

“Some secret magical bullshit,” I answered and repeated what Carmen had told me.

Rainelle brought clean clothes. Jolie shucked the towel and before the thought,
hello momma!
had even formed in my mind, she had whisked on pink panties with a skull-and-crossbones on the butt, then jeans, and a red t-shirt. She pulled a chair to the coffee table, took a seat, and field stripped and cleaned her one of .45s. She kept the other loaded and within reach on the table. Meanwhile I emptied her spare magazines to relieve the springs and then topped them off again. Jolie and I were really into gun porn.

The digging stopped. She and I quirked our eyebrows as we waited for noise from outside. When nothing sounded, we turned our attention back to our guns. I polished one of the anti-vampire cartridges. “This is the best all-purpose magic against Phaedra and her minions.”

Jolie fit her pistol back together. “I was thinking of trading these 1911s for newer handguns. FN makes a .45 with double the magazine capacity.” She inserted the clip and racked the slide. “But something about these old-school heaters speaks to me.” She aimed the pistol at the wall. “Once we pinpoint Phaedra, we strike. End this once and for all. She won’t have a chance. To paraphrase Jesus from
The Big Lebowski
, ‘I’m going to shove this gun up her ass and pull the trigger until it goes
click.
’”

Good thing Jolie was on our side. I put on my sunglasses and stepped out to measure progress of the secret project.

Coyote sat on the bottom step of the porch. He slouched against a banister and appeared ready for a siesta. Yellowhair-Chavez had cut the logs into four poles that were now planted upright in freshly dug holes. A rusted post-hole digger lay nearby. The tarp had been tied with rope to the tops of the poles to form a canopy. Carmen sat in the rectangle of shade beneath, cross-legged on a folded blanket. She faced northwest and remained in a serene yet expectant pose, hands resting on her knees.

Corn-husk dolls, vintage toy cars, clippings from ocatillo and cholla, old vacuum tubes, and bundles of sage and wild flowers circumscribed a circle around her. With the open ammo can cradled in one arm, Yellowhair-Chavez paced the circle, his attention fixed on the objects. Sweat stained the armpits and the front of his white shirt. His bolo tie was gone and his collar undone. He stopped and crouched to adjust one object, then rose to continue along the circle, adjusting the objects, occasionally swapping one for another from the can. The entire time he gave the impression that everything had to be arranged with great precision.

The skin-walker completed the circle one more time, nodding as if finally pleased with his handiwork. Closing the ammo can, he joined me in the shade slanting from the doublewide. He faced Carmen, lowered himself onto a stack of adobe bricks, and placed the can next to his boots.

This was definitely a mysterious ritual. I asked, “You’ve done this before?”

Yellowhair-Chavez kept his attention on Carmen. A minute later, as if my question had negotiated a labyrinth into his brain, he answered, “No.”

“Then how do you expect—”

His reply was quick. “Never had the chance to work the magic with a vampire like her.”

Good answer.
“What do we do now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Now it was my turn to let his question negotiate the labyrinth in my mind, and before it found the cream-filled center, he said, “We wait.”

So I sat on a step of the porch and waited. Coyote’s dog Che crawled beneath the fence and trotted to Rainelle’s pickup to plop down in the shade beside her front tire. Crows landed on the gutter of the doublewide and the roof of the barn.

The sun climbed above us. The shade narrowed to a sliver against the doublewide, and the sun beat across my shoulders and the back of my neck. Yellowhair-Chavez removed his Stetson to wipe his brow with a handkerchief. Coyote bent forward as if he was melting. But the tarp’s shadow stayed centered on Carmen despite the sun’s shifting arc. The chickens pecked along the outside of the circle of magic trinkets but never ventured inside its perimeter. Flies buzzed around us but none bothered Carmen.

I asked Yellowhair-Chavez, “I thought you skin-walkers weren’t supposed to help us.”

“We’re not, but the rules are not written in stone.”

“Are they written anywhere?”

“Beats me.”

“Then what changed your mind?”

Another pause. His thoughts must’ve been channeled back to the labyrinth. “Two things.”

More waiting.

“Phaedra might not have designs on us now,” he said, “or so she says. We Native Americans have heard that before.”

More silence.

“That’s one thing. The second?”

“It’s amazing what a man, even a skin-walker, will do for pussy.” He tipped his head back toward the doublewide.

Jolie deserved a gold star.

Che piqued his ears and rose to his feet. Our audience of crows squawked. The hens lifted their heads and cackled excitedly. The goats bleated from their pen. A rooster fluttered to a fence post and crowed. Che lay in the shade beside the doublewide and watched.

A dust devil whirled through the yard and brought an unexpected chill. Bits of dried grass and grains of dirt pelted my face and sunglasses. Loose panels on the doublewide rattled. The tarp buffeted against the tops of the poles. The wind ruffled Carmen’s hair and clothes but she remained still.

Che backed into a corner of the yard and barked. The hens flocked into the barn. The rooster hopped from the fence and crouched between the hens and Carmen. It stretched its neck and spread its wings and crowed a warning as it backed into the barn. The crows hunkered in place and cawed nervously.

The door from the doublewide swung open. Jolie and Rainelle emerged onto the porch. Rainelle clung to the door and crossed herself. Jolie cupped a .45. Both women slit their eyes and grimaced at the dirt flung against their faces.

The dust devil swirled around Carmen. The corn-husk dolls and the bundles of sage and flowers rustled in place. The filaments in the vacuum tubes began to glow. All the objects fell over and rolled in herky-jerky movements. I thought it was because of the whirling wind, but the objects were migrating to group in front of Carmen.

The tarp tore loose from one anchor. Another anchor gave way, then a third, and the tarp twisted and beat the air. Amazingly, the square of shadow remained on Carmen. Two poles clattered to the ground. The objects formed a line pointing north.

With so much supernatural energy at play, I wondered what I could see. I plucked off my sunglasses and dipped my head to remove my contacts. The sunlight lashed my eyes and I squinted painfully at Carmen.

Waves of silver light cascaded from the yellow aura that flamed around her and formed a trail across the objects. The auras belonging to Coyote, the crows, and the dog inflated and deflated like the throats of croaking frogs. Yellowhair-Chavez’s aura strobed in bizarre rectangular flashes. In spite of the sting to my eyes, I watched, fascinated. This was powerful magic and hopefully spelled doom for Phaedra. My kundalini noir began to stir. In awe and excitement at first until the tingling became an ominous twitch.

A spot in the air between the fence and the edge of the mesa began to shiver. My kundalini noir rang the alarm:
Phaedra
.

The spot
blinked
and there was Phaedra, standing on the edge of the mesa. A halo of psychic fire crowned her head. Carmen’s magic hadn’t just found Phaedra, it had brought her to us.

A ray of white light shot from her halo of fire. A deafening howl pummeled my mind. I lurched in panic. My feet slipped off the steps and I tumbled off the porch. When I looked up, I saw the ray had splattered against Carmen, blasting her flat. Phaedra shifted the ray to Coyote. He was overcome with spasms and he fell on me, twitching like he’d been tasered.

The back door to the doublewide flew open. Marina bounded down the porch steps. She threw herself on Coyote, squashing me underneath him as she screamed, “We had a deal.”

I crawled free, the sun burning my eyes, the howl echoing in my skull. Remembering that Jolie had her pistol, I screamed, “Shoot! Shoot!”

The ray whooshed toward me and hammered my brain. My arms and legs jolted from under me and I writhed in the dirt. The ray lifted and I lay still for a moment. Teeth clenched in rage, I raised my head to appraise the chaos through the blur in my eyes.

Jolie lay on the porch, squirming helplessly like I had done. Rainelle stood against the doublewide.

The crows remained paralyzed until the ray flicked them to the ground like Phaedra was plinking tin cans. The ray next washed over Yellowhair-Chavez but to no effect. He was on his feet and advancing toward her.

The ray vanished. As had the hurricane of noise. Phaedra waited menacingly.

The air beside her shimmered and a figure appeared in the spot. A vampire. She had used her psychic portal to bring him here. He flung himself from her side and dove toward us. Suicide bomber. I pressed against the ground to launch myself at him but my arms and legs quivered like splintered wood about to break.

Yellowhair-Chavez bolted toward the vampire, scrambling so fast that his hat tumbled off. Rainelle bounded from the porch and chased after the skin-walker. The suicide bomber hurdled the fence into the yard.

Yellowhair-Chavez dashed between Carmen and the vampire. The skin-walker scooped the suicide bomber in both arms and raised him high to hurl him back at Phaedra. But he put too much force behind the throw and the vampire sailed into the empty air over her, past the lip of the mesa. He dropped out of sight and exploded with an earthshaking thunderclap. A ball of smoke rolled upward.

Rainelle aimed Jolie’s pistol at Phaedra and shrieked like an avenging banshee. She jerked the shots.
Pop. Pop. Pop.

A second vampire—a female—materialized, took a couple of long steps, and jumped over the fence.

Rainelle hit her once on the shoulder but the vampire kept running, fangs and claws extended.

Che lunged at the vampire and snagged her leg. She stumbled and fell. He renewed his attack, launching himself into her side. She was on all fours when he struck. The impact pushed her under the far end of the doublewide.

Yellowhair-Chavez grabbed Rainelle’s arm and flung her to the ground.

I covered my ears and flattened myself against the dirt.

The vampire exploded. The end of the doublewide bucked upward. The blast slammed the ground and the earth punched against me. The wave of over-pressure slapped my skin. A ball of flame and smoke tore through the walls of the doublewide. The windows blew out in a shower of broken glass. The pickup truck was kicked sideways and rolled onto its side. Debris rained over us. My eyes were clenched tight and yet a brilliant yellow light flooded my vision.