Wicked Appetite (3 page)

“I’ll be over as soon as I’m done here,” Glo said. “I’ll bring my book, and we can put a spell on your house to ward off vampires.”

“I said he
looked
like a vampire. I didn’t say he
was
one.”

“I’ll bring garlic, too.”

“Put it on a pizza, and it’s a deal.”

Glo showed up a little after six. She had her book of spells, a pizza box, and a short-haired tiger-striped cat.

“What’s with the cat?” I asked her.

“It’s yours. It’s a watch cat. It’ll help protect your house. I got it at the shelter.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to commit to a cat.”

“But this is a special cat,” Glo said, setting the cat on the floor.

“How do you know it’s special?”

“It was like the book of spells. You know how the book called me into the store? Well, this cat called me into the shelter. I was driving by the shelter on my way here, and the car just turned into the parking lot all by itself. I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it. And then before I knew it, I was inside and there was the cat.”

“Waiting for you?”

“Actually, he was waiting to get . . . you know.”

Glo pantomimed throat-slashing.

“Euthanized?” I asked.

“Yep,” Glo said. “They were gonna snuff him.”

“How horrible!”

“Okay, so they weren’t really going to snuff him. I just said that so you’d keep him. I think they were going to give him a bath.”

The cat looked up at me.

“There’s something odd about his eyes,” I said. “And isn’t his tail kind of short?”

“Word at the shelter is that he was sort of a brawler. Lost one of his eyes and part of his tail somehow.”

I looked more closely. “He’s got a glass eye?”

“Yeah. Cool, right?”

“Does he have a name?” I asked Glo.

“It says on the paper I got when I adopted him that he’s Cat #7143.”

“Maybe
you
should keep him.”

“I’m not allowed. I rent from a guy who’s allergic to cats.”

This is how it happens, I thought. A series of unexpected events and
wham,
nothing will ever be the same again. Yesterday, everything was comfortable and going along as planned, and now I’ve got two scary men and a cat in my life. The cat I was pretty sure I could manage. The men had me worried.

Glo put the book of spells on my red Formica countertop and set the pizza box on my secondhand cherrywood kitchen table. She flipped the lid on the box and helped herself to a slice.

“I have a couple awesome spells for your house,” she said. “We might not have all the ingredients for the potions, but I figure we can improvise.”

“I don’t want to put a spell on my house. I like it the way it is.”

“Are you kidding? The vampire just walked right in.”

“He wasn’t a vampire. He was a weird guy with perfect skin and an expensive suit.”

“How can you be sure?”

I took a slice of pizza. “I don’t believe in vampires.”

“Do you believe in the Tooth Fairy? The Easter Bunny?” Glo asked.

“
Yes
to the Tooth Fairy.
No
to the Easter Bunny.”

I could deal with a fairy, but I wasn’t buying into a giant rabbit hopping around in my house while I was asleep.

I heard the front door open and close, and a moment later, Diesel strolled into the kitchen.

“Holy crap,” Glo said, admiring the view.

Diesel extended his hand to her. “Diesel.”

“Gloria Binkly. Everyone calls me Glo.”

Diesel took a slice of pizza and looked down at the cat. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he said to me.

“He’s new.”

“What’s his name?”

“Cat #7143.”

Diesel fed a chunk of his pizza to the cat and turned his attention to the book of spells, sitting on the countertop. “I’m guessing this came with the pizza and the cat.”

“It’s mine,” Glo said. “I just got it. I brought it over so I could put a spell on Lizzy’s house.”

“What kind of spell?”

“One that would keep you out,” I told him.

Diesel gave a bark of laughter. “Honey, you’d need something a lot more powerful than anything in that book.”

“There are some really good spells in here,” Glo said, flipping the book open. “I could turn you into a frog.”

“Been there, done that,” Diesel said. “What else have you got?”

“Here’s one for levitating a dragon.”

Diesel took a second piece of pizza. “Not impressed. Everyone knows the hard part is finding the dragon.”

Glo thumbed through a bunch more pages. “Warts, boils, impotency, insomnia, stuttering, hives. And here’s a whole section on enchanted mirrors and cats.”

We all glanced down at Cat 7143. He was sitting patiently, waiting for more pizza. I didn’t think he looked especially enchanted.

“According to this, I could make Cat 7143 talk,” Glo said, “but the potion involves a human tongue and toenails from a Romanian troll.”

“Tough break,” I said to Glo. “I’ve got toenails from Bulgarian trolls and Irish trolls, but unfortunately none from Romanian trolls.”

“Okay, I know some of these ingredients are a little exotic,” Glo said, “but these potions could be ancient. Probably, when the recipe was figured out, there were lots of Romanian trolls around.”

“I hate to break up this pizza party, but we need to hit the road,” Diesel said to me. “I need your help.”

Hit the road? As in, get in a car? “No way. I don’t know you. I’m not helping you. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I’ll go with you,” Glo said to Diesel.

“Jeez Louise,” I said to Glo. “He could be a serial killer, or a terrorist, or a kidnapper.”

“I have a narrow window of opportunity here,” Diesel said to me. “What’s it going to take to get you on board?”

“A miracle,” I told him.

Truth is, I’m not a risk taker. Not with men. Not with money. Not with shoes. I take a multivitamin every day. I lock my doors. I wear a seat belt. I don’t eat raw meat. And I don’t go off on wild goose chases with people I don’t know.

Diesel watched me for a moment and grinned. “Does mind reading count as a miracle?”

“Sure.”

“You like me,” he said.

“No I don’t.”

“That’s a big fib. You think I’m hot.”

“That’s not mind reading,” I told him. “That’s wishful thinking.”

“Do you have any more miracles?” Glo wanted to know.

“Can you read
my
mind?”

Diesel shook his head. “I can read Lizzy’s mind because we’re cosmically connected.”

“Cosmically connected!” Glo said. “That’s so Salem.”

At the risk of sounding cynical, I thought it was pure baloney. “Can you read my mind now?” I asked Diesel.

“Yeah,” he said. “Good thing your mother can’t hear your thoughts. Did they teach you those words in chef school?”

My attention swung from Diesel to Cat 7143. He was investigating the kitchen, walking the perimeter on high alert, snooping in corners, his ears erect in full listen mode.

“I read somewhere that cats can see ghosts and sense energy fields,” Glo said. “Do you suppose he’s looking for ghosts?”

I took a second slice of pizza. “My guess would be he’s hoping to find food or kitty litter.”

“I’m such a dunce,” Glo said. “I almost forgot. I have food and a kitty litter thing in the car. The shelter gave me a start-up kit.”

Five minutes later, Cat 7143 was locked up in my house with his new kitty litter. I was on the road, sitting next to Diesel, and Glo was in the backseat.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said, more to myself than to Diesel or Glo.

“We made a deal,” Diesel said. “You wanted a miracle, and you agreed that reading your mind was miraculous.”

“That was not miraculous. You took a couple lucky guesses.”

“This is part of the problem with the world today,” Diesel said. “People don’t believe in the mystical. I happen to be able to read your mind sometimes. Why can’t you just go with it?”

“It’s creepy.”

“It’s petty cash,” Diesel said. “You should walk in my shoes.”

“I believe in the mystical,” Glo said. “I actually think I might be supernatural.”

Diesel’s eyes focused on the rearview mirror and Glo for a moment before returning to the road.

“Where are we going?” I asked him.

“We’re going back to Salem. I have an opportunity to search an apartment, and I need you to help me find an object.”

“Why me?”

“Do you know what an Unmentionable is?”

“Underwear?”

“I know about Unmentionables,” Glo said. “I read about them. They date back about a thousand years. An Unmentionable is a human with special abilities. There’s like a brotherhood or something and a governing body.”

“I work for that governing body,” Diesel said. “I’m commissioned to pull the plug on Unmentionables who abuse their power.”

I saw this as registering high on my bull-crap-o-meter, but I was curious all the same.

“How do you pull the plug?” I asked.

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Diesel said.

I’d heard that line before and always knew it was a line. This time I wasn’t sure.

“Why do you need my help?” I asked him.

“You’re one of us. You’re an Unmentionable, and you have a skill I lack. I can find people. You can find empowered objects.”

I was speechless. He actually looked serious. “That’s ridiculous,” I finally said.

Diesel turned off Lafayette Street. “Yeah, and I’m stuck with it. Nothing personal, but you’re not my first choice for a partner. This is a monster assignment, and I could use a professional working with me.”

“An Unmentionable professional? What does that even mean?”

“It means I need someone who understands and respects their gift and the responsibilities that come with the gift.”

“What about me?” Glo wanted to know. “Am I an Unmentionable?”

“Not that I can see,” Diesel said. “You’re more of a
Questionable
.”

My honest opinion was that I was in the presence of a genuine whacko. If I counted Glo, it would be two whackos. Although I had to give Diesel something for being a whacko with a work ethic.

We were riding in a shiny new black Porsche Cayenne. A brown leather backpack that looked like it had gotten kicked halfway across the country was on the seat beside Glo. A couple empty water bottles rolled around on the floor. Diesel stopped for a light, and I debated leaping from the car and running as fast as my feet could carry me. Unfortunately, that would leave Glo with the crazy man.

“I don’t want to agitate you or anything,” I said to Diesel, “but I’m having a hard time with the whole Unmentionable gift thing. It sort of dropped out of nowhere on me.”

“Yeah, well until you’re comfortable with it, maybe you should think of it like a movie. Pretend you’re Julia Roberts and I’m . . .”

“Brad Pitt,” I said.

“I always thought I was more Hugh Jackman.”

“He played Wolverine, right? No way. You’re definitely Brad Pitt.”

“Okay, screw it, I’m Brad Pitt. Can you go with that?”

“Maybe.” I cut my eyes to Diesel. “So you’re taking me somewhere to help you search for something. This search isn’t illegal, is it?”

“Not by my standards.”

“Oh great. What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the ends justifies the means.”

We were within walking distance of the bakery, but unlike the area around the bakery, this part of Salem was mostly newer brick buildings built for commercial use. The street was wide. The sidewalk was unadorned by trees. It was a patch of Salem that felt almost normal, untouched by ads for Frankenstein’s Laboratory, the 40 Whacks Museum, The Witches Cottage, The Nightmare Factory.

Salem was founded in the early 1600s and at one time was the sixth-largest city in the country and a thriving seaport. The Salem witch trials took place in 1692, and when Salem lost its prominence as a shipping and manufacturing center centuries later, it remained famous for one of the more bizarre episodes in American history. American ingenuity and the New England spirit of use-what-you-have-on-hand have turned Salem’s infamous history into a thriving tourist business. The resulting prosperity has also brought traffic, hordes of sidewalk-clogging pedestrians, and the largest collection of weirdos living in a small-town environment east of the Mississippi.

The light went green, Diesel motored down one block and parked across the street from a three-story brick apartment building. We left Glo in the car, and Diesel and I entered the building. We took the elevator to the second floor, and I followed Diesel down the hall to apartment 2C. Hard to tell why I was going along with this. Probably, it was in the vicinity of morbid curiosity, like stopping to see a train wreck.