Deceptive Dime Store Demons, page 10
The ultimate humiliation.
Maybe I should suggest a less touchy movie if we watched another one?
The credits rolled, and I should’ve smiled thinking of Blane and Andie’s happily ever after, but I couldn’t help stealing a glance at Erica. To my surprise, she had a blissful smile on her face. She even hugged one of the sofa pillows to her chest and grinned at Aggie.
“I could watch that movie over and over again,” she purred. “I do wish Andie would’ve chosen Duckie, but I can understand why she fell in love with Blane.”
“I still believe breakfast is better than boys,” Aggie replied with a snort, “but I’d fall for Blane, too.”
“He’s everything and more,” Erica agreed. “What do you think, Nat?”
Her genuine question made me smile. “What girl doesn’t want a happily ever after?”
Next, Aggie popped in Fight Club, and I laughed. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about this one.
“No more romance?” I asked.
“A girl ends up with a dude with a multiple personality disorder,” Aggie explained. “Sounds like a romance to me.”
I laughed. “I don’t know if I’d want to hook up with a man who started a revolution and made soap from medical waste.”
“I agree with Nat,” Erica said. “That’s really nasty.”
Aggie stuck her tongue at us as we cackled. It was nice to be like this. If Erica had raised the white flag of surrender, maybe I needed to think about using mine too.
Chapter 13
After my fruitless search for the whistle yesterday, I couldn’t help but feel frustrated. If Lady Ophelia had kept it safe in her hotel room instead of strolling around Central Park with it, we wouldn’t have to deal with the leprechauns in the first place.
At least I hadn’t left Seamus’s shop empty-handed. Now I had a potential gift for Farley.
And to start my Sunday morning off right, I woke up to a silent house. Perhaps Farley had had a late movie marathon of Henry Fonda westerns, or he’d decided to get a good night’s sleep for once. I finally had time to contemplate the missing whistle and the creatures that killed the night guard.
Long before I woke up, Nick had shot me a text with a kind offer to search again today, but I declined. Having that poor wizard follow me around didn’t feel like a good use of his spare time. I wanted him to visit the clinic more often.
I’ll text you every day until you send me a selfie of you in front of the clinic, I’d replied to him. If you don’t send me a pic in a day or two, we might need to take another field trip again.
My reply came quickly. That’s fine.
A win for the wolf, I say.
After dealing with Nick, I needed to figure out how to give Farley his gift. A part of me wanted to go all out and wrap up the damn thing using my egregious stash of holiday-oriented wrapping paper, but a man like him would probably mock my efforts.
I sighed. Why should I make all these plans when he might not care? I shoved my darkening mood aside and decided to get dressed. I had a world of garage sales to conquer, and on a gorgeous Sunday like today, plenty of them called my name. At every house, the owners would greet me with a grin, their tables and shelves filled with unwanted goodies. I’d gratefully rescue their grandmother’s glass ornaments from the sixties, snag a perfect pair of baby overalls (for little Sveta), and I even tucked away a beautiful Christmas red KitchenAid mixer. And it didn’t matter that I already had one.
Someday I might need to use both, right?
Once I gave in to my shopping urges and visited all the garage sales in the area, I surrendered to my next fix: to check in at The Bends to see what messes the staff had left me to clean up.
Only two hours had passed since the thrift store opened, but The Bends’ parking lot, nestled between my workplace and another flea market, was full. Which meant I’d have plenty to do. From the lot, I walked past an outdoor shopping area filled with rows of tables. Everything appeared fine, other than stock tossed about, but I’d deal with that later. I headed inside to find customers, both human and supernatural of all shapes and sizes, browsing throughout the store. Instead of checking on them, I made a beeline for the double doors leading to the back office.
As I’d hoped, I spotted a tall, thin man with wire-framed glasses sitting behind one of the work desks. He had a pile of pending invoices right in front of him, but he probably hadn’t processed a single one. My goblin boss Bill might own the place, but I did most of the heavy lifting. Thanks to his enchantments, I could see through my customers’ glamours and not fall for their simple attempts to mess with my head. Unfortunately, I could see through a weaker goblin’s glamour, and I’d glimpsed Bill’s true form. And he wasn’t pretty. Nowadays, my boss strengthened his masking spell, and I appreciated the gesture.
“What are you doing here?” He pushed his glasses up. “Couldn’t get enough of selling?” He flashed a smile. “I won’t hold you back, but if you want to work here and at the demon’s mart, I’m not paying you.”
My smile died. Of course he wouldn’t.
I told him what went down at Mademoiselle Midnight’s, from the deadly creatures that lurked in town to, finally, my time in Brooklyn searching for the missing whistle.
“Damn, that sucks.” He appeared thoughtful. “I wondered why The Bends keeps acting jittery at night.”
“Have you, or the building itself, seen anything weird around here?”
“You mean other than Mrs. Kite’s new girdle? That harpy keeps trying to stuff her birdie backside into that thing, and it isn’t working.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m searching for two perpetrators. After I trailed after them that night, one of them burned me somehow. If that threat is still out there, I need to know what I’m facing.”
“I haven’t seen anything,” Bill admitted. “But something is out there.”
I sighed then snatched up the stack of invoices and sat at the opposite desk. Might as well relieve a little stress doing what I did best: keeping this place from going under.
I was halfway through the stack when I turned to see Bill standing beside me.
Did I do something wrong?
“You do plan to go back, don’t you?” He sucked in a deep breath. “I have an agreement with Kramkar and the demons, and I’d rather not back out on it.”
Was Bill fearful for once?
“I can’t go back until I find the whistle,” I said. “The night demon told me she’d filet me five ways from Sunday.”
He nodded, and I paused my work to peer harder at him. Did that sneaky goblin know more about those demons?
“What do you know about Mademoiselle Midnight?” I asked. “If the pack has to make a final stand against her, I want to know any detail that might help.”
He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “There’re some things even a goblin doesn’t fuck with, and demons are one of them. If I was ever trapped, I’d gnaw my leg and arm off to get away. Ever since the Dark Ages, I’ve only run into a handful of them. They’re a secretive lot, dealing with old elemental magic.” His gaze fixed on the opposite side of the room as if he remembered the past. “Now that I think about it, right outside of Düsseldorf, I discovered Mimi and Dayla’s little shop. Those ladies are quite the peculiar pair.”
Wow, how old were they?
Bill continued. “I only saw Dayla during the daytime, while Mademoiselle Midnight moved about at night. While they sold their wares, they fed.”
“Fed on what?”
He rolled his eyes. “Off the sun. Or the moon. Deep mystical shit like that. I just know light and dark are involved, but they also must feed off each other, as they grow weaker when they sleep. There’s more to it than that, but that’s too deep of a conversation for someone simple like me.”
I recalled how Mimi mentioned she’d constructed her night guard from “night things.” Did that mean she drew strength from the night to manipulate matter? And how could I use this information to defend the pack? I had no idea, but if one demon had to feed the other, they potentially had a weak point. As to how I’d exploit it if the moment arose, I didn’t want to find out.
“I know that look,” Bill said sternly. “You’re thinking too much. You need to do your job and leave them alone. Demons are a dangerous lot.” He scratched the top of his head. “The werewolves never have talked about it, but before you were born, demons rolled through here.”
Now that caught my attention. “What happened?”
“Strange things went down. Crime went up. A missing kid or two sparked a lot of fear. Farley was a newly minted pack leader back then. At first, he approached the other supernaturals—me included. Usually, he respected us and let us do business as long as we didn’t screw over the locals.”
Bill got quiet. I’d never heard him speak like this. “When he figured out a bunch of demons were behind the crime in the area, I heard he met them and brokered a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I don’t know, but I’d say he was clever. He didn’t even need the pack, either. The next morning, the demons left, and he still had both arms and legs. Not long after that, he met Pearl and settled down a happy man.”
After everything I’d gone through with Farley, it was good to hear he hadn’t always been so bitter. Maybe someday I’d meet the brave leader who stood up to the demons and walked out alive to tell his tale.
Chapter 14
I wasn’t sure if a miracle had occurred, but I returned to an empty house that afternoon. I could practically bathe in the ambiance. Not a single gunshot or horse stampede in sight. Glorious.
Thorn hadn’t told me the Granthams had planned an outing, so I shot him a quick text: Everything okay with Farley?
Since I had the entire house to myself, I turned into a whirlwind and jumped from one cleaning task to another. While I vacuumed around the La-Z-Boy, yet again, I got a reply: We’re out shopping for supplies. Be back in a couple hours.
The tension in my shoulders eased a bit. Thank goodness I didn’t need to rush. I needed time to myself to find a happy medium, especially if this arrangement became a long-term deal. Suddenly, all the empty rooms at my old house came to mind. Not too long ago, I’d given the walls a fresh coat of paint and covered the furniture with cloths to keep the pests and dust mites at bay. Maybe if I broached the subject of Farley and Will staying there with Thorn, I couldn’t walk away from the idea—no matter how badly Farley treated me.
I went about my chores, scrubbing down every surface from the kitchen to the bathrooms. Eventually, I drifted to Farley’s room, where I found all sorts of treasures. I counted three discarded shirts and a couple Fritos snack bags he’d snuck in here. He’d left both of the lamps in the room turned on, too. Farley had left the bed unmade—which I didn’t mind. Why bother making it look nice when hours later you planned to sleep in it again? (I still made my bed, though.) While mumbling curses, I threw away the bunched-up tissues next to the bed.
Then I realized Farley hadn’t complained about his chest cold lately.
Briefly, I stared at the small pile, and Farley’s grief settled into me. Every day he lived in a room without family photos, his familiar bedspread, or the lingering scent of old cedar from the Grantham cabin. I had sparsely decorated this room with a vase, a couple of framed forest landscapes, and not much else. To him, this space was simply a hotel room.
How could I change that? The mementos from the cabin came to mind. I searched through the room, checking along the far wall until I spotted the plastic bin Will had carried inside. Farley had left a couple of Thorn’s T-shirts on top of the box, so I missed it. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve ignored the container, but who couldn’t look when the lid was slightly off?
I ambled over. What had Will rescued? At the top of the pile, I retrieved an 8x10 picture in a whiskey barrel wooden frame. The frame should’ve carried the scent of every person who touched it, but the fire had rubbed those memories away. I peered at a photo of the smiling Grantham family right outside of their cabin. An eight- or ten-year-old Thorn waved at the camera while a younger Farley rested on a canary-yellow lawn chair. Young Will stood there grinning as smoke rose off a nearby grill. What made me stare longer was the beaming woman sitting next to Farley. It was Thorn’s mother, Pearl. How beautiful she was. I could see Thorn’s heartfelt smile in hers. She had an angelic, yet mesmerizing shine to her brown eyes. Pearl held a thick paperback near her face, but she must’ve paused to smile at the camera.
“Nice to see you again, Pearl,” I said softly.
Underneath the first photos, I discovered many more. One featured an infant-age Thorn resting his head against his mother’s chest while she cradled him close. Just looking at her photo reminded me of the few times I saw her at pack gatherings, since we’d never spoken to each other, and I regretted that. At least I had memories of her. She had a soft laugh and often hummed a little song while she fussed over her boys. Pearl Grantham even played cards with my uncles and won a hand or two. My heart hurt to see Farley smiling. He’d sat with the Stravinskys and broken bread with us.
Which meant the Farley I saw today wasn’t the same man from back then.
I sighed. Time to put these photos where they belonged: out where we could admire them. First things first, I had to tackle the damage from the fire. Smoke and soot tended to stain and discolor photos. The sooner I cleaned them, the better. I fetched a bucket with my cotton cloth, glass cleaner, and oil soap. As I worked, I hoped Pearl would appreciate the care I used to remove the smudges and smears from every crack and crease. Broken frames got a staple or two to reinforce the weak points. Once I was pleased with my restoration handiwork, I arranged the photos on the dresser and the end table next to the bed.
“You have a beautiful family, Pearl,” I said.
There were a few items left in the bin, so I organized those too. Might as well do what I could before Farley returned. At the bottom, I discovered a cigar box with a single photo tucked inside. I smiled at the picture of Pearl sitting in the cabin living room in front of their fireplace. On the mantel behind her, I spied a row of beautifully carved wolf figurines. As an antiquarian, I’d sold many a carving, but I’d never seen these before. The carver had meticulously crafted pieces with expressive eyes, pert ears, and thick tails. Had Pearl carved these herself, or had Farley made them? Maybe they’d purchased them somewhere?
I used my cell to take a picture of the photo and returned the keepsake to its original hiding place. As I left the room, I considered the gun I planned to wrap tonight. Would he accept it with an open heart, or did I need to find something else? Another idea came to mind, and I couldn’t contain my excitement. Would Farley like one of these figurines if I found the manufacturer?
After cleaning the house, I had little energy for much else, but a predator potentially lurked around town. And that meant I had to participate in pack patrols.
“What time is everyone meeting up?” I asked Thorn while I prepared spicy enchiladas for dinner. After Thorn and his family returned with their purchases, my mate and I had gathered in the kitchen to figure out our plans for the evening.
“Everyone needs a break.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to think about the whistle or that thing—”
“But what if someone buys it?” I asked. “In a place like New York, what can go wrong will go wrong.”
His face reflected the confidence I needed. “Then we’ll face the consequences together.”
I still itched to search for the whistle tonight. “What if we had a date night in the city?”
That got a grin out of him. “And I’m sure this date night includes visiting pawn shops?”
“Not necessarily, but if we ate at this one Italian spot in Queens, we could hit four pawn shops nearby. They’ve got this ah-mazing chestnut tortelli dish.”
“Uh-huh.”
“A garlic-and-chile-suffused angel-hair pasta worth shaving your head to eat.”
Thorn laughed and drew me into his arms. I rested my cheek against his heart. Feeling his steady heartbeat thrum against my face sounded better than any jazz music I’d ever heard.
“So, I can’t entice you with their world-renowned lasagna made by the owner’s grandma from Sicily?” I whispered.
“I’m sure it’s amazing, but we could save some gas and stay home,” he murmured against my head. “I could hunt for that ticklish spot on your inner thigh—”
The TV volume in the living room abruptly rose.
“Could you at least do that after I go to sleep?” Will called out from the living room.
“Should I shout it out, then?” Thorn replied. Werewolf hearing in this house made privacy a moot point.
“Hell no,” Will said.
Thorn kissed my neck, eliciting a squeal from me.
“I need to find us a place to live, Dad,” Will said.
Thorn’s smirk and darkened hazel eyes promised he wouldn’t behave tonight. I ran my hands down his back, tracing my fingers along his hard muscles. Having his body pressed against mine left me urgent with need. In particular, a need for him to take me into the bedroom and make me forget about the whistle, demons, and anything else that plagued our town. Thorn kissed me again, and I couldn’t hold back my pleased hum. I would’ve gladly forgotten the dish of enchiladas I was preparing if we hadn’t heard a hard knock on the front door. Thorn’s head rose.
“I’ll get it.” The heavy footfalls of Will’s footsteps reached the front door.
Moments later, I was surprised to see Rex striding into the kitchen. The concerned expression on his face drew Thorn and I apart.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” I asked Rex.
“We found a body at the butcher shop,” Rex said. “It was one of us this time.”
Chapter 15
