by Carla Rehse
The answers I needed were in his cabin. I just needed to find them.
EIGHTEEN
Sometimes ya just need to chill
The aroma of sautéing onions and garlic set my mouth watering as Lawson and I entered the cabin.
This place had been my second home as a teen. Mama had issues with that, and on more than one occasion had gotten into a screaming match with Mack. Which then caused problems between her and me. Now as a mother, I understood her concern. A teenage girl hanging out with a middle-aged man with a sketchy reputation? Yeah, I wouldn’t have been pleased either. Not that Mack ever crossed a line with me. I never did apologize to Mama for all the stress I caused her.
The hundred-year-old cabin had been designed as the ultimate in open concept and boasted red cedar logs that had aged to a dull silvery gray. The large living area had a small kitchenette set up to the left with a sleeping cot in the back. There were two doors to the right—one for the bathroom and one that opened to the basement stairs. In the middle of the room, three ancient but comfy sofas formed a U-shape. Like most humans in boundary towns, Mack had little use for extra possessions. That meant the only decoration in the entire place was an eight-by-ten unframed photo of Lawson and me at the start of our senior year. It had been pinned crookedly to the wall next to the cot.
Luna, standing in front of the decades-old two-burner hot plate, waved her spatula, splashing red sauce everywhere. “Gatekeeper. Um, Everly. Seraph Sebastian brought us supplies. We’re making spaghetti!”
Chase stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Shirtless and wearing clean, baggy jeans, he had a bright-orange towel wrapped around his hair. “The Seraph also brought our bags so we can clean up.”
“Anyone know how to do this? Saints, I miss my electric bottle opener.” Janice, near the eight-chair dining table, had a Swiss Army knife corkscrew stuck in the cork of a bottle of cheap white wine. “I’m just ripping off bits of cork.”
My eyes burned with the promise of tears. “Everyone’s okay?”
Lawson squeezed my shoulder. “Why don’t you shower next? Thanks to Mack’s spell, the hot water never runs out. You know, actually everything’s in amazing condition, especially since no one has lived here for decades.”
“Sounds great.” I hurried away without waiting for his reply, scooping my beat-up backpack from a table next to the nearest sofa.
While I knew it hadn’t been real, the memory of the ghoul attack still rattled me. And how long had I spent outside, under attack, opening, then closing the Gate, and speaking with Mack? If I really did speak with him. Could that have been a false memory? Though Sebastian and Zim acknowledged I opened the Gate, and Mack was after that, so—Saints alive, my head hurt from all the maybes and maybe nots.
Inside the bathroom, I turned the lock with my back against the door. The room hadn’t changed. It had been done up in a rustic farmhouse theme long before that had been a thing.
Mack, the trendsetter.
Rusty corrugated metal lined the walls, with a white enamel sink from the 1920s. The shower was actually a cast-iron bathtub with a shower nozzle on a hook. A couple hours ago, I would’ve wondered why the place was so clean, but Bwbach were fastidious beings and would’ve kept things tidy. Speaking of the Bwbach, I needed to figure out where they were. My best guess would be the basement. How they survived all these years was just another thing to add to my list of questions. If, of course, I really had spoken with Mack.
Someone had left little bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash in a lime/coconut scent on the side of the tub. Janice, I’d bet. She seemed the type to pack basic hygiene supplies. Luna would’ve dumped them to make more room for hand grenades and throwing darts. Neither Chase nor Lawson struck me as the fruity soap type. They’d probably lean more toward a woodsy scent. And then there was me, continuing the day’s theme of unpreparedness, who had no hygiene supplies on hand as I left all of that in my truck. Which I couldn’t get to. Good thing this wasn’t a reality TV show as I would’ve already been booted off the island.
Luckily, I did have a change of clothes in my bag. My hand shook as I turned the hot-water handle. Instantly, steamy goodness streamed down in a blistering geyser. A small blessing in a train wreck kinda day.
Exhaustion hit me as I stepped into the tub. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been so drained. No. That wasn’t true. The memory of the week before Sadie turned four months old slammed into me.
An outbreak of respiratory syncytial virus, RSV, had swept through her daycare, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. In my puny defense, this was before the age of smartphones and social media and endless medical warnings on the internet. And I worked full-time at Mike’s clinic with a baby, so watching the nightly news was low on my priority list.
I was also young and assumed a case of the sniffles was a fact of life for all little kids. Sadie might’ve been born three weeks early, but she seemed so strong. Or so I thought until she began wheezing and her lips turned blue.
Mike had driven to a chiropractic conference in Florida, leaving me without a car. And we’d only lived in the area for a month, so I had no friends to call for help. Houston might have a hospital on every street corner, but the wait for the ambulance took an eternity.
I will never forget the sharp smell of the disinfectant in the room. Or the echoing beep beep beep of the machines surrounding my poor baby girl. Her fists curling and uncurling. Her struggles to breathe. Her weakening cries.
Though the nurses kept encouraging me to go home, I stayed by Sadie’s hospital crib for four days until she pulled through. I survived physically on five-minute catnaps, strong coffee, and sugar. I survived mentally on dumb stubbornness.
The doctors didn’t think she’d make it. I could tell from the pinched expressions on their faces. But I kept telling Sadie over and over how strong she was and how she had the will to beat anything. I wouldn’t let her see any other side of me. See the moments when I fled to the bathroom, to the stall I curled up in and wailed in. The moments when the despair flooded me, choked me, drowned me.
Tears filled my eyes as I shuddered against the remembered terror. Each time, I’d surfaced from that flood of pain and despair, even though I’d been so scared, felt powerless.
Felt Impotent. Alone.
I waited too long to take my baby girl to the doctor. I had nearly lost her.
Did I screw up again by coming here? Did letting the angels guard Sadie pull her into this world? Had my decisions this week finally killed her? As soon as I started scrubbing the shampoo through my hair, I broke down into choking sobs. Shampoo stung my eyes, and when I tried to rinse my face, I gagged on a mouthful of water. I leaned my forehead against the wall and gave into the tears until I began hiccupping.
I always hated crying and how vulnerable it made me feel. Even worse was the idea of someone hearing me. Shower time had always been my personal time to let my guard down. The Saints knew I’d taken enough lately whenever my almost-ex was around.
Not surprisingly, the pain and stress over the debacle of my marriage had finally faded to the back burner. Too much else had happened. Nothing like Hell literally opening around you to offer perspective.
Had I really opened the Gate? That sounded unreal even in my head. The power had been amazing. Frightening. Overwhelming. Something I hoped I’d never have to do again. Especially since I had no earthly idea how I opened or closed it. I was basically a toddler running around with a sharp sword. Not only did I stand a huge chance of hurting myself, but no one around me was safe either. And none of this had helped me find Sadie.
I really needed Nevaeh to get her shit together so she could train me properly. Then I remembered my conversation with Mack. Screw it. I’d figure this out myself.
Tears fell again, though I couldn’t rightly say why. Chalk it up to stress, low blood sugar, or hormones. Grief for Mama. Anger and frustration for Sadie. Might as well throw in angels who felt the need to keep secrets and
not explain themselves no matter how dire things were. Oh, plus demons. They were always convenient to blame for any misfortunes.
I cut my shower short, as I knew if I fell completely apart, there wasn’t enough duct tape in the world to patch me up again.
Dressed in my favorite yoga pants and an old, snarky t-shirt, I felt better. More Softball Mom, less Vampire Hunter. Because I really was the former, rather than the latter. Wasn’t I? Could a person be both? Did I want to be both? How, at forty-five f-bomb years old, could I still not know what I wanted to be when I grew up?
I had a bad feeling that my picture was plastered under “hot mess” in the dictionary. And it was most likely a photo of me having a really bad hair day, wearing a stained shirt with toilet paper stuck to my shoe.
Telling myself that while things were tough at the moment I still had to forge ahead seemed cruel, but accurate. Time for action, not emotion. And I could do that. Over a lifetime, I’d developed the ability to compartmentalize my feelings. Maybe I wasn’t the Hunter that I should’ve been, but I was no longer Softball Mom either.
The disc in my wrist tingled and coldness settled into my soul. The desire to cry fled, replaced with a slow, burning anger. Vengeance suited me. Someone was gonna pay for what they took from me.
“Everly!” Lawson yelled through the bathroom door. “Soup’s on.”
I stepped into the living area. “Soup? Spaghetti soup?”
“Ha, ha,” he said. “Cute shirt.”
A blush warmed my cheeks. I didn’t even try to lie to myself it was anything else. Not that it would be anything else. Though he would always hold a place in my heart, Lawson was a complication I didn’t have time for. No matter how tingly he made certain body parts that had no business getting tingly. Sure, it was rather egotistical to assume he wanted a relationship, but it felt better having it settled in my head. Now I could have a nice, normal conversation with him.
“I spoke to Mack, and he said the Bwbach in his basement will help. At least I think it’s in the basement.”
Lawson dropped the plate he was holding. “What?”
I bit back a groan. Great. What a nice and normal way to spill the beans, Everly. “Um, Bwbach. Brownies from Wales? Kinda like pixies but not as friendly and wingless? Not the ones made from chocolatey goodness, though I really wish I had one right now.”
“Bwbach are illegal in the States,” Janice said.
I scowled at her. “What’s the Celestial Governing Body gonna do? Resurrect Mack and kill him again?”
Luna raised her hand. “Actually, Gatekeeper, a necromancer could …” She trailed off as everyone stared at her.
“Mack collected all kinds of stuff on everything to do with the otherworlds,” I said. “But for all of his talents, his organizational skills sucked.”
Lawson snickered. “I can attest to that.”
Janice frowned. “So? What does that mean?”
I gave her a half grin. “His basement is at least twice the size of this cabin. Maybe even more. Everything is stored in boxes, which are piled up everywhere. It’s why I didn’t suggest coming here first. We need information on spells that use the Marked, but it’ll take us weeks to sort through all his crap. If the Bwbach agrees to help, it’ll take hours.”
Lawson rocked back in his chair. “The basement really is a disaster. At least the weapons are stored under the floorboards by the cot.”
Luna scanned the room uneasily. “Are you sure a Bwbach is here? After all this time?”
Chase nodded. “I can smell it. It’s faint up here. Stronger and fresher by the basement door.”
The knot between my shoulders loosened a little. One problem down. Now I just needed to convince it to help. “Let me talk with it, then I’ll eat.”
I moved to the basement door, and Lawson, Luna, and Chase followed like a magnet dragging metal. I shot them a disgruntled look. “What are ya doing?”
Lawson tapped the sword hanging at his side. “Do you really think we’re gonna let you go down there by yourself?”
“I’m fine with it.” Janice toasted me with her wine glass—a plastic cup filled to the brim with vino. “Though, not to go all Helicopter Mom on you, since the food’s ready, why not eat first?”
My stomach let out a grumble loud enough for all of Texas to hear. “All right.”
“Anyone else want wine?” Janice asked. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
Luna glanced at her watch. “It’s ten past five.”
I smothered a grin. “Good to know. Thanks.”
It was good to know. I had wasted too much time fighting off the ghouls. Time that I needed to search for the spell. For some way to save my baby girl. My appetite vanished, but the pragmatic in me knew I needed food. I hadn’t eaten all day.
We settled down at the table with mismatched plates and plastic glasses. Lawson, Luna, and Chase stuck to water, while I helped myself to a small glass of wine.
“Great spaghetti,” Chase said, with a splash of sauce on his chin.
Luna flushed bright red like only a natural-born blonde could. “Thanks! It’s from a jar, but I added veggies and stuff. Fresh mushrooms make the sauce!”
Janice carefully swirled noodles with her fork. “Alana always brags about your cooking.”
Luna glowered. “Yeah. ’Cause she wants me to focus on that instead of my ‘Hunter nonsense,’ as she puts it.”
“Sometimes parents make mistakes …” Janice trailed off, then took a large swig of wine.
A flash of guilt made my shoulders tighten, so I drank some wine also. Were you really a parent if you didn’t have some regret about how you screwed up somewhere and permanently messed up your kid? The only consolation I had was that Sadie had turned out okay, if one ignored that she didn’t have a problem with her father’s criminal inclinations.
Lawson shook his head. “Parenting is not for the faint of heart.”
“Or weak of stomach,” I piped in.
Chase shuddered. “I don’t wish to be a father for a very long time.”
Janice smirked. “Yeah, we noticed how serious you are about covering that issue. Gonna have to restock on safety things though.”
“‘It’s the responsibility of both parties to stay safe by keeping confusing feelings under control,’” I said in the snootiest tone I could manage.
Lawson and Janice burst out laughing, but Luna and Chase looked mightily confused.
“Principal Casta!” Lawson snorted. “Damn, I forgot about his two-second Sex Ed. talks.”
Chase tilted his head. “That was a talk about what?”
I swirled a strand of spaghetti on my fork. “The early 90s was a fun time of trying to warn everyone about HIV while not exposing ‘innocent children’ to anything sexual.”
Janice gave me a crooked smile. “Rumor is that you and Lawson had no problems figuring things out.”
A flush warmed my face as Luna frowned. “What are you insinuating? The Gatekeeper and Hunter Valencia were training partners under Master Hunter Mack Valencia. Everyone knows how great they were. Are!”
Janice waggled her eyebrows. “Oh yeah. They were partners all right.”
“We all know the Edict prohibits the Russos, Valencias, and Popas from intermarrying or breeding,” Lawson said with such a sharp edge to his voice that fur erupted on Chase’s hands and Luna’s eyes looked ready to pop out. Even Janice recoiled in her chair and splashed wine onto the floor. Maybe this wasn’t the time to get all over-sensitive, but did his tone mean he regretted our relationship? Ouch.
“Speaking of school, Janice,” I blurted out. “What about the time during the talent show when you fell off the stage while hitting the high note on that Whitney Houston song?”
Whether I meant to lower or raise the temperature, I wasn’t sure. From Janice’s expression, she didn’t seem sure either. Finally, she cleared her throat. “I nailed that high note like a boss!”
I smiled. “I’ll give you that. Chase, since we’re just
saying whatever at the supper table, could I ask you a rude question?”
He finished slurping down a noodle. “Of course. You are the Gatekeeper.”
I pointed at his now de-furred hands. “Does it hurt? When you change? I’ve always wanted to know.”
Chase shrugged. “It feels … not really pain … not like getting stabbed or punched. But the sensation is not exactly pleasant.”
Luna leaned toward him. “The Hellfire ignites cell reformation almost instantaneously, right? But the outward change happens first, then the inner reworking of nerves and such? I read Master Kopple’s book on it, and …” She trailed off when she realized everyone was staring at her.
Chase gave her a solemn nod. “Master Kopple is considered our most learned scientist, though many Shifters don’t trust weretigers. Or any of the were-felines. Too solitary.”
“That’s a tough book to read,” Lawson said. “I looked at the library’s copy once but got lost in the first paragraph. Too much technical medical jargon.”
“It’s just interesting. I like learning new stuff,” Luna said, blushing and glancing at Chase.
So, there was more to her than a diehard wannabe Hunter. “Good for you, Luna. I wish I was that balanced at your age. Knowledge is always good.”
“That depends on what that knowledge is used for.” Janice grimaced. “Sorry. I can’t keep Heather out of my mind. And the witch. I … just … after three miscarriages, I didn’t think I’d be able …. I’m angry. And scared.”
I was out of my chair and hugging her before I talked myself out of it. Knowing that fertility had plagued the Marked for centuries was one thing. Enduring it was another. I’d always wanted a little sister or brother for Sadie, but it hadn’t been in the cards.
Janice stiffened under my embrace, then relaxed and hugged me back. I returned to my chair feeling a bit shaky and empty, as if I’d been crying again. Lawson gave me a sad smile.
