Anyway, she seemed to live alone besides household help and her sickly aunt, Emmy, who lived downstairs and needed frequent doctor’s visits. The first break in a long stream of spaced-out entries of only a sentence or two came when she met a northerner named Mr. John Montgomery. He was there on official business, something to do with new laws or reunification, and deeply despised in the community, as were all his kind. Mr. Montgomery, however, seemed to be winning them over.
Claribel spoke of his “high morals in spite of his background” and his “gentlemanly behavior to all, right down to his horses and pet terrier.”
Before long, she had fallen for him and the young gentleman had proposed. Claribel devoted pages to the torment this left her in, knowing her father would be turning in his grave. But she loved John, needed him, and was finally able to admit this to herself.
They married in the spring and he became the new master of the elegant mansion on the lake, buying her brother’s interest outright in the property.
After this joyous time and change, the entries became brief and scattered once more.
“John has shown me love and kindness I did not know existed.”
“John has redeemed a nation and rekindled my belief in mankind.”
“Despite all that is lost, I have never been so happy. An hour with my beloved is a lifetime of bliss.”
“This is love. This is exquisite happiness. Together, we pray for a child.”
“Nightmares growing worse again. Some nights I fear to sleep at all.”
“We have lost Emmy, my dear friend and protector. John held me all night.”
“John’s headaches grow worse by the day. The doctor can do nothing.”
“Some days I see things that are not there, hear voices with no source, and even smell odors of another time and place. I wake in cold sweats and dare not complain while John grows more and more ill. Still no child. Please, God, won’t we be blessed with a family?”
“John is very ill, cannot sleep.”
“Please, Lord, protect him. Please save my beloved, my darling, my soul.”
There was not another entry for two years.
Then Claribel met Mr. Witworth. They married, eventually having three children. His health gradually declined. Shortly after his death, Wade came to the last entry, with many blank pages left in the book.
“There is a darkness closing in, a sense of falling day or night, a curse upon my bones which has taken my two husbands. I know it to be true, while I can yet find no salvation from doctor, pastor, or family. I turn to You, God. My first, as well as last hope. Take this blackness or take this life. I beg You, do not leave both intact.”
37
I had been trying to figure out ways or clues, or brainstorm ideas for coaxing and convincing Xaphan to finish crossing over and guide him away from here. Okay, I’d been out in the woods with a couple wolves, but part of the night and day I’d been trying to brainstorm. Until I’d put on someone else’s shoes. Now I didn’t care about solving anything or convincing anyone. I was banishing his ass. The parts I didn’t know and had never attempted, I would just have to figure out on the fly.
Wade was upset about the diary; tears in his eyes when he looked up from the last entry. Not me. I was so pissed off, I went storming around the house for bigger and better gear. I didn’t really know what my mom did with camphor and frankincense oil and cinnamon sticks with spirits, but I rounded them up. I didn’t know if my dad’s warded obsidian ring would really help like he’d claimed it did, but it wasn’t too loose on my middle finger and I put it on. I got out a duffel bag and loaded it with candles, incense, herbs, oils, stones, warded jewelry, a dozen of their crystals, and my mom’s hairbrush with her hair, her energy, still in it.
Then I stormed for the car to load up, so angry I literally couldn’t see straight, kicking the broken brick path and almost falling, not bothering about locking up or leaving lights on, having totally forgotten to give the cats supper. Ears ringing, hands shaking, jaw tight, I threw the bag in the back, fell into the driver’s seat, slammed the key into the ignition … and noticed Wade there by the driver’s door, saying something through the window.
He was wide-eyed, scared, waving at me, trying to get my attention.
Maybe he’d been speaking inside, trying to help, or asking what I was doing. Words just now catching my brain.
I shoved open the door.
Wade grabbed it. “Ripley? What are you doing? You’ve said we should go at night to get anything done.”
I squinted toward town. It was probably a couple hours before sunset: cicadas chattering, sun blasting, heat haze like a platter of soup on the horizon.
I looked around. Wade frowned, concerned. Gideon and Adam stood on the small front porch, watching with their heads cocked. They were pretty sure I wasn’t dream possessed right now, so what was I up to?
I gripped the wheel in both hands and stared ahead, eyes narrowed, imagining blowing up a ghost just like Wade could blow up heads.
“How about supper?” Adam called.
“Let us fix you a snack, then we get along to the farm early to get the others,” Gideon said. “Even an hour from now’ll be mighty early.”
“And maybe you can tell us the plan?” Wade added with a tentative smile.
“Why do you always think I have a plan?!” I didn’t mean to yell, but rounded on him with a full-on shout nonetheless.
Wade moved back.
“I don’t know what I’m doing!” I did know full well it wasn’t cool to yell at your friends or colleagues; I’d been raised better, yet I couldn’t stop. “It doesn’t matter anymore! I know some of what they did and used and I can jump for the rest! Why does everything need a plan? Sometimes you just need to move and get shit done! This is magic, not brain surgery!”
Wade had taken a few steps back by then, showing me his hands in an unconscious gesture of the sort one might offer an armed robber. Couldn’t he at least shout back?
I felt horrible—even more horrible and in a different way, that is. It was like kicking a puppy because your boyfriend dumps you.
The wolves, at least, didn’t seem at all perturbed. Gideon stood calmly, a patient look on his face. Adam’s expression was even more annoying, grinning at me with his arms crossed.
Yanking the keys free, I jumped out of the Volvo and slammed the door. I brushed past Wade on the brick path. He remained silent, only turning to follow me. I’d almost reached the steps, marching and glaring, the two wolves retreating before me and holding the door, when I whipped around.
Wade froze mid-step, drawing up his shoulders, braced for another explosion.
I rushed back to him and threw my arms around him, still furious. I held on tight, pressing my face into his shoulder.
“Sorry.” My voice was muffled. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He hesitated, then pressed my back with both hands.
I held on for several deep breaths before hurrying to look after the cats.
38
While they cooked, I lay flat on my bed instead of pacing around since my feet were tender. Olive joined me and, after a while of quiet, so did Chester. It was nice to see Chester. The orange tom was a butterball, a love of a cat, but so skittish it took him weeks to warm up to anyone new.
All the cats were rescues and some we didn’t know much about. Mouse had been dumped at a high-kill shelter at night, right before she had kittens. Blue had been found as a stray. We didn’t know what they had been through.
Not so with Chester. This terrified teddy bear of a cat had been rescued from a hoarding situation in southern Illinois. An old couple had nine dogs and over thirty cats in a double-wide until someone had finally called the cops about the smell. Terrified of basically everything, from people to wand toys to cat carriers, Chester’s hunger for affection had led him to make friends with Mom, then me, then Dad, and that was his limit. We’d had him for much of my teen years and he must be about ten now, with lingering
health complaints like one bad eye after an infection from that place, and a heart murmur that would never clear up.
When he jumped tentatively onto the bed, sniffing all the strange guy and canine smells, then made his way to climb onto my stomach and start purring, I was relieved to stroke him, finally starting to calm down. Olive, a tiny tuxedo, dwarfed by her brother Pickles, was never a lap-cat. She lay by my socked feet, meticulously washing her face with tongue and white paw.
Chester’s bulk spread comfortingly across my middle, soothing as his raspy purr. He was slightly fat, but mostly just a really big, heavy cat. Ironic since he was undoubtedly the bottom of the ladder when it came to kitty hierarchy. Mouse, the calico, ruled the roost. Everyone got out of Mouse’s way. Chester got out of everyone’s way.
You had to warm up Chester, no sudden movements, so I stroked him gently, running hand after hand down his back while I really just wanted to grab him and squeeze. Only Pickles and maybe Blue would put up with something like that. Once he had his eyes half-shut, big paws flexing in and out to knead my shirt, I could rub him more and he basked in attention after his self-imposed solitude.
Pale orange undercoat fairly exploded over my hands, clothes, and fresh bedspread. Chester would never tolerate being brushed so I scrubbed away with my fingers, getting out mounds of loose hair in the warm room while Chester purred and I stared at the ceiling, trying very hard to think about cats. Think about cats and not being left alone by parents who were the professionals to sort this out. Not about being unable to pay anyone. Not about sunset. Not about demons.
Chester was drooling, his eyes closed, when Wade called up the stairs. “Ripley? How about supper?”
I could smell it. Something had been in the oven, but I couldn’t pin it down. The guys had bought loads of food yesterday. Then Wade had brought in backpack, laptop, and sack of groceries from home.
I really, really hoped they hadn’t cooked another nice meal. I’d already said I wasn’t hungry.
At the sound of his voice, Chester tensed, purr switched off. He darted a glance to the door, then, trying to be stealthy as he cast out clouds of loosened fur behind him, he slunk to the edge of the bed, jumped over, and vanished underneath.
I sighed, trying not to be irritated with Wade. Just think of cats. What was I going to do with six cats? Casper might yet be adopted. He’d only been here a few weeks. So five cats. Great. No vet bills at all. Only five cats.
But how was I supposed to do this work if I got a soul-crushing day-job in Atlanta? Up with an alarm, drive for two hours each day, get home at suppertime, then go back out and clean houses each night?
Well … at least I’d managed to distract myself.
By the time I reached the first floor, I wasn’t thinking about demons or cats anymore. But I was feeling rather sick to my stomach.
The three guys were in the kitchen filling plates, which gave me a twinge as I realized I missed Vel. In a furry form anyway, not with thumbs and words at his disposal. Then I remembered I’d bought him four sandwiches and sides earlier. Not gulping the quantities that the wolves did, he was probably still working on them. Maybe he buried two for later?
It was funny; when they were in skin they seemed canine, yet when they were in fur they seemed human. They were always in between, no matter the physical form. A field biologist/anthropologist could devote a lifetime to studying this particular enigma.
I was relieved to discover Wade had not made cornbread and catfish for me. He’d thrown together a pasta primavera with tomatoes and zucchini that he’d plucked out of the garden. Gideon had baked parmesan-crusted chicken breasts.
I still wasn’t hungry, but felt bad about being pissy and knew we might have a long night ahead. I accepted a plate from Wade and joined them to sit at the table, where red roses and yellow carnations served as a cheerful centerpiece for a sawhorse and board table in the middle of a room of half-stripped wallpaper and no other furnishing besides mismatched chairs.
They were my guests and I needed to contribute, say something, do something—entertain. I just couldn’t, mind going off in different directions.
What had been the secret from my parents that I’d forgotten? Why was something the demon had said about the curse nagging me? Children and animals seeing ghosts? What about that kept buzzing at my ear? Mostly, though, the diary and my help to confront what came next.
We were quiet. Just a few words about the food, Wade asking if I minded if they used the garden. I told him please, I’d been neglecting it, but there were many vegetables out there. Even the melons were coming in. Then Gideon told Adam not to forget his clothes out in the field when we got to the house, that we would be there before dark anyway. I told Gideon to ride with me.
“Wade? Why don’t you bring your car?” I asked. “That way we only need one wolf in skin and two people able to drive when we leave. Those motorcycles are kind of limiting.”
“Sure,” Wade said, “and let’s turn them around.”
“Turn them around? Oh … a quick getaway. Good idea.”
Mostly, though, we were quiet. While something that wasn’t my curse or the diary or even tonight kept intruding most of all.
As soon as I finished my small serving and half a beer that I shared with Wade—shouldn’t drink before a house—I stood up. “I’ll be right back.” Hoping they would take the hint and not leave the table, I hurried upstairs.
On the bookshelf in my parents’ room, I pulled down a vintage and very worn copy of Millions of Cats from two childhoods and flipped open the front cover. There was an unmarked white envelope. With the sinking sun streaming through the window at a sharp angle, I turned my back on the door, as if to keep the secret, and opened it. Five $100 bills. Mom’s rainy-day money, in case of surprises, treats, gifts, or emergencies. I was afraid it might be just a couple hundred, but no, three and better, a little emergency leftover.
I sucked in a breath through my mouth as I took three of the bills and put the envelope back in the book, then the book on the shelf.
My throat felt tight, messing with her stuff, taking a bit of her. But I didn’t know what else to do, and I had to do something.
My palms were sweating by the time I got back to the dining room. The wolves had second servings, taking most of my share, and had sat back down. Wade watched me and they paused, looking up from inhaling more pasta and chicken.
I put a bill on the table in front of Wade and slid the other two across to Gideon and Adam. “For last night. I didn’t really think through how I was going to pay for help before I ran that ad. I’ll figure something out. Sometimes a job pays from the homeowner, so that’ll be fine. And … I guess we’ll have to talk about what a night is worth and how long you all want to do the work. So, just for right now, good faith and … um … yeah. Thank you.” I chewed my lip—no idea why I felt like bursting into tears.
They were all looking at me, Wade surprised and Gideon thoughtful. I wasn’t sure about Adam’s expression.
“We’ve time,” Gideon said. “Figured we’d need a motel down here, or staying out somewhere in fur. We’ll do all in our power to clear undead from country areas, working as a pack just makes it easier.” He smiled a little. “And more enjoyable.”
“They ain’t pining for us at home yet,” Adam said. “We’re proud to keep long gaits and get the work done. Only”—giving me a suddenly stern look—“be right good of you to pay the board bill.”
“You mean … you’ll work for food and a room? Because I’ll totally cover the groceries.” My face burned, fingers twisting around each other as I wanted to chew my nails.
“You cover expenses and give us a place to stay and we’re okay here for a while,” Gideon said. “Might ought to use your phone to check in at home. But your human friend seems to be in more of a bind. I gather he just lost a job and has rent to pay. Be best for all involved if you scare up a couple of the paid sort of ghost hunts.”
“I will,” I said quickly, glancing down at W
ade while I stood at his side of the table and they all remained seated. “That’s just for now. I’ll pay you something. Only … you should know that I’m not totally sure how yet… I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to head for the hills at this point.”
Wade lifted the crisp bill. “I’m not sure how you’re counting time, Ripley, but this is over fifty dollars an hour if you’re talking time spent on location.”
“Was that it? God … I felt like we were there all night.”
“In your dreams.” Adam grinned at his own wit.
“You’ve put in hours and hours in research and that diary and … saving me from myself.”
“Well, we’re square,” Wade said. “We can talk about it later. Sounds like you’re just now trying to pick up pieces from the business.”
“Which includes getting in touch with their paying clients.” I nodded. “I’m working on that. I have a document with contacts. Go ahead—sorry. Finish eating.” Backing away, flapping a feeble hand at them to continue. “I’ll just … go get ready. Thank you…” I fled.
39
The sun had just perched on the horizon, down the long end of the lake, when we had the cars turned around and Adam’s clothes gathered from the field. The house was undisturbed, door shut, all simply old and tired and abandoned, with peeling paint and sun-bleached wood visible around cracked windows.
I showed Wade the gear I’d gathered and quickly explained my plan in an undertone as we leaned into the back of my car, the others ready to go in. Fulco, angry about being dragged from home in daylight, lurked in shade at the corner of the house, holding a sunhat I’d found for him under the seat.
House of Chaos Page 14
