by Sara Hanover
“What?”
“Did I wake you?”
My hair stood on end, my pajamas twisted about my body, and my chin still had sleep drool on it. “Seriously?”
“It wasn’t my idea.” He shuffled from one sneakered foot to the other. “Honestly, the professor knocked and then just left me standing here.”
“And you let him get away with it. Why are you here?”
“It’s time to take care of Mrs. Sherman.”
I scrubbed my eyes to clear them. “I am hoping you’re not thinking about rubbing her out.”
“I . . . don’t think so. He usually doesn’t have malicious thoughts about ordinary people.”
“Fine. I’ll shower and get dressed. You go downstairs, quietly, and make some coffee.” I started to close my bedroom door and then stopped. “Both of you know how to do that, right?”
“Yes.”
I shut the door. The professor might have popped back in as soon as I did because I heard a snarl or two at the tell-tales in the hallway before the stair steps creaked lightly. By the time I was pulling my damp hair back in a ponytail and shoving my toes into a pair of clean jeans, I could smell the coffee. Tea is great and I love it, but sometimes what the gut needs is a hearty kick, and I definitely needed one this morning.
Brian’s body had mugs, sugar bowl, and the creamer lined up at the kitchen sink as the coffee maker settled into rest, its work done for the day. I looked at it.
“Lucky you. Your day is finished.”
“You’re not talking to the coffee maker.”
“I am, and in sheer envy.” I muffled a yawn while stirring the fixings into my mug and stopped when I caught sight of the clock. I counted up. That made all of four hours of sleep. “Seven-ten AM? Good god, Professor.”
“I thought it best to catch her before she went out for the day.”
“What are we doing? Digging a lion pit in the front yard?”
“You are cranky. Drink your coffee.”
I took a long, hot, gulp. It didn’t chase away the mean feeling coursing through my body. “I think you’re still in trouble.”
“Maybe. But this way she gets her remedy and has the whole day ahead of her, feeling radiant and relieved. She seems a naturally pleasant woman, unlike some others I could reference.”
I shook a finger at him. “Better make sure some of that remedy, whatever it is, is left over so I can ‘feel radiant.’”
The professor smiled behind his coffee mug. “I don’t think I made it strong enough for that.”
“Damn right.” I finished my drink and poured half a cup, straight and black, into a paper container. “Let’s go.”
He paused by the row of hats, hoodies, and hanging car keys. “Aren’t you driving?”
I looked him up and down. “You want that body to stay toned? Then you’d better start walking.”
We didn’t talk, but half a block from her little house, I realized that, over the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, I could smell redwood, pine, juniper, and cinnamon. The pockets of Brian’s jacket bulged slightly, and I knew that Steptoe had been onto something. Whether it was the stuff phoenix rituals or dreams were made of, I didn’t know, but I could be fairly sure I wouldn’t get a straight answer if I asked. That made me ponder if our demon friend could be right. Why hadn’t he told me he’d come this far? Was Brandard too cowardly to finish what we had started?
I could understand, but he’d been doggedly determined a few months ago. Had he been compelled rather than motivated? There didn’t seem to be a way for me to know. I might be a so-called sorceress now, but I had no idea how that worked or what I could do with it, other than defending myself now and then and—after the casino heist—not even when it counted. Study seemed in line, but no one really wanted to step up. Remy had been a sorceress and desperate enough at what she did to get tangled up with several different and dangerous bosses. It had not ended well. So if I were looking for a role model, I’d look elsewhere.
Steptoe had left me with the distinct impression that the professor wouldn’t be up to the task either, at least not until he transitioned. That left the dubious Society. If I did decide to go there, were they keeping Judge Maxwell in check and would I have a chance of getting an impartial education? But, like they say, if you have to ask . . .
The professor said abruptly, “I don’t think we can throw Simon’s tail into the bargain with Devian.” He patted his vest as if searching for his pipe. I pointed at his left pants pocket. “It’s probably there.”
He confirmed and pulled it out. “Thank you.”
I would have said, “Think nothing of it,” but he didn’t give me a chance. He plowed ahead.
“I know Steptoe’s upset, and he has a right to be under the circumstances, but that object was one of the first things I went back to retrieve, and it has been missing from the get-go.”
“But you didn’t tell him that.”
“No. My mistake, probably, but I have been busy lining up friends and foes.”
“That, he would understand.”
“No doubt.” He gave up searching for a tobacco pouch and just clamped the stem between his teeth, pipe unlit.
I pointed at Mrs. Sherman’s neat, sturdy little stucco house. “Anything I have to do?”
“No, not really, other than being a person she would trust. I do hope she’s up and about.”
I drained my paper cup of black coffee even though it had gone cold. Might as well complete the punishment for the day. “Her fireplace is working.” And, indeed it was, a little spiral of thin, gray smoke winding out of the chimney. It seemed a little early in the season for that, but she’d always been a woman well-bundled up and maybe she just liked being super cozy.
We trudged up the porch and I stood at her door for a minute before looking at the professor. “What kind of excuse do I have for being here this early?”
He dipped a hand inside his coat and brought out Scout’s harness and leash. “Your pup is missing.”
My eyes brimmed immediately. The professor gave me a scathing look. “No crying.”
I choked it back as I took Scout’s things. “Right.” I knocked on the cheery white door.
It took a few long moments to be answered, but we could hear noises headed our way and then Mrs. Sherman and her vibrant red-bewigged head looked out at us. “Well, land sakes. Whatever are you doing here, Tessa?”
“Scout got loose. Sorry, I know it’s early, but I thought he might have come by here. You fed him cookies. Have you seen him?”
“Dear me, no. Come in, come in, I just took a coffee cake out of the oven. I meant it for circle meeting this morning, but my ladies are all getting a little pudgy as it is. Better we eat it ourselves.” She ushered us in. The kitchen sang with the smells of her baking, overwhelming even the professor’s fragrance, which I had begun to find a bit much. Vanilla, butter, sugar, and other good smells promised better things.
She cut us significant portions, with half a measure for herself. She had a teapot steeping and we got a cup of that as well, although I already felt as if I floated in hot beverage.
She waited until we’d each had a forkful. All I could get out was, “Oh, yum!” and the professor remarked, “Absolutely divine, Mrs. Sherman.”
The baker beamed. “What good manners. But it is good, isn’t it?” She ate two bites and then put her attention on me. “As for your concern . . . How long has the dog been gone?”
“Most of yesterday and all night.”
“Missed his dinner, did he? That’s not good. Well, you can’t call the pound on a Sunday, but you should check first thing in the morning, just in case.” She wagged her utensil at me. “Not that I’ve seen the city’s jail truck about, thank heavens. Does he have one of those thingies? Trackers in him?”
I tried to remember if Carter had said so. “I think
so. Not sure. Trouble is, I haven’t had him long enough to change the address info.”
“Still, they’ll know just to look at him that he isn’t some poor stray. Such a shame it is, all the homeless on the streets.”
I wasn’t certain if she meant people or animals, so I just returned to eating my divine coffee cake.
The professor cleaned up every last smidge on his plate and looked up, hopefully.
“Another piece?” she offered. “You’re a growing boy, after all!”
“That would be wonderful.” He held his plate out.
The moment she turned about, he pulled out an envelope and dumped its contents into her half cup of tea, managed a quiet stir, and leaned back in his chair. I could smell a bit of lemon and more vanilla, but nothing like the noxious fumes which had been emanating from the garage for days while he perfected whatever tonic this might be. He gave a satisfied sniff as she handed him a newly stocked plate.
She sipped the tea, and then took a deep, long swallow. “Sometimes,” she noted, “a good drink is very bracing, don’t you think?”
“Nothing like it,” the professor told her. “Quite enjoyable.”
She beamed at him before saying to me, “He has the best manners. I definitely approve.”
My drink went down the wrong pipe, and I sputtered and coughed for a few minutes until the professor thumped my back, hitting the right spot because, I assumed, he’d had centuries of practice rescuing choking people, and I could finally breathe again. I wiped my mouth and chin with a paper napkin.
“Oh, it’s not like that, Mrs. Sherman.” And I crossed my fingers she wouldn’t gossip around about it.
“Well, then, it should be. Good looks and good manners are a winsome pair.” She paused then. “My husband had both. First husband. Second wasn’t so bad either, come to think of it.”
I froze, waiting for melancholy to descend over her again, but she shook herself and said, “Oh, look at the time. I believe there’s enough for me to make another coffee cake.” She winked at us. “There’s a widowed and retired gentleman who comes to services every other Sunday, and I’d like to make a good impression on him.” She straightened her wig. “Out with you now, and if I find your pup, I will call you, Tessa.”
“Um, thanks!” And I found the two of us being hurried outside in unseemly haste, while the snatch of a song broke out in the house behind us.
“Think it worked?”
Brian smiled, and the professor answered, “I can guarantee it did.” He dusted his hands off. “It’s about time we had a win, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
WHO, INDEED
OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM window, in the beginning light of day, an owl sat on a branch that came close to the house. It blinked at me as I started to draw the curtain, thought better of it, instead opening the window and leaning close to the screen. “Tell Germanigold that Tessa needs to talk to her.”
The large golden eyes closed once, twice, and then the bird ruffled up his feathers and flew off. I’d no idea if I’d done it right or if I was an idiot talking to strange owls, and I was too tired to worry about it.
Staying dressed, I collapsed diagonally across the mattress, uncaring if the covers wrinkled under me or not. With any luck, I could catch a couple of hours before Mom got up. I drifted off, thinking of Malender and his coat of inky darkness and stinky odors and if I was creating some kind of prison break every time I hit him with salt. Somewhere in my dreams, Malender morphed into Carter and I was leaning forward, hoping for another kiss with a bone-melting hug, but he began to shake all over and buzz irritatingly loud—
And my phone woke me up. On silent, but vibrating and buzzing with the intensity of it and it wouldn’t stop. The call stopped and then began again and then a third time while I wrenched it out of my pants’ pocket.
Evelyn’s number popped up and I caught her on the fourth call back.
“About time!”
“Sleeping.”
“I’m at the hospital. Please come pick me up.”
I lowered the phone a bit and stared at the number, just to be sure the whispery voice came from Evelyn and the phone ID matched. It did. I raised the phone again. “What do you mean, you’re at the hospital? Are you all right? What happened?”
“Bumped around and my leg looks like somebody went after it with a crowbar, well, actually somebody did, but I’m okay.”
I had two thoughts and the first one I blurted out. “I’m going to kill Dean.”
“No. No, no. He had nothing to do with it, well, he did, but . . . just come and get me and I’ll explain.”
My second thought followed. “What about your parents?”
“They don’t know yet, and I have to figure out a way to explain it to them. Pleeease, come get me. I hate these places.” Her voice choked up a bit.
“Where at the hospital?”
“ER, but I’ll be in the lounge. They’ve already released me.” A sniffle. “Thank you, Tessa. And hurry.”
So I did, and true to her word, she was sitting in the lounge waiting for me. Her jeans were torn, and not artfully as if they were meant to be, and she held a disposable ice pack to her shin. I helped her to her feet. Her eyes glistened with tears waiting to be shed. I grabbed a tissue from a box at the check-in desk and handed it to her as we limped out the door. Once in the car, she sat back with a quavering sigh. I put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it.
“Home?”
“Not yet. I’ve got to get a cover story.”
That started to boil my temper. “Then it is Dean’s fault.”
She waved a hand at me. “No. Not really.”
“You can’t sit there looking like someone battered you and tell me it wasn’t really his fault. That’s the syndrome, you know. Making excuses for the inexcusable.”
“You think Dean did this? Oh, hell no. One of the protestors got me.”
I turned the car on then because the interior held a chill, and I didn’t want her to start shivering along with everything else that bothered her. “Protest? You got caught in a protest?”
She pointed out the windshield. “Drive. Your place. Please.”
“Just what kind of a cover story do you think will work? What protest and where and what makes you think anyone involved won’t tell your father what happened?”
Evelyn shifted her ice bag to a slightly different spot on her leg, hissing a bit in pain, and began her story. “Dean picked me up for a late hamburger, and we heard on the radio that there was a midnight protest against that big old Confederate flag just raised on the edge of town. We went there to support taking it down. It was something I wanted to do, and Dean agreed. It seems important.”
“Mmm. But your dad supports removing those.”
“He does. But he doesn’t support my getting involved in it. Some of the believers are pretty nasty on social media and stuff—” She peered down at her exposed leg. “In person, too, I guess. Anyway, there were candles and singing and it was pretty peaceful, if tense for a while. Then tempers flared up and—good golly, Miss Molly—we had a riot. Dean took off—”
“He what???” I was back to killing Dean mode. “He left you there?”
“I thought he’d just gone to get the car, but he never came back. I got surrounded. There was no place to go, and fists were flying, and then this big ole guy came through swinging a crowbar.” Her eye leaked a slow tear. “He did leave me, didn’t he?”
“Sounds like it.” My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “In fact, I think there is no doubt about it.”
She blurted, “He just burned his last bridge.”
It was not the time to ask about the other bridges, but I would hear about them, eventually. I looked at her. “I don’t think there is a cover story that will handle this. It’s bound to get back to your father, even if
there were no hospital bill showing up, but there will be, and pictures and maybe even a podcast that will place you on the scene. You’re pretty identifiable as Evelyn Statler.”
She brushed her light blond hair back. “He’ll be upset.”
“Yeah, dads who care about you are like that.”
The gray early morning lifted into a brilliantly blue day with high, wispy clouds as we turned into my neighborhood. It would be a crisp, clear day. I added, “Look. Have breakfast with us, then call home, and if they can’t pick you up, I’ll drive you over.” I felt pretty certain the Statlers would be over in a flash and she might be in for both a lecture and an embrace. “And if you are ever nice to Dean again, I’m cutting you off as a friend.”
She laughed at that. “You wouldn’t do that to your partner in crime.”
She reminded me that I had never told Carter or the others about her going to Silverbranch with me. I protected her whenever I could, unlike Dean. “I would certainly think about it, though. Honestly, whatever made you do it?”
“I wanted to be badass, like you.”
“Me? You wanted to be like me?”
“You don’t stand down, Tessa. No matter what life hands you. I want to be worthy of being your wingman, and I need to toughen up.”
“Oh, Evie. I don’t want someone tough. I want someone understanding, and you fit that pretty perfectly.”
“I do?”
“You’ve stood by me through thick and thin. That’s enough for me.”
She took a deep, quavering breath. “Still . . .”
“Nope. No, no. Not an argument. I’m the one who tears down a hockey field, pushing people out of my way left and right, one goal in sight, and I tend to do the same thing in life. Meanwhile, you stand on the sideline, cheering the good guys, whoever they are . . . and I need to be reminded of that. There are good guys everywhere.”
She put her hand up. “I am swearing off men.”
“I would note that time and date, but I know it won’t last.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Too true.” She moved the ice pack again. “I think this is about done in.” She waved the limp thing.
