by Sarah Fine
The truck dropped a few more feet. “Don’t,” Ernie shrieked. “Please.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the stolen cards. “I’m just trying to get back to my mom, okay? All I was trying to do was protect her.” She looked up at him, her hands shaking, hot tears sliding down her cheeks. “Please. If you let me get back to her and make sure she’s okay, you can have the cards and anything else you want. I need to get to her, though. I’m all she has. Please.”
Gabe’s eyes locked with hers, as if he were trying to peer right into her thoughts. Then his hard expression broke, and he groaned. With a flick of his cards, the truck shot forward, landed on the pavement a few feet from where Ernie lay sprawled, and motored away as if nothing had ever happened. Gabe watched its taillights disappear over a hill before shouting, “Dammit all to hell!”
Ernie watched him stomp over to his mangled bike. “What did I just see?” she whispered, her entire body trembling.
“Get out of the goddamn road before I change my mind,” Gabe growled, his back to her.
Ernie managed to make it to her hands and knees but froze again as she watched him wave one of his playing cards through the air. The motorcycle peeled itself from the trunk of the tree and landed with a rattling thud before rolling toward him. He promptly drew another card or two from his deck and waved them over the bike. Metallic pops and zings emanated from its body as its dents filled out and its frame straightened. Ernie watched, slack-jawed and speechless.
“Next lorry comes along, I let it hit you,” Gabe said, turning to face her again.
Ernie pushed herself to her feet and stumbled over to him. She put her hand in her pocket and drew out the cards, then looked at the deck in his hand. “Did you just . . . do whatever you did . . . with those?”
He let out an annoyed sigh.
She held up her cards, her thoughts finally gaining some traction after the shock of the last few moments. “Can these do stuff like that?”
“You’d better hope to God they can, but that depends on you. Come on.” He turned back to his motorcycle. “I’ll give you a lift to the pub down the road. Then I’ll explain.”
She eyed him, then his newly repaired motorcycle. “A minute ago you threatened to drop a truck on my face.”
“Obviously I’ve changed my mind. For now.” He rubbed at his temple, right where Ernie had clocked him. His mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile, but it didn’t quite make it. “I think you might deserve a chance.”
“A chance to what?”
“Pub first. I’m in dire need of a pint.”
“But—”
“Not one more word until I’ve had a drink.” He stalked to the bike, pulled his helmet off the back, and shoved it at her. When she didn’t take it, he shook it at her and scowled up at the rain. “Trust me when I say that I’m the best thing that’s gonna come along tonight. And if you stay in the open much longer, you’ll be facing down more than a lorry.”
Ernie stared, blinking drops off her eyelashes. She didn’t know whether to obey or run. Her mind was stuffed to bursting with questions, but she didn’t know which one to ask first. She was covered in mud, and her teeth were chattering, and cold drops of water were sliding down her face and the back of her neck. Her back and butt were undoubtedly bleeding from those freaking barbs, and her palms and knees were scraped up by her collision with the road. She didn’t even know whether her mother was alive or dead. “D-do you think I could call my mom first?”
This time, the twitch became an actual, if begrudging, smile. “After you clean up and dry off. You’ll think—and talk—a bit more clearly when your thoughts aren’t being tossed about by the shivers.” He stepped forward, pushed her wet hair away from her face, and gently lowered the helmet over her head. “There. Pretty as a picture.”
“Because now my face is covered?”
He let out a laugh. “Hop on.”
He swung his leg over the bike, and Ernie clumsily did the same. She balled her hands in the sides of his jacket, not wanting to get too close. When the engine growled and the bike shot forward, though, she wrapped her arms tight around his torso—close enough to feel the rumble of his amusement. This man had just threatened to kill her, but at the moment, he was the safest, most solid thing she could hang on to. It didn’t mean that Ernie didn’t plan to be ready if he betrayed her, though. He was a few thousand miles and several explanations away from earning her trust.
CHAPTER FIVE
It took less than three minutes to reach the village of Donard, and soon they were in front of a yellow-orange building with flower boxes in each window and a sign over the door that read “Toomey’s Bar.” Gabe sent Ernie inside to get out of the rain while he parked his bike.
She was prepared for a dark and gloomy dive but was greeted with a cheerful interior, a white wooden ceiling, red walls, a long bar, and a bartender whose smile was fixed in place as he stared at Ernie shuffling in from the rain. “You sure you’re in the right place? Clinic’s just up the road.”
She looked down at herself. “And this is actually my better side. Mind if I use your washroom?”
The bartender gestured down a hallway. “It’s all yours.”
Ernie glanced around. There were only a few other people in the place—a couple at a table near the fireplace and an old man hunched over a pint at the bar—but the clock on the wall told her it was past eleven, so maybe it was almost closing time. Gabe walked in, threw her a glance, and headed for the bar as Ernie trudged down the hall and into the small bathroom. She tried to avoid looking too closely at herself as she splashed water on her face and over her hair, washed her hands, and plucked her filthy, sopping sweater away from her body. She’d just taken it off to wring it out when a knock came at the door.
“It’s me,” said Gabe. “Got a dry shirt for you.”
Arms crossed over her chest, she opened the door a crack to see Gabe holding out the garment, a green T-shirt that read St. Patrick’s Toomey’s Pub Crawl. “Bartender dug this up from the back room.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking the offering and holding it over her front.
Gabe frowned. “Want me to look at your back?” He held up a first aid kit. “I came prepared.”
She chuckled weakly. “I figured you’d have some magical card for that.”
He arched an eyebrow and opened the kit, revealing the deck of cards nestled faceup on top of a few paltry bandages and a crumpled tube of antibiotic ointment. The card on top had a symbol that looked like a B made from two sideways triangles, with one diagonal line jutting out of its spine and extending up to the left. “I was trying to be sneaky, but if you’re willing . . .”
“I was joking,” she muttered, shaking her head. “This can’t be real. None of this is real.”
He looked her up and down. “If you’re planning to curl into a ball and give up, darlin’, I’ll be taking those cards from you right now.”
Ernie whirled and leaned on the sink, the dry shirt covering her chest. “I don’t give up,” she said in a tight voice, watching him in the cloudy mirror.
He peered at her back and whistled. “You certainly don’t. Tore yourself up, didn’t you? People usually lie still when it hurts enough.”
“People usually . . . ? Did you do something to me with those cards? Because the vines, and then the wire . . .”
He pulled a card from his deck and held it up, revealing a five-pointed star. “Good for corralling your prey.”
“Prey.” Ernie squinted at its reflection in the mirror, but unlike the cards she’d stolen, his merely showed shadows beneath, just a moving blur. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, but this will, as long as you hold still,” he said as he shuffled his deck. “Some of these gouges are deep.”
“I guess I should have them looked at.” Suddenly, she was so overwhelmed by her predicament that she could barely talk around the lump in her throat. “As soon as I figure out how the heck I g
ot here and how the heck I’m supposed to get home.” It was taking all she had not to panic.
“Just breathe,” he said softly, moving in closer behind her. Unlike his gruff words and threats, his fingers were gentle on her back, and suddenly the pain faded as warmth spread outward from her wounds. “You’ll feel stronger when you’re not hurting so much.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, tensing as she felt his touch slide across her bare skin. It felt dangerous, letting someone like him this close.
“Let me work,” he murmured. His eyes were riveted on her back, all concentration. It made goose bumps ripple across her skin.
“You sure you’re not a doctor?” Her voice was breathless.
His mouth quirked into a half smile, and he stepped back. “It feels better?”
She ran a hand over her back and down under her khakis to feel the smooth skin of her backside, which he hadn’t even touched. No cuts, no blood or swelling, no scabs or scars, and no pain. “It feels normal.”
“Probably the only thing that will for a good long time. I’ll get us a table.”
He left, and Ernie sighed as she pulled the dry shirt over her head, leaving the muddy shell and cardigan she’d worn to work in the wastebasket. The T-shirt was huge, long enough to cover the tears in her pants. She was still wet from the waist down, but at least it was warm in here. For a split second, she considered the “curl into a ball” strategy Gabe had mentioned, but now that her body was healed, she had no choice but to face down whatever catastrophe she’d set in motion tonight, and hope against hope that she could make things right sooner rather than later.
She grunted. “This is a little different than fixing a missing code on a billing form, Ern.” She stuck her hand in her pocket and felt the cards. She squeezed them and felt them pulse with warmth. Now she needed to understand what they were—and what any of this had to do with her mom, seeing as both Gabe and Snake Boy had wanted something from her. Mom had always been fascinated with the occult—pagan rituals, talismans, and trinkets—and once Ernie had taught her how to use the Internet, she’d grown addicted to all sorts of forums where people would offer advice on the best spells for protecting your house from burglars and vermin and fairies. Ernie had always assumed it was stupid but harmless. Now she was thinking differently.
The thought of that bastard in black hurting Mom made Ernie’s throat close with grief and fear. It was with that thought that she walked out into the bar and found Gabe sitting at a table with two pints of creamy-looking beer and some bread and butter. He gestured for her to sit. “Kitchen’s closed,” he said, “but this was baked fresh this afternoon, and I got us some of the black stuff.” He pointed at her pint.
“Why are you being nice to me?” she asked. “Especially after threatening to turn me into roadkill?”
He gave her a pleasant smile and spoke in a falsetto with a bad southern accent, way too Nola to sound even remotely like her. “I’m sorry for misjudging you, Gabe. I’m so glad you found me in my hour of need.”
She sank onto the chair. “Yeah, right. You already told me you were hunting the cards, not me, and you were trying to take them from me until you suddenly changed your mind. Not that I’m complaining, but why did you?”
He looked toward the fireplace. “I respect a person who puts family first. But don’t think I won’t take them from you if you can’t do the job.”
“Job?” Ernie rubbed her face and pushed her hair out of her eyes.
He held up a finger, then lifted the glass to his mouth and drained half a pint in a few long gulps.
“Does this ‘job’ have anything to do with my mom? Or what you wanted from her?”
“I’ll get to that. Given that a minute ago, you were telling me none of this was real, I’d rather not dump everything on you in a messy pile. You don’t even understand what you’ve done. Or what you are now.”
She looked down into the thick foam in her glass as a hard chill rolled through her. “Look, it’s been a really confusing day. I have to call my mom. I can’t deal with any of this until I know she’s all right.”
He pulled a phone out of his jacket. “International calls aren’t a problem.”
She took it from him. “Thank you,” she said, and she meant it. With shaking fingers, she dialed the number for the shop.
“Hello,” said her mother’s voice, raw and ragged.
Ernie nearly bolted up from the table. “Mom!”
“Oh, Ernestine,” she cried. “What happened to you? I thought he’d taken you away! The police are searching for you right now—where are you?”
“I’m . . . um . . .” She stared at Gabe, but he merely looked back at her, right eyebrow arched, denting the scar above it. “Safe.” She didn’t know whether that was a lie or the truth.
Mom cleared her throat. “He’s gone,” she said. “He drove away. Left your car on fire.”
“He set my car on fire?” shouted Ernie, drawing the gaze of every single person in the bar. She ducked her head and said, more softly but with no less venom, “That bastard set my car on fire?”
“I was afraid for a moment that you were inside,” she said. “But the fire department said you weren’t, once they put out the blaze. Then we were worried he’d kidnapped you.”
“Do you think he’s going to come back?”
“He won’t be able to get in here if he does,” her mom said sternly. “But you need to come here as soon as possible—it’s safe here now, and nowhere else.”
“No kidding! I—”
“Don’t talk to anyone about what happened. You can’t trust anyone right now.”
Ernie stared at Gabe, wondering if he could hear what her mom had said. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be home.”
“Hurry, Ernestine. I’m afraid they might strike at you to try to get to me.”
Ernie ended the call and handed the phone back to Gabe. “She’s okay.” She wasn’t so sure she could say the same about herself.
“For now.” Gabe took another long draft of his drink, then set it back on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ernestine—”
“Ernie.”
“Ernie?” He grinned. “I know you’re probably reeling.”
She nodded.
“So I’m going to help you out yet again. You ready?” He leaned forward on his elbows.
She leaned forward a little, too, eager for answers.
“Duncan’s hunting you,” Gabe said. “And if he finds you, there will be carnage.”
She blinked at him. Her mouth had gone bone dry. “Is Duncan fond of wearing black, loose with his shaving routine, and suffering from major anger-management issues?”
“Not suffering nearly as much as he should, if you ask me.” Gabe ran his fingers along his forearm, which was covered by the sleeve of his shirt. Ernie had seen what lay beneath, the tattoo of an eagle or a hawk or whatever it was. “He has a tattoo you might have noticed. Snake, on his left arm? Ugly as a blind cobbler’s thumb?”
Ernie shook her head, remembering the psycho’s bare arm. “No, he didn’t have a tattoo. Not on that arm, at least.”
Gabe let out a grunt of laughter. “Which means you probably came face to face with her.”
Ernie pressed her fingers to her brow, trying to mash away the headache making its home there. “Her. The rattlesnake, you mean?”
“The diamondback.”
Ernie thought of the backs of the cards in her pocket, the diamondback rattler eating the world. “God,” she muttered. “This is crazy.”
Gabe didn’t bother to contradict her. “If you want to live through the next twenty-four hours, Ernie, you’re going to ignore your ma’s advice. You’re going to trust me and let me get you home. You’re going to let me help you. Because if you don’t, you won’t live very long. And that would be a cryin’ shame, don’t you think?”
She took a few gulps from her glass. The “black stuff” was Guinness,
bitter and rich and creamy. Then she lowered her glass and placed her hands over the mysterious cards in her pocket. “You can lay off the threats, guy. I’m tired, and I—”
“Be flip as you want, love.” Gabe’s eyes flitted to her pocket. “But know this: one way or another, that deck will kill you. And right now? I’m the only one who can keep that from happening.”
“I’m out of here,” Ernie snapped, lurching up from her chair.
Gabe grabbed her wrist, his smile gone. “Sit back down.” His grip was so tight that she winced. He let her go and gestured at her glass. “Finish your drink.” He waved his hand at the bartender, ordering himself another pint.
Ernie dropped back into her seat and stared into her own glass until the bartender walked over with the refill. Gabe thanked the man, took a drink, and set his pint down. “Hear me out, Ernie. Then you can run along if you really want, and we’ll see how far you get. Assuming you can find a ride at this time of night, you can hitch to Dublin, where the embassy is. It’s only about an hour’s drive from here.” He gave her a nasty grin. “Walking might take a bit longer. And there are plenty of folks who’d love to find you out and about, vulnerable as you are.”
Ernie rolled her eyes.
“Now, do you have your identification with you, by any chance?”
Refusing to look at him, she shook her head.
“Ah. No passport. No way to prove you are who you say you are.”
She had no answer for that.
“So, you’ll sit, and you’ll wait, and then maybe you’ll try to explain how you got into this country and why you’re here. If you’re honest, you’ll probably get a one-way ticket to the mental hospital. If you lie, they’ll know, because it’s easy to check manifests for international flights and such.”
“My mom can vouch for me.”
“And she’ll tell them what, exactly?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
He tilted his head, sizing her up. “You seem like a determined sort. But that’s going to take time. Days, probably. And trust me, your ma’s in trouble. Duncan won’t give up until he gets what he wants—or until we stop him.”
