by Devon Monk
Jame took a bite. “He’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll find him alive?”
“If Delaney makes the right choice. That is what I see.”
“Thank you.”
That was more than I expected out of Jame.
Jean started out the door, Jame right behind her.
“Thank you,” I said to Yancy. “I know you didn’t have to give us that much for a box of donuts.”
“I’m not sure you should thank me. I placed a very heavy decision on you, Delaney. A heavy decision on your soul that could change you permanently, change Ordinary permanently, change those you love permanently.”
“If it means I can bring Ben back alive, I don’t have any problem making that decision. I can do change. So can the people I love. As for Ordinary, well, we even have mostly reliable wireless service now, so we’re full speed ahead with change.”
He shook his head, his eyes fond, then held his hand out to me. “This should be yours.”
I held my hand for his and he dropped the rose quartz worry stone into my palm.
“Hope is born from ashes. Love yeilds to no other power. Return, Delaney.”
“Is that a vision speaking?”
He chuckled and settled back into his chair. “Always. It’s a gift and a curse. Nothing I say is only my own words. The future, fate if you will, always has a hand in what I do and say.”
“That would drive me mad.”
“Oh, it’s a job hazard, but I get by.” He winked. “Donuts help. So does getting paid to tell people what they should do with their lives for ten hours a day. Cathartic.”
“You know I’m going to go talk to a witch now?”
“I do.”
“Any warnings you want to pass my way?”
He chuckled again. “Just because I can see the most possible futures doesn’t mean I can see them all. Often the unexpected is as much a surprise to me as it is to anyone. Also, we should all have to suffer the joy of free will. It builds character.”
“Now that is more like what I expect to hear out of you. Don’t work too late, Yancy.”
“I’ve been off for an hour. Just thought I’d hang around for the donuts.”
He smiled again and chose a new pastry out of the box.
I tucked the worry stone in my pocket and left my hand there with it. It was still warm from Yancy’s touch, and I hoped maybe a little bit of his magic and wisdom had rubbed off on it.
Jean and Jame waited for me in the lobby.
“That wasn’t what I was hoping for,” Jean said.
“Ben’s alive. We’re going to find him alive within twenty-four hours. That’s good enough for me. Let’s go talk to the witch.”
“I’m not going to let this come down to you making some kind of decision,” Jean said.
“Good. Yes. Fine.” I started toward the door. “Do you think I want to make some kind of final call? No way. I want all hands on deck. That means you, and Myra, and Jame, and every witch, seer, or bowling alley medium we’ve got.”
We walked out of the school and got into the Jeep. Jame folded into the back with a soft grunt. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes again.
I drove down the darkening street. It wasn’t until we hit the main road that Jean spoke.
“Why did you mention Jacques?”
“What?”
“You said witch, seer, and bowling alley medium. Jacques is a medium who owns the bowling alley.”
I could tell her I was just throwing out names, but she’d know I was lying. “After the ghost thing at the lighthouse, I thought visiting Jacques might clear that up.”
“Clear up Harriet pushing that girl’s shoulder?”
I took a deep breath. “I saw Dad there.”
Beat.
“What?”
“I saw him on the stairs when Ryder and I went up them. I saw his ghost.”
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
It took her a couple blocks before she spoke again. “What did he say? What did he do? What did he look like?”
“He wasn’t alone.”
“Who else? Mom? Grandma?”
“No. Something else was behind him. It…all I saw was a…hand that grabbed him and pulled him backward. Then he disappeared.”
“A hand.”
“More like a claw.”
“You saw a claw grab our dad’s ghost and yank him away?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think you should tell us this?”
“I didn’t think it was the problem we needed to focus on at the moment. Dad’s dead. So even though I saw him, there isn’t anything I can do to change that. I thought after we got Ben back and took care of Lavius, I’d go talk to Jacques and ask if he had sensed Dad in town. If he could help me maybe talk to him. Make sure everything is okay with him.”
“Or you could just ask Death,” she suggested.
“I have asked him about Dad.”
“When?” She seemed surprised.
“When he first came to town. He didn’t give me a straight answer. Just one of those sort of vague things he likes to say, like he did back at the lighthouse.”
“Did he say Dad was in trouble?”
“No, he told me he died peacefully. It wasn’t what I asked, but it was good to hear that, anyway.”
She nodded, staring straight ahead. It was still hard to think about Dad losing control of the car and driving off a cliff. It seemed like there had to be more to it than just operator error.
This was Ordinary. While we could and did have our share of accidental deaths, it was more common that our accidents were anything but.
“That’s…good,” Jean breathed, her voice a little choked. “Peaceful.”
I reached over and put my hand on her arm.
Jame shifted in the backseat, his breath catching with the movement. But he remained silent. He had been one of the first responders who had rappelled down the cliff to retrieve Dad’s body. I’d never talked to him about it, and didn’t think getting into it now was a good idea.
“When you go talk to Jacques, I want to be there,” Jean said.
“Of course. Myra too.”
“Yes.”
I stopped at the light to allow pedestrians to cross to the tavern on the other side of the street. The green city lamppost had been turned into a giant flower.
Well, not literally, but someone had knitted green petals and wrapped them around the middle of the lamp post. The top of the post was bent in a shepherd’s crook style and the flared shade was draped in bright yellow petals.
It made the whole thing look like a sunflower.
“Is Bertie doing some kind of yarn decoration thing?”
Jean leaned forward to look up at the post as we drove past. “I don’t think so. Maybe? It’s hard to keep up with her community projects. Why yarn?”
“I have no idea.”
I turned into the public parking lot and took a space near the back.
“You could stay in the Jeep, Jame.” I knew he wouldn’t, but I felt it was important to offer it to him.
He grunted. “I’m staying. With you.” He pushed on the door. “So stop trying to get rid of me.” He got out of the car and we followed.
Jules was our resident witch. She wasn’t the only witch in town, but she was powerful and more than willing to help out the police department when we needed a witch on hand.
She wasn’t a seer like Yancy, but there were things she could sense that could narrow down our search. Spells she might be willing to cast that would lead us quickly to wherever Ben was being held, bound, trapped.
“She’s probably running a game,” Jean said.
Jules worked in a coffee shop that was also a crystal store and wireless internet café. It held gaming nights a couple times a week. She was a big, joyful woman, and attracted people to her like a magnet pulled metal filings.
I’d always liked her, and so had Dad. When Mom died, she prac
tically set up a daily ritual of coming by our house and making sure we had fresh flowers, baked goods, and small bits of good will, like tiny pillows and shiny stones and sticks wrapped in feathers and shells.
“This won’t take long,” I said.
Jean was already at the corner. She started across the crosswalk. Jame had lingered behind, catching his breath. No surprise. He was doing far more walking than any sane doctor or person would prescribe.
I slowed, giving him time to catch up, or me time to return to the sidewalk with him before the light changed. I glanced back at him just as he shouted, “Jean!”
Everything happened in slow motion.
I spun back toward Jean, too late to stop the car that was hurtling across three lanes. Too late to scream, though I did anyway, my own voice lost in the ragged grind of the engine roaring. Too late to reach Jean, to run to her, to push her out of the way.
Jean must have heard Jame’s shout, my yell, the car’s engine. She stopped, there in the middle of the street, and turned toward the sound.
Too late, too late, too late.
The sleek black sports car gunned straight for her. She threw herself to the side, trying to dodge, trying to minimize the damage.
But there was no dodging.
The sound of impact seemed far away as I ran toward her, already knowing she was hit, already knowing she was falling, fallen, broken on the ground. There was no license plate on the car and as it roared away, I couldn’t see the driver through the blackened windows.
I reached for my phone, hit the speed dial on 911, and was talking to whoever picked up on the other side, demanding an ambulance, now, and giving my location.
I didn’t hear them respond, didn’t care. Our emergency services were top notch. They’d be here. They’d have to be here in time.
I skidded onto my knees next to Jean.
Already traffic was backing up. Already people were exiting their cars to rush over. They wanted to help.
Probably.
But someone had just run my sister down in the middle of the road and I was not about to let any stranger near her.
“Get back!”
Jean lay in a huddle, her head on an outstretched arm that was bent the wrong way at her forearm. There was blood, not a lot, but too much, too much. Too much blood. She wasn’t moving. My sister was bleeding. She wasn’t moving.
And I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. All I could do was babble, “no, no, no,” over and over again.
“I got her,” a voice pushed through the drumming of my fear, my nightmare, pushed through the panic that filled my mind, my vision.
“Delaney, I got her. She’s breathing. She’s alive. We’re going to wait for the ambulance. Just hold her hand, here. Hold her hand.”
Her hand was in my hand and I was holding it and breathing too hard, and shaking and trying to focus on who was talking to me. My eyes finally registered that I was staring at Jame. That Jame had crouched down beside me and Jean, that he was telling the crowd to stay back in a firm and calm tone, while placing a coat which he seemed to have produced out of nowhere over Jean’s torso.
She was on her back now, and her arm–the one that was bent the wrong way–was tucked up against her stomach. Her eyes were closed and her face was scraped, blood flowing from the rawness on her forehead, her cheek. There was bruising already forming along her cheek and that, seeing the wounds, seeing her chest rise and fall finally snapped me out of my panic.
Sounds came back to me, a lot of voices, someone telling people to move aside so there was room for the ambulance, someone dealing with traffic, clearing the lane we were in the middle of and directing cars around us to the other lanes.
Engines, seagulls, and Jame.
“You’re okay, Jean,” he said. “Hold still. You’re going to be fine.”
And then there was a new sound, a soft groan.
Her eyes fluttered, opened, fluttered again and stayed open, blurry and unfocused. “Shit. What hit me?”
I’d never been so happy to hear her.
“You got clipped by a car,” Jame said, making it sound like an everyday happening. No big deal. Clipped. Just a scratch. You want the Band-Aid with Minions or Godzilla?
“Yeah? Did we get plate?”
“No,” I said. “No plate. Blacked out windows. But we got the make and model. We’ll track them down.”
I hadn’t even called it in yet. Which meant Myra would hear about this from the 911 call instead of straight from me.
Hell.
“You’re okay, honey,” I said, squeezing her hand gently and glancing up at Jame, who nodded. He still looked like he might fall over himself, but his hands were sure as he checked her skull for wounds, and did a quick pass over her body, checking limbs.
She groaned again as he shifted her leg. “Okay hurts.”
“Broken arm,” I said. “Just hang in there a little longer and we’ll get you on the good meds.”
“Yay.” She said. “Morphine me, baby.”
“Coming up,” Jame said.
The siren that had been growing louder let off a few short bursts and then the ambulance was there, the crowd of curious onlookers parted and Mykal, a vampire EMT, and Steven, a human, strode over with the gurney which they expertly positioned beside us and lowered.
“Jame. Shouldn’t you be warming a bed at Samaritan North?” Mykal asked.
Jame grunted. “Left this morning. Hit and run. Sports car, going about thirty. Right arm, right ankle.”
“Concussion?”
“Probably.”
“Whee,” Jean said weakly.
“Just move to the side, Chief,” Mykal said. “We’re going to load her up.”
I moved, but held on to her hand while the emergency technicians outfitted her with a neck brace, a soft brace for her arm and ankle, and did a quick wipe on her face to make sure the bleeding from the scrapes wasn’t anything more serious.
They moved her swiftly and as gently as could be managed onto the gurney. She hissed in pain a lot anyway, and cursed a blue streak.
The cussing was good. The cussing was Jean. Cussing was better than screaming.
“Okay, let’s do,” Mykal said.
It had gotten darker, dusk slipping into the deepening shadows of night. I followed alongside the gurney.
“Keys, Delaney.” Jame pressed his hand on my shoulder.
I dug in my pocket and tossed him my keys then crawled up into the back of the ambulance with her. I didn’t care if he drove my Jeep, or locked it for the night. I wasn’t leaving Jean.
“The witch…” Jean mumbled.
“Can wait.” I held her hand all the way to the hospital.
Chapter 6
The witch did not wait. We’d gotten Jean to the emergency room, and I’d been in the way enough, and yes, probably being scowly and pushy enough they’d finally stuck me in a corner out of the way where I could keep Jean in my line of vision.
A few minutes ticked by and then they were moving Jean to get X-rays.
“I’m going with her.”
“You can’t, Chief,” a nurse, Peggy, said. “We’ll be right down there in a room so small we have to synchronize our breathing to all fit in it at the same time.”
“I’m going.”
“’Sokay, Laney,” Jean said. “Be right back. I’m goo.”
She probably meant she was good, but goo might fit too.
She still was way too pale and in pain and it made me want to hit something. But she was being brave and rational, and the best thing I could do for her was to be brave and rational back.
“I’ll be right here.” I smiled. “Right here.”
They wheeled her down the hall and I clenched my fists.
“Drink this.” A cup was pressed into my clenched hand. I wrapped my fingers around it and looked into Jules’ smart black eyes.
Jules was a woman who took up space in the world and filled it with her color, her laughter, her body, her voice, her joy. Sh
e was old enough to be my grandmother, but still looked young enough to be my sister. Her hair was an unexceptional brown, long, and currently being used as a backdrop for the silk and ribbon flowers braided into it.
Her face was round with a very sharp chin, and I’d never seen her without lipstick. Today’s was lavender, and matched the lavender color she’d brushed through her eyebrows.
Her dress was layers of orange and yellows so bright, you could cook a frozen pizza with it.
“It’s tea. You need it. Drink.”
I lifted the cup and sniffed. Fragrant and probably her own mix, I caught vanilla, nutmeg and citrus. I sipped.
It was good. Warm.
It was also spiked.
I cleared my throat. “Rum? You know we’re in a hospital, right?”
“Pah. There’s less than a capful in there. Just enough to add heat to it. Along with the honey, it’s medicinal. She’s going to be just fine, Delaney, just fine.”
“Her arm is broken. Her ankle. She might have a concussion. The car didn’t even slow down. They sped up as they hit her. If Jame hadn’t yelled, if she hadn’t jumped….”
Jules produced a flask and unscrewed the top. “Need a little more heat?”
“No.” I swung the cup out of her reach. “And put that away. There are police around here. You know we have open container laws.”
She chuckled and it came from somewhere deep inside her, starting out low and grumbly and ending on a musical gurgle. “Haven’t seen you girls in far too long.”
“It’s been a weird year.”
“Thought you might be coming by my place soon, though. Cards said so.”
“Which cards?”
She leaned against the wall next to me and I mimicked her stance.
“Eight of Wands and Judgment.”
“I’m Judgment? I thought I was the Queen of Wands.”
“Sometimes, yes. But not right now. Not since…well, with your father’s death came some consequences. We’re seeing the fruit of that. The darkness that’s closing in has one hand on you, Delaney. Devil showed up in the spread, and while I don’t usually counsel to take the cards literally, Devil is a strong image. The beast from below and the chains that bind us.”
I knew the devil I was facing. Lavius. His chain, his claim on me was apparent in the bite on my neck. I shrugged a little deeper into my coat to hide the mark.
