hand of hate 01 - destiny blues

by Sharon Joss

  “Mattie this is Herman the German. Herman, this is my friend Mattie Blackman.”

  “Ah, a pleasure to meet you.” He shook my hand. His grip, firm and strong, scored big points with me for not crunching my knuckles. His eyes twinkled, and he scampered back to the kitchen. I liked him.

  “Ever since Herman took over, this place has become a gold mine.”

  “I can tell. We got here at the right time.” The lunch crowd was already starting to arrive. We sipped our beers, and a few minutes later, the waitress came with our food, a pot of mustard and a wad of napkins.

  “You need anything else?”

  Bunny looked at me, and I shook my head. “Thanks Trina, we’re good.”

  I eyed the heap of deep fried red hots, grilled onions, sauerkraut, and pickle, piled high between two slices of dark rye.

  “How do I eat this?” My mouth watered; I wanted to get a bite in before another wave of stinkum showed up.

  Bunny laughed, and slathered mustard on hers, then wrapped the bottom half in napkins.

  “Very carefully,” she said, and took a big bite.

  I copied her, and groaned with surprised delight as I bit into the juicy, greasy sandwich. I could actually taste it. Clearly, deep-fried hot dogs trumped demon-stink. I had just taken another luscious bite when Bunny pointed to two men standing at the bar. The older fellow, a clean-shaven pot-bellied professor-type, wore a tonsured wreath of grey hair around his bald pate. He spoke animatedly to a dark-haired biker dude with a Fu-Manchu moustache.

  “That’s him. Hey Rhys, over here.”

  To my surprise, biker dude turned and walked toward us. Rhys approached our table like a panther stalks prey: all muscled steel, sleek suntanned skin, and glitter-green eyes. He wore a sleeveless denim jacket over his naked torso, and scuffed, black leather chaps over black jeans. He moved casually, but I could see the shift and glide of powerful muscles with every step. Mesmerized, the only thoughts that came to my mind were animal magnetism and yum-mee.

  Bunny made the introductions, and his eyes settled on my chest. I followed his eyes to a big splot of mustard on my shirt. Blushing furiously, I grabbed a napkin to wipe it off while trying to gulp down my mouthful of hot dog sandwich without choking.

  “Um, hi,” I said, when I could almost talk.

  His metallic green eyes flicked to the corner of the booth where Blix and the gang sat, then drained his beer in a single long swallow, and shook his head at me, as if contemplating what to say. Finally, he jerked his head toward the front door.

  “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “You didn’t say he was a biker.” I scrambled out of the booth after the mage, hurriedly tossing Bunny a ten. Her laughter chased me out the door.

  The mage appeared substantially younger than I expected, his demeanor completely at odds with his academic credentials. The temperature must have been in the upper eighties, and the humidity was stifling, yet he wore denim and leather like his own skin. Black hair curled over his collar, held back with a leather thong. I’d expected someone more bookish. Not so, um, badass. I wondered what he smelled like.

  We reached Mystic Properties, and I waited as he unlocked the door. “Aren’t you hot? How can you stand to wear black leather in this heat?”

  “You’re criticizing how I dress?” He held the door open for me. “Black is my favorite color.”

  I paused for a moment, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. His eyes glowed with an inner gleam, scaring the daylights out of me in an incredibly primal, sexual way. Focus, Mattie. This guy was supposed to get rid of my stupid demons or spirits or whatever, not complicate my love life. Besides, I’d already committed myself to a certain local restaurateur. I took a deep, cleansing breath, and exhaled slowly. I could tell, his guy wouldn’t have a lot of patience. I tried to picture myself plunging into an icy pool. It helped a little, but every time I looked at him, man oh man.

  I followed him into a room at the back of the building, which was furnished with second-hand furniture, a braided rug, metal file cabinets, and wall-to-wall bookshelves. I perched on a folding chair while Rhys sprawled on an old grey sofa. I told him all about my little teratosis gang, the accidents, Porter, and pretty much everything else. He listened without interrupting, his face open and accepting, as if this sort of thing came along every day. By the time I finished my story, I knew I’d come to the right place.

  “Who are you,” he asked.

  “I told you, I’m Mattie Blackman. I’m a parking control officer for the City of Picston.”

  “No, I mean who are your people?”

  A flush rose in my cheeks. Hadn’t I already said enough? How could he ask me for information I’d barely admitted to myself, much less told a stranger? I couldn’t shake the feeling that the mage was the right guy for the answers I needed. If I had to go through some additional personal discomfort to get there, so be it. I trusted him.

  I shrugged, with a nonchalance I didn’t feel.

  “Um, I don’t know. My mom grew up an orphan. Her husband divorced her when she got pregnant with me.” I blushed, in spite of myself. “She never spoke a word about my father.”

  “Did your mother ever speak about her family, or where she came from?”

  I shook my head. “She grew up in foster care. She went to Shoreline High, though. Same as me.”

  “Where is she now?”

  I strove to keep my voice steady. “She committed suicide when I was sixteen.”

  He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he got up and began searching through the metal file drawers for something.

  I don’t know what I expected as a result of sharing the most painful moments of my childhood, but some sort of acknowledgement seemed appropriate. The silence stretched between us, as he closed the first drawer and started in on the second. What’s with this guy? I held my temper in check, reminding myself he was my last resort. I decided to try another tack.

  “You can see these spirit things of mine, can’t you?”

  He stopped searching and raised his hypnotic eyes to mine. I held my breath.

  “No. I get a sense of something, but no. Here it is.” He selected an old photograph from a folder and handed it to me. “Do you know this woman?”

  My heart ached with loss and the pain of seeing her again. I choked back the emotions that threatened to undo me in front of this apparently unfeeling stranger. She looked so much younger than I remembered. Slim and black-haired, she had a brilliant smile. Her dark eyes bore no trace of the madness that would plague her later in life. Why the heck did he have a picture of my mother locked in his files?

  “Where did you get this?”

  “You look like her.”

  “What are you doing with my mother’s picture? Can you help me?”

  He considered me with a thoughtful expression. “I might know someone.”

  I sagged and fought back tears of relief. “You believe me.”

  “I doesn’t matter what I believe. You say you failed the FBI test?”

  “Porter told me I had the lowest score of anyone he ever tested.” My hand shook as I handed the picture back to him.

  A genuine smile crossed his face for the first time, and changed my whole opinion of him. He had crinkles around his eyes and exceedingly white, even teeth. He reached out to me, almost as if to touch my hair and caught himself. I wondered what kissing him would be like. I imagined he was a good kisser; that is, if I was interested. Which I wasn’t. And even if I was, he wasn’t my type.

  “That wasn’t your mother, Mattie. Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  I followed him out, thinking we were going to his car, but he kept walking.

  “Well, who is she? Where are we going?”

  “It’s not far.” He had a long stride, and I had to hustle a bit to keep up. He noticed, and slowed down, which somehow embarrassed me.

  We crossed the street and turned left at Empress, a pretty street lined with
turn-of-the-century painted ladies, mostly Victorian and Queen Anne architecture. Large trees shaded the uneven sidewalk, which lay broken and crumbled by the groping limbs of massive roots.

  My anxiety grew with each house we passed. We stopped at the end of the block, in front of a dilapidated turquoise and lavender Queen Anne with flakes of pale yellow trim. The place needed about six more coats of paint in order to be called shabby. Stepping-stones in the overgrown lawn led to a deeply sagging front porch. I knew this place. So did everyone else in town.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, and fought to keep my voice calm. “Why are we stopping here?”

  A large, freshly-painted, butter-yellow wooden sign hung from the front porch overhang. Carved in the shape of a hand, the garish sign boasted in blood-red letters:

  DESTINY

  By appointment only

  Madame Coumlie

  “I think this lady can help you.”

  I wanted to scream. “I come to you for help, and you lead me to a tourist attraction? Are you kidding me?” The sauerkraut I’d eaten earlier threatened to make an encore performance. I took a step back. Words failed me. Nothing would get me inside that house.

  Bitterness itched at the back of my throat. “I can’t believe you brought me here.” Rhys had been my last hope.

  “She’s not what you think.”

  What an idiot I’d been. What the hell made me think a mage had any more credibility than a fortuneteller, anyway? I’d been so busy looking at his eyes, I’d forgotten my mission. At least Porter hadn’t made fun of me. Bang-up job there, Mattie.

  I clenched my fists in fury at my own stupidity. “I just remembered, I’ve got to, um, be someplace. My niece. I need to pick her up. She’s waiting.” I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  I tripped over a crust of broken pavement and fell sprawling, cracking my elbow and against the concrete. I winced and grabbed my funny bone, embarrassed by my own clumsiness. My own weakness. My own everything.

  In a flash, Rhys was at my side, his face full of concern. I couldn’t stand to have him look at me like that. He put his hand on my arm to help me up, but when his flesh touched mine, I twisted away before I could embarrass myself any further. My elbow hurt like the dickens, and I focused on the pain instead of the thrumming of my skin where he’d touched me.

  My cheeks burned. “I don’t believe in fortune tellers.” It was the best I could come up with on short notice.

  “She’s not a fortune teller.”

  “The sign says she is.” Against my will, I wanted him to touch me again, but I couldn’t bring myself to take one step closer to the monstrosity of a house. I wanted to disappear. I glanced up and down the street, hoping no one was watching.

  “Wait, you don’t understand. When I told you she could help, what I meant to say is I think she might be related to you.”

  I whirled on him. “Like that’s supposed to make me feel better? I don’t think so.”

  “The picture I showed you is of Madam Coumlie’s daughter, Oleanna. She got pregnant and gave up the baby for adoption. I think the child might have been your mother.”

  Thunderstruck, I stared at him. “No.” I shook my head.

  Admittedly, the resemblance to my mother was pretty amazing. I searched my memories for the name, Oleanna. I’d never heard the name before; but I liked it. Was it possible? No. To think this ancient circus freak could be related to me made my face hurt. People called her the Oracle of Death, among other things. She was an embarrassment to the neighborhood, and like an old harlot, too colorful to ignore. Just like my mother. The thought of being related to yet another neighborhood joke horrified me.

  “I’m sorry I ever came to you for help.”

  “You want help? I can’t help you. You’re going to have to talk to the Hand of Fate.”

  I sighed. I don’t need this. I didn’t want to see what was behind door number two, thank you very much. I’d rather take Blix and Larry and my other little demon consolation prizes and crawl back home with my tail tucked between my legs. Perhaps Porter was right. Certainly some sort of pharmacological solution could be found; it might not get rid of my hallucinations, but I wouldn’t care anymore.

  All of a sudden, Rhys was standing too close to me, looming inside my personal space. He reached for my neck. Paralyzing fear stabbed me as he deliberately drew me to him. He leaned in and kissed me hard; full on the mouth. More like a bite with tongue than anything else. I got the barest whiff of spice cake and a hint of beer. It was over in a second, leaving me out of breath, my lips bruised and throbbing.

  “Welcome back.” That fantastic smile was back again. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself. He chucked his finger under my chin and steered me up the stairs to the porch. He held open the old-fashioned front door, and motioned me inside.

  All my resolve disappeared, as I savored the unexpected pleasure fading from my lips.

  “We can’t just walk in.”

  “We’ll be standing out here all day, if we waited for her to answer the door. She’s deaf as a fossil. You want to do this or not?”

  He grinned and waited for me to make up my mind. I wanted to ask him why he’d kissed me, but this was not the time. What the heck, better not rock the boat. Maybe he would kiss me again. Don’t be such a wimp, Mattie.

  I sighed. I wanted to keep my job, I needed to get rid of these inner demons. If Madame Coumlie was the only person with the answers I needed, I was going to have to talk to her. Shit.

  “Let’s do it then.” I set my jaw and walked past him with as much dignity as I could muster.

  CHAPTER 14

  I paused in a musty entry hall decorated in early bordello. Dark wood-trimmed burgundy walls surrounded the doorways and stairs. Across the foyer, a framed proclamation of some sort hung above a red velvet settee flanked by ornate sconces. To the right, an archway led into a lavender living room. An oriental carpet paved the floor, and a pink camelback sofa faced the soot-stained fireplace. The room appeared unused. I turned my attention back to Rhys.

  “This way.”

  I licked my lips and followed him through a wide doorway to the left, which opened into a circular, high-ceilinged parlor, painted in the most garish colors imaginable. Flocked paisley wallpaper flecked with maroon, orange, and purple covered the walls. A border of hand painted gold stars and other hieroglyphs encircled the windows and baseboards. Faded photos, framed certificates, and yellowed newspaper clippings festooned the room like bonbons. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling; dusty strings of old spider webs stretched between the prisms.

  The tiny woman sat at a low table in the front window. She must have seen us come into the house, but she did not turn her head to acknowledge us. I blushed to think she had watched me kiss Rhys.

  Rhys tapped her shoulder, and she swiveled in her seat to face me. Her eyes were her most arresting feature. The irises were a chalky copper color, with a fiery halo of yellow-gold around her pupils. Like a bird, she cocked her head and inspected every detail of my appearance from head to toe. I shifted uncomfortably; self-conscious in the power of her gaze. Her penciled-in eyebrows and rouged cheeks gave her the appearance of an ancient marionette. She grinned up at me through nonexistent lips. I was both repulsed and inexplicably fascinated by her.

  “Madame, this is Mattie Blackman.” Rhys spoke with reverence and careful diction, presumably so she could read his lips. “Mattie, this is Madame Coumlie, the Hand of Fate.” He motioned me closer.

  Had she been standing, she would have come only to my waist. She held both her blackened hands out to me, and I hesitated. Pale runic scars disfigured the soot-stained skin of her bony hands. An incised crescent moon had been carved into each of her palms. What kind of person does that to herself, I wondered.

  “What do you think, Madame? Who does she remind you of?”

  Her pale eyes washed over me, and stared back at her. I couldn’t have been more intimidated if I’d been facing a cobra. She’d
dressed as for a special occasion, although she couldn’t have known we were coming. Beneath a quilted vest of Persian blue, she wore a crisp white blouse. Ropes of polished silver and turquoise beads wound around her spindly neck. Thin white hair wrapped her skull in a tidy French twist. She gave the impression of fragility, but her eyes were flinty sharp. My determination wavered.

  “You are not my Oleanna, but there is no doubt you are of my line,” she said, in thickly accented French. She motioned me to a seat, opposite her at the banquette.

  “Tell me, mage. What do you think of her?”

  His eyes settled on my mouth as he answered. “I find her irresistible.”

  I blushed at the compliment. The old woman coughed, and horked something substantial into her cupped hand. I couldn’t keep the revulsion off my face, and even Rhys looked disgusted. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, and wiped her hand. The spasm passed and she folded the whatever it was back into the pocket of her slacks. When she’d composed herself, I realized she’d been laughing.

  “Yes, well our line always affected those such as yourself in that way. But look at her and tell me what you see.”

  “She’s like you, only more so.” Rhys put his hands out, as if he were warming himself before a bonfire. “Even in here, she is hot with it.”

  I wondered what he meant. Hot was good, right?

  “What you are sensing, mage, are her djinn. As my powers fade, hers grow stronger.” She closed her eyes and appeared to inhale my essence. “Who could imagine such strength in one like this! She is a beacon to the djinn. Several hover in her aura.”

  Djinn? In my aura? What’s a djnn?

  “And two named djemons.” Her eyes widened, and she looked directly to Blix and Larry. “What have you done, chere?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  She snatched my sweaty left hand between her cool bony fingers and I gasped. I attempted to pull away, but claws tightened into a vise around my wrist. Her fingernails dug painfully into the flesh of my palm. She had me in a grip of stone, as immovable as iron. Regardless of her appearance, she was stronger than me. The sensation of being trapped was overwhelming. I wondered if I would be able to get away with my dignity intact.