by K. F. Breene
“I think I might just quit that job, actually.” I glanced at the window. Water sifted down, a light drizzle—not enough to keep people from visiting the medieval village. The storm had blown out as fast as it had come in. “I can probably find something that pays better. Like an office job. Or, I don’t know, maybe traveling. I’d like to travel to New Orleans one day…”
She laid my robe on the bed before opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of sparkly thong panties.
“Mother!” I leapt up. “Get out of there.”
“Like I haven’t seen this?” She held up the underwear and raised her eyebrows. “You think I was always this old and fat, do you? Well, I wasn’t. Your father used to like these little—”
“No, no, no, no, no!” I snatched the thong out of her hand. “I’ll get dressed. Fine. You did your job. Get out.”
“If you want to quit that job, go ahead. But you’ll give your notice like a professional. You will not leave them high and dry.”
“They don’t even need me. They have me next to a palm reader. We do practically the same thing.”
“They must think you’re valuable, or you wouldn’t have been granted a spot.”
“They probably just needed to fill the space and I was the only one who wanted it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She opened another drawer and grabbed out a bra.
“Would you stop?” I snatched it.
She pursed her lips at me before turning for the door. “I’ll call you later and check on you. Remember your lunch. You forgot it yesterday. And I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything about New Orleans,” she said as she walked out. “That place is a booze-filled insane asylum. No daughter of mine will be caught dead in a place like that.” She shut my door behind her as guilt heated my face.
Miracle of miracles, she hadn’t found out about New Orleans. She’d happily accepted my cover story about Oregon and hadn’t bothered to look into it. It was the only bit of luck I’d ever been granted.
I sagged against my dresser, replaying the night before for the umpteenth time. And I didn’t dwell on the negative parts, either. I mostly slid right past the magical deaths and the whole “running over dead men” thing. Instead, my brain kept turning over the magic I’d seen, trying to parse each spell’s intention and the way it was woven together. I compared those various weaves to the one I’d seen crawling out of the cauldron, trying to determine if any of the components matched.
I headed to the shower, going over it all again. And then again, until I had all of the different strands stored in my memory. It wasn’t until I was sitting in my car with my still-wet purse and packed lunch that I snapped back to reality.
What the heck was I doing?
There was no way I was going to work. The stranger clearly had no qualms about killing people, and he must’ve meant the thing in the street as a threat. People didn’t play chicken with unhinged ladies and oncoming cars if they didn’t mean some sort of harm. Had he managed to lob that spell at me, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Surely he’d show up for round two.
Then again, that street had been completely bare. He’d somehow sectioned it off and cleared it out. He must’ve wanted to protect innocent bystanders from the magical standoff he knew was coming. Because that barrier had definitely been his magic. It was too finely done to be the others’ work.
But even a compassionate outlaw wouldn’t want a witness.
By that reasoning, spending all day around people would be my best bet. Certainly the safest. He’d have to go on a huge killing spree to get rid of everyone.
There was also the license plate situation. I’d driven right at him and then away from him. He’d had plenty of opportunity to burn those digits into his head. I didn’t know how one went about finding the address of a car’s registration, but in today’s age of technology, it probably wouldn’t be horribly difficult.
Yeah, work might actually be the best bet.
A hard rap sounded on the window.
I jumped and clutched the gear shift. I really needed to work on my reactions. Running someone over with a parked car was not feasible.
My mother leaned down to the window. “Get going, young lady.”
“Get out of the road, Ma. You’re in your bathrobe, for heaven’s sake.”
My mother straightened up and jammed her fists onto her hips. “I will walk out into my front yard in whatever I want. If Mr. Timmons wants to complain, he can do so to deaf ears.”
Mr. Timmons would complain, all right. To his son. Who would then make sure he told me just how embarrassing my mother was. It was a regular song and dance.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I said, starting the car.
“Have a great day.” She stood a step farther into the street to see me off.
“Get out of the street,” I yelled at her, stepping on the gas.
She stayed right where she was and waved at me, holding up a car coming down the street.
“Is it any wonder I turned out the way I did, with that woman as my genetic dispensary?” I muttered, heading toward the medieval village.
Twenty minutes later, I held my breath as I passed the scene of the magical battle the night before. I needn’t have bothered. The street had returned to business as usual. The stores were open, cars were running along, and there was nary a dead body to be seen.
The stranger had done a good job of cleaning everything up. I didn’t even see my tire marks burned onto the asphalt.
Then again…I didn’t remember slamming on the brakes. In fact, I was pretty certain my foot hadn’t left the gas, even after hopping the curb.
My eyes never stopped moving as I made my way to my station along the dirt lane. A couple of others were already setting up in their spots. They spared me a glance and a nod, but no one paid me an unusual amount of attention. Nothing peeked out of the lush foliage along the sides, and no one was lying in wait for me when I reached my destination. I let out a sigh of relief and went about setting up.
The day passed in a slow grind of anxiety and jumpiness. I stared at each new face I saw, expecting the stranger and dreading him at the same time. I looked harder at Geraldine, wanting to ask her if she’d noticed anything special about the stranger. But I didn’t do it. I wasn’t sure why, just that I didn’t want to call attention to the situation. I’d run over someone, for goodness’ sake. I didn’t want to paint myself into the scene if I didn’t have to.
At quitting time, I was shaking from the stress of the day, but he hadn’t come. I hadn’t so much as felt anyone lurking.
The rain had picked up by the time I got home, going from sifting lazily to falling with purpose. I parked next to the curb and sat for a moment, getting my bearings before going in and facing my mother. The woman was draining, at best, and I was already operating on fumes.
I really needed to move out. I was much too old to be hovered over by my parent. Heck, I’d been too old at sixteen.
Groaning, I grabbed the handle to get out. A large shape loomed in my window.
A shock of fear sizzled through my body. “No!” Reactions still terrible, I slapped the window.
A girlish scream preceded Veronica jumping back from the car. She took off, sprinting for my front door.
It wasn’t like her to take off because I’d gotten a fright and slapped the window (usually she’d laugh heartily at my clumsiness), so I immediately went on red alert. I cranked the key in the ignition and clutched my gear shift. I didn’t know how to fight, but I clearly knew how to run people over. If that mage had spooked my friend, I was ready with rubber and steel.
The soft patter of raindrops fell against my windshield. A woman with an umbrella passed by on the opposite sidewalk, looking between my car and Veronica on my porch, as she walked her dog. Her little mutt, wearing a bright yellow raincoat, trotted along miserably.
My chest heaved as I waited for something to happen. A zip of a spell or the roar of Death thundering toward me.
Apparently my imagination thought Death rode a Harley.
“What are you doing on my porch like a wet poodle?” I heard, a voice that would have Death turning his hog around and heading back the other way. “Penelope! Get out of that car. Are you trying to cause global warming all by yourself? Get in here. I have a roast in for dinner.”
The breath exited my lungs in a whoosh. Just like that, the spell was broken. The sense of caution that had pressed on me lightened, until I was looking out at my peaceful neighborhood, no more dangerous than it had been yesterday.
I climbed from my car and was immediately pelted by cold drops. I ducked back in for my purse before locking up and jogging to the porch. My mother stood there with a scowl and fisted hands jammed into her hips, her default look. Veronica stood next to her with a confused and troubled expression.
“Did you eat your lunch?” my mother asked, not letting me by.
“Yes,” I murmured.
A smile worked onto Veronica’s face. She thought my mother’s antics were hilarious. That was because she had normal, well-adjusted parents who didn’t think their daughter should wear bubble wrap.
“Good. Now…” My mother’s focus switched to something over my shoulder. Her hand darted out and grabbed me, shoving me behind her. “I’ll handle this.”
Fear trickled through me again as I looked around wildly. “No, Mother, we should just—” But it wasn’t the stranger. It was our across-the-street neighbor, Lewis Timmons, walking out onto his porch and staring out at us. Judging by his posture and the lowering of his hairy unibrow, he was not pleased.
“What’s this I hear about you sauntering through the street in your negligee?” Lewis yelled across at us.
“If you think a bathrobe and curlers count as a negligee, then your wife has been bored with you since the beginning,” my mother hollered back.
“Leave Peg out of this! Jackie, you can’t waltz down the middle of the street in a bathrobe and curlers like the town harlot.” Lewis flung his finger through the air to punctuate his words. “There are children on this street, for goodness’ sake. Is that the kind of example you want to set for them? One of loose morals and impropriety?”
My mother shifted, and I edged around her bulk just enough to see her sly smile. That meant bad things. “What kind of whorehouses are you visiting that the service providers show up in tatty bathrobes and pink curlers? I always knew you were cheap, but I didn’t know you were that cheap. And don’t worry about the children. I’m doing a good job teaching them not to be cowed by uptight old farts like you. It’s a good lesson to learn, you mark my words.”
His answer was sputtering and wild gesturing, which was how these face-offs usually ended. My mother hadn’t met an argument that taboo subjects couldn’t silence.
She harrumphed and turned toward our door. “Get inside, girls. We’re letting all the heat out.”
“Actually, it’s Friday,” Veronica said in a meek voice. Her tight curls glimmered with moisture. She held her closed umbrella by her side.
“Oh right. Yes, of course.” My mother shoved her way to the door. “Stay out of trouble. And for heaven’s sake, Penelope, get an umbrella!”
“Today’s not a good day to scout the neighborhood,” I whispered as my mother disappeared into the house.
Veronica’s expression fell, and the glimmer of analysis sparked in her eyes. “What’s the matter? You’re jumpier than usual, which is saying something, because since you came back from—”
“What’s this about being jumpy?” My mother appeared in the doorway again before thrusting an umbrella at me.
“Nothing. Ronnie just thinks I’m more jumpy than normal since coming back from Oregon,” I said quickly.
“Well, of course she is.” My mother narrowed her eyes at Lewis, who was still sulking in his doorway. “Why doesn’t he just get lost? I swear that man is intolerable. How a nice lady like Peg deals with him is beyond me.” She shook her head and returned her attention to us. “That’s why I let you go. I knew a few haunted houses would scare you straight. Ghosts are terrifying. Giving them a wide berth is the right way to play it. You don’t want a demon attaching itself to you and following you around the rest of your life. Can you imagine? Go back in your house, you grumpy old goat!”
“Oh my God, Mom, stop yelling at the neighbors.” I pushed at her. “Get inside.”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, young lady. I raised you better than that. And don’t manhandle your mother. I’m fragile.”
“About as fragile as a battle-ax,” I muttered.
“But if you didn’t want a demon to attach itself to her,” Veronica said with a furrowed brow, “why let her go see haunted houses?”
“Bah.” My mother waved the thought away. “Tourist houses aren’t properly haunted. No. A properly haunted house stays shut up. No one wants to wander through it. You don’t make money on terror, just on fear.”
Veronica stared at my mother with a tilted head and open mouth, like she was going to argue, but the statement was too absurd for her to find an angle. “Huh,” Veronica finally said.
“Here.” My mother handed me a red marker before taking my purse. “Make it right.”
“But…” I looked out at the wide-open space, searching for anything that could get me out there.
“Penelope.” My mother leveled me with a stare. “It’s necessary.” She pushed me away from the door, much better at moving me than I was her, and closed it on us a moment later.
It was time for Veronica’s version of the neighborhood watch.
Chapter Twelve
Veronica opened her umbrella before leading me to the sidewalk. She glanced back at the porch before murmuring, “Now can you finally finish telling me what happened in New Orleans? How much does a girl need to beg?”
I scanned the sidewalk and front yards as I opened my umbrella, knowing that with my car parked on the street, its license plate was on full display. Anyone looking for me would know I was home. Which meant it was probably wise to remove myself from the situation. Either my would-be assailant would set up to spy on me, learning my habits, before making a move, or he’d barge right into the house. If he barged into my mother’s house before I got back…well, Lord help him. There were worse ways to leave Earth, but I sure couldn’t think of any.
“Hello?” Veronica nudged me with her elbow. “I swear you are keeping something from me. What is it?”
I bit my lip. I’d told her about the touristy things I’d done and my chat with the old couple and their younger counterpart, but it hadn’t seemed right to share any of the magical stuff. I was still processing it myself. Besides, in light of last night’s forays, it was probably better if she could claim ignorance.
“Nothing. That place is creepy and fun…but creepy. It has made me see the world differently, that’s all.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “I’m jumpier because I’ve been taken out of my mother’s carefully constructed bubble of protection. I just have to get used to it. I’ll be back to normal in no time.”
“You could seriously do with busting out of that bubble, yes. Although, with a woman like your mother, I have no idea how you’ll do it. You might have to run away.”
Now I wasn’t just biting my lip, I was chewing on it. I didn’t want to tell Veronica about my tentative relocate-to-New-Orleans plan. Not yet. She’d insist on coming with me, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not until I could learn to control my magic and protect myself. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was turn my best friend into a zombie or worse.
Thankfully, Veronica didn’t notice my discomfort. “Okay, so what happened since I saw you last? Because a few days ago, you didn’t freak out when I showed up by your door, and you certainly didn’t make your car buzz with electricity. It sounded like one of those electric fences.”
I frowned. “Electric fences don’t buzz.”
“Oh yes they do. Right before they shock you something fierce.”
&
nbsp; “Right. Well, yes, they buzz when you are dumb enough to touch them, but if you don’t touch them, they don’t buzz.”
“They do. And your car sounded like one. How’d you do that? Does Toyota have a Batmobile upgrade or something? Because if so, I want it.”
“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t hear any buzzing.”
She waggled her finger at me. “You better not be holding out on me. Because that’s a feature I could get behind. I wouldn’t even have to lock my doors.”
I smiled in gratitude. Veronica had always made light of the weird things that went on around me.
She clutched my arm. “There’s one. Quick!” She dashed forward to a sagging bright pink sign taped to the light pole.
“I don’t know why you hurry. They aren’t going anywhere.” I followed her, reading the sign. “What’s the problem?”
She yanked the cap off her black pen and sliced a small mark after the word Sunday. Sighing, she stood back to analyze her handiwork. “It was missing a comma.”
Satisfied, she clicked the cap back on and continued walking.
This was her neighborhood watch. Fixing the grammar and spelling on homemade street signs. Being an editor of fiction, she caught every last mistake, and it annoyed her until she could make it right.
No wonder she was my friend. She was as cracked as I was.
“What was Lewis Timmons talking about?” Veronica asked as we turned the corner. “Another one! Look at that. How people make this mistake is seriously beyond me. It isn’t even close! But I see it all the time.” She yanked off the cap of her marker. “How do they not notice something like that? It boggles my mind.”
She rushed toward the sign saying, “yard sard.”
I stood behind her as she made the necessary fix, telling her about my morning. Specifically, my mother’s antics—from pulling out my thong to stopping traffic to say goodbye. Veronica was guffawing by the end.
