by Hattie Hunt
Joe raised his chin at the light tone in which she spoke, and the openness with which she admitted to asking for Tuck’s help. It gave her an air of genuineness that he wasn’t used to. She’d always hidden behind her walls. She might have thought those words previously, but she’d never said them out loud.
“I’m thinking Leslie.”
“The witch.” He wasn’t sure that was the right way to go.
Juliet came to stand beside them. “She’s a witch, Ripley.”
“Yes, I am aware. But just hear me out.” Ripley located Leslie’s number and then pushed the button to make her phone sleep again. “Snow’s cure didn’t work. Snow and Chuck both said it wouldn’t. What if Leslie’s right? What if the only reason Snow even has a cure listed in her book is because the last time it was successful was back in the days when witches were one of us.” Just saying those last three words left a bad taste in her mouth.
Juliet shook her head, looking at Brett’s prone form on the floor. “Why did you shoot him?”
“My padfoot warned me he was losing control. His bear came out. He was going to attack.”
“He wouldn’t have attacked us.” Joe was almost a hundred percent sure of that.
Almost.
No, not anymore. The man who’d walked through that door wasn’t his brother. He was…something else. Someone else. Maybe Ripley was right.
“I’ll call her, give her our location, she can work up here.”
Joe shook his head.
Ripley persisted. “Hopefully, she has a few ideas.”
Joe bit the inside of his lip, sharing a desperate glance with Juliet. “We can’t risk giving her the location.”
“I could go pick her up.”
“If everyone in town is looking for us, don’t you think you’ll just draw them straight to us?”
“Probably not.” Obviously, Joe didn’t understand the power of being the least liked person in town. “No one will give me more than a glance. Besides, I’m driving Tuck’s truck. Remember?”
He sighed. He didn’t like it. “What do I do with him until you get back?”
“Tie him up?” Ripley turned away, woke up her phone, and hit call.
Leslie picked up just before it went to voicemail. “Hello, this is Leslie.”
“It’s Rip.”
“Oh, hey.” Leslie’s voice changed, went lower as if she had ducked away and was trying to mask what she was saying. “Where are you?”
“About to come pick you up. You have ideas? Please tell me you have a few ideas.”
“I do. How bad is it?”
“It doesn’t look too bad on the outside. His bear came out, though. He was getting difficult to deal with. We tranked him.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Not really. They tried Snow’s cure.”
“It didn’t work.” That wasn’t a question.
“No. And it may have made it worse.”
“Oh, great. I needed a little more flavor in my life.”
After hearing the montage of crap Leslie faced on a daily basis, Ripley had a better appreciation for the snark in that statement.
Leslie sighed. “Okay. When will you be here?”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“See you then.”
Ripley hung up and stashed her phone in her back pocket, grabbing the keys. “I recommend you tie him up.”
“I’m going with you.” Joe took a step to follow.
Ripley spun and put her hand on his chest. “Because I need protecting or because I need a babysitter? Either way doesn’t look great for you. I’ve got this. You do what you need to.”
He clamped his lips shut and frowned. The only thing that made any sense at the moment was Ripley. He didn’t know what to do with his brother.
Ripley turned back to the door. “Get him tied up.”
No protests followed as she stepped outside.
The eighteen minutes it took to pull up behind Leslie’s shop took no time at all and too much time. No one paid her any attention as she drove through town. She looked for the obvious telltales. No one ducked away silently or slyly looked at their phones. That wasn’t to say that it didn’t happen. It just meant she hadn’t seen it. She hoped and prayed she’d snuck in under the radar.
With Brett acting all rabies-crazy, the urgency doubled. They couldn’t afford to be discovered and they couldn’t afford to let him loose.
Leslie was in the back, shoving jars and random accouterments into a cardboard box. She looked up when Ripley entered. “Here. Take this.” Her southern drawl was thick.
Ripley wordlessly grabbed the box and took it to the truck. When she stepped back inside, a girl about the same age as Leah stood in the doorway to the store.
“You’re in charge,” Leslie told the her. “The other kids are looking up to you.”
The girl nodded, though the look on her face said that maybe Leslie didn’t understand how little the other kids “looked up to her.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
“But you’ll be safe.”
“Of course.”
The girl gave Leslie a skeptical look.
Leslie’s shoulders slumped and she took the girl’s face in her hands. “Look, Man-Pan, I’m going to help them and I will stay as safe as I can.”
Another woman walked into the room, tall, well-built and battle-scarred. She glanced at Ripley and growled low in her throat.
Ripley’s initial reaction was to go on the defense.
But, despite the growl, the look on the other woman’s face reflected respect. She raised an eyebrow and nodded once, a slight smile on her hard face. “Margo.”
“Ripley.” Respect. That was a new one.
Man-Pan straightened. “Just be careful, Mom. ‘Cause I’m gonna kill Ty if you don’t.”
Ripley wished she knew the girl’s real name. It was obviously a pet name, and not one that Ripley should use. Ever.
Leslie smiled and ran her hand over Man-Pan’s head. “I give you my permission. Margo?”
“Yes, Leslie,” the other woman said.
“You’re in charge. Don’t let Momma boss you around. She might be the crone, but you’re the protector.”
Margo snorted as if saying, I’ll let you know how that works for me.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, the kids are not to go with Dexx.” Anger burst like a controlled flame across her face at his name. “And you keep them within the boundaries. I don’t know what he’s stirring up, but you keep them safe.”
“Always.”
Leslie gave Margo a brief hug, then grabbed a cloth grocery bag and a clay jar, and started for the back door. “Close up the shop on your way out,” she called.
The front door dinged, heralding someone’s arrival. “Leslie,” an older woman’s voice called.
Ripley kept moving. They needed to hurry. They didn’t have time for more distractions.
Leslie sighed, rolling her eyes but stopped. “Grandma, how did you get here?”
“I drove.” An older woman pushed the curtain that separated the shop from the back room aside. She barely glanced at Ripley.
“Alma,” Margo said, tipping her head in a respectful bow.
“Grandma,” Leslie said in consternation, “what are you doing here?”
“My hip told me to get here quick.”
“Your hip tells you when there’s weather.”
“Precisely.”
Leslie shook her head, but continued through the back door. “If you’re coming, be quick. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Ripley slid behind the wheel and slammed the truck door shut. What had she gotten herself into? Two witches? Seriously? Were they really going to entrust their lives to them?
They were a little desperate. They couldn’t afford to be picky.
Wasn’t that how contracts with the devil started?
This wasn’t the devil, or demons, or anything like that. The rumors of a
witch’s power source were probably made up.
Probably.
Leslie took the middle seat, keeping her legs to the side for the gear shifter. Alma closed the door beside her and gestured her hand at the windshield. “Well, come on, girl. Let’s go.”
“Grandma.” Leslie looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “Her name is Ripley.”
“Well, good for you, girl. That’s a good, strong name.”
“What has got you in such a bad mood?”
“Nothin’.” Alma had a drawl that didn’t quit, whereas Leslie’s seemed to thicken when she was upset. “What the hell’s in that damned jar?”
If Ripley could get past her two-witch predicament and keep her nerves from dangling off the edge of a damn cliff, she’d probably like Alma Whiskey. She at least spoke a language Ripley understood—one that a lot of the gentler, kinder, more delicate people of the world tended to shy away from.
“Demon tears,” Leslie said, resigned, hugging it close.
Ripley pulled up to a stop sign and spared a quick glance to the jar. Black liquid bubbled inside. “Dear fucking Christ.”
“Don’t use his name in vain, girl,” Alma admonished.
Ripley looked up at Leslie startled. “Is it supposed to do that?”
Leslie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Why is it here?” Alma grabbed the door handle, looking around her with her strange white eyes for an exit.
She was holding the exit.
“Making sure it doesn’t get into the wrong hands.”
“You’re with shapeshifters.”
Well, it was good to see that the feeling was mutual for some. Ripley put the truck in second and eased away from the stop sign. First was only used for stopping. It didn’t work in go.
“Grandma, sometimes, you’re a real jerk.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just saying there’s a lot more going on than a little—than this.”
“Than demon tears.” Alma’s voice was full of condescending derision. “How’d you get them?”
“You really,” Leslie said, shaking her head, “don’t want to know, and I really can’t tell you.”
“Does that have anything to do with what Dexx is up to?”
“Yes.”
A dark cherry muscle car shot through the intersection ahead of them and Ripley tensed. Freaking asshole. Didn’t even slow down for the red light he blew through.
Then, another dark cherry car that looked just like the first shot through the intersection behind it.
“What the fuck?” Alma twisted around after the two cars.
Ripley slowed. Something was going down.
Tuck’s truck shot through the intersection after the others.
Well, at least Tuck was preoccupied.
“Is Dexx trying to get fired?” Alma demanded, sitting back in her seat properly.
“Grandma, there’s just a lot going on right now.”
“I can see that.”
Ripley crept forward, wishing she could get out and push the stalled cars in front of her out of the way. The action was past. They could keep moving.
A pair of eyes drew her attention to the side of the road like a beacon. Chuck’s gaze pierced hers as he watched them pass. He raised a dark eyebrow.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Ripley pulled forward again, her heart hammering like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her eyes flicked obsessively between the road and the rear-view mirror, waiting to see the inevitable tail behind them. So far, so good, but fuck. Hopefully, whatever was going on in town was enough to distract everyone from what was really going down.
“What’s going on?” Alma demanded as they turned out of town. “Here, I mean. With this?” She waived a hand to encompass the cab. “Why are we in this truck? Since you won’t tell me what’s going on with Dexx.”
Leslie sighed and pulled her lips to her teeth. “A shapeshifter got bit by a rabid wolf.”
“And?” Alma hit the door with a surprising amount of strength for an old woman. “You thought you were going to find this cure on your own?”
“I couldn’t ask you, could I? Bigot.”
“Bitch.”
“Love you, too, Grandma.”
“Triple.” Alma’s voice was distant. She double-tapped the window beside her. “I might know somethin’.” She leaned around Leslie, looking at Ripley. “Does this thing go any faster?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
If time on the drive to town had been out of whack, the drive back to the cabin defied physics entirely. Every pot hole, curve, passing fucking tree served to inform Ripley just how much further they had to go. She needed to check on Joe, make sure he was okay. Yeah. He was a grown man, but even grown men had emotions and his had to be all over the place. She was worried about him. Seeing his brother like that? She didn’t know what was going through his head. All she wanted to do was to wrap him in her arms, maybe her legs, too, and just hold him tight. She focused on that image, if for nothing else than to tune out the witchy gibberish bouncing around beside her.
The front door of the cabin was open when they pulled up, and Ripley’s heart catapulted into her throat. The wheels slipped on the gravel as she rammed down the parking break and leapt out of the truck.
Juliet filled the doorframe, her hand to her head. She looked worried, but otherwise fine.
“Everything okay?” Ripley called.
Juliet nodded. “Just needed air.”
Ripley tried to shove her heart back down into its proper place, exhaling a long breath of relief. She was never that jumpy. She needed to get a grip. Stepping around to the back of the truck, she retrieved Leslie’s box, watching from the corner of her eye as Alma levered herself out of the cab looking no less than an old crone.
Juliet stepped to the passenger side of the truck and put a hand on Alma’s elbow to help her out.
“I’m not a damned invalid,” Alma grumbled.
“I’m just helping,” Juliet said with a lot more patience than Ripley would have had.
“I can see that.” Alma gripped Juliet’s arm. “Damn, you got some muscle on you.”
Juliet raised her pale eyebrows, her lips clamped shut in what almost looked like a smile.
Ripley walked right past Juliet into the cabin, searching for Joe. He appeared in the door to the bedroom, expression grim.
She set the box on the table and went to him, though as she approached, her steps faltered and she didn’t reach for him. She didn’t know if he needed a hug or to be left alone. If it had been her, she’d want to be left alone.
Joe reached for her hand and she let him wrap his fingers around her. She squeezed, willing her support and comfort into the motion.
Snow and Alma entered the room at the same time, from opposite sides. They both stopped, tensing up like riled cats, staring at one another.
“Snow,” Alma said carefully.
“Alma,” Snow said just as carefully.
“You look good.”
“You look road worn.”
“I am a bit.”
“Your eyes.”
“A gift from my granddaughter.”
“Grandma,” Leslie said from behind Alma. “You want to pick a side?”
Alma shifted to the left of the door enough for Leslie to get in.
Leslie took in the situation and then completely ignored it, heading straight for the kitchen. “Grandma, you said you had ideas.”
“I do.” She looked around the room at everyone else. “Who’s infected?”
“My brother.” Joe glanced at Ripley, uncomfortable. Having one witch on the team was one thing. Having two? “Who is this?”
Ripley could guess what he was feeling, but they didn’t have time for that. “This is Alma Whiskey. She’s Leslie’s grandmother.”
“And you trusted her enough to bring her here?”
Ripley didn’t know the woman, but she needed to reassure Joe.
She wasn’t going to lie, but she’d felt it was okay that the older woman tagged along. She lifted one shoulder and nodded. “Enough, yeah.”
Joe closed his eyes for a moment.
“Look, the stories of what witches were like?” Ripley looked at Leslie. “You’re going to say that they look all evil?”
Snow narrowed her eyes and tipped her head. “The Whiskeys aren’t the ones we need to be worried about. They’ve always been on our side.” She followed Leslie into the kitchen with a look over her shoulder. “Come on, old woman.”
Alma quirked her lips.
Leslie popped back into the room, hugging the jug of black goo to her abdomen. She sighed at the three of them standing awkwardly around the room. “We don’t need you. As long as you’re not the one who’s been bitten.”
“He’s tied up,” Snow called from the kitchen.
“Great,” Leslie said. “Then you guys, get out of here.”
“But—” Joe started.
“Get out.” Leslie’s tone was firm, her expression expectant. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”
Juliet was the first out the door.
“Where are you going?” Joe asked, taking half a step after her and then looking back at the bedroom where Brett was tied up. It felt wrong to just…leave.
“I have to find the herbs to repress his bear,” Juliet said over her shoulder. “We tied him up, but that’s not going to hold him for long.”
Joe finally stepped outside after her, a deep frown creasing his brow. He sighed as she disappeared into the woods. At least Juliet knew what she needed to do. His brother was dying and he had no idea how to stop it.
Ripley stepped up behind him and slipped her hand into his. “Come on. I want to take you somewhere.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, pulling him behind her until he matched her pace. Neither of them spoke as she led him around the cabin and down the stream trickling lazily through the trees. The land around the cabin wasn’t familiar to Ripley, but, oddly, it was relatively close to her favorite hideaway. She had spent a lot of time there before she left, particularly when she needed to be alone.
Granted, by relatively close, she meant it was almost five miles out. It might have been a long walk for most people—most humans—but she and Joe weren’t most people. For them it was only an hour or so of listening to the stream and birdsong.
