by Lexi George
A nervous thrill shot through Sassy and settled in her stomach. Grim Dalvahni was a hot, sexy beast and he wanted her. The knowledge was as exciting as an end-of-season sale at Bergdorf. For a moment, Sassy was back on the pier in Grim’s arms, and he was kissing her.
That kiss had changed everything. Boy, oh, boy, if she weren’t engaged...
She shoved the thought in a mental box and slammed it shut. She was engaged. End of subject.
A frown gathered in Grim’s golden eyes. “Where is the rest of your garment?”
Sassy did a quick spin. “This is it. Isn’t it totally presh?”
“It is too short. Wear something else.”
“I don’t have anything else to wear.”
Back home, Sassy had a fourteen-by-sixteen walk-in closet full of expensive clothes. Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t trade this makeshift outfit for all the designer apparel in the world. The universe had dumped her in a fifty-gallon drum of crazy and she’d survived.
This dress was the product of her imagination, her resourcefulness, and resilience.
Bring it, Witchy Poo. Sassy Peterson was a force to be reckoned with.
She pranced down the steps in her heels, joining Evan, Grim, and Taryn on the driveway. Side by side, they gazed at the roof where Daddy Joel’s Maserati gleamed in the sun like an oversize weather vane.
“How are we going to get it down?” Sassy worried her bottom lip. “Should we call a wrecker?”
“Not unless they have a crane,” Evan said in his lazy drawl.
He was wearing one of Trey’s shirts, a cobalt blue polo that hugged his lean frame. The color looked super with Evan’s black hair.
He slid Grim a glance. “One more time. How did the car wind up on the roof, Big ’Un? You were vague about that part at breakfast.”
“In truth, I do not recall.” A dull flush crept up Grim’s high cheekbones. “I assume I put it there for safekeeping.”
“You were crunk.” Evan shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Word of info. Most people don’t park their cars on the roof. Good thing Peterson didn’t live in town. There’d be questions.”
“He has a point, Dalvahni,” Taryn said. “You are in violation of the Directive. Remove the carriage at once.”
Grim’s jaw tightened. “I do not require instruction on the Directive, Kir.”
He raised his hands, palms up, and the car rose gently in the air and hovered a few feet above the twin chimney stacks.
“The back of the carriage is wobbling,” Taryn said in her dispassionate way. “Do you require assistance?”
“No. I do not.”
Sassy could practically hear Grim grinding his jaw. For two superhumans who had a lot in common—same job, same “parent,” similar goals and interests—Taryn and Grim got along like couple of rabid possums trapped in a rain barrel.
In other words, like siblings.
Grim made a slight adjustment with his hands, and the car leveled out.
Meredith appeared on a gust of Happy perfume.
“Easy with the ride, Sugar Buns,” she told Grim. “I can’t haunt it if it’s a paperweight.”
Evan winced. “Volume, woman. You got a voice like a dentist drill.”
“Bite me, zombie boy,” Meredith said. “At least I don’t play with road kill.”
Evan had been responsible for the pile of dead animals outside the hut, not the Hag. Sassy still found it hard to process. She was in favor of recycling, but Evan’s strange ability was a little gross.
At least he hadn’t killed them. He’d raised the poor things in an attempt to free himself from the witch. You couldn’t blame the guy for that.
Being a zombie maker was Evan’s demonoid talent. He’d explained the whole thing over a breakfast of stale Cheerios and milk—compliments of a neighboring dairy farmer. Or so Taryn had said when she plucked two quarts of moo juice out of thin air.
Now that was a talent Sassy could use—being able to produce things by magic. A girl would never run out of things to wear. The fashion possibilities were endless.
According to Evan, every demonoid had talent, though some were more talented than others. His gift happened to be raising the dead. Back in the fall, Evan had used a zombie named Tommy to locate Rebekah, his long-lost twin; Conall’s wife, although they hadn’t been married at the time.
That’s how Evan and Meredith knew one another. Zombies were mumbling, stumbling, brain-eating corpses with no sense of self. But Tommy the Zombie had been different. Tommy Henderson had died young and suddenly. So suddenly his soul had been inadvertently sucked back into his body when Evan did his zombie thing.
A sentient zombie; the thought gave Sassy the heebies. Poor Tommy had known what he was and had hated it. Being trapped in a rotting corpse and consumed with an insatiable hunger for brains had been a double whammy for Tommy, a confirmed vegetarian. Desperate, Tommy hired Meredith to harangue Evan into letting him go, and it had worked.
“Like to drove me bug shit with her bitching,” Evan had mumbled around his cereal spoon earlier that morning.
Sassy didn’t doubt it for a second. She’d seen Meredith in action.
Grim guided the car off the roof and onto the driveway near the porch steps.
“Buns of steel and the man has mad skills.” Meredith glanced at her rose gold bracelet watch. “Gotta roll, hos. Meeting with a client. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
She dissipated on a cloud of fragrance.
Evan sneezed hard. “Dayum, hard on the ears and the sinuses.” He jumped behind the wheel of the sports car. “I say we salt the place and keep the bitch out.”
“I couldn’t do that,” Sassy said. “This is her home.”
“You are such a lollipop.” Evan ran his hands along the ergonomic three-spoke steering wheel. “Guess that’s why everybody likes you.”
“The witch doesn’t like me.”
Evan looked up at her from behind the wheel. Gracious, he was a heartbreaker. Those eyes: dark violet fringed with sooty lashes.
“Oh, she likes you, Sassafras.” Evan grinned. “She likes you too much.”
Taryn made a slow circuit around the car. “This is most excellent workmanship. Is it elvish?”
“Eye-talian.” Evan stroked the wood grain dashboard. “Bet this baby used to go zero to sixty in a matter of seconds.”
“Used to go?” Sassy cried. “But it looks good as new.”
“Sorry, Lolly. You totaled this puppy.” Evan’s voice held regret. “Hope your stepdaddy has good insurance.”
“Totaled?” Sassy’s heart sank. “Oh, no.”
Grim propped his hip against the side of the car and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “The machine will work.”
“Hel-lo. Combustion engine?” Evan waved his hands. “Cars and water don’t mix. Sure, it could probably be rebuilt, but most people with the money to score this kind of car don’t want the hassle.”
“It will work. A Dalvahni warrior does not lie.”
“A Dalvahni warrior is not a mechanic.” Evan twisted the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. “Told ya.”
“It’s got to work.” Sassy yanked the driver’s door open. “I can’t tell Daddy Joel I killed his car. Let me try.”
Evan shrugged and climbed out of the convertible. “Knock yourself out, but you’re wasting your time.”
He strolled over to the front steps and sat down. Sassy scooted into the driver’s seat.
Taryn leaned over her shoulder. “Are you a—what is the word?—a mechanic?”
“I know where the key goes. Does that count?” Sassy squeezed her eyes shut and patted the elegant dash. “Come on, baby. Start for Sassy.”
She turned the key, and the car burped to life with a loud backfire.
Taryn sprang back with a startled exclamation. “By the vessel, what ails the thing?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.” Sassy pumped her fist in the air as the engine settled into a smooth purr. “Listen to that beaut
iful sound.”
Evan gave Grim a sour look. “You used magic. That’s cheating.”
“Says who?” Sassy planted a kiss on the trident symbol in the leather center of the wheel. “Maybe Grim didn’t use magic. Maybe Mea wouldn’t start for you because you didn’t ask nicely.”
“Mea Maserati?” Evan groaned. “Oh, God. You’re one of those chicks who name everything.”
“Not everything. Important things, like cars.”
“And fish,” Grim murmured.
“I didn’t name Gilbert, the witch did.”
Evan straightened. “Who’s Gilbert?”
“A giant catfish,” Sassy said. “He’s over a hundred years old. The witch hand-fed him from a guppy. It supersized him. Like you.”
“I am not a fish.”
“No, but Monster Evan is a big boy because of something the witch fed you, same as Gilbert.”
“And you know this . . . how?” Evan asked.
“Gilbert told me.”
“You speak catfish?”
“And bird.” Sassy thought about this. “I’m not sure if I speak all bird. The one I met this morning was certainly chatty. And I met my fairy god grump.”
“Your what?” Evan held up his hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“A wise choice.” Opening the car door, Grim wedged his big body into the passenger seat. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”
“Have you removed the shield, Big ’Un?” Evan asked. “I’m not in the mood to fry my ass.”
“The shield is down.”
Evan grunted in relief.
Sassy rummaged in the glove box and trotted out a green leather wristlet. “Yay—my emergency wallet. Daddy Joel insists I carry a spare. Isn’t he sweet?”
“Precious.” Evan rose from the steps. “Is Daddy Joel in the pickle biz, too?”
“Ever heard of Champ’s Chicken Fingers?”
“Sure.”
“That’s Daddy Joel. Thirty-five stores in the Deep South and counting.”
“Holy shat, Sassafras, did you screw a leprechaun? Nobody’s that lucky.”
Sassy giggled. “It’s only money, Evan.”
“Only rich people say that.”
Evan folded his long legs into the backseat. Taryn got in beside him. The huntress resembled an actor in a Renaissance fair in her medieval garb.
Sassy shifted into gear, and the sports car glided down the wooded drive and onto the two-lane county road leading to town. The highway wound through a thick forest of oaks, maples, hickories, and the ever-present Southern pine. Along the grassy berms slender stalks of wild iris bloomed and oak leaf hydrangeas rambled, white fronds stirring in the breeze.
It was a glorious day. The sun was shining. The sky was so blue it hurt your eyes, and the temperature was mild. It wouldn’t last. Spring in Alabama wasn’t so much a season as a moment. By the end of the month, the oppressive heat of summer would hammer down, leaving the South gasping for breath and sweating like a chipmunk on a griddle.
Her time in Hannah wouldn’t last, either. In a few hours, she’d be headed to Fairhope. Tomorrow she’d be back at the gift shop, selling gherkin pops and dill pickle sauce to tourists.
Her adventure would be over.
Sassy’s throat tightened. With a twinge of annoyance, she shrugged off her gloom.
Why mope? She had today. She’d make the most of it.
What else should she add to her bucket list? Something fun and exciting, pretty please with sprinkles on top. She sent the thought out into the universe.
She rounded a curve and passed a Jeep Cherokee sitting at the end of a dirt road. The Cherokee pulled onto the highway in a cloud of red dust and caught up with them. The flash of blue lights on top of the SUV kicked Sassy’s heart into overdrive.
“Oh, snap.” Sassy gripped the wheel. “We’re being stopped by the police.”
She eased the car onto the grass. The Jeep parked behind them and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a brown uniform got out. Handsome, with a strong jaw and a wide, firm-lipped mouth, the officer wore his dark hair clipped short. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. A shiny sheriff’s badge was pinned to the pocket of his crisp khaki shirt.
He strode up to the car. Sassy watched him approach in the mirror on the driver’s side. He moved with the power and loose-limbed grace of an animal in its prime.
A meat-eating animal; this was no herbivore.
Sassy heard a stifled gasp from the backseat and glanced in the rearview mirror. Taryn sat ramrod straight, her gaze fixed on the windshield. She sensed the predator in their midst, too.
“License and proof of insurance,” the officer said.
There was a still, alert quality about him, like he’d taken their measure in a single glance.
No dummy, this man.
“Certainly, Officer.” Sassy held up her wallet in one hand and reached for the glove box. She showed him the insurance slip. It was soaked.
“Take the license out of the wallet, ma’am.”
Goodness, he was intimidating. He acted like she was a felon. Or worse, badly dressed.
She fished the laminated rectangle out of the wallet and handed it to him. He glanced from the I.D. to Sassy and back again. The aura of danger around him thickened.
“You don’t look like the female in this photograph.”
“I know, right? The woman at the probate office was a major crab. I told her she didn’t get my best side, but she refused to retake it.”
Sassy’s smile bounced off the officer’s shield of hard ass. Marshmallows, her charm projector must be malfunctioning.
“This is a photocopy of a license, ma’am. And your insurance information is unreadable.”
“Yes, I know. I can expla—”
“You can explain it at the county jail. There’s a BOLO on this automobile. It was reported missing yesterday along with the driver, some rich debutante out of Mobile.”
“A BOLO, really?” Strictly speaking, Sassy hadn’t been a deb in ages, but she was much too excited to argue about it. “Am I being arrested? Awesome.”
“Awesome?” Evan thumped his head against the back of the seat. “Sassy, you have got to quit smoking that shit.”
Chapter Eighteen
Poof! Grim vanished from the front seat and rematerialized at the officer’s side.
“Nice trick,” the lawman said without twitching a muscle.
Which said a lot about him and his job. He was one cool customer.
“You are the shire reeve?” Grim asked.
Grim’s whiskey smooth voice sent a tingle of ahh through Sassy. Since that scorching kiss in the river, she’d been painfully aware of him. Her senses buzzed at his scent and nearness, and her body hummed with sexual tension.
She wanted sex. With Grim.
It didn’t matter how many times she reminded herself she was promised to Wes, her libido howled like a toddler sent home from a birthday party without a treat bag. The quart of fairy Kool-Aid she’d ingested probably hadn’t helped.
Who knew fairies were such horny little gadflies?
“I’m Sheriff Whitsun.” The officer’s voice yanked Sassy from her lascivious thoughts. “And you’re Dalvahni. I’ve seen that vapor act before.”
Oh ho, so this wasn’t the sheriff’s first ticket to the demon hunter circus. Life in Hannah must be one big paranormal party.
Whitsun sized Grim up. “You by any chance related to a guy named Ansgar?”
“He is my brother. I am Grim. The female with the inexplicable desire to be jailed is Sassy Peterson.”
“Peterson?” The sheriff’s sunglasses lasered in on Sassy. “That so?”
“Yeah,” Evan said. “As in the Petersons. Get Daddy Joel on the horn. He’ll straighten this out.”
The sheriff cocked a brow. “Daddy Joel?”
“My stepfather, Joel Champion,” Sassy said. “I borrowed his car yesterday and came to Hannah on business. I got . . . sidetracked.”
/> “Sidetracked how?”
Holy BOGO, how to explain without sounding like a lunatic? Well, there was this saber-tooth deer, and a horrible old witch, and a glowing silver stag the size of a Rolls-Royce, and fairies and—
Better keep it simple.
“My GPS quit working. I got lost and ran off the road.”
Into a creek and nearly drowned, where I was saved by the Hot Ginger Dude with the built-in teleportation device. Oh, yeah, and if the Incredible Hulk and the Thing were a gay couple and had a baby, the guy in the backseat would be their love child.
And the ruby red supermodel sitting beside him is some kind of ninja vagina Amazon warrior chick.
“Law enforcement officers in three counties are looking for you, Ms. Peterson.”
“I’m sorry. I lost my cell phone and my purse,” Sassy said. “It was a crazy day.”
That was the understatement of the century.
Whitsun gave her another hard look from behind his sunglasses. His nostrils flared as though he could smell the truth of her words.
He turned his attention to Evan. “Who are you?”
“Evan Beck.”
“You look familiar.”
“Guess I got one of them faces.”
Whitsun’s sunglasses remained fixed on Evan, like he was running Evan through his databanks.
“You’re a dead ringer for Beck Damian,” Whitsun said at last. “You that brother I’ve heard so much about?”
“Guilty as charged.” Evan’s mouth twisted. “Has Cookie been talking about me?”
Cookie? The tattoo on Evan’s arm was for his sister? How sweet. A lump formed in Sassy’s throat. Trey never got a tattoo for her. Her brother was a dog; a dead dog. On the positive side, he didn’t shed or have fleas. And he didn’t leave poopy pies in the yard.
He also didn’t talk to her, which was pretty much the same as when he’d been alive.
“Conall asked me to keep an eye out for you,” Whitsun said to Evan. “Your sister’s been worried. You weren’t at the wedding.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
“You and Beck on the outs?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Fair enough.”
Whitsun shifted his attention to Taryn. His expression remained impassive, but he vibrated awareness. Something told Sassy the sheriff had saved the huntress for last.
