by Lexi George
His demonoid ability to heal had been a curse and a blessing, healing him to suffer again and again. No love or tenderness, no happiness or respite from the certainty of abuse.
Somehow, Evan had survived the years of captivity and cruelty.
A disgusting odor permeated Sassy’s nostrils, and she recoiled. She was sharing Evan’s olfactory memories, too. Burnt popcorn and demon smelled a lot alike, she realized, wrinkling her nose in distaste. The constant reek of the demons’ rotting flesh had left Evan with a diminished appetite and a violent aversion to microwave popcorn.
Sassy jerked her hand away and the mini horror movie ended. If this was a side effect of her fairy injection, she didn’t want it. It was intrusive and sad. Sassy didn’t do sad.
“Hel-lo?” Evan waved his hand in her face. “Where’d you go?”
Sassy rubbed her palm against her thigh. Maybe if she rubbed hard enough, she could wipe the images from her mind.
“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Evan jerked his chin in the direction of the office. “Blake’s twin shows up after a fifty-year absence. Coinkydink? I don’t think so.”
Sassy’s head spun. In a span of moments, she’d fallen down the rabbit hole into Evan’s memories and learned her grandfather was a very bad man and her brother had trafficked with demons.
Small wonder Mama had fled from Hannah. The Peterson side of her family was a cross between The Sopranos and The Adams Family.
“She’s trying to pick up where Trey left off and make a deal with the demons,” Evan said. “Why else would she be in this one-horse town?”
Sassy thought about this. “Why buy the mill?”
Evan lifted his shoulders. “Who knows? Maybe she plans to use the mill as a cover.”
Grim gave Evan a look that made Sassy shiver. “Or mayhap her business is with you. You admit you are in league with the djegrali. You had dealings with Trey and knowledge of this weapon. You can name your price.”
“Was in league with the demons. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been in Ora Mae’s shed the past month.”
“So you say. Perhaps you are in bed with the witch as well.”
“Please.” Evan shuddered. “Spare me that image.”
Sassy gave Grim a Look. “The witch was fattening Evan up to eat him. They are not besties. If you want to know more about this—this weapon thingy, ask Conall.”
“Yeah,” Evan said, flapping his hand at Grim. “What she said.”
Mr. Marvin came out on the porch and peered down the sidewalk at them. “Everything okay? Mrs. Harwood’s waiting in my office. Tilda’s made coffee.”
“Showtime.” Evan gave Sassy a questioning look. “Think you can handle this?”
“Of course.” Sassy tucked a stray curl behind her ear to hide her nervousness. “She can’t make me sell the mill.”
“Don’t underestimate her, Lollipop. She’s a halfsie like me, half demon, half human.”
Sassy did some quick calculating. If her grandfather was a halfsie did that make her an octoroid?
No, absolutely not. She refused to be called anything so indelicate. It sounded like something you’d find on a tube of Preparation H. Apply to affected area three times a day for relief of swelling and itching.
“I’ll be careful,” she promised.
Inside, they found Taryn sitting on a couch holding a steaming mug in one hand.
She took a sip and made a face. “Bitter. It smells better than it tastes.”
“I’ve always thought so,” Sassy said. “Try a little sugar in it.”
Taryn dumped half the sugar bowl into her mug and took another sip.
She set the cup down with a clatter. “Now it is too sweet.”
Evan rolled his eyes. “What a Goldilocks.”
“Tilda, get the lady a fresh cup.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Marvin.” Tilda batted her eyes at Grim. “What about you? You interested in something hot?”
Sassy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Could the woman be more obvious?
Tilda pressed her large bosom against Grim. “If you are, I’ve got something for you.”
The answer was a resounding yes.
Grim peeled Tilda off like a wet bathing suit. “No, thank you. I do not care for a libation.”
“Sassy?” Mr. Marvin gestured toward his office. “Shall we join your aunt? She’s waiting.”
Sassy’s stomach fluttered. She’d rather wear pleather shoes than disappoint anyone, and Susan Harwood was about to be majorly hairballed.
Grim seemed to sense her anxiety, and moved to her side.
“I will accompany you,” he said.
Sassy wavered. It would be such a comfort to have Grim with her when she reneged on the deal with Susan. She straightened her spine. Her forefathers hadn’t conquered the pickle industry by being cowards. Time to prove she was a chip off the old dill.
“No, thank you,” she said. “That won’t be necessary.”
Head high, Sassy walked into the office. The room smelled of pipe tobacco, leather books, and paper. Susan was seated in a button leg chair. Posture erect, her shapely legs pressed together at the knees and ankles, she was the picture of bored elegance, except for the volcanic vapor cloud floating around her head.
Mr. Marvin seemed unaware of the pyrotechnics. Lucky guy.
He shut the door, closing the three of them inside, and directed Sassy to a chair beside her aunt. The ball of dread in Sassy’s stomach solidified as Mr. Marvin took a seat behind his mahogany desk. Clasping her hands in her lap, Sassy considered how best to handle things. Tact and finesse were called for, of course, and social grace, qualities she had in spades.
Mr. Marvin opened a manila file and removed a legal document. “To begin. In spite of the recent problems at the mill—”
“What problems?” Sassy asked, sitting up straight.
“There have been a number of accidents. Nothing major—machines breaking down for no apparent reason. Last week Junior Givens fell off the loading deck and busted his leg in three places. Another worker lost a finger in one of the saws. That sort of thing. Understandably, the men are uneasy. Somebody’s started a rumor the mill is cursed.”
Sassy leaned forward. “Is it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Cursed??”
“Of course not.”
“Oh, pooh.” Sassy sat back, disappointed. “A curse would have been cool. The Curse of the Haunted Mill sounds like a Nancy Drew novel. I loved those books when I was a kid.”
Mr. Marvin looked over his glasses at Sassy. “You seem to have an inordinate fondness for curses, Sassy.”
“Not inordinate.” Sassy gave the lawyer a sparkling smile. “Just plain old ordinate.”
Mr. Marvin cleared his throat. “Yes, well, back to business. A curse, if there were such a thing, could drive your property values down. Fortunately for you, Mrs. Harwood has agreed to your asking price of—”
“I’ve decided not to sell,” Sassy blurted.
Goodness, where did that come from? So much for tact and finesse.
Susan stiffened in her chair, and Sassy could have sworn she smelled sulfur. Mrs. Harwood was not happy. Sassy took a steadying breath and caught a whiff of something warm and spicy. Her eyes widened and she took a quick glance around. Grim was here, in the room with them somehow. She recognized his scent, although she could not see him. Her spirits lifted at the knowledge. She was not alone.
“I am in no mood for games, Sarah Elizabeth,” Mrs. Harwood said in an icy voice. “I want that mill. As the eldest child, it should have been mine, not my brother’s. At the very least, I should have been given half interest. Instead, my father left it to Blake.” She gave Sassy a hard look. “I’ll raise my offer by twenty thousand, not a penny more.”
A slight displacement of molecules made Sassy’s skin tingle. Grim had moved closer, as though he sensed the menace radiating from Susan.
“I don’t want your money,” Sassy said.
“I’m keeping the mill.”
Mr. Marvin harrumphed. “Now, now, Sassy, you and I spoke of this at length on the phone, and we agreed this is for the best. Leroy Houston’s a good man, but he can’t run the mill and the office and oversee fifty thousand acres of timber, not when the workers’ confidence has been shaken by the accidents.”
“You don’t think I can handle it.”
“Why would you want to? It’s a big job for anyone, especially for a pretty young thing like you. You don’t live in Hannah and you don’t know a thing about the timber industry.” Mr. Marvin sat back in his chair and gave Sassy an indulgent smile. “Take the money and go home to Fairhope. Plan your wedding. Enjoy your honeymoon knowing the mill will be in capable hands. Mrs. Harwood has plans to revamp the whole operation—new equipment and computers. Things will run more efficiently with half the manpower.”
Well, he’d certainly put her in her place, hadn’t he? She was a spoiled little flibbertigibbet without two brain cells to rub together. Nothing on her mind but lace and negligees.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Marvin.” Sassy got to her feet. “It is a big job.”
“You’re doing the right thing, Sassy. I can promise you that like a father.”
Sassy’s jitters were gone. Pink sparkles of irritation whizzed around her head. A glittering orb shot across Mr. Marvin’s desk. With a muffled oath, he ducked.
“I already have a father,” Sassy told the startled attorney. “His name is Joel Champion. What I need is a new lawyer. Your services are no longer required.”
Mr. Marvin’s jaw went slack. “Wait a minute, I didn’t mean to—”
“It was interesting to meet you, Mrs. Harwood,” Sassy said. “I would say lovely, but my mother taught me not to lie.” She gave them both a curt nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mill to run. Rumor has it, I have a lot to learn.”
She sailed out of the room and into the reception area on a cloud of euphoria.
Evan got to his feet. “How’d it go?”
“I did it,” Sassy said. “I turned down Mrs. Harwood and fired Mr. Marvin.”
“She speaks the truth.” Grim materialized beside Sassy. “I was there.”
“Good job, babe,” Evan said. “That took major balls.”
“Thanks.” Sassy grinned. “I feel like celebrating. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Fifteen minutes later, the four of them entered the Sweet Shop Café and Grill with Grim in the lead. Stalking inside, he sized the place up. After some deliberation, he selected a table against the wall with a clear view of the other patrons and the front door. He was John Wayne in one of the old Westerns Daddy Joel loved: back to the wall, six-shooter loaded and ready for action.
It was noon on a Tuesday and the place was packed. Mouthwatering aromas wafted from the kitchen: squash casserole topped with buttery crackers, hot cornbread, tangy, bacon-laced green beans and collards, fried chicken and pork chops, and the best smoked ribs in three counties, maybe in the whole state. The clientele were locals, plain, hardworking folks: men with weathered faces and women in cotton dresses or slacks.
Viola Williams, the curvaceous proprietor of the restaurant, came over in person to take their orders. Grim ordered a double meat and three and a dozen corn muffins. Within minutes, Miss Vi was back with their food, and they dug in.
“I wish I could’ve seen your aunt’s face when you told her you were keeping the mill,” Evan said around a bite of barbecued rib smothered in drunk sauce, a house specialty.
“She wasn’t happy.” Sassy recalled the dark swirl of emotion above Susan’s head with a shiver. “Neither was Mr. Marvin when I canned him.” She heaved a worried sigh. “I hope I wasn’t too mean. I can’t work with someone who treats me like a child, and Mrs. Harwood called me Sarah Elizabeth, like I’m five.”
“There is a vast difference in being unkind and standing up for yourself,” Grim said. “You acquitted yourself well.”
“Thanks.”
Vastly cheered, Sassy took a bite of fried green tomato and had a vagina snicker, it tasted so good. The crust on the outside of the thinly sliced, tart fruit was crunchy, the pale green treasure inside piping hot. A sautéed shrimp crowned each golden brown circlet, and covering the whole was a cayenne-laced green onion rémoulade sauce. The combination of tangy and spicy was orgasmic.
Viola came back to refill their tea glasses and gave Sassy the stink eye. Out of caution due to her newly acquired sugar sensitivity, Sassy had ordered unsweet tea, a sacrilege in the South. A gallon of iced tea made with less than a cup and a half of sugar was considered downright weird. Or worse: a sign of Yankee leanings.
“Miss Vi, these fried green tomatoes are to die for,” Sassy said as a peace offering.
To her relief, Miss Vi unbent a little.
“You like them shrimp and that sauce?” Vi said, with something close to a smile. “I been tweaking my recipes so’s my customers don’t get bored.”
“Not a chance.” Sassy tucked into the mound of mashed potatoes that had been creamed with butter and a dab of mayonnaise, Miss Vi’s secret ingredient. “Everything’s wonderful.”
The Sweet Shop more than lived up to its reputation for old-fashioned Southern cooking. The café was housed in an old two-story warehouse with a metal ceiling. Worn black and white checkerboard tiles covered the floor. Scarred wooden booths banked the perimeter of the dining room. The center of the rectangular space was filled with laminated tables and vinyl diner chairs. A hodgepodge of metal signs and plaques engraved with words of wisdom covered the plank walls:
DON’T START NONE AND THERE WON’T BE NONE.
UGLY MATERS TASTE GOOD.
DO IT RIGHT THE FIRST TIME, OR LICK YOUR CALF OVER.
EVEN A BLIND PIG FINDS AN ACORN ONCE IN A WHILE.
The one about the pig made Sassy sad. If she had a blind pig, she’d bring him acorns, bushels and bushels of them. She wouldn’t make him snuffle around in the dirt for them.
An attractive older couple seated at a booth near the door caught Sassy’s eye. She watched the pair with a wistful feeling. A hazy, golden glow surrounded them. In twenty or thirty years would she and Wes be that in love?
It didn’t seem likely, not without a double heart transplant. They weren’t in love now.
Sassy dropped her fork. She loved Wes . . . didn’t she?
If she loved Wes, would she still be obsessing over The Kiss?
No. She was fond of Wes, but she didn’t love him. They were comfortable together, sure, but there was no spark.
She should call off the wedding. It wasn’t fair to her or Wesley, but the social implications of ending her engagement made her cringe. So did a startling self-revelation. She had agreed to marry a man she didn’t love to keep her parents happy. Pathetic.
When, in her eagerness to please others, had she lost sight of what she wanted?
More importantly, what did she want?
Dessert: Sassy wanted sugar so bad she had the shakes.
“Glad you like the food.” Viola interrupted Sassy’s thoughts. “Your brother ate here ’most every day, may he rest in peace. He could eat his weight in my fried chicken. How’s yo’ mama? I heard she got remarried.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With an effort, Sassy dragged her mind off visions of sugar plums. “She’s fine, thank you for asking.”
Mama and Daddy Joel had married when Sassy was three, but apparently it was still big news in Hannah.
“She was such a pretty thing. Bubbly, like you. Always laughing.” Viola pointed across the room. “Your mama and daddy were regulars. Sat in the same booth.”
Eleanor Jerkins Peterson Champion in a meat and three? The mind boggled. Mama was an epicure and she never ate fried food. Bad enough Sassy hadn’t known her father or her brother. Must Mama be a stranger, too?
“Then Junior died,” Miss Vi continued, “and the light went out of her.” She noticed Sassy’s abandoned fork. “Something wrong with them tate
rs, or you saving your hungries for afters?”
Without waiting for an answer, Viola turned and hollered across the room at a bony waitress. “Pauline, I got to skedaddle back to the kitchen. See these folks get dessert.”
“Keep your garters on,” the waitress yelled without slowing her bustle. “I ain’t got but these two hands.”
Miss Vi shook her head. “Light on her feet but mean as a crocogator.”
Grim looked up from his second platter of fried chicken with the trimmings. Not so much as a chicken bit dotted his clothes or the tablecloth. It was like some magical anti-splatter force field surrounded him.
“What is a crocogator?” he asked.
“Half crocodile and half alligator.” Viola’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Got a head at both ends so he can’t do his business. That’s what makes him so mean.”
Grim slathered butter on his fifth corn muffin. “I can see how that would make one irritable.”
Viola laughed. “I like you. You’re funny.”
“My brothers would not agree.”
“Huh,” Viola said. “Maybe yo’ brothers don’t know you good as they think they do.”
“Mayhap you are right.”
“Mayhap?” The proprietor’s brown eyes gleamed with intelligence. “You one of them Dalvahni boys, ain’tcha? Knew it the second you walked in. Big and handsome, and you like your chow.”
“My brothers frequent your establishment?”
“Some of my best customers.” Viola’s expression grew dreamy. “That devil Brand has a smile that ’ud make a nun shuck her drawers, and the blond one, Hagar—”
“Ansgar,” Grim murmured.
“Could sing the feathers off a bird.” She shook off her reverie and fastened her gaze on Evan and Taryn. “You two new in town?”
“I’m Evan Beck.” Evan pushed aside his half-eaten plate of ribs. “Wilderness chick is my cousin, Taryn. She’s an escapee from a survivalist cult. That’s why she’s dressed so funny.”
Taryn put down the drumstick she’d been eating with delicate finesse. “That, sir, is a patent lie.”
“Don’t be ashamed of it, cuz. Own it.” Evan patted her hand. “Look on the bright side. When the zombie apocalypse comes, you’ll know how to survive off roadkill and drink your own pee.”
