Dead End (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 8)

by Catie Rhodes

No way. The idea scorched my ass. No matter how Hannah viewed me, or whether she wanted to be my friend again, I’d die fighting for her.

  “Hell no. This prick’s just being a low rent asshole. I’ll burn him where he stands if he fucks with me any further.” I pointed one finger at Mohawk and pretended it wasn’t shaking. “You’re gonna get that dead thing away from the door, and you’re going to let us go. I got business to take care of.”

  “What part of ‘you destroyed my property’ are you too trashy to understand? You owe me, witch.”

  “Amanda Irene King is dead. Barbara Willis Mace is dead. Neither of them needed the spell on this room or that box anymore.” Explaining myself wouldn’t make an iota of difference. When somebody’s decided they’ve got their panties in a twist, physical pain is usually the only thing that’ll dissuade them. I could hurt Mohawk, but I doubted I could maim or kill him.

  Mohawk straightened, and his head went back to sort of human proportions. “Let’s talk about this like grownups. I knew of Amanda King’s death. And Barbara’s. Their deaths changed nothing.” He rested his weird colored eyes on me. “This establishment runs on two basic levels. I have deals with the people, like Barbara and Amanda, who need to hide something here. The deals I make with those people serve a set of needs—mostly my own.” He took a step toward me, and his tongue flicked out. I leaned into Hannah hard enough to feel her shaking. Mohawk came closer, smiling. “People who come here seeking what’s hidden in the rooms serve another purpose. My slaves, like the one on your shoulder, have to eat. The humans who don't get eaten are repurposed into slaves like the one outside this door.” He crossed his arms over his emaciated chest.

  I forgot my disgust and took my weight off Hannah. “But I already agreed to find your stupid book. So you’re getting that in exchange for releasing the hag on my back from your service.”

  He fingered a chain he’d padlocked around his neck. “This is a separate debt, incurred by the damage you and your friends caused to my property.” He stared at each person in turn. I’d have bet he knew their deepest wishes, their darkest secrets. He thought for several seconds, his tongue testing the air at intervals. “I still want to sire your firstborn.”

  Hannah made a sound of disgust.

  I jerked a thumb in her direction. “I agree with her. It’s still a no.”

  Mohawk’s long skinny hands went up and patted the air between us. “You’re perfect. One of a strong line of witches.” He moved toward me, weird pupils pulsating with his heartbeat. “You realize I can take what I want. You’re in my debt.” He moved, too fast for my eyes to track, and grasped my shoulders. “I could imprison you right now.”

  I let my magic loose. The walls wavered, and the flapping of wings filled the room. Orev, still in spirit form, came back with friends. Their gray shadowy forms lighted on every surface, including my head. Their caws began, deafening, maddening, so loud I felt them against my skin. These spirit ravens were almost as intimidating as the real deal. Mohawk took several steps away from me, face tight with worry.

  “Enough,” I shouted. They quieted, but the shadows hovered all around the room, their intent clear. They’d fight for me.

  “The gatekeepers are yours?” Mohawk stared around the room, jumping each time one of the shadows moved.

  I nodded.

  Something changed in Mohawk’s face. The amusement changed to greed. “I’ll pay you more money than you ever dreamed existed to sire your firstborn.”

  I shook my head and let the magic build again.

  Mohawk smirked. “I enjoy volunteers more, but I could convince you this is what you want.”

  I let the magic go again. It blasted into his chest and knocked him backward. His leather jacket began to smoke. Though he didn’t seem hurt, he nodded. “What do you suggest to clear our debt?”

  “You need this room to be operational, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I can bind a ghost, a really mean one, to this room.” I licked my lips and waited for his refusal.

  “Do you have it with you?” Mohawk’s gaze slithered over me.

  “No. He’s not dead yet.”

  A smile crept over Mohawk’s face. His eyes flicked between human and snake, and he rocked back and forth. “Fresh?”

  I nodded and gulped.

  Mohawk’s movements became more and more sinewy. His face flashed to a snake head for just a second and then back. “So full of possibility. There could be online postings to lure people here. The internet is a virus, you know.”

  I shuddered at the idea of how he’d use the spirit I planned to deliver and glanced at Mysti. Maybe she had another way out of this. Like any good teacher, she read my intent and gave me a sad head shake. I was on my own. Pretending to be bored, I stuck my hands on my hips and heaved a big sigh. “We got a deal or not?”

  He smirked and clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s done. Have the spirit here by this time next week.”

  I nodded my understanding. “It’ll be tomorrow. If I don’t come, I’m dead.”

  Mohawk cocked his head in mock concern. “If you’d like to negotiate for my help—”

  One word flashed in my mind. Never. I shook my head before he could finish. He nodded and wound through us to get to the door. It clicked closed as he left.

  “Let’s go right now.” I grabbed my witch pack with shaking hands and shouldered it. “Hannah, get started on that recording as soon as we get in the car.” I had more to say, but I opened the door of the motel room because I couldn’t stand to be in there another second. Whatever I’d been about to say died on my tongue. Four Six Gun Revolutionaries sat on their bikes right in front of the room. One by one, they got off their bikes and sauntered toward us, grinning the way I figured a crocodile would once he had his prey cornered.

  A Six Gun I knew as Hundred Proof walked in front of the rest. King must have put him in charge of this little mission. I had no hope of sweet-talking Hundred Proof. He’d always looked me over with a curl of his lip and then called me a devil worshiper after a few shots of his favorite hundred proof rum. Three other Six Guns flanked him. Of them, I only knew Jugs who’d gotten his name from his man breasts. The other two were young, hangers-on who hoped to become Six Gun Revolutionaries someday.

  Hundred Proof smiled at Hannah. “Hey, little pistol. You ready for some more wild times?” Hannah stiffened and managed to shake her head.

  Fury spurred my heart to pound hard. My blood pumped so fast it made me lightheaded. “Leave her alone, shitlord.”

  Hundred Proof’s face turned red. My mouth went dry. Why hadn’t I just kept my mouth shut? The hag laughed and danced inside me. It would love it if I got killed here. Then it could soak up my life essence and jump into one of the Six Guns. Lots of evil to mine there. I pressed my lips together and hoped nothing else came out.

  Hundred Proof’s face split in another, nastier grin. He pulled a revolver the size of a small cannon out of his pants and pointed it at me. His thumb hooked over the hammer and pulled it down. “All right, you smart ass bitch. You wanna talk? I’m gonna axe you some questions. Wrong answer’ll get you dead. First question. You see that fucking snake crawl out of your room?”

  Having a gun pointed in my face killed a lot of my smarts. Hundred Proof’s question could have been in another language. My brain didn’t absorb a word of it. All I could think about was what would happen to Wade if I died here. I put my hands up, wishing like hell I could go back in that nasty motel room and lie on the stinking bed. Anything to get away from this ugly little scene. Where’d Mohawk go? If he was so interested in me, he could have stayed to help me fight these bullies off. Coward.

  Hundred Proof closed the distance and pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead. The cold metal burned a ring of reality into my skin. My bowels went loose, and my knees turned soft. Would the bullet feel cold or hot as it cut a rut through my skull? Hundred Proof lowered his voice. “I axed you a question, whore.”

  I sh
ook my head, unable to concentrate on anything but the sight of his finger through the trigger guard. Wade always said to never put my finger through the trigger guard until I was ready to fire my weapon. Did this guy follow the same rules? If so, I only had a few seconds to live. What would happen to Mysti, Hannah, and Dillon after I died? Oh, I had to think of something. Problem was, I couldn’t form coherent thoughts.

  My black opal heated, pulsing with the thuds of my heart. Hundred Proof’s liquor-tinged body odor found my nose and became the only thing I smelled. Each wiry black hair on his finger stood out. From somewhere came the squeal of the housekeeping crone’s cart. Why didn’t she come help? I’d have let anybody help me at that point.

  “I axed you a question,” Hundred Proof screamed.

  My thoughts fractured again. I couldn’t remember the question, not looking down that barrel.

  “We didn’t see the snake.” Hannah’s voice trembled, but underneath the fear lurked fury. And Hannah’s fury was almost as bad as mine.

  “Weird ass looking thing.” Hundred Proof spoke as though he wasn’t holding a gun to my head. “Had this black stripe all the way down its back. Solid white otherwise. Six feet long if it was a goddamned inch. Never seen nothing like it.”

  I waited. I didn’t know what else to do. My black opal thudded against my skin, but I couldn’t think enough to ask myself why.

  “I don’t like snakes.” Hundred Proof paused as though expecting a chorus of agreement. He got it from his cronies. My group didn’t say a word. “They always kinda sneaky. Ready to bite you when you ain’t even seen ’em. Like the way you came in our compound and tore up shit. Turned Mojo against us.” Mojo was the Six Guns’ nickname for Wade. My head got light at the thought of him. “Then you shot Corman. Just like a fucking snake.” Hundred Proof’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  I waited for the blast, with sick questions of how long I’d be aware before I died racing through my mind, and tried not to piss my pants. Grief for my friends bubbled up and fizzed over. I shook so hard Hundred Proof’s revolver vibrated. The hag leapt and cavorted with joy. Too bad the little shit didn't have a kazoo to blow along with his victory dance.

  Hundred Proof chuckled. “All right. Here’s the money question, bitch. Right answer, and I’ll kill you with one shot. Where’s King’s goddamn tape?” Hundred Proof dug the pistol’s sight deeper into my forehead. The skin popped as the sight punctured it. Blood dribbled down my forehead, over my nose, and dropped.

  The pain cleared my thoughts. The black opal’s pulsing meant magic was nearby. I clenched my teeth and concentrated on it. Ravens cawed in the distance. The shadow ravens who’d come to help in the motel room couldn’t help now. This wasn’t a supernatural matter. I needed real, flesh and blood ravens to claw at eyes and peck faces. And they weren’t close. This would be over with before they could get here.

  What else was there? The mantle swirled at the base of my back, weakened from me showing off for Mohawk, but still there. I was too tired to draw it together. How untalented was I? Cecil had picked the wrong person to be his right hand. These people surrounding me had put their trust in the wrong witch and medium. The thought sent shame rolling through me. I realized I had an answer for Hundred Proof.

  “I ain’t got the tape.” And I didn’t. Hannah had it. Another, more awful thought crossed my mind. What if they ended up killing Hannah for the tape? I couldn’t live with that. If that happened, they might as well just go on and kill me too.

  “Bullshit, you ain’t got the tape. You were in that room too long not to have it.” Hundred Proof shifted foot to foot, the gun moving my head.

  “Didn’t you see the guy with the Mohawk? And the old lady with the cart?” Mysti sounded calmer than I could have, but panic spiked the ends of her words. “They took the tape from us.”

  “Listen to me, dumb bitch number two.” Hundred Proof’s voice lowered. Pretty soon he’d start pulling the trigger. “We been following you since Gaslight City. There ain’t been no man with a Mohawk nor any old lady with a cart. Now you got to the count of ten to give me that tape. One.” Hundred Proof shouted each number with a pause between it and the next one.

  I didn’t know what to do. He was going to kill us all whether we gave him the tape or not.

  “Eight,” Hundred Proof yelled.

  “S-s-stop.” Hannah barely got the word out. “She doesn’t have the tape. I do.” She rummaged in her bag.

  “Drop that thang.” Another Six Gun rushed over with his pistol pointed at Hannah. She let her purse fall to the concrete sidewalk. He knelt and rummaged in it. Didn’t take him any time to find the tape recorder. He shoved it in his pocket and backed away from us, still pointing his pistol at us.

  My hopes, already trashed, plummeted to the depths of hell. King had out-snaked me in every way. Even if they let me live, there was still no chance of getting Wade back alive. I’d thought King might wait to kill Wade in front of me, just to show me he could, and I’d have a chance to save him. That was gone. Jesse would spend the rest of his life in prison while two nasty old men, King and Joey Holze, held the key to his freedom. I’d known life wasn’t fair before, but this whole situation just highlighted the ways it sucked. I started to get pissed.

  The underling passed Hundred Proof the tape recorder. He took the gun off my head. Mysti grabbed me and pulled me to her. I put my arm around Dillon. She vibrated against me. Whether it was from rage or terror, I didn’t know. Hannah stood apart from us, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The old Hannah would have been cowering by now, mad or not. She’d have hidden behind me and hoped my experience with these types would save us. Not now. She was the only one of us not shaking. My dear friend had risen from the death of her trauma tougher than I’d ever be. She held herself as though she knew exactly how this whole thing would play out and didn’t care.

  Hundred Proof slipped the tape into his pocket without listening to it. “Don’t kill Hannah-banana. King said he ain’t done with her.”

  Jugs marched over, man tits jiggling, and gripped Hannah’s arm. He yanked her toward the motorcycles. A hard-edged dread flattened out her lips and dulled her eyes. The other men raised their pistols and pointed them at us.

  I’d poured my share of gasoline on fires, both literally and metaphorically. That was what happened to my emotions right then. Anger and disappointment locked horns and rose to tower above everything else, belching fire. I’d lost everything. The chance to get Jesse out of prison. Wade’s life. Mine and my friends’ lives. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. The hag ate it up like caviar.

  The mantle swirled again. The natural components of everything around us sang out to me. The cries of the ravens came from all sides. They’d made it after all. Hundred Proof lowered his pistol and spun around to assess the threat. The first bird swooped down, feet open wide, and sank its talons into Jugs’s face. He let go of Hannah. She reared back one foot and kicked him so hard it knocked her onto the asphalt. Jugs probably didn’t even feel the kick. He was too busy worrying about the raven trying to puncture his eyeballs.

  “Shoot the goddamn bird,” Hundred Proof screamed at the others.

  The younger of the hangers-on pointed his pistol but put it right back down. “It’ll hit Jugs.”

  I focused on the power coursing through me and opened myself to the metal in the guns, the fire used to forge them, and the possibility of fire in the gunpowder.

  The first gun to explode belonged to the hanger-on who’d pointed his gun at Jugs. It blew up with several quick blasts and a flash of light. The hanger-on jumped around screaming, holding up the stump where his hand had been. Hundred Proof and the other hanger-on stared, guns still out, but too shocked to react.

  I put my effort into Hundred Proof’s and the hanger-on’s guns, full of doubt I’d be able to make anything happen. Making the first gun explode had exhausted a great deal of my power, and I was already spent from th
e hag’s influence. The guns began to smoke. Hundred Proof yelped and tossed his away. Hannah ran over and picked it up. She barely flinched at the heat. She began pumping slugs into Jugs. He screamed when the first bullet punched into the middle of his chest. He clapped one hand over the wound, and Hannah shot again. She kept pulling the trigger until she clicked on an empty chamber.

  The other hanger-on was tougher than Hundred Proof. He kept his hold on his weapon, even though the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Sweat hung on his face in beads, and his mouth trembled from the pain. “It’s the damn witch doing this.” He pointed his pistol at me. I shot my power into it right about the time he pulled the trigger.

  The blast blew off most of his head. Brains and blood spattered the ground like thick rain. The guy ran three steps and then collapsed. The hag cheered as though it was a sporting event. I stung it in the ass and smiled at its cry of pain.

  Pulling desperately at the last of my power, I walked toward Hundred Proof. I had to get that tape recorder from him. Hundred Proof scrambled away from me and ran for his motorcycle. I focused on the gas in the tank, felt all the elements the gasoline and the metal tank had come from. All I had to do was pull down some fire. I set myself to call for lightning and stopped. If I burned up Hundred Proof, I’d lose the tape recorder. Hannah hadn't had a chance to record the contents of the tape. There had to be another way.

  Hundred Proof swung his leg over his motorcycle and started it. I gathered the mantle and tried to send the feeling of fire to his body. It would distract him enough for us to get him off the bike. I pushed the fire at him, but nothing happened. The mantle gave an exhausted little sputter and refused to cooperate. I pushed again, head aching with the effort. Still nothing happened. I was spent.

  Dillon ran out from behind me, screaming at Hundred Proof. “You don’t want to leave yet, you…” She trailed off as the bike peeled out of the parking lot, taking with it the tape and the last survivor to tell the tale. “Fuck.” Dillon kicked one of the dead bodies.