by Catie Rhodes
“Fine. That’s what I want done.” Mohawk crossed his arms over his emaciated chest.
I went about consecrating the keychain and naming it for its purpose. Mohawk helped me call a circle, which was stronger and better than any I could have called, and stepped inside with me.
“To watch closer.” He flashed his snake fangs at me.
I set the spirit bottle containing Trench Coat’s spirit on the table next to the newly consecrated keychain and poured a ring of sea salt around them. Beyond that, I sprinkled a ring of holy water. I didn’t want Trench Coat’s spirit to get out and attack me. I had a feeling he’d want to finish our private war.
“Here we go,” I muttered to myself and cracked the seal on the spirit bottle.
Trench Coat’s spirit came out in a foul mist, evil radiating from it. As a person, he’d had a shell that made him look sort of like the rest of us. Now he was stripped down to pure, soulless evil. Mohawk inhaled deeply and hissed behind me. I turned to find him with a dreamy smile on his face. He nodded for me to continue. I raised both arms and pointed my athame at the swirl of spirit.
“Gerald Raymond Hendry, Trench Coat, I bind you to this keychain where you’ll stay until you’re picked up…”
“Or stolen,” Mohawk added.
“Or stolen. Once this keychain is touched or taken from this place, you may torment the thief in any way you see fit. When the victim is weak, bring them back here to this man behind me.” I focused on the swirl of Trench Coat’s spirit and pushed it at the keychain. The spirit rushed at me, hit the wall of the circle, and bounced back. Hate emanated from it.
Trench Coat’s voice came to life in my head. “I’ll get you.”
I poured more energy into making him connect with the keychain. In the end, Trench Coat went into the keychain because it was familiar and had belonged to him in life. The keychain jittered against the table for several seconds, then stopped.
“It’s done,” I told Mohawk and broke the circle around the keychain. He took the keychain and carefully set it at the base of the lamp on the nightstand. He winked at me and motioned me to follow him.
Outside he led the way to his office and held open the door. “Please go inside. We still have one matter to discuss. You promised to find an object for me.”
I nodded my yes, stomach starting to churn at the idea of being back in that office with Mohawk the Snake Man. I followed him inside. The wild odor of the room surrounded me. I forced myself to take shallow breaths. Mohawk sat down behind a desk and leaned back.
He began playing with a cat’s eye marble. “When I bit you, I gave you a bit of my venom. Not enough to make you sick, but enough to forge a bond between us.” He handed me the cat’s eye marble. “When I’ve gathered the information you’ll need, I’ll use this to contact you. Failure to respond within twelve hours forfeits our deal. If that happens, you’ll belong to me to do with as I wish.”
My stomach tightened at the thought. I took the marble and dropped it in my jeans pocket. It had a warm, alive feeling that made my head swim. “We square?”
Mohawk jerked a nod and opened the door for me to leave.
I got the hell out of there as fast as my short little legs would carry me. I shook until I crossed the Texas/Louisiana border.
21
One Month Later
Outside Austin, Texas
Summer lurked in the May sun, waiting for its chance to burn our asses for another season in hell. A bead of sweat popped out on my scalp and rolled slowly toward my eye. I wiped it away just before it hit.
“You can’t stop yet.” Zora’s wail hung perilously close to tantrum territory.
“I ain’t stopping.” I waved the little makeup brush at her. “This sweat gets in my eye, I won’t be able to make you into a Dia de los Muertos girl.” I glanced at Dillon, silently asking if she wanted another turn. She shook her head, eyes wide.
Much earlier in the day, in what seemed like a brighter, simpler time, Zora saw a piece of art with a beautiful woman whose face was made up like a sugar skull. She informed her mother and me of her desire to wear similar makeup. She insisted, regally, like a queen bestowing favor, that we also make up her baby brother Zander.
Zander’s makeup had taken a half hour. The little boy had been easy to please. He didn’t know the difference between good and bad and had run off laughing to show his daddy.
Zora, on the other hand, wanted her makeup to resemble something from the Sistine Chapel. Now she sat in my lawn chair, chubby arms crossed over her chest.
“Get it right this time, Peri Jean.” She pooched her lips out at me.
I knelt down in front of her, saying to Dillon over my shoulder, “After this, you gotta try again. My hands are cramping.”
Dillon let out a snort from behind me. I knew that sound. She’d had enough. If I couldn’t make Zora happy, Dillon would tell her it was over. The tantrum would then ensue. At least we were at the back of Sanctuary’s camp. Maybe nobody would think we were killing Zora.
Cecil’s golf cart buzzed into our little area and parked under some trees several yards away. I stopped painting again. Zora let out a frustrated wail.
“Let’s see what Papaw wants.” I held up my hands. She kicked her feet. I dodged out of the way.
It wasn’t Cecil who got out of the golf cart, though. The hot sun shone on red hair, brightening it to the color of flames. The woman walked toward us, head down, face in shadow. My heart flipped over and then back again. I recognized that walk. And the hand wringing. I stood and wiped the makeup off my hands.
Hannah stopped several feet from me. But it was close enough to see clarity in her caramel colored eyes. She tried to smile, but her mouth just trembled.
I stood rooted to my spot. Had she come all the way to the hills outside Austin, Texas to tell me we'd never be friends again? I stiffened myself against the rejection. She took a few more steps and held out her arms. We ran at each other, wrapped our arms around each other, both laughing and crying at the same time.
“You look a lot better.” I pushed her away from me. “How are you?”
She frowned. “Sober. Thinking clearly. You know? Every day is a chance for a good day.”
I nodded. Maybe I knew what she meant.
“I’m sorry for the way I acted. Especially for my disappearing act there at the end. No telling where I’d be if you hadn’t come to help.” She hugged herself. From somewhere behind me, Zora called my name and told me to hurry. Dillon shushed her.
“I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to get my uncle out of jail.” I’d been talking to Rainey almost every day. It looked like Jesse was really going to get out of prison. King was locked away in jail, and Corman had disappeared from the hospital. I tried smiling at Hannah, but I was too close to tears to do anything but grimace. Tears brimmed over the edges of her eyes. She dabbed at them before one could sully her perfect makeup.
“Did you hear Uncle Joey keeled over dead of a heart attack when the cops came to his door in San Antonio with a warrant?” Hannah’s shoulders slumped. The fatigue and sadness I’d seen on her before darkened her face for just a second, but then she straightened and shook her head. “But I’m not going to let that ruin today. I came here to thank you.”
I shook my head. “Forget it.”
She ignored my words and gripped my shoulders. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t kept after me until you saw me face to face. When you found me, I wasn’t going to last much longer.” One single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
“That hag riding your shoulders wasn’t making your recovery any easier.” I wondered how the rider had fared with King, or if he’d even stayed with King. The hag was free now. It didn't have to stay with King if it found another host it liked better. The thought made me shiver.
Hannah licked her lips. “Things were bad for me before then. Otherwise, that hag wouldn’t have dragged me down like it did.” She swiped the tear track off her face. “People think the worst
thing that can happen is you die. It isn’t. The real tragedy is surviving. Especially when you survive what I did.” She sniffed.
“It takes way more strength to live than it does to give up.” I stood with my arms crossed over my chest. I’d never look at Hannah and not think about my fault in what happened to her. But I’d also never look at her and not remember the effort it took to save her.
“You find something to live for.” Hannah wiped underneath her eyes and snorted. “After I hanged myself and came back seeing when people would die, it changed things. It made me see life for what it is—a gift. But the only way it’s a gift is if you share it with the right people.” She glanced around the grouping of campers, caught Dillon's eye, and waved. “I was wondering if…now that I’m like you…if I could—”
I wrapped her in a hug before she could finish. We wept in each other’s arms until my eyes were raw and my chest ached. But it was good pain and good tears, the kind that come from something being right. Some friendships are just for a season, but some of them are for life. My friendship with Hannah was like that. We finally released each other and stood laughing and crying and wiping our eyes.
“You can stay in my camper while you see if you like it here.” I gestured at my camper, the door open, a fan buzzing inside. Orev perched on the canopy. He cawed in welcome.
“Actually, I bought my own RV. It’s near the check-in office. I wanted to make sure you still wanted me as a friend.” Hannah dragged her hand over her face, smearing her elaborate makeup. “I sold the museum—and my gorgeous apartment—to Benny Longstreet. You’re not in Gaslight City anymore, and I don’t have any business there either.”
“It’s like Sodom and Gomorrah. You don’t want to look back.” We both laughed at that, but a look exchanged between us. Those awful thoughts the hag scratched out of me still came out to play sometimes, said I had nothing to live for and ought to just kill myself. Did that happen with Hannah too? I said nothing. Talking about thoughts like that seemed to give them more power. The moment passed.
“I’m tired of waiting to have my makeup done,” Zora yelled. Dillon shushed her again.
Hannah walked toward the little girl, smiling her old smile. “I bet I can do a better job than Peri Jean Mace.”
Hannah’s steps had a tentative little shuffle, but I hoped she’d someday leave it behind. She squatted in front of Zora and dug in her handbag, which looked like it cost as much as my camper. She took out a black eyeliner pencil and began drawing a recognizable flower around one of Zora’s eyes. It was quite a bit better than what Dillon or I had done. The two of us exchanged a smile and a shrug.
I watched Hannah put makeup on Zora, both of them giggling, my throat tight with tears. I went to sit next to them. Hannah glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and pushed her purse at me. “Get out my sapphire eyeliner.”
I dug around in her purse and grabbed the first blue eyeliner I saw. After all, how many blue ones could she have? Hannah never even wore blue eyeliner. I handed it to her.
Hannah glanced at it and handed it back. “Not the teal. The sapphire. There’s a difference.”
“No, there ain’t. You’re just being picky.” And the argument went from there. I made sure to sound outraged. But inside, where it counted, I couldn’t have been happier.
Life didn’t come easy. It beat a person into the dirt. Took away their dreams. Left them bleeding and hurting.
Hannah would never be the same. Hell, would any of us? Didn’t matter.
Life was facing the storm and getting up after it demolished everything. Surviving to fight another day. That, and staying away from dead ends.
THE END
Keep reading for a sample of Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers #9.
Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers #9
Excerpt
Chapter 1
The dead lady whispered in my ear, “Tell him my wedding band is in the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator, but don’t tell him his father killed me.”
I broke my connection with the spirit and gave the cowboy across from me what I hoped was a mysterious smile. “Your mother says her ring is in the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator. And that she loves you.”
“S-s-seriously? I been looking for that thing for the better part of a year now.” The cowboy was young, early twenties at most. Lean, hard body in tight jeans. Sleeves of his western cut shirt rolled up to reveal tanned, muscled forearms. He’d have been cute if it hadn’t been for his buck teeth. Less than two years ago, I’d have come on to him just to see what happened. But I’d changed since then. The cowboy leaned a little closer. “Lemme axe you something. Was that real? All them shadows moving behind you? The way the room got cold?”
I pushed away the defensiveness I felt when they asked this question. They meant no harm. They were just responding to something they didn’t understand. “I didn’t see the shadows since they were behind me, so I don’t know if they’re real or not. As for your mother’s spirit? Sure. She was real. Redhead, right? Pretty eyes?” I didn’t mention the way the side of her head was dented or the gash on her face.
The cowboy’s face paled beneath the smooth, tanned skin. “Yep. Died in a car wreck eighteen months ago. Somebody ran her off the road.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a shiver rolled through me. I itched to tell him his father had something to do with it but knew I wouldn’t. It wasn’t my business. We never interfered with townies. It was the unspoken rule of Sanctuary, the traveling community of grifters and magic practitioners I helped lead. Instead, I’d close the transaction and let him go.
“Sir, are you satisfied that I answered what you came in here to find out?” I pushed the silver jar toward him.
He dug in his pocket but stopped short of getting out his wallet.
My stomach hardened. I’d had a few people try to cheat me. Here, surrounded by friends and family, all fiercely loyal, that kind of thing wouldn’t fly. But the fights were nasty.
The cowboy cleared his throat. “I know the price you gave was just to contact my mother and find out where the ring was, but can you tell me if asking Harley to marry me is the right thing?” Those buck teeth made him look like a brown rabbit.
“Sir, I could take your money and tell you something, but I don’t have the gift of precognition.” I glanced behind me as though my great-uncle Cecil or his wife, Shelly, were about to rush out of the shadows and scold me for turning down money. That didn’t happen. They were both busy with their own jobs.
The cowboy, eyes downcast, took out his wallet and peeled off the agreed upon amount, plus one dollar, and dropped it into the jar. The last of the big tippers.
I bit back a smile, thanked him, and followed him out, closing the flap of my tent and hanging up a "Be right back" sign. Summoning his mother’s spirit had taken a bite out of my energy. She’d been a sad spirit, and she hadn’t wanted to cross the veil. I needed a spike in my blood sugar if I wanted to last the rest of the evening. The freaks came out on Saturday night, which meant a chance to earn big money.
People moved past my tent, most barely giving me a glance. Finn, my cousin, called them sheeple. The rest of my family, still new enough to me to seem mysterious and exotic, called them townies. I’d resisted the classification but had gotten where I classified people within a few minutes of meeting them. Thrill-seeker. Wanna-be mystic. On the grift. Too stupid to live. On a Saturday night in the rural part of the Texas Hill Country, an hour minimum from any large city, Summervale Carnival was the best show for miles.
I stepped into the throng, determined to eat and feel more human. Hot, dry July wind ruffled my hair, drying the sweat on my face and powdering it with dust. A chaser of rancid grease and burnt sugar hit my nose. My appetite shrank. I lit a cigarette and strolled, coaxing myself to force down some kind of sustenance. Anything other than carnival food sounded good.
Sometime in my few months of traveling with the carnival, the honeymoon had ended. But Cecil ha
d contracted Sanctuary to work the Summervale Carnival through Labor Day. We had our own little area in a hidden corner people seemed to find no matter how out of the way it was.
In addition to the spirit work, I sold spells that worked so well they scared the smart-ass out of the people who bought them. But money wasn’t the only reason to be out here.
As long as Oscar Rivera’s soul remained, he constituted a threat not only to me and my family, but to the world in general. Oscar Rivera, known as the Coachman, had been a nasty man and a nastier ghost. Neither my family nor I would be truly safe until I banished Oscar from the living plane. Otherwise, he’d eventually find a way to get revenge for the way I’d stomped his ass a few months earlier.
The search brought us to the Texas Hill Country because, in a vision, I’d seen Oscar hide his soul in what looked like a cavern. This part of Texas was known for its underground caverns. My best friend, Hannah Kessler, and I had been scouring newspaper archives and stories of old murders, trying to find a trace of Oscar during his human life. Our luck hadn’t hit yet, but I held out hope it would.
I stopped walking, letting people stream around me, and sucked in a deep breath of the dry Hill Country air. I tilted my head upward to stare at the sky. So huge, so many stars. Unfettered by the branches of tall pines we had in East Texas, the sky here opened up and stretched out into eternity. The summer heat was as unforgiving as a brimstone preaching evangelist. But at night, like now, the stars seemed closer and sharper, like I could reach out and cut my finger on them. The energy flowed from them into me.
Tired as I was of Summervale Carnival, I wasn’t tired of the Hill Country. This place grabbed me and held on tight. It had a different feel than East Texas, sort of an Old West vibe. The sight of actual cowboys on their way to work at nearby ranches captivated me. Germans had been the ones to settle much of this county, and their influence still colored the style of buildings and the local restaurants. And the country itself. Breathtaking. The land stretched out into hills and valleys covered by clumps of hairy looking grass and squat, gnarled trees.
