by Beverly Rae
At last, I found my K-O’d vocabulary. “No. I don’t—”
“And isn’t it more reasonable to assume you dreamed about Fitz eating a mouse and then dreamed you saw a werewolf?”
“No.” I crossed my arms. “Okay, maybe I did catch a few winks, but that was early this morning, not earlier when these things happened. And I did not dream about a werewolf. A werewolf I think I met again this morning.”
I would’ve sworn Kaine narrowed his eyes for a second before resuming his I-have-to-patronize-my-nutty-wife serene expression. Had he believed me even for a second?
“You saw the wolf again this morning?”
“Not wolf. Werewolf.” I could sense I was losing this argument big time, but I was already too deep in it to wade out. “Carnacian. I’m sure he’s the werewolf. He has red eyes, for Pete’s sake.”
At least this time he chuckled instead of letting out a full-throated laugh. “Well, I can see how someone might think he’s a bit of an animal. Knowing Carnacian, however, the bloodshot eyes are probably from a hangover.” He gave me a patronizing smile. “Honey, if you saw predator in his eyes, it was all because of how beautiful you are. He may want to eat you, but not in the way you’re implying.”
“What I saw had nothing to do with sex.” Predictably, I wasn’t getting anywhere with the werewolf story. “What about Fitz eating a mouse?”
“Look, Chrissy-doll, I realize you and Fitz may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but you can’t possibly think she’d eat a mouse, can you?”
When he put it that way, even I began doubting what I’d seen. “I know it sounds wacko.” I fumbled the other thing I wanted to say and passed the ball to him.
“Fitz does keep mice as pets, but I’ll ask her to get rid of them. Will that help soothe your nerves?”
I finally recognized this conversation. It reminded me of the discussions I’d had with clients who firmly believed in the ghost haunting them. The ghost that always turned out to have perfectly normal un-supernatural origins. Oh, hell. Have I become one of those people? Could Kaine be right? Had I dreamt the whole thing? After all, I had been exhausted from our trip. “Okay. Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” He shot me one of his wonderfully warming smiles and held up his right hand. “I promise we’ll have a romantic night tonight. Right after I finish dealing with this mess. Agreed?”
I knew a dismissal when I heard one. Although I wanted to complain and force him to spend the entire day with me, I’d already promised to check out a reported demon invasion in an elderly woman’s home. Business was business and needed my attention. Besides, I had no intensions of becoming a rich, pampered wife with nothing to do except play bridge and tennis all day. Plus, I sure wasn’t going to spend another night waiting on my dear hubby—no matter how sinfully sexy he was in bed. Especially after getting dismissed. Do I sound P.O.’d? Uh, duh.
But my whiny wuss was still in attendance and had to get in the last word. “You promise? Cross your heart and hope to die?” I crossed my heart.
Kaine repeated my gesture, then took me in his arms. “Agreed. And maybe we can even start on a little project of our own.”
What did he just say? I pushed away from him, but he held on. “Are you shitting me? We haven’t even broken in our new bed and you’re bringing up that subject again?” A vise gripped my heart and squeezed, threatening to take my breath away. “Kaine, I thought we got past this in Vegas.” Not really, but maybe I could make him believe it anyway. His skeptical frown blew that scheme to Hell and back. “Look, Kaine, I think it’s time we sat down and had that talk.”
“Well, at least talking is going in the right direction.” He tried to nuzzle my neck, but I wasn’t having any of it.
“No, I mean… You see, my parents… That is to say…” Okay, so maybe I was having some of it. And it was adversely affecting my thinking. “Kaine, stop!” I wrenched out of his arms, madder at myself than at him. I’d told him about my parents’ accident, but had never spoken about how their deaths had affected me. I’d spent years burying those emotions and didn’t want to undo all that now. But how could I make Kaine understand my position without spilling my guts? This totally sucked.
“Okay, okay. I get it.”
“You do?” Could he read my mind? After all, if Fitz and Carnacian could hear my thoughts—Wow. Do I really believe that?—why not a little mind-reading by my husband?
“You want to do this the right way. Talking as in pillow talk. And you’re right. The conference room is hardly the place for this discussion.”
“Uh, no, not what I meant.” Shoot. Why can’t supernatural powers exist when you really need them?
He twisted me around and pointed me toward the door. “Chrissy-doll, you are distracting me from solving my problem. Now get out of here so I can get this matter resolved and devote my evening to my sexy wife.”
I had to admit it. Another delay in the baby talk was peachy-keen with me. “Just make sure you keep your promise, big guy.” I gave him a quick grin for the compliment and scooted out the door. Hey, I might’ve been mad, but I wasn’t about to burn any beds. I turned the corner in the hallway and ran straight into the Mouse Muncher. If only I could burn her bed. With her in it. Inwardly I scowled at the thought. Since when had I become so mean? “Fitz.” I could’ve sworn her nose rose two inches higher on the Snoot-ometer.
“Miz-z-z-z. Taylor.”
Is she hissing at me? I sneered and felt the palm of my hand itching. If ever anyone needed a bitch-slap it was this bitch. Okay, just call me the Mean Girl. “The name is Mrs. Delcaluca.”
“Ah, yes. So it is.” Her steely gaze ran the length of my body.
“You betcha it is. And you’d do well to remember that.” I hiked my nose higher, determined to match her snooty to snooty.
Yet, instead of sassing me again, she gave an imperious sniff and pivoted away
“Fitz, why didn’t you give me the message K—Mr. Delcaluca sent me last night?” When she turned toward me again, I had to make a fist to keep my hand from smacking the smirk off her face.
Again she perused me as though I was covered in cow dung. “He deserves better than you.”
“What?” Had she really said what I thought she’d said? “Who do you think you are?” I tried to keep the next question from popping out, but I couldn’t stop it no matter how hard I gritted my teeth. “And why the hell not me?”
“I am the one who protects him. And you—” the sneer dripped from her tone, “—are the one who won’t—” her gaze ran down my body again, “—or can’t give him what he needs.” Once she’d finished, she wheeled away and kept on walking, head held high and scrawny butt swaying.
I gaped after her, dumbstruck. Had Kaine told her of my reaction to having a baby?
Preggers, Schmeggers, Keep Your Scepter Away From Me!
I was still grumbling at Fitz’s remarks two hours later while standing outside the home of Mrs. Twillierson in the town of Norcross. After finally locating my old car—I couldn’t see myself using the limo without Kaine, much less one of his fleet of imported cars—I finally found my way to my appointment. If nothing else, at least my studio apartment had been semi-centrally located. I glanced back at my Honda (200,000 miles and counting) and sighed. With fuel prices going up, I could plan on spending a lot more on gas. Oh, sure, I could’ve used the gas card Kaine had given me or one of his expensive cars, but this girl had to retain a tad of independence. Married to a rich man wasn’t going to change my determination to make Debunkers, Inc. a success, and that included paying for business expenses like gas.
Poor old lady Twillierson greeted me with a heroine’s welcome. She tugged me inside her home, swept me into her tiny living room and pointed at a spiky-haired teenage boy plopped in front of an older television. Clutching the game control in hand, he terminated six gargoyles in the World of Warcraft and never gave me a glance.
“Get rid of it,” she hissed.
I scanne
d the area around him, and except for the fact that the place needed a good cleaning, I couldn’t see anything out of whack. “Get rid of what, ma’am?”
She harrumphed and edged closer to the boy. Although we weren’t being quiet by any means, he still didn’t appear to notice us. Instead, he remained motionless, aside from the lightning speed of his thumbs on the controller’s buttons. Dressed all in black with studded wristbands and several piercings, his persona screamed Emo.
“Get rid of that.” She flicked her hand toward Emo Boy, then shuffled backward when he yelled his dismay at the loss of one of his warriors.
I still wasn’t sure I understood what she meant. “Are you telling me to get rid of him? Your, uh, son?” No way was the old biddy this young kid’s mom, but I’d learned early on in my career to not make assumptions, especially when talking about a woman’s age.
Mrs. T. shook her head vehemently, making her blue curls bounce. “That thing is not my grandson.” She waved for me to come closer so she could whisper. “It’s a demon. What kind of a supernatural expert are you, anyway?”
A demon. Goodie. The old girl’s gone goofy. I’d run into other clients who’d thought their pet or loved one had suddenly gone over to the dark side and communicated with beings from down under—way down under—but I didn’t think wearing depressing clothing meant you’d gone evil. I choked back a laugh and retained a professional demeanor. “Ma’am, how do you know he’s a demon?”
“Just look at him.” Her mind may have slipped its hold on reality—something I could now relate to—but she was still a sweet old lady. “My grandson is a good boy. A well-dressed boy. He’d never wear all those devil-worshiping clothes if something hadn’t taken him over. He’s possessed. I know it.” Tears sprang into her eyes, ratcheting up the sympathy factor in me.
Aw, hell, a crier. I hated criers. Those were the clients who made me want to close my business and work at a fast food joint. “Maybe he’s trying out a new style. You know. Like all teens do.” Come on, Mrs. T., get a grip.
She stared at me with suspicion. If I didn’t play this right, she’d believe I was in league with Satan. Then things would get really interesting and not in a good way. “That’s not it. Why else would my grandson do that?”
I followed her outstretched arm and noticed the jar of steel bolts on the floor next to him. As if on cue, he reached over, pinched a bolt from the jar and popped it into his mouth.
Wow. Talk about getting your daily dose of iron. Before I could say anything, he’d popped and swallowed another one.
“Okay, I’ll admit that’s strange. But it doesn’t make him demon-possessed.” Besides didn’t teenagers often act like demon-possessed people? “Have you asked him why he’s eating those?”
When in doubt, ask. And always go for the simplest and most logical explanation. An image of Fitz swallowing a mouse flashed through my brain and I quickly kept it moving right on out of there.
“Why the hell would I ask him anything? He might eat my face. Or tear my heart out. Don’t demons eat hearts?” Mrs. T. shivered at the thought.
“Uh, so I’ve heard.” Last time I’d checked, soap operas didn’t delve into the antics of demons. Yet no matter where this lady had gotten her ideas I wasn’t about to argue with her. “Do you mind if I ask him?”
She scrutinized me, obviously trying to judge whether I knew what I was doing. At last, she nodded. “Fine. But don’t go blaming me if he tears out your heart and sends your soul to the devil hisself.”
At least I now knew imagination didn’t atrophy when you got older. “I promise I won’t blame you.” I decided to fight fire with flame—or however the saying goes—and squatted down beside the kid. I watched him play the game a few minutes, then jumped in with the universal teenage word of greeting. “Hey.”
His eyes darted my way, finally acknowledging my presence, then darted back to the obviously more important game. “Hey.”
“My name’s Chrissy.” Having been a teenage girl at one time, I knew teen boys rarely plunged into a conversation quickly. “Warcraft, huh? Cool game.”
“Yeah.”
The old lady gave me another harrumph. Better get moving, Chrissy, before Grandma decides to take us both out. “So, I’m kind of curious. Why are you eating the bolts?” A rather nasty-looking dwarf bit the dust and I let out a shout of triumph. If nothing else, the kid was a whiz at Warcraft.
“I dunno.”
Great. Slammed into a non-verbal wall already. “Uh-huh. Like maybe you saw them lying around and decided they looked tasty?”
He snorted, the teen’s version of a laugh. “Naw. My friend Josh and I have a bet.”
Figured. But at least his responses were getting longer. “What’s the bet? Who eats the most?”
“Naw. Too easy.”
I mentally took out my pliers, determined to get more information from him. “Okay. Then what’s the bet?”
“Whoever gets taken to the ER first wins.”
“But why not just go right away? I mean, how would he know if it took two or twenty bolts to twist your guts in a knot?”
He spared the game a moment and gawked at me as though I’d asked him to dress in a tux and go to the preppiest prom ever. “That’d be cheating.” He shook his head and returned to killing trolls. “Rule is, you gotta be hurting before you can go. And then someone else has to suggest it. You can’t ask to go.” He pffed his amazement at my stupidity for not knowing basic bolt-eating game rules.
I had to wonder about the intelligence of today’s kids, which only reinforced my lack of desire to have one. Like I needed another reason. “And that’s winning? Getting to go to the hospital? Gee, how fun.” Not.
“Yeah. ’Cuz whoever wins gets out of doing chores tomorrow.”
Ah, the real prize was revealed. “I see. Well, good luck with that.” I stood up, happy to have an easy solution for this assignment. Walking over to the grandmother, I pulled her aside to break the news. “Ma’am, I think you’re right.”
She sucked in a startled gasp. I guess she hadn’t really expected me to agree with her. “I am? Oh my goodness. What are you going to do?”
“Not much. But if I were you, I’d fire up the old jalopy and take him to the ER.”
Another gasp. “But won’t they dissect him? I saw a movie where they did that to get the demons out of a little girl’s body.” One more teardrop slid down her face, making me feel lower than pond mud. Still, I knew this old girl was way too set on the demonic-possession theory to hear the truth. Occasionally, I have to bend the truth a little, especially when dealing with a geriatric fan of horror movies.
I gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t worry. I know a couple of the docs there. I’ll call ahead to make sure they take special care of him.” The relief on her face twisted my guilt a little more. “You take him and tell them he ate bolts. Real steel-type bolts. They’ve seen worse cases. But don’t mention the possession. We wouldn’t want to start a panic.” I didn’t want to add that they might have to cut him open to get the bolts out. Hopefully, they could wait until they came out the other end. You know, the natural way.
“But how will they know how to help him if I don’t mention the demon?”
Here was the best part of my plan. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out. See, when demons possess a teenage boy, the boy’s own soul battles back by eating the one thing demons don’t like.” I gestured to the diminishing pile of bolts on the floor. “Then, when the boy goes to the hospital and they get the bolts out of the body—” preferably through a poop-inducing procedure, “—the demon is released along with the bolts without anyone even knowing.” I smiled and added the last part of my fabricated story. “Ma’am, I hate to say it, but his friend Josh is possessed, too. So if you wouldn’t mind calling his parents…”
I could almost see a steel backbone sprout in the older woman as she prepared for a spiritual battle to save her grandson and his friend from the minions of Hell. “I understand. Thank y
ou, Ms. Taylor, for your help. Please send me your bill for today.”
Ya betcha I will. I nodded, feeling better about my lies, and left Mrs. T. and Emo Boy alone. Once outside, I pulled out the digital camera I carried in my purse and started taking exterior shots of the home. As part of each assignment, I take pictures of the places I’d debunked along with the surrounding area. Snapping off pictures one after the other, I shuffled in a circle, catching the best angle and light for each structure. With one last turn, however, I pointed the camera and suddenly wished I hadn’t. Just as I aimed the lens at an architecturally unique building housing a boutique coffee shop across the street, Kaine and a beautiful red-haired woman stepped through the front door.
I clicked the picture and observed my husband with the woman. Omigod. It’s the woman in the photo Fitz showed me. I almost snarled in jealous irritation. Figures she’d be even more beautiful in person. Long red hair streamed down her back to meet the rounded curves of her buttocks. Of course the red hair wasn’t that awful orangey-red color most of us end up with, but the gorgeous five-hundred-dollar version only a stylist to the stars can bestow on a goddess. Yet somehow I knew hers was all natural. Her legs must’ve made up at least two-thirds of her height, never-ending in that sexy way very few women had. And of course her body was perfectly proportioned. Her breasts, bouncing freely unhindered by any bra, pointed at Kaine, begging him to touch them. Hell, even I wanted to touch them, and aside from a brief experiment with Judy Lassiter in high school, I was one-hundred-percent heterosexual. But it was her angelic yet mischievously sensual face that gave the green-eyed snake inside me extra venom. Her face was a cross between an angel and a devil, alluring and enticing, yet pure and innocent. In the tried-and-true tradition of every woman who’d ever lived, I instantly hated her.
Who the hell is she and what’s Kaine doing with her? Nix that. I don’t care who she is. I just want her away from my man.
