Poison Fruit

by Jacqueline Carey

  She frowned—or again, tried to. “Are you sure? I haven’t heard anything about it.”

  It wasn’t just arrogance on her part. Pemkowet was a small town, and Amanda Brooks had her finger on every pulse. The fact that this was happening unnoticed was definitely strange.

  “I’m sure.” I played my trump card. “And Hel is concerned. That’s why I want to talk to this Dufreyne guy and find out what’s going on. But he won’t return my calls.”

  Amanda drummed her manicured nails on the desk. “Well, that’s highly unprofessional of him.”

  Duh. “That’s why I need your help,” I said. “There’s something very odd about this whole business.”

  If you’re wondering why I didn’t tell her I suspected Daniel Dufreyne was a hell-spawn, there were two reasons. One, I had no proof. Two, when trying to obtain the cooperation of certain people, it’s best not to remind them that I’m one myself. Amanda Brooks was one of those people.

  “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’m not fond of the idea, but if Hel is truly concerned, I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent.” I made myself smile at her. “Let me know when the meeting’s set up. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t meet with him alone.”

  Amanda gave me a suspicious look. “Why? After all, I’ve met with him before.”

  Oops. “Just give me this one, will you?”

  She hesitated. “Is he dangerous? Because I seem to remember . . . something.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “But as Hel’s liaison, I’d like to take every precaution with him.”

  “Very well.” She nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thanks.” I stood to leave. “Oh, by the way, did Stacey take a job somewhere else? I was just wondering.” Wondering if I could quit bracing myself for the encounter every time I entered the PVB, really.

  “You might say so.” A smile of maternal pride lit Amanda’s face, softening her features. “She’s our new head of online promotion. I suggested it after she did such a wonderful job with the video footage of our, ah, manifestations last month. The board approved the position last week.”

  Oh, gah.

  Six

  I fell asleep that night thinking about the ominous blotch of red on the map Lee had shown me, encroaching on Hel’s territory.

  I didn’t like the look of it, not one bit.

  I woke up to my phone ringing at approximately six o’clock in the morning, which is never a good thing.

  “Daisy?” a woman’s voice rasped in a heavy Alabama accent. “Ah’m so sorry to trouble yuh, but it happened agin, and Scott’s out on the balcony with a gun.”

  “What?” I sat bolt upright and fumbled for the lamp on my nightstand. Curled on the bed beside me, Mogwai let out a mewl of protest at being disturbed. “Dawn, what’s happening?”

  “He tried to strangle me in mah sleep.” Her voice was thick with tears, and possibly the effects of an attempted strangling. “Now he’s threatenin’ to kill hisself.”

  My brain jolted into alertness. “Did you call 911?”

  “Yes, ma’am, there’s an officer on the way, only ah thought . . . yuh seemed to know things the police mebbe don’t.”

  Shifting the phone against my ear, I rummaged for clothing. “What’s your address?”

  “Beechwood Grove,” she said. “Apartment 207.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Although I didn’t have the first idea how I could help, I drove like a bat out of hell through sleet and darkness to Beechwood Grove, an apartment complex that had been nice enough when it was first built in the 1970s, but was now a bit run-down. There was already a police cruiser parked in front of the Evanses’ apartment.

  Dawn Evans opened the door before I could knock, clad in a ratty aqua-blue chenille bathrobe. Her eyes were red-rimmed and weary, her face was tear-streaked, and there were serious bruises already forming on her throat. “Thank yuh,” she murmured. “Ah do ’preciate it.”

  “Scott’s upstairs?” I asked.

  She nodded. “On the balcony off the master bedroom. The officer’s tryin’ to talk him down. Ah best get back to him.”

  “Let’s go.”

  In the master bedroom, a sliding glass door that led to a small balcony was wide-open, cold air and icy sleet blowing through it. Beyond the police officer blocking the doorway, I could see Scott Evans, wearing only a pair of drawstring pajama pants, the muzzle of a pistol pressed under his chin.

  Shit.

  I must have said it out loud, because the officer glanced back at me. It was Cody, his eyes grave and worried. “Daise. Do you think—?”

  I knew what he meant and I shook my head, indicating that it wasn’t an eldritch matter.

  He blew out his breath. “Mr. Evans, just come inside for a moment, won’t you? It’s freezing out there. No one can think straight in that kind of cold. I’m freezing. You’re freezing. Your wife’s freezing. Just step inside long enough so we can all warm up.”

  “Lissen to him, Scott!” Dawn pleaded. “It’s all right. Ah know yuh didn’t mean to do it. We bin through way worse, yew and me.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Scott bared his teeth in a grimace, but there were tears in his eyes, too. “Bitch nearly got me to kill you tonight, honey. We can’t go on like this. We can’t. I love you, but it’s for the best.”

  His finger tightened on the trigger, knuckle whitening.

  “Wait!” Cody spread his hands. “Okay, you don’t have to come inside, but Mr. Evans, Chief Bryant’s on his way. You promised me you’d talk to him. You promised me you’d wait until he got here, right? You don’t want to renege on a promise, do you?”

  Scott hesitated.

  “He’s right,” I said. “The chief’s going to be pissed as hell if we dragged him out of bed at this hour for nothing.”

  Beside me, Dawn let out a choked, hysterical laugh, biting down on her knuckle to stifle it.

  “Okay, so we’re all waiting for the chief to get here,” Cody said in a calm, level tone. “No problem.”

  I had to give Cody credit—he kept up a steady stream of quiet, innocuous talk, keeping Scott Evans’s attention engaged while we waited for Chief Bryant to arrive. It was likely a technique he’d learned in training at the police academy, but as far as I knew, he’d never had to use it before. Still, it felt like forever before the chief’s car pulled into the parking lot, though it was probably only five minutes.

  “Yuh promise yuh’ll lissen to what the man has to say?” Dawn asked Scott.

  The muzzle of the pistol remained firmly lodged under his chin, and the slow, steady tears that leaked from his eyes were half-frozen on his cheeks. He was shivering in the cold so hard I was afraid he’d pull the trigger by accident. “Said I’d give him the courtesy, didn’t I?”

  She nodded. “Yuh did.”

  Jesus fucking Christ, my heart ached for both of them, and I felt helpless; obscenely helpless.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Dawn. “I’m so sorry. I wish I did know something that could help, but I don’t.”

  “It means a lot that yuh came,” she murmured. “Mebbe yuh could show the chief inside?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  Chief Bryant’s face was pouchy with sleep and his hair was disheveled, but his eyes were sharp and alert beneath their heavy lids. “All right,” he said in a deep, reassuring voice as he entered the master bedroom. “Let’s everyone just take this down a notch, okay? Mr. Evans, why don’t you step inside so we can talk man-to-man?”

  “No, sir.” Scott shook his head. “I’m fine right where I am.”

  “All right, then, why don’t you just hand the gun over to Officer Fairfax?” the chief suggested.

  Scott wasn’t budging. Well, except for the violent shivering. “No, sir,” he said politely. “I can’t do that.”

  “Sure you can.”

  Something caught my eye. Scott Evans wasn’t the only thing shivering. The silver watch chain dangling from th
e chief’s coat pocket was vibrating visibly.

  “Son of a bitch!” I said without thinking. Chief Bryant shot me a look. “Chief, the watch, the watch!”

  He glanced down. “Must have shoved it into my pocket on the way out. Force of habit.”

  “Take it out!” I said. “Hold it over the bed!”

  “Excuse me?” Dawn said in a perplexed tone. On the balcony, her husband looked as bewildered as she sounded—bewildered enough that he’d involuntarily lowered the pistol a few inches.

  I couldn’t blame them, but I didn’t want to take the time to explain. Chief Bryant fished the watch out of his pocket and let it dangle over the bed. It rotated in a circle on the end of its chain, the hands on the dial spinning backward.

  “Son of a bitch!” I said again. That’s what I got for lending too much credence to a mundane expert. I whirled around to face the open sliding door. “Scott, you’re not crazy. She’s real. The Night Hag’s real.”

  He lowered the pistol a few more inches. “She is?”

  “She is?” Dawn echoed.

  “Yeah.” I glanced at Dawn. “You didn’t put a horseshoe over the door, did you?”

  She shook her head. “Ah couldn’t find one on short notice. Ah was gonna call yuh tomorrow.”

  I grimaced. “It’s my fault. I should have figured this out yesterday. Scott, will you come inside now?”

  He still hesitated. “This is a trick, isn’t it?”

  “No trick,” I promised him. “The chief’s watch is genuine dwarfish craftsmanship. It responds to the residue of eldritch presence.”

  Scott looked uncertainly at Chief Bryant.

  “Crazy as it sounds, she’s telling the truth, son,” the chief said. “I give you my word of honor.”

  “That means we can catch the bitch.” My tail lashed with vehemence, my temper surging. “She’s not free to prey on anyone in my town.”

  “Hell, yeah!” For the first time, Scott Evans smiled, a tight, fierce smile as he lowered the pistol to his side.

  Unfortunately, at that very moment the balcony gave an alarming creak. Scott took a lurching step, his bare feet slipping on the sleet-covered wood. His hand clenched on the trigger as he fell backward and the pistol discharged, the gunshot sounding like . . . pretty much nothing but a gunshot. A scream caught in my throat. Scott hit the railing hard, and the pistol fell from his hand. If the balcony had been up to code, it would have caught him, but the old 1970s-built railing was at least a foot and a half lower than current regulations required, and he began to topple backward over it.

  Moving with inhuman speed, Cody let out a growl and lunged through the sliding glass door, catching Scott by the waist of his drawstring pajama pants. I’d like to say I was there in a flash to back him up, but it was Dawn who helped him wrestle her husband into the bedroom. Cody kept his face averted, and I hoped she was distracted enough not to notice.

  “Are yuh shot?” she asked Scott with professional efficiency. “Lemme see.”

  His teeth were chattering. “I’m okay.”

  “It’s all right,” Cody said, his voice sounding muffled as he retrieved the pistol and examined the balcony. “The bullet went straight down.”

  “Yuh idiot!” Dawn clutched Scott’s shoulders, tears in her voice. “Yuh goddamn idiot!”

  “I know,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. Oblivious to the world, they held each other.

  “Well, then.” The chief hitched up his belt. “Daisy, Cody, it looks like you’ve got yourself a case.”

  A few days ago, I would have been glad to hear it. Today, I stifled a sigh.

  Great.

  Seven

  Cody and I took another statement from Scott Evans. It was identical to the first one, except that this time he’d broken the paralysis to fight back; or at least he thought he had, until he awoke to find himself throttling his wife.

  “So what happens now?” he asked us, an afghan blanket wrapped around him.

  “Ideally, I’d suggest you get out of town until we find the Night Hag,” I said. “The eldritch need a functioning underworld to enable their magic, and she shouldn’t be able to operate outside of Hel’s territory. Is there anyone you can stay with well outside the city limits?”

  Scott and Dawn exchanged a glance. He shook his head. “No one I can think of. I’ve got family, but they’re in town.”

  “A hotel?”

  “We’re still waitin’ on the VA to approve Scott’s claim fer disability benefits,” Dawn murmured in an apologetic tone. “Yuh said a horseshoe would do, didn’t yuh?”

  “Yeah, but it’s just a general precaution,” I warned her. “It might not be enough, and I need to do more digging to know exactly what we’re dealing with. As far as I know, there’s never been a Night Hag in Pemkowet before.”

  Scott grimaced. “It’s probably my goddamn nightmares that brought her here.”

  “It’s possible.” I didn’t want to lie to him. “Do you know the Sisters of Selene? The occult store?”

  “By the coffee shop?” he asked. “I’ve seen it.”

  I nodded. “It opens at eleven. I’ll call Casimir and give him a heads-up, tell him you need whatever he’s got to ward off a powerful fey predator.”

  “A fey predator,” he repeated. “All right.”

  “You should consult with your doctor, too,” Cody suggested gently. “You’re under a lot of stress.”

  “Yeah.” Scott rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I know. There’s a reason the bitch came for me, right?” Dropping his hands, he glanced up at Cody. “So what the fuck are you?”

  Cody missed a beat. “Excuse me?”

  “I saw your face, man. When you caught me.” Beneath the afghan, Scott’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Look, I owe you. I could have broken my neck. But either I’m crazy or I’m not, and either way, I’d like to know. I saw your face, and there were way too many goddamn pointy teeth in it. So what are you?”

  A long silence stretched between them. I held my tongue and avoided meeting Dawn’s inquiring look.

  A muscle twitched in Cody’s jaw. “Werewolf.”

  Holy crap, Officer Down-low had actually admitted it, out loud, to an ordinary human being.

  “No shit!” Scott sounded admiring. “Does it run in the family? I went to high school with your brother Caleb. I always wondered what the deal was with that guy.”

  Cody didn’t answer.

  “Ohh-kay,” I said. “Remember Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell? Stupid policy, I know. But the eldritch community has a code.”

  “So it ain’t polite to ask questions,” Dawn observed. “And yuh don’t want us to say nuthin ’bout Officer Fairfax.”

  “Right.”

  Scott nodded. “No problem.”

  After finishing with the Evanses, Cody and I retreated to the parking lot. A few residents of neighboring apartments came out to ask about the gunshot. After reassuring them it was an accidental discharge and no one had been harmed, we took the opportunity to ask if anyone had seen a strange elderly woman in the vicinity. Unfortunately, no one had. We went door-to-door throughout the rest of the apartment complex, accomplishing nothing more than annoying anyone who hadn’t been awakened by a stray gunshot at that hour.

  “I’m not surprised,” Cody said when we sat in his squad car to compare notes, strategize, and pretend it wasn’t incredibly awkward to be working together this soon after he’d broken things off with me. “Whatever was in that bedroom, it didn’t leave a scent.” He glanced at me. “Are you sure about this, Daise?”

  I shrugged. “Something was there. The chief’s watch has never been wrong. Do all eldritch have a scent?”

  “So far, yeah.”

  “Do I?” I couldn’t help but ask. “I mean, other than an ordinary human scent?”

  Cody gave me another sidelong look. “Yeah. Yeah, you do. There’s sort of a . . . hint of brimstone.”

  “Oh, yuck!” I made a face. “Like sulfur? Rot
ten eggs?”

  “No, no!” He shook his head. “It’s not like that. You know how perfumes sometimes have those weird notes that might be unpleasant on their own, but—” I stared at him. He sighed. “You smell good, Daisy. Trust me.”

  “Thanks.” Given the sort of odors that most dogs I knew found appealing, it occurred to me that Cody might not be the best judge. “I hope that’s your human side speaking.”

  He flashed a grin at me. “Afraid you smell like something I might want to roll around in, Pixy Stix?”

  “Something like that.” Dammit, teasing wasn’t fair! I managed to avoid giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Look, if no one in Beechwood Grove saw anything, I don’t think there’s any point in canvassing further, and your shift’s probably about over. Why don’t you let me do some research, and we’ll talk later?”

  “Deal.”

  I hesitated. “Hey, I’m proud of you for what you did in there.” I nodded toward the Evans apartment. “Owning it like that.”

  “Thanks.” That muscle in Cody’s jaw gave another little twitch, but his gaze was steady and open. “Let me know what you find out.”

  Back in my own trusty little Honda, I called Casimir, aka the Fabulous Casimir. In addition to being the owner and proprietor of the Sisters of Selene, Casimir was also the head of the local coven. Despite the early hour, he was already up. I could hear him puttering around in his kitchen as we spoke, probably clad in something like an exotic caftan. Casimir claims his cross-dressing is part of a shamanic tradition, which very well may be true, but he takes a lot of pride and pleasure in it, too.

  The good news was that Casimir was confident that he had charms and protection spells in stock to deter any manner of predatory fey. The bad news was that he didn’t know anything about Night Hags in particular and could neither confirm nor deny their actual existence.

  “Sorry, dahling,” he apologized. “I’ve known more than my fair share of hags, but not this kind.”

  I smiled. “That’s okay. I’ve got other resources. Thanks for taking care of the Evanses.”

  He blew me a kiss over the phone. “Anytime, Miss Daisy.”