Wrong Turn

by Catie Rhodes

  Finally I could stand it no more. Patience had never been my strong suit. "Did you find out anything about the Wanderer?"

  Cecil blew out a breath and shook his head. "She means no disrespect, Queenie. She’s young and impatient."

  Queenie barely acknowledged either of us. "You’re not ready for contact with the Wanderer. He’ll only help you on the last leg of your journey. You have at least several more trials to complete. More to discover about yourself. Keep your mind open."

  I leaned back in my chair and tried to keep the disappointment off my face. Pissing off Queenie might create an ass whipping I didn’t want to experience. But I was disappointed. We’d come all the way to Natchitoches, Louisiana, for nothing.

  "If you want to move forward, stop living in your own life like a ghost." Queenie pointed one arthritis-warped finger at me.

  What did that mean? I couldn’t keep from frowning as I puzzled over it. Meanwhile, Queenie stood and walked us to the front door. Remembering the customs of our kind, I dug in my pocket for the fold of cash I kept there.

  "Do you take donations?" I asked Queenie.

  She held out one hand and said her line. "Whatever you feel appropriate."

  I put the entire wad of cash in her hand. Fear can motivate generosity as well as anything else.

  Queenie made the money disappear. “Don’t be so disappointed. Today was a success."

  "How so?" I couldn’t hide my incredulity. The money I’d given Queenie would have bought groceries for the month.

  Queenie smiled as though she knew my thoughts as well as her own. "The Wanderer will meet with you when the time is right. He is now aware of your need."

  She closed the door on any answer we might have made. The deadbolt clicked home. It was a clear message that we needed to go. Tanner and I followed Cecil to the economy car he and Shelly pulled behind their motorhome. He unlocked the door and stood back for the heat to boil out.

  "Follow me downtown. We got in too late last night to get meat pies, and I’m ready for one or two." Without waiting for an answer, Cecil got in the car and started it.

  "Are meat pies barbecue?" Tanner asked on the short walk to my truck.

  I answered with a glare. Tanner’s obsession with Texas barbecue—the culture and the food—left the permanent taste of smoked meat in my mouth. The only smoke I wanted to taste all the time was cigarette smoke.

  The restaurant Cecil chose consisted of a long, narrow room full of tables for four. Despite the lunch hour being over, people jammed the place. The smell of frying food made my mouth water.

  Cecil ordered a plate of corn fritters as an appetizer. Tanner had never even heard of the deep-fried balls of batter embedded with corn kernels. He wolfed one down and refused another.

  "Too heavy," he said, face pale and beading with sweat.

  I finished my corn fritter and reached for another. The food wasn’t too heavy for me. I loved deep-fried anything. But worry churned in my stomach.

  Cecil voiced my feelings. "Queenie scared me. What might be in store for you?"

  “Nothing good.” I had several pissing matches running in the background.

  The threat of Oscar Rivera hung over me like a storm cloud and would until I vanquished him from this plane. I’d destroyed the Six Gun Revolutionaries Motorcycle Club. And I owed favors to several chthonic beings who could choose to call in their markers any time.

  * * *

  Cecil pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Other battles you’ve been through have lessened the scar tissue, yes?"

  Yeah. And they almost killed me too. Cecil didn’t like whiners, so I kept the thought to myself and just nodded.

  "Then there's nothing to do but be careful." Cecil dug into his meat pie, which had come while we talked, and chewed with his eyes closed. His wife, Shelly, would have had a shit fit at him for eating so much fried food.

  I finished my meal in silence, wondering how much more I could stand before I fell over from exhaustion.

  Cecil went back the RV park to rest before the carnival started that evening. Tanner and I set off to see the sights of Natchitoches. Established in 1714, the city was the oldest permanent settlement in the 1803 Louisiana Purchase.

  Guzzling cold drinks and pouring sweat, we explored the carefully preserved downtown buildings. Along the banks of the Cane River Lake, right off the downtown, Tanner pointed to a sign advertising the Christmas Festival of Lights.

  "We should come back in a few months." He kissed me.

  "I’d like that." It felt good pretending to be just another couple in the honeymoon phase of a relationship.

  The day ended as most days did with Tanner, our clothes in a pile on the floor and our bodies tangled together. Had I known how much things would change in just a few hours, I’d have cherished it more.

  I lay in the dark trying to figure out what had changed. Maybe it had been a nightmare, the kind waking up erases so completely you’re left with nothing but an unsettled feeling. But I didn’t think so. Something was different.

  The shadows of my camper seemed the same. The basket of laundry sat on the table where I’d left it, silently scolding me for being too lazy—or horny—to fold it before I went to bed.

  Tanner slumbered next to me, a heavy arm and leg thrown across me, pinning me to the bed. He slept the sleep of the dead, slow even breaths puffing against my hair. He hadn’t woken me with a sudden movement. What then?

  The air conditioner rumbled overhead, shaking my little camper with its noise. It may have woken me when it kicked on. The unit blasted cold air into the small space, but the late August heat and humidity still burned like fever under my skin. But it wasn't the only thing that kept me from falling right back to sleep.

  Queenie had said I had more trials to face before the Wanderer would help me with the scar tissue. Trials, most of which turned out to be life-threatening, scared the pudding out of me. This trial would likely come at exactly the wrong time. But what could I do? My thoughts began to fragment as the languor of sleep slipped over them. My eyes drooped.

  A shadow moved near the bathroom at the back of the camper. I sucked in a deep breath. My heart lunged into action, pumping blood and adrenaline through me. Someone was in here with us.

  My body tensed. Had I left the door unlocked? No. I’d locked the door as Tanner tugged off my clothes a few hours earlier. The shadow slowly taking shape in the darkness belonged to someone who’d broken into my little home. I nudged Tanner. He responded with a sluggish grunt and tightened his grip on me.

  Great. It would take force to wake him up, and right now I wanted to believe the shadow didn’t know it had woken me. I reached for the mantle. Even though I didn’t have full control of the power it contained, the few hours’ rest had me fully charged. I gathered energy, pulling on everything in the room, even the electricity.

  Once the shadow neared, I’d give him or her a blast of something they might not live through.

  The bathroom light flicked on. I jerked with shock, eyes burning, and threw up one arm to shield my eyes, squinting at the blurry figure. There was something wrong with his head. It brushed the camper’s ceiling and seemed to bend with it.

  Next to me, Tanner’s slow breaths stopped. He was awake. Good. At least he’d help me fight.

  The shadow spoke. "Peri Jean Maccccce." He dragged out my last name, making it hiss. All of a sudden, I knew who it was. Mohawk. I couldn’t mistake that voice.

  His skinny body came into focus. Now I could identify his bleached blond Mohawk as the part of him brushing the ceiling. In spite of the heat, he still wore a leather jacket, ripped black pants, and heavy jack boots. Made sense. Aren’t snakes cold-blooded?

  Faster than my vision could track, Mohawk rushed at the bed. I let out a sissified scream, clawed at Tanner like a damn girl, and hollered, "Don’t let him take me."

  Tanner, with no regard for his own safety, rose to meet Mohawk. The covers fell off his naked body and puddled
at his knees. Tanner drew back his fist. His back muscles bunched, and he let one punch fly at Mohawk. The creature from the dark outposts dodged Tanner’s fist the same way he’d have avoided walking through a spider’s web.

  My hope sank. Of course Mohawk could counter any physical attack and beat it. He wasn’t even human. My friend and mentor, Mysti Whitebyrd, called beings like Mohawk chthonic beings. The only way we had any chance of beating him was to use magic.

  Shoving the covers off my naked body, I crouched next to Tanner, drawing on our combined magic, and let loose a bolt of electric fire. It slapped into Mohawk’s chest and died there in a puff of smoke. The smell of singed leather competed with the being’s swampy, snake stench. He opened his mouth, let his snake fangs show, and hissed. The sides of his neck flared out like a cobra’s.

  One skinny, long-fingered hand flashed out, grabbed my arm, and yanked me off the bed. Tanner let out a warrior’s yell and leapt on Mohawk. The snake man held my arm so tight the bone began to ache. In a second, my lower arm began to tingle from having the blood flow cut off. With his free hand, Mohawk plucked Tanner off him like an errant kid and slung him back on the bed.

  Tanner rolled to his feet and tensed to launch himself at Mohawk again. The monster held out one hand. A flash of light, not unlike the one I’d tried to blast Mohawk with, blazed into Tanner. He fell on his side, holding his chest and gasping.

  I quit fighting to get away from Mohawk and launched myself at him, jabbing at his eyes with my fingers. He let go of my arm to fight me off, curled his other hand into a fist, and slammed it into my sternum. Pain bloomed in my midsection. My legs folded, and I sank to the floor of my camper, where I lay naked and curled into the fetal position, struggling to breathe.

  Tanner, a red welt forming on his chest, got to his feet. He was ready to fight again. Mohawk pointed one finger at him. "Stop now, Tanner Jackson Letts, or I’ll kill you."

  No. I wouldn’t let Mohawk kill Tanner. He didn’t even deserve to be in the middle of this. I tried to draw breath to speak. My injured sternum spasmed, refusing to let me draw more than the shallowest wisp of oxygen. I held up one hand to Tanner and shook my head.

  Tanner frowned and gave Mohawk a death glare. His battle-scarred fists clenched.

  Mohawk flicked his forked tongue at Tanner. "One more attack, and I’ll consider Peri Jean Mace in violation of our agreement.”

  “She’d never make a deal with a piece of shit like you.” Tanner’s chest rose and fell with each breath. A vein throbbed in his forehead. He was ready to go to war.

  Mohawk’s woody brown eyes flicked over my naked body. His pupils expanded, and his nostrils flared. He chuckled. “If that’s what you believe, you don’t know this woman very well.”

  A chill started at the base of my spine and spread over my body. I shook my head again at Tanner, silently pleading.

  Recognition flooded his face. The fury went out of his green eyes as though a switch had been flipped. Shoulders slumped, he dragged on his clothes, retrieved mine, and helped me into them. I had a hard time uncurling my body. Each pull on my abdominal muscles sent stabbing pain through my bowels.

  Mohawk sat at my camper’s table watching our progress. He drummed long, sharp fingernails on the table and checked the time on his phone every few seconds.

  When I could speak, I said, "Why did you break into my home?"

  "We have a bargain. I can tell you haven’t forgotten. Did you think you could fight your way out of it?"

  I shook my head. Tanner set a glass of cold water in front of me, face set in hard planes of anger. We exchanged a glance. I’d told him as little as possible about Mohawk and the deal I’d made. Some part of me had hoped it would just go away. I should have known better. Never taking my eyes off Mohawk, I sipped the water.

  “I’m not a cheater. I do what I say I’ll do. But you promised to contact me through the marble. I thought you’d changed your mind and come to just take me.” If I failed to fulfill my end of the bargain with Mohawk, I’d forfeit my freedom. Become his slave. Bear his offspring. I shuddered at the thought.

  "Then you do want to attempt to find the book?" Mohawk checked his phone again. Like he had anything more interesting to do than harass me.

  "Anything to get you out of my life." I took my first deep breath, and then another just to make sure I could do it again.

  "At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I want to remind you that coming with me voluntarily would satisfy all debts." Mohawk set down his phone and leaned forward. "I am willing to grant your freedom in five years’ time. You only have to…"

  “She’s not going anywhere with you,” Tanner shouted.

  Nausea roiling in my sore stomach, I ignored Tanner and spoke to Mohawk. "No. I’ll get the book. Whatever it takes, I’ll get it.”

  Mohawk sat back in his seat and watched both of us for several long seconds. Finally, he heaved a deep sigh, reached into an inside pocket of his jacket, and withdrew an old, wrinkled photo. He set it on the table.

  A young woman with wispy blond hair blowing in a long-dead wind stared out at a vista of tree-covered hills. A minidress with a geometric pattern showed off her shapely legs. The garment’s cut suggested the picture might have been taken in the late sixties.

  The young woman clutched a huge book to her chest. On the visible end of the book was metal twisted into a circles and dots pattern that raised the hair on the back of my neck. Even the years separating me from this book were not enough to hide the wrongness of it. It probably didn’t help that Mohawk had already hinted at what it did to people who read it.

  "This is the book? The one you want me to find?" I reached out to touch the picture with my index finger but drew it back. I didn’t even want to touch an image of the nasty thing. Tanner crowded in for a closer look.

  Mohawk nodded. "This human is the last one to possess the book.” He slid out of the bench seat and took the few steps to the camper’s door.

  "Wait." I shot out of the bench seat, shoved around Tanner, and went after Mohawk. "I need more information. I don’t even know her name."

  Mohawk spun to face me. I halted in my tracks. He tilted his head, dead eyes boring into me. His tall, stiff hair scratched against the cabinet over my sink.

  "Why would I help you? I’ve told you how I’d like this to end.” He ran one skinny, cold finger over my face.

  Cold horror radiated outward from where he touched. I backpedaled away from Mohawk and sat down in the seat he’d just vacated hard enough to jar the breath from me.

  "You have…" Mohawk looked at his phone again. "Oh, let’s make this fun. You have seventy-two hours from right now. Failure means you belong to me.”

  My lungs constricted, and my mouth dried up. A lifetime as Mohawk’s consort would drive me mad. Blood roared in my ears. Mohawk smiled.

  "This is your last chance to come with me voluntarily. As promised, I’d release you in five years. But if you play this out and fail?" He clucked his tongue. "You’ll be mine for the rest of your natural life.”

  “Now wait a minute…” Tanner, who’d gotten control of his anger, took a step toward Mohawk.

  The creature hissed and pointed one finger at him. “Interfere, and you’ll die crying for your mother.”

  I grabbed Tanner’s arm, sweat stinging my forehead and scalp, and pulled him close. Tanner put one arm around me. The three of us glared at each other, barely breathing. One drop of sweat rolled down the back of my head, down my neck, and left a cold trail down my back. Mohawk’s pupils grew larger until they spread over most of his eye. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

  "Last chance.” He sang the words.

  I shook my head. "I’ll find the book."

  He laughed and stepped out into the night, leaving the camper’s door hanging open.

  Tanner walked to the door, closed it, and locked it. He turned to me, green eyes burning bright and intense. “All right. Time to come clean about that asshole and whatever he�
��s holding over you.”

  I took a deep breath. “You remember me telling you about the hag that almost killed Hannah?”

  “It attached itself to you, and to get rid of it, you had to buy it out of slavery.” His face slackened. “That was the hag’s owner? Sweetie, why did you…” He put both hands over his face and took deep breaths. Finally he dropped them. In a deceptively calm voice, the one he used before he started screaming, he asked, “What happens if you don’t find the book?”

  My voice trembled when I spoke. "He admires the line of witches I’m descended from. He wants to have a child with me."

  Tanner’s face fell in shock. "But I thought you were…couldn’t have kids."

  I shook my head. "It can be fixed by a healer. I’ve just never…"

  Never what? Wanted to risk having a child? Wanted to see how badly whoever fathered it could screw up both our lives?

  "But any child you had with him wouldn’t even be human." Tanner’s face paled, and he swallowed hard.

  I imagined the result of a union between Mohawk and me. A sour wave of nausea shot up my throat. I ran into the bathroom, fell to my knees in front of the toilet, and barfed.

  2

  Tanner held my hair while I called dinosaurs. When I was finished, he wiped my face with a cold cloth. I sat on the floor, eyes closed, leaning against the tiny door to the camper’s only full-length closet space, too weak to move just yet.

  Tanner ran more cool water on the cloth and wiped my forehead with it. I felt a rush of love for him. I opened my eyes to stare at his not-quite-handsome face and his brilliant eyes.

  Sweet Tanner, so sincere and helpful. We exchanged a smile. With one arm, I pushed myself off the floor. Tanner pulled me to a standing position. I got out my toothbrush and brushed the awfulness out of my mouth.

  He watched me. "Tell me about this book. What does it do?"

  I spat out toothpaste and turned on the faucet to wash it down. "Best I can understand, it instigates murder and mayhem."