You’re the One That I Haunt

by Terri Garey

  “Negative forces are obviously at work, and negativity often draws more of the same,” Bijou said. “We can’t let someone’s malicious use of magic distract you from the battle at hand. The curse must be lifted.”

  Funny thing was, I didn’t believe for a minute that my weakness over Sammy had anything to do with a curse, unless it was the curse of an overactive libido.

  I sank back down on the bed, overwhelmed. I could see myself in the mirror over the dresser, and focused on my reflection to calm my racing thoughts. Indigo Blue eyeliner instead of the usual black, to go with the blue shirt I was wearing. It was a shiny rayon blend, pure seventies disco glam, and I’d paired it with a pair of black capris and some cute heeled sandals.

  Apparently my “look like a million bucks, feel like a million bucks” theory wasn’t working for me today.

  “Are you saying that someone besides Sammy, and besides Crystal, is out to get me?” I needed her to clarify. “Who? Why?”

  “There now, dear.” Bijou’s arm went around my shoulder. The bed sagged as she sat next to me. “We’ll get this all straightened out.”

  That almost made me laugh, but recognizing how close I was to hysteria, I kept my mouth shut.

  “When you called me in Savannah and told me of Crystal Cowart’s possession, I was concerned, of course, but felt—with some guidance—you were up to the task of withstanding her. You did so well casting her out that first time, and without any practice.” She patted my shoulder approvingly. “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak; in this case the spirit is the weak one. You’re strong, Nicki. Stronger than you know.”

  Her confidence in me made me feel a little better, though I still hated phrases like “possession” and “casting out.”

  “I was doubly concerned, of course, to learn of his persistence in pursuing you, but you’ve fought him before, Nicki, and won.” Her continued avoidance of Sammy’s name spoke volumes. “He cannot be compelled by mortal means—he will only leave you alone if, and when, he believes he can’t win.” She shook her head, frowning. “But something felt wrong. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. When Odessa came to me with one of her feelings—”

  “Odessa has feelings?” I couldn’t resist the snark.

  “Rarely,” she said, not missing a beat. “But when she does, I listen, and that’s when I knew we could no longer remain in Savannah. Trouble comes in threes, and no sense to sit and wait for it. He’s obviously decided on a three-pronged attack.” She held up her hand, counting them off with a pudgy finger. “A direct assault, through Crystal. The more trouble she causes, the more distracted you’ll be. Attack number two is more subtle—seduction and lies, designed to tempt and confuse. Never forget that he’s a master at this.”

  Her use of the word “master” made me uncomfortable.

  “The last attack is a hidden one, designed to wear down your defenses and weaken your resolve—the use of the dark arts by someone you’ve angered. Odessa and I came to help you, dear, and though we can’t remove his pitchfork, I think we can blunt one of his prongs.”

  I was intrigued to learn that Odessa might actually care whether I lived or died, but far more interested in the immediate offer of help.

  “I hesitated to say so last night,” Bijou went on, “but it’s obvious that the woman who came into your store—what was her name?”

  “Sally Starhawk. No, Shadow Something-or-other.” I shook my head. “I don’t remember exactly.”

  “Huh.” For a moment, Bijou sounded eerily like Odessa. “Anyway, it appears she took your rejection of her and her coven very personally, and decided to teach you a lesson, quite probably at his urging. Your reaction to her was no doubt exactly what he was hoping for. From the basket someone left on your doorstep, it is also quite obvious that at least one member of her coven does not agree with her methods.”

  Wonderful. I had enough to worry about without the Wicked Witch of the West on my ass. “And you can fix this, how?”

  Bijou smiled and patted me on the shoulder. “The hag that did this had best recite her Rede and cower by her cauldron, for I do believe the Savannah Garden Club is about to invade the city of Atlanta.” She rose from the bed in a brisk flurry of floral fabric. “Now where is my cell phone?” Scooping it up from the bedside table, she hit a number on speed dial. “Estelle, it’s Bijou. Two words for you, dear”—she smiled, giving me a wink—“road trip!”

  CHAPTER 15

  I drove back to the shop in a daze, wondering if life would ever get back to anything approaching normal. Was it so much to ask, really?

  A nice house, a nice business, a nice boyfriend…

  “Holy crap,” I said, out loud. “When did I turn into little Polly Purebred?”

  At the next red light, I flipped down my visor and checked myself in the mirror. The girl who stared back at me wore hip vintage Carreras and plum-colored lipstick. Her hair was dark, short, with a few random streaks of pink. She didn’t look like the type of girl who would be craving normalcy, for heaven’s sake.

  Never judge a book by its cover, Grandma Bijou had said, and she was right.

  Ah, well. I looked pretty darn good, if I did say so myself. At least I could continue to fool the world into thinking I had it all together, even if I couldn’t fool myself. Expressing my not-so-normal side through fashion was second nature, and luckily, I had no urge yet to start wearing pearls and sweater sets.

  My wild days seemed to be behind me, though, and I was a little surprised to find that I didn’t really miss them. I’d given up drinking everything except red wine after my heart valve wimped out on me. I’d stopped the partying and the all-nighters. I’d had the same boyfriend for over six months, and he wasn’t exactly the wild type. Smiling, I amended that thought to exclude the bedroom.

  That, of course, got me thinking about Joe again, and how he’d held me and promised me that we’d get through things together. How, when we last made love, he’d told me to remember what we had between us when I needed to be strong.

  And corny as it sounds, life became a little easier, just like that.

  I took another quick glance in the mirror before the light changed, then flipped the visor out of the way.

  The Polly Purebred side of me wanted normal, but the Nicki Styx side of me knew normal wasn’t going to happen. As long as I had Joe beside me, I was okay with it.

  “He’s dead to me!” Evan raged, tears running down his cheeks. “Dead to me, I say!” He was sitting behind the desk in the back office, a fistful of tissues in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

  There’d been a lovers’ spat, that much was clear.

  I’d come in the store to find it empty of customers, the register unmanned, and my partner nowhere to be seen until I found him in the back—sobbing and furious. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “Butch is cheating on me, that’s what’s wrong! He can’t deny it anymore—I heard the voice mail his loverboy left him!” His face crumpled, and my heart sank. “How could he do it to me?”

  “Aw, honey.” I hurried around the desk to give my poor friend a much-needed hug.

  “I don’t understand,” he sobbed into my shoulder. “He told me he loved me. He said I was the one. We were supposed to be together forever, he said.”

  I made murmuring noises of comfort because, honestly, I didn’t know what to say. This was why it was so hard to believe in true love because, well…because things like this happened to people who did.

  Right then I got that skittery feeling up my back that my mom used to call “somebody walking on your grave”. But I shook it off (literally), and focused on Evan.

  “What happened? Tell me.”

  “He left his cell phone behind this morning.” Evan waved the phone in his hand. “There was a voice mail message from some guy named Jared. They were going to meet up, and this guy promised to make him very happy!” Sarcasm and tears distorted his features. Poor guy was crying so hard that I started to cry, too. “
He denied it, can you imagine? And then he had the nerve to get mad at me for listening to his voice mail—called me nosy!” His look turned to outrage. “Me? Nosy? Do you think I’m nosy?”

  Of course you are. “Of course you’re not,” I said.

  “I loved him, Nicki.” His face crumpled again, bravado gone.

  “I know,” I said, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  I’d be mad at Butch later, but for now I just parked myself on the arm of Evan’s chair, keeping my arm around him.

  The cell phone in his hand rang, startling us both. He checked the caller ID. “No,” he said sharply, then pressed his thumb to one of the buttons, turning it off. Tossing the phone onto the desk, he leaned forward and put his head down. In a voice thick with tears, he murmured, “How could he do it?”

  I had no answer for him.

  Another phone rang, this time the store phone on the desk. Evan reached for it but I stopped him. “Handbags and Gladrags,” I said in a clipped tone, fully expecting to hear Butch’s deep baritone.

  “Could I speak to Nicki Styx, please?” The man’s voice was unfamiliar.

  “Speaking.”

  “My name is Tony Danforth. I represent the Cowart family in the matter of Crystal Cowart’s unlawful death. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  My heart dropped to my stomach.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” I lied.

  “I have video that says otherwise, Ms. Styx.”

  “If you saw the video, then you know I was just babbling nonsense.”

  Evan lifted his head. He wiped his eyes with a tissue, only half-listening.

  “Nevertheless, I’d like to take your statement.”

  “Look, I’m very busy right now, but just for the record, I was drunk.”

  “None of this is on record yet, Ms. Styx.” The guy didn’t give up easily. “I’m very interested in what Dr. Bascombe had to say to you before that video was filmed. Did he confess to the murder of Crystal Cowart?”

  For the first time in my life, I quite literally saw red. “No, he didn’t! He didn’t murder anybody, you fucking asshole!”

  Evan’s eyes went wide, but I was on a roll. It was all too much suddenly—no matter how hard I, or the people I loved—tried to do the right thing, there were so many other people out there who either couldn’t care less or actively did the wrong thing, and I’d had enough.

  “Joe Bascombe spends his days saving people’s lives, but does he get any thanks for it? No! Scumbags like you look at him and see nothing but dollar signs. You’re the reason malpractice premiums are driving doctors out of business!” I related to this particular issue myself—as a business owner, I had to pay through the nose for liability insurance. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Those ambulances you’re always chasing have real, live people in them, too, you know. People whose careers get ruined over frivolous lawsuits like this one.”

  “I can always subpoena you as a hostile witness, Ms. Styx.” The jerk was unrattled. “Is that what you want?”

  I slammed the phone down as hard as I could, wishing it was the lawyer’s fat head. It rang immediately, startling Evan and me both. We let it ring twice, eyeing each other, before I snatched it up.

  “Handbags and Gladrags.”

  “Nicki, I need to talk to Evan.” Butch sounded frantic.

  I looked at Evan, who shook his head a fast negative. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Nicki!” Butch wasn’t giving up easily, either. “He’s got the wrong idea! Let me talk to him. We can work this out.”

  “Sorry, not my call. He says he doesn’t want to talk to you.” And then I hung up on him, too.

  And for the fourth freaking time, a phone rang again. This time it was my cell phone, which I wore clipped to my belt. I wouldn’t have answered it, except the caller ID read columbia memorial hospital. “Hello?”

  Silence, broken by a brief crackle. Then a woman’s laughter in the background, flirty and light. “You’re so funny, Joe. I sure hope your girlfriend appreciates you.” A chair creaked as someone shifted. “But if there ever comes a time when she doesn’t, you just let me know.”

  What the hell was this? “Hello?”

  Nobody heard me. “Hello?”

  “Nicki and I are just fine, Lisa, thank you.”

  Joe’s voice sounded tinny and distant, though the words were reassuring.

  “Joe?” I raised my voice, practically yelling. “Hello, Joe?” He didn’t hear me, so he obviously hadn’t called me on purpose—more likely just hit the wrong button on his desk phone. He usually called on his cell.

  “I understand,” Lisa said. “I hope you don’t think I’m being forward. It’s just that I’m single, you’re single—no harm in letting someone know you’re attracted to them, is there?

  “Hey!” At this point I wasn’t sure I wanted anybody to hear me, but I made the effort anyway; the phone was glued to my ear. It crackled, hissing as though about to lose the connection, then blessedly cleared.

  “I’m flattered, Lisa, but I’m in a committed relationship.”

  Relief swept through me.

  “I hope it’s worth it.” Lisa kept her voice light. “We could make your legal problems go away if your little ‘wild child’ was out of the picture.” She laughed again, like she’d made a joke, but she wasn’t joking.

  I’d been right about those stilettoed pumps. Lisa was a first-class bitch, and she was playing hard-ball.

  To his credit, Joe didn’t laugh. But he did ask, “How so?” which made me nervous. “You’ve seen the emergency-room records. You assured me the board would make their decision based on the facts, not rumors and accusations.”

  Yeah.

  I could almost hear Lisa shrug. “Let’s be realistic, Joe. The hospital doesn’t like to be associated with anything”—there was a pause—“distasteful. A threatened lawsuit, a possible settlement, the chief of E.R. appearing on the evening news with a self-professed psychic…” Another pause. “I have some influence over the board, you know. I could use it on your behalf if I felt you’d left all that distastefulness behind you.”

  Distastefulness?

  “You bitch!” I shouted into the phone, scaring poor Evan to death. “You fucking bitch!”

  Evan eyed me as if I’d gone crazy, and he wasn’t far off.

  The phone crackled, and I was afraid it’d gone dead. Then another voice spoke, a different one this time; an eerie electronic voice that raised the hair on my arms.

  “I thought you might enjoy hearing what I’m hearing, Chubby Cheeks,” said Crystal Cowart, on the other end of the phone. “Your boyfriend is going to lose his job unless he dumps you.” She laughed, and it came through as an ugly, hissing chuckle. “I really hope he dumps you. The Master would be so pleased.”

  For a moment, I was too shocked to think.

  She’d set me up. She’d actually set me up to overhear this conversation between Joe and Lisa, knowing how it would upset me.

  A maelstrom of emotion made my hands tremble: anger, frustration, jealousy. All that topped with the spiteful trick of a vindictive spirit, it was just too much.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I wailed into the phone, nearly at my wits’ end. I couldn’t take much more of this—I really couldn’t. “I never did anything to you. Joe never did anything to you—he’s a good man!” I took a desperate shot. “Let me help you, Crystal. I can help you.”

  Evan’s eyes went wide, and I thought he was going to bolt. He had the picture by now; I was on the phone with a ghost, and even that was too close for comfort as far as my poor partner was concerned.

  A hissing in my ear, vaguely resembling laughter.

  “Crystal, listen to me—I know about Jimmy Boyd.” I tried to pull myself together, grasping at straws. “I know what he did to you.”

  Her screech of rage took the form of static, nearly shattering my eardrums.

  Evan heard it. “Wha
t is going on?” he whispered, tearful and frightened.

  I grabbed his arm and shook my head, returning the phone to my ear. “It was wrong what he did to you—it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Damn right it wasn’t my fault,” she shrieked, while the line hissed and crackled. “I was just a kid! And she didn’t believe me!”

  The pain in Crystal’s voice made me wince, like shards of ice to my heart.

  Evan put his hand over mine, and I grabbed it like a lifeline, letting his warm flesh ground me.

  “I’ll talk to your mother for you.” Frantic and overwhelmed, I made her an offer. “I’ll tell your mother what he did, and I’ll make her believe me. She thinks I’m a psychic—I’ll tell her you came to me and told me what happened—she’ll believe me.”

  Silence, but for static. It went on so long I was afraid she was gone.

  And then it stopped. Just her voice, full of angry resignation, like that of a sullen teenager. “She won’t believe you. She’s in love with him, even though he treats her like shit.”

  “What about your little sister?” I challenged. “Amber Marie? Do you want him to get his hands on her? I can get Boyd away from your sister—I’ll do it if you just leave Joe and me alone.”

  What the hell am I doing?

  “What the hell are you doing?” Evan asked, echoing my thoughts exactly. He snatched at the phone in my hand, but I was quicker, and jerked it out of the way.

  “Just think about it,” I said, into the phone. “I do you a favor, you do me a favor.” Shaking my head at Evan, I moved back a few steps so he couldn’t snatch at me again. This was the only thing I could think of doing to put Crystal to rest. Joe didn’t need to be the target in some twisted psychic triangle; Sammy was using Crystal to pressure me, Crystal was using me to pressure Joe, and it was high time I started using something to press back.

  “I…” her voice faltered, fading, “I made a bargain. I can’t do you any favors.”

  There was a click, and she was gone.

  I lowered the phone.