Diggin up crones, p.39
Diggin' Up Crones, page 39
And wasn’t that a sort of miracle?
“Hey.” Gunner snapped his fingers in front of my face to draw my attention. “What were you thinking?”
My smile was immediate. “I was thinking about being married to you. It might be nice.”
“Might?” His lips quirked. “I think it sounds amazing.”
Of course he would think that. “I’m ready to talk about it when you are,” I added cautiously. “I don’t want to run out and get married tomorrow.”
He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “You have to be eased into things. I get that. I’m prepared to ease you into this.”
“I don’t want anything big,” I warned him.
“You’ve already told me that. I was thinking something small, maybe at The Overlook.”
I nodded. “Just friends and family.”
“Your family is pretty big.”
“Oh, geez. I’m going to have to invite all of them, aren’t I?”
He laughed at my discomfort, then flicked his eyes to the front of the cabin. “My dad is here.”
His hearing was better than mine—that was the shifter in him. “I’m ready for breakfast. Don’t bring up the wedding stuff in front of your dad.”
He made a face. “He’s my dad. He’ll want to hear the good news.”
“You’re just saying that to irritate me,” I grumbled at his back as he headed for the door.
Graham had a big box of food that he carried straight to the dining room table. “Where is my grandson?” he demanded once his hands were free.
Merlin immediately came out for his pets. Graham dropped to the floor and cuddled the cat, burying his face in Merlin’s fur. “Who loves you best?” he trilled.
Merlin rubbed his face all over Graham, telling everybody watching that his grandfather loved him best. I rolled my eyes and headed toward the table. “Anything to report from last night?” I asked.
“Apparently, there’s an evil leprechaun in town,” Graham replied, giving Merlin one more strong stroke before getting up. “He’s been insulting the older women in town and asking if they want to see the end of his rainbow.”
“I never really liked the Leprechaun movies.”
“That doesn’t really say anything about your taste because you do like the others,” Graham noted.
That made me smirk. “I happen to think I have great taste. I chose your son after all.”
Graham rolled his eyes. “That’s not helping your case.”
“Hey!” Gunner shot his father a dirty look. “I’m a catch.” He sent me a sly grin. “I let Scout catch me this morning.”
“Nobody needs to hear about that.” Graham sighed as he sat. “Let’s have breakfast before you ruin my appetite.”
“We can’t have that.” I dug into my eggs with gusto. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Now Graham was grim. “Anthony Blevins is missing. His parents claim his bed ate him.”
I froze with a slice of toast halfway to my mouth. “What?”
“You heard me.”
I had heard him. I just couldn’t believe it. “Did the bed explode with a bunch of blood that covered the ceiling after it ate him?”
Graham shot me an incredulous look. “How do you know that?”
“That’s what happened to Johnny Depp in the first Nightmare on Elm Street movie.”
“Johnny Depp was in a horror movie?” Graham didn’t look convinced.
“Actually, that’s how a lot of big stars got their start. Kevin Bacon was in the first Friday the 13th. Jennifer Aniston was in Leprechaun. George Clooney was in Return of the Killer Tomatoes. Oh, and Leonardo DiCaprio was in Critters 3.”
Graham looked appalled. “How do you know this crap?”
I shrugged. “I like horror movies.”
“But why? Why do you like horror movies so much?”
I shrugged. “I guess, when I was growing up, I wanted to see something that was worse than the life I was living.” I held up my hand when Graham turned sad. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t like that.”
Graham grumbled.
“That’s how it began. Then I just started liking them. They’re simple. Good almost always triumphs. The killer very rarely has nuance. I prefer that to someone who might have a reason to be evil.”
“Because you never feel sorry for the killers,” Gunner said.
I nodded. “I don’t technically root for Jason Voorhees, but I sometimes enjoy his work.”
“Unbelievable.” Graham shook his head. “You’re so odd.”
“Well, you should get used to her,” Gunner said. “This morning, she finally admitted she’s not opposed to marrying me.”
I shot him a dirty look. “What did I say?”
“That you’re willing to talk about getting married sooner,” he replied.
“I also said not to bring it up until I’d had more time to wrap my head around it,” I reminded him.
“Weird. I don’t remember you saying that.”
“I said it when you were on your way to get the food from your dad.”
Gunner vehemently shook his head. “I’m still drawing a blank.”
“You suck,” I muttered.
That earned a grin from Graham. “I like the idea of a wedding,” he said. “You’re good for him,” he added for my benefit. “He’s become more of an adult since you came on the scene.”
“I woke this morning to him fretting about the zombie cat stalking him,” I shot back.
Graham lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Nobody’s perfect.”
“I am,” Gunner countered.
Graham just smiled. “You guys are good for each other. I want you to be happy together.”
“We are happy,” I promised him. “Even when we fight.”
“You don’t fight. Not really.” Graham shook his head. “Yolanda and I fought. You two banter. That’s another reason you’re a good match for one another. No one else would put up with your mouths.”
“Let’s talk about the kid who got eaten by his bed,” I said. “When did this happen?”
“This morning,” Graham replied. All traces of mirth were missing from his face now. “His parents went to wake him for school. He was on his bed, screwing around on his phone, and suddenly the bed just … ate him. Then it was like a fountain of blood exploded.”
I tried to imagine the scene, which wasn’t difficult because I’d seen the movie. “I need to see it.”
“I figured.” Graham rolled his neck, something he did when he was feeling tense, so quite often. “His parents are wrecks. They’ve been transported to the hospital.”
My stomach constricted. “If he’s dead, our new friends are no longer just curious distractions,” I noted.
“I never thought they were,” Graham replied. “You’re the only one who thought that.”
“Nobody died.” That was the part I couldn’t move past. “That has to be on purpose.”
“I’m pretty sure Anthony is dead. No one can lose that much blood and survive.”
“Yes, well … I need to see it.”
THE BLEVINS HOUSE WAS A NORMAL RANCH on a normal street with flowering bushes taking over the front yard. Other than Graham’s men, who were working the scene, it was quiet. One look at Anthony’s bedroom made me wonder if the house would ever seem quiet—as opposed to haunted—again.
Graham hadn’t been exaggerating. There was blood from one end of the room to the other. It was everywhere, on everything. There was something odd about the blood, though. It was too red. As if this was the sort of blood that people imagined, not what really flowed through their veins.
Tentatively, I reached out and touched the bedding, which was shredded. When I pulled back my fingers, they were coated in blood. “Smell that.” I shoved my fingers in Gunner’s face.
“Hey! Let’s not be gross here.”
I didn’t back down. “Does that smell like real blood?” It didn’t to me. It was missing the coppery aspect that I’d become all too familiar with.
Gunner’s eyebrows knit together, and he leaned forward, inhaling deeply. Almost immediately, I noticed the groove between his eyebrows deepening. “It kind of smells like blood,” he said. “And it kind of doesn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Graham crowded us to get a whiff. His eyebrows hopped after a second inhale. “You’re right. There are similarities, but it’s not quite right.” His gaze moved to me. “What does that mean?”
I had ideas but no facts. “It’s possible this is all for show. Can we test the blood to be sure?”
“Yeah.” Graham planted his hands on his hips and looked around the room with fresh eyes. “If this isn’t real blood, what is it?”
“What do they use to fake blood in a horror movie?”
“I have no idea.”
“Corn syrup, chocolate sauce, and food coloring a lot of the time.”
“I’m not tasting that,” Gunner said when I waved my fingers in front of his face again.
“Well, I can’t taste it,” I complained. “I might throw up.”
“I have a weaker stomach than you do.”
“Not even close.”
Gunner rolled his eyes and tentatively extended his tongue. Before he could touch it to my fingers, he drew back. “I can’t.”
“I’ll have it tested,” Graham said. “It won’t take long to at least determine if it’s real blood.”
“If it is real, can you test it against the Blevins parents? Can we be certain that it’s Anthony’s blood?”
“Absolutely. That’s an easy test.”
“Then let’s do that.” I scanned the room again. It wasn’t an exact match for the movie, but it was close enough to give me pause.
“I can practically hear the gears in your mind grinding,” Graham said. “What are you thinking?”
“This could still all be for show,” I said. “We don’t know that Anthony is dead. There’s no body.”
“Was there a body in the movie?”
“No.”
“So it could all be theater,” Graham mused.
Gunner cleared his throat to draw my attention. “If Anthony isn’t dead, where is he?”
“Maybe he’s in the same place Chloe Michaels is,” I replied.
“Where is that?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my forehead. This situation no longer felt funny or exciting. It was starting to become a drag. “We have to go to the Cauldron to talk to the others,” I said to Gunner.
He nodded, unsurprised. “I figured we would have to touch base with them today.”
“After that, we need to make a trip to the woods.”
Gunner balked. “I am not going on a Jason hunt. I know damned well that zombie cat is with him.”
“We’re not looking for Jason. We’re looking for people who understand magic—and the nexus we have here—better than we do.”
It took Gunner a moment, which was to be expected because the speakeasy in the forest had been off our radar for winter, but realization finally dawned. “You want to see your boyfriend Cedric.”
“I want to know what they know,” I clarified. “I also want to know what they’ve seen. I guarantee there are things out there we haven’t seen yet.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Graham said. “I’ll get the blood tested and be in touch.”
“If it’s not human blood, that means Anthony is still alive.”
“That’s your assumption,” Graham countered. “We can’t prove it yet.”
“I think he’s alive.” Or maybe I just needed him to be alive. “Let’s just get the tests done. Then I’ll try to figure out where Anthony and Chloe are.”
“Doesn’t it make sense that they’re trapped on another plane?” Gunner asked.
“We know whoever is doing this can’t open plane doors.”
“Unless something in the spell means she can.”
I closed my eyes. “I guess we’ll find out. Let’s hit up the Cauldron. Then we’re heading to the woods.”
“And if we see Jason?” Gunner asked.
“So much the better.”
16
SIXTEEN
Rooster was doling out tasks for the day when we entered the Cauldron. He looked up, glanced between us, then sighed.
“What now?”
“Anthony Blevins was eaten by his bed,” Gunner replied.
Rooster’s eyes went wide. “I don’t understand.”
“Like A Nightmare on Elm Street,” I offered. There was no point sitting down, we wouldn’t be here long.
“I don’t … I…” Rooster cocked his head. “So, someone has officially died.”
“We don’t know that,” Gunner countered. “There was something off about the blood. It didn’t feel real.”
“Graham is having it tested,” I volunteered. “We’ll know more in a few hours. Until then, we’re heading into the woods.”
Rooster’s expression darkened. “Are you about to tell me you’re going on a Jason Voorhees hunt?”
“We’re going to the speakeasy. We haven’t been there in months—the idea of traipsing out there in the snow is zero fun—but I figure if anyone knows anything, it’s those guys.”
Rooster’s expression was flat as he considered it. “Fine,” he said finally. “I guess that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s the worst I’ve ever heard,” Marissa said. “It sounds to me as if they’re going to day drink while the rest of us do all the heavy lifting.”
I pinned her with an “are you kidding me” look. “Yes, Marissa, because you so often do the heavy lifting.”
“I’m a contributing member of this team,” she fired back.
“If you say so.” I turned back to Rooster. “We need answers while we’re waiting for an update from Graham.”
“We need to come up with a plan to smoke this creature out whether Anthony is dead or not,” Rooster fired back. “I know you’ve been enjoying all of this—”
“Enjoying is a bit of a stretch.”
Rooster’s tone brooked no nonsense. “This can’t continue. The whole town is on edge. We have to figure out a way to end this.”
“I’m working on it.” I didn’t mean to sound defensive. “Just give me a little time.”
“Scout, I’m not trying to be difficult, but time may be the one thing we don’t have. There are a lot of dominos in play. If one falls…” He held out his hands as he trailed off.
“They all fall,” I finished for him. “I get it.”
“Then let’s start figuring it out.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do.”
I DIDN’T SPEAK FOR THE RIDE OUT to the speakeasy. Gunner didn’t press me to talk. He waited until we’d parked outside of the magically cloaked dome—we were the only vehicle in the area—and cast me a sidelong look.
“Rooster was wrong to make it seem like this is all on you,” he started. “That wasn’t fair.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
“But it is.” I couldn’t shove the responsibility for what was happening onto anyone else. “This is obviously directed at me.”
“It feels that way,” he conceded. “Still, it could be a coincidence.”
“What sort of coincidence?”
“I don’t know. I refuse to blame you for this. That’s not fair.”
“Rooster doesn’t blame me. He’s just looking to me to fix it.”
“Okay, but why does everything have to fall to you?”
“Who else?”
It was a simple question, but it seemed to agitate Gunner. A muscle worked in his jaw as he regarded me. “I don’t like this one bit.”
I was still enjoying myself. “Let’s see what information we can drum up here. We might luck out.”
“And if we don’t?”
I sounded like a broken record, but there was only one thing to say. “I don’t know. We have to play the hand we’ve been dealt.”
I was supposed to knock—magically—to gain entrance to the speakeasy. I never bothered. I simply overruled their magic and opened the door.
Cedric, the owner and head bartender, smirked when he saw me. “Well, it’s about time,” he said as the door closed behind Gunner and me, locking us in a natural paradise with tables and stools. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”
“Winter is long in this part of the state,” I replied. “Try as I might, I can’t make it shorter.”
“We were open all winter.” Cedric crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t realize you were too soft to deal with the cold.”
“I’m a delicate flower,” was my dry reply.
He snorted, then gestured to my left. “What you’re looking for is over there.”
I jerked my eyes in the direction he’d indicated. I expected to find a witch or some sort of demon. I would sit across from her, threaten her to stop, and she would mwah-ha-ha her way to escape. That was normally how it went when I visited.
That’s not what I found.
Four individuals sat at a table drinking and having a good time. A Black man in a simple white shirt that was offset by an overblown jacket with fur trim sat at the head of the table. He had a hook for a hand.
To his left, a woman in a blue button-down shirt and a romper polished her butcher knife and nodded at something the individual across from her was saying. He was bald, dressed all in black, and had pins coming out of his face. The final individual at the table looked like a normal guy with red hair.
“Is that Candyman?” Gunner asked in a reverent whisper.
“Looks like.” I was grim as the woman straight out of Misery looked up and over. She smiled when she saw me … and waved.
“What the hell?” Gunner complained, edging slightly behind me. “This is creepy.”
“How long have they been here?” I asked Cedric.
“This is their third day stopping in. They come in the morning. They come at night. I’m not sure where they go during the day.”
I rolled my neck. “Have you talked to them?”
