CHAPTER FOUR
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky and illuminated the front yard in a golden glow. The blades of grass blew in the light breeze. The sweet smell was familiar and brought back far simpler times. I wouldn’t go back, but I was seriously jonesing for a year or five without looking over my shoulder and fighting for my life and the lives of those I loved. If this was the trade-off to have Gideon and Alana Catherine, I’d take it. But one could always hope it would get a little less deadly.
We’d gotten married in this yard less than a week ago. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since that beautiful day. My goal had been to have a honeymoon. Now? That was at the bottom of a long list. Didn’t matter. We lived forever. We’d get to it eventually.
As I looked up, I spotted the faint shadow of the moon. The visual always made me happy. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was that opposites could attract or that the light and the dark could be friends. Or maybe I was weird. Gram would say I was creative. Candy Vargo would suggest I was smoking Merlin’s magical nards. I’d stick with weird.
Glancing around, I looked for the surprise. I didn’t see it. However, Gideon’s ridiculously large grin made me feel like I was missing something big.
“Umm… not sure what I’m looking for,” I told him as he did a little jig with our baby.
The sight was so charmingly absurd I laughed. If the surprise was a dance party with him and Alana Catherine, I was all in. Our daughter squealed with happiness, grabbed his hair and pulled with all her might. Gideon just laughed as well and let her.
When I first met him, I would have never guessed the depth of joy he had buried deep inside. I knew I was responsible for some of that, and it filled me up in ways that words could not do justice.
“You want to see the surprise?” he asked, waggling his brows.
“Thought I was looking at it,” I replied.
“Nope. Follow me,” he insisted as he began to walk around our home to the backyard.
I was on his heels. Right now, life felt good. I wasn’t going to waste the feeling. Lately, I felt like I’d been dancing between the raindrops, waiting for the huge storm to wash me away. It was a sickening way to exist.
As we rounded the house, I gasped and then laughed. Hard. Gideon was beaming. In the backyard was what I could only describe as a massive jungle gym. It was mostly hot pink and way over the top. There were three slides, swings for adults, swings for babies and toddlers, a sandbox, a fort and bright purple climbing ropes. The gorgeously garish playset was surrounded by sunflowers and daisies. Enormous orange and green stuffed teddy bears sat on the swings and at the top of the slides. And of course, two were in the sandbox holding bright yellow plastic shovels and pails. Surrounding the entire epic play area was a baby pink and powder blue picket fence that had been child-proofed… of course.
“I don’t even know what to say,” I said while giggling at the scene in front of me and the unabashed delight of the man who’d created it. “When did you do this?”
“It’s great. Right?” he said. “I needed to blow off steam when you were on the Higher Power’s plane. Instead of decimating our house, I built this. I mean, I could have rebuilt the house, but this was more fun.”
“You physically built it?” I asked, examining the swings and the fort. “No magic?”
“By hand,” he said with pride. “Used a little magic for the color scheme, but the rest was all sweat equity.”
Note to self, don’t let Gideon do any decorating in the house. “I love it! Can we use it?” I asked.
The squeal from our daughter was the answer. I was so happy it was nuts, but I was still aware that danger lurked around the corner. I was glad my siblings, along with Zander and Catriona, were patrolling the grounds. It often felt like I was living in a barely tolerable state of permanent dread juxtaposed with perfect moments. This was one of the perfect moments.
Gideon gently strapped Alana Catherine into the baby swing while letting her pull his hair the entire time. She babbled a mile a minute as he got her settled.
“I love you,” I told him as I sat down on the swing next to our baby.
“Love you more,” he replied, kissing the top of my head.
“Not possible,” he retorted.
“Should we call it even so we stop having this little contest?” I asked with a grin.
“Nope. I like it.” He moved in back of us. The Grim Reaper gave Alana Catherine’s swing a light push. But mine? He pushed me so high, it felt like I was flying. Not only did he push, but he pushed so hard he ran under the swing each time. My tummy tickled, and I was slightly worried the swing would break, but I’d heal if I fell. It was worth every terrifying and exhilarating second. My shrieks of joy as the wind rushed through my hair were only outdone by the joyous shouts of my husband and daughter. I wanted it to last forever.
“Dadadadadada!” Alana Catherine screamed.
Gideon froze. My swing slowed, and I hopped off. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I was sure they could hear it.
Our daughter continued. She pointed a chubby little finger at Gideon and let it rip. “Dadadadadadadadada!”
“Oh my God,” Gideon said, flabbergasted. “Did she say my name? And know what she was saying?”
The tears came unbidden. They were happy tears. “Yep,” I said, smiling so hard it hurt.
Alana Catherine wasn’t done. “Mamamamamamamamamama!” she bellowed pointing at me.
There was no way in hell she was old enough to be talking. Babies didn’t talk until much later, but she wasn’t all baby. I’d just spent time with her as a twenty-year-old woman. Was it possible that she could say more than mama and dada? Could she tell us what she’d tried to say on the Higher Power’s plane? Was I absolutely nuts?
Yes. Yes, I was.
“Mamamamamamama! Dadadadadada!” she insisted .
“My baby,” I said, lifting her out of the swing and holding her high. “So smart. Such a smart little girl.”
“Brilliant,” Gideon added, still shaken that she’d called him dada. “Maybe… she could tell us more.”
“Are you reading my mind?” I asked, squinting at him.
“No, but great minds think alike,” he replied, cupping Alana Catherine’s cheek in his strong hand. “Baby girl,” he whispered. “Can you tell mama and dada why the Higher Power wants you?”
Alana Catherine studied our serious expressions for a long moment. “Mama. Dada. Babeeeeeeeee! Nard!” she finished her sentence with a giggle and a toot.
I closed my eyes and laughed. “Umm… I’m going to go with a no on that one. However, Candy Vargo has clearly been rubbing off on her. I swear I’ll lose my mind if her next words are Merlin’s magical nards.”
“Or an anatomically correct body part that isn’t technically a curse word,” Gideon added. He paused and booped Alana Catherine’s nose. “Is this normal?”
“Define normal.”
“Her speaking and generally knowing what she’s saying at this age.”
I shrugged. “No, but then again, she’s not a typical baby.”
“There might be a possibility that this is only the beginning,” he told me.
“Of what?”
He shook his head. “Of her speaking… possibly full sentences… soon.”
“From your mouth,” I whispered, wondering if he was correct. It would solve a whole heck of a lot of problems if that was the case. But a small part of me wanted her to go through all the stages at the right time… like a no rmal little girl.
This had been a memorable and humbling moment. But all good things had to end.
The shouts from the house chilled my blood. From the lack of explosions, I gathered no one was dying, but the argument sounded intense. Gideon’s downy black wings burst from his back and my fingers began to spit flames. My guess was that Shitty Ritchie had arrived.
Gideon snapped his fingers and produced a baby backpack. He slipped it on with the body pack on his chest. He quickly secured Alana Catherine into it. The look was insane. A demonic fallen Angel with a baby strapped to his chest and his wings on full display wasn’t an everyday occurrence. “Can you drop a small protection shield around her? Don’t include me, just Alana Catherine.”
“On it,” I said, carefully and meticulously creating a ward around the most precious person in our lives. “Done.”
“You ready?” he asked.
“Wanna tell me what I should be ready for?”
He shook his head. “Hard to explain. You have to see it to believe it.”
Shitty Ritchie was small. Not as in little-person small or a guy who was short. The Immortal was tiny—more like a doll with a shock of silvery-gray hair that stood straight up on his head and piercing blue eyes. He wore a royal blue sweatsuit that he had to have gotten off a doll clothes website, and his itty-bitty feet were bare. He stood on the coffee table and eyed the gathering with ire. The sneer on his minute face was impressive. He couldn’t be more than eight inches tall… if that. Th ough, even pocket-sized, it was clear he was magical and mean.
I’d been expecting an enormous, terrifying hulk of a man. A heads-up on his size might have been helpful. I was so shocked, I almost tripped over my own feet when I spotted him. All of my people, including Charlie, were standing together on the far side of the room. I did a quick accounting of everyone and was grateful that Missy, Amelia, June and Jennifer were gone. Tory was also absent, which meant she was protecting them. There was no telling what Shitty Ritchie could or would do. The other Immortals in the room would survive it. The humans? Most likely not.
My dogs sat by the front door. Donna looked like she wanted a go at Shitty Ritchie and Karen was oblivious to the tension. Ahh… to be a black lab. I snapped my fingers and motioned for them to go outside. Having no clue what was about to go down, I didn’t want them getting harmed. I would skin Shitty Ritchie alive if he hurt my fur babies. Donna understood my message. She nudged Karen through the dog door then followed her out. I heaved a sigh of relief. My dogs were safe and my baby was surrounded by a protection ward. The rest of us? We could take care of ourselves. I hoped.
So far, so good… ish.
Rafe, Gabe, Abby and Prue were back. Zander, Catriona, Lura Belle, Dimple and Jolly Sue were missing, but I assumed they went to Candy’s with the others. The only ghosts in the room were Gram, her beau Mr. Jackson and Jimmy George Carrots. Everyone was on edge except for Jimmy George Carrots. I had no clue as to why, but didn’t have time to address it. Jimmy George Carrots had some screws loose.
I waited for someone to say something.
No one said anything.
The stare down was getting ridiculous. Shitty Ritchie was grumbling under his breath. I was pretty sure he’d called all of us a plethora of obscene names. He also had seriously sharp teeth that he enjoyed gnashing. If Shitty Ritchie was a cannibal, I was going to kick Charlie’s ass for bringing him here. Getting eaten was not on my top ten list of things to do. Ever. The reasons for no one wanting him here were becoming more evident with each passing second.
I considered my options. If Shitty Ritchie came at me, I could step on him and do some damage. I was fast. At top speed, I was invisible. My combat boots would probably save my foot from getting bitten off. The fact that I had to even consider that was freaking unbelievable. Whatever. It was what it was. I was also surrounded by some of the most powerful Immortals in existence. Knowledge of Shitty Ritchie’s strengths and weaknesses would have been helpful, but maybe ignorance would be bliss.
Fingers were crossed hard.
“Hello, Shitty Ritchie,” I said, keeping a fair amount of distance between us and my tone friendly. “I’m Daisy. Thank you for coming and welcome to my home. It’s a ahhh… pleasure to meet you.”
“Fuck you,” Shitty Ritchie snarled. His voice was high and squeaky.
The man had one heck of a bad attitude. How much damage could a teensy-weensy dude do? I knew from experience that appearances could be very deceiving. I’d stay with the polite Daisy for the time being. “We’re happy to have you here,” I lied through my teeth. I thought I heard Candy Vargo groan. Screw Candy Vargo. I didn’t see her up here trying to make nice with the miniscule freak .
Shitty Ritchie growled like a cornered animal. “Fuck you, fuck you and fuck you.”
“Well, fuck you too,” I shot back. The little jerk had no manners.
The scream that came from Shitty Ritchie had to have ruptured my ear drums. All of the glass in the living room shattered. The crystal chandelier dropped from the ceiling and shattered into thousands of sparkling shards. It was too bad it hadn’t taken his head off. Reaching up to make sure blood wasn’t dripping from my ears, I narrowed my eyes at the tiny menace.
Before another word could leave my mouth, Shitty Ritchie began to spin in circles on the coffee table. It started slow and then increased to a speed where it was difficult to see him. The funnel that formed around him did not look good.
“Go, go, go!” Charlie yelled as he began ushering people out of the house. “Get out. It’s about to blow.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. Gideon grabbed my hand and literally yanked me out of the house. Everyone else was only a breath behind. My dogs led the way. We’d made it about eight hundred feet from the house when it detonated like a massive bomb had exploded. Furniture, walls, chandeliers, glass, stone, appliances and wood flew everywhere. Gideon shielded Alana Catherine and me with his body. Candy Vargo quickly dropped a ward around us, and I watched as my beautiful home was reduced to rubble. It was very good we were in the middle of nowhere. It would be terrible if the human police and fire department showed up.
When I saw my wedding dress in flames and my daughter’s mangled crib hurtle through the air, I lost it.
“What in the actual Pop Tart vagina was that?” I shouted, staring at the spot where I used to feel safe. “That little nard ass is going to pay.”
With a flick of my fingers, I dissolved the ward and sprinted towards the house. I could hear the frantic yelling behind me. I ignored it. My life might be a hot shartshow, but my home was my haven— was being the operative word. No little doll-sized, smack-talking, asshole was going to get away with destroying it. Maybe, it was all the pressure I was under that made me go off. Maybe, it was seeing the photos of my parents burning to ash on the ground. Maybe, it was the flaming scraps and hunks of the hot pink jungle gym whipping through the air that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I didn’t care. I was over being messed with. None of us had done anything to Shitty Ritchie. Well, I wasn’t sure about that, but I was sure I hadn’t done anything to the little nard except say hello. Blowing up my house for that was unacceptable. With any luck, a beam would have decapitated Shitty Ritchie. If that wasn’t the case, I would finish the job.
“You little piece of Merlin’s magical balls,” I hissed when I saw the tiny jackhole standing to the left of the smoldering rubble pile laughing like he’d just pulled a hilarious prank.
I didn’t like pranks. They were stupid and mean. And I really didn’t like people who pulled them—especially one as destructive as this. My mind was a jumbled mess as I tried to pull a plan of attack together. Electrocuting him could backfire. Ripping his head off might be over the top. He hadn’t technically tried to decapitate any of us… yet. I offed people defensively, not because they were nards. Reminding myself that I was the Angel of Mercy, I kept sprinting toward the miniature monster.
The Angel of Mercy would not kill randomly.
However, she could give the unwanted douche canoe a swift kick in the ass. I was about to yeet that corn nut into next year.
The speed at which I ran rendered me invisible. Win-win. The little son of a Nutter Butter bunghole didn’t see me coming. The feeling when my combat boot-clad foot connected with his tiny bahookey was glorious. I punted Shitty Ritchie the length of a football field. His screams of terror were music to my ears.
I wasn’t done. In less time than it took to inhale and exhale, I was on him. Pinning him down with my foot on his neck, I smiled. With a clap of my hands, I produced a gnarly-looking, razor-sharp sword. I laid the cold blade against his cheek. It would only take a flick of my wrist to remove his head. The choice to live or die would be his. I wasn’t a total monster. “One move and I’ll snap your neck. After that, I’ll remove it from your body with my bare hands. If that proves problematic, I’ll whack it off with the sword. You understand me?” I ground out.
I was very aware I was glowing and that my eyes had turned a blinding gold. The entire scene in front of me was bathed in a golden glow. Shitty Ritchie had the wherewithal to look extremely uncomfortable.
“Fuck you,” he hissed.
“I’d rather not,” I shot back. For a hot sec, I thought the tiny jerk chuckled. That had to be wrong. “Here’s how this is going to go, Shitty Ritchie . When I remove my foot, you’re going to leave. I don’t ever want to see your ugly face again. You’re a disgusting little pig of a man and an asshole to boot. I don’t know why Charlie thought you could help. And if you destroy one more thing or person on my property, you will rue the day you were hatched.”
I felt my people behind me. I also felt their fear. Why? Not sure. I didn’t fear the icky little man under my boot. I hated him. And yes, hate was a strong word, but he’d destroyed what was sacred to me. It could all be replaced, but it would never be the same.
“Uhhhh… Daisy,” Candy Vargo said. “You wanna back off a little bit?”
I didn’t spare her a glance. It was too risky to look away from the Immortal tornado. “Nope. I’m good. Shitty Ritchie will be leaving. Soon. I don’t care what the stupid nardhole can do or how he might be able to help. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a violent waste of space and doesn’t deserve the oxygen he breathes.”
And then the unthinkable happened. Shitty Ritchie began to cry. It started small but quickly devolved into choking sobs—snot included. I didn’t buy it. I pressed my foot deeper into his neck. “Stop that. You just blew up my house. You see me crying, shart stain?”
“Nobody likes me,” he wailed.
It was a little difficult to understand him with my foot on his larynx, but I wasn’t letting up. If he turned into a freaking tornado funnel again, that would be on me. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice? That was not going to happen today.
“Duh. Why should anyone like you?” I demanded. “You got here, said fuck you, then imploded my house. Not sure that’s a great way to make friends.”
“Sorry,” he said through his tears. “I thought I was here to face the music. I needed to show that I meant business.”
“Define face the music,” I snapped, ready to yeet him all the way home… wherever that might be.
“Pay for my crimes,” he sniffled.
My eyes narrowed to slits. “What crimes? ”
I watched as the little freak considered his next words carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I rolled my eyes. “You brought it up, not me, Shitty Ritchie. So, spit it out. I’m getting bored.”
“Bored?” he screamed, shocked. “Shitty Ritchie is not boring.”
“Totally boring,” I shot back. “Rude, violent, ugly and boring.”
He was wildly insulted. “Rude? Yes. Violent? Absolutely. Ugly? NOT. Boring? NEVER!”
I blew out a puff of air. How was this my life right now? I was arguing with a tiny, deadly idiot. I had far more important things to deal with.
“Leave,” I said. “You will leave.”
Shitty Ritchie smiled at me. At least I thought it was a smile. Maybe he grimaced. Whatever it was, it was disturbing. “Do I have to?”
“Are you serious?” I shouted. “Yes, you have to leave. I can’t stand you, and you blew my house up for no reason.”
“Too many,” he muttered, flapping his little hands wildly. “Too many of you here. I needed to show you that I am powerful.”
“By being a dick?” I hissed.
“Dick is fine,” Candy Vargo chimed in. “It’s a body part. Penis would be better, but dick will work too.”
When I was done yeeting Shitty Ritchie, I was going to yeet Candy Vargo as well.
“I said I was sorry,” Shitty Ritchie whined. “I mean I came here, didn’t I? That should count for something.”
“Guys,” I said, still keeping my gaze on the miniature enemy on the ground. “Can you all get where I can see you, please?”
“Yes,” Gideon said as he moved into my sightline along with the others.
“Is the ward still holding around Alana Catherine?” I asked.
Gideon nodded and I sighed with relief.
“Charlie,” I said. “Did Shitty Ritchie come willingly?”
“For the most part,” Charlie said. “I do believe he can help. I wouldn’t have gone after him if I didn’t believe that to be true.”
I internally groaned but stayed outwardly badass. I trusted Charlie. Gideon trusted Charlie. Hell, everyone trusted him. “Someone needs to explain to me now how this little piece of excrement can help us. If no one can, his ass is out of here.”
“Ass is a donkey,” Candy announced. “Perfectly acceptable. And throwing in excrement was outstanding.”
“An ass is also the buttocks,” Shitty Ritchie volunteered.
I rolled my eyes. Everyone here was crazy… including me. “Speak or I’ll drop kick this loser to Mars.”
Charlie stepped forward. “Shitty Ritchie’s largest asset is his hatred of the Higher Power.”
This time my eye roll should have made my eyes get stuck in the back of my head. “Umm… pretty sure we have that covered here without the destructive turdknocker.”
“Possibly,” Charlie conceded. “However, the Higher Power fears Shitty Ritchie for some unknown reason.”
That was interesting. “Why?” I demanded of the idiot beneath my boot. “Tell me why the Higher Power fears you.”
“I shall give you three guesses,” he squeaked.
I moved my sword closer to his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Your name is Shitty Ritchie, not Rumpelstiltskin. I’m not playing games with a tiny Pop Tart testicle who blows up houses. You tell me or you’re leaving.”
“I can’t leave,” he screeched. “I’ll be killed!”
“By who?” I ground out .
He paused as the two brain cells in his head tried to come up with an answer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh my God,” I muttered. I was tempted to turn my sword on myself so I didn’t have to deal with Shitty Ritchie. “Gideon, do you know why the Higher Power fears Shitty Ritchie?”
“I do not,” he replied.
“Candy Vargo?”
“Nada.”
“Tim?”
“I’ve researched this for many years, but alas, I do not know, friend,” he told me.
“Heather?”
“Sorry, no,” she replied.
I was running out of Immortals to question.
“Rafe, Abby, Prue or Gabe? Any clue?”
Gabe answered as the other nodded in agreement with him. “Sorry, Daisy. We don’t know.”
“Charlie?”
He sighed. “Here’s what I know. Shitty Ritchie possesses a multitude of powers—not that I’ve witnessed much other than mass destruction. From whispers over the centuries, he fluently speaks every language ever spoken. It’s odd since the cretin has broken every law we have, but the man supposedly has the ability to recite the Immortal Book of Laws by heart. He can fly without wings.”
“I have seen that,” Tim volunteered.
“And legend has it he can harbor the dead from within,” Charlie continued.
A chill skittered up my spine. Shitty Ritchie was a Soul Keeper? Was he also an Arbitrator between the Darkness and the Light like Heather?
“He says he can touch the dead,” Charlie continued.
We could test that one out. But… did that mean the little shit was a Death Counselor as well? No. Tory could touch the dead and wasn’t a Death Counselor.
Back to the pint-sized object of our conversation. “Is all of that true, Shitty Ritchie?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, rehashing his favorite line.
Gram floated up behind me and whispered in my ear. “That little muppet-lookin’ thing is as useless as gum on a boot heel, and he’s makin’ my rump itch, but I think Charlie might be right.”
I spared Gram a quick glance. “Explain, old lady.”
“If Shitty Ritchie really has all them powers and a bag of chips, he’s like Alana Catherine,” she said so softly that I had to lean in. “I think he’s come into our lives for a reason,” she continued. “Ain’t much in our world that happens with no reason.”
“A reason other than blowing up my house?” I whispered back.
“Well, now,” she said, scratching her sparsely haired head. “That made me wanna jerk his tail in a knot, but you puntin’ that little sucker like a football was dang satisfyin’, Daisy girl. My gut tells me we need to give that there little nard a chance.”
I glanced over at Gideon. Gram might have whispered, but Immortals had excellent hearing.
He nodded curtly and then approached Shitty Ritchie. From the expression on the minuscule sharthead’s face, he was reconsidering his request to stay. The Grim Reaper did not corn nut around.
Shart… was about to get real.