Page 14

Chapter

Thirteen

I crossed my fingers he’d be in. It was noon, and he sometimes went out for lunch, as he put it, “sans cell phone.”

“Hey, Betty.”

“Beau. You’re there. Thank the gods.”

“What can I do for you?” The owner of Beau’s Oddities sounded extra chill this morning. He was either high or laying it on thick for someone in the store. My bet was on the latter. He might own a head shop, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen him high.

“I need to know what a death sleep spell does . ”

There was a swishing sound, like the phone being stuffed in a pocket, and a hollered, “You have a good day, too, dude.”

The swishing sound was followed by a bell. The one on Beau’s door, I’d bet.

“Betty, what the hell are you doing?” He’d dropped the “Stoner Beau” persona. His voice was now clear and firm. “When I gave you that book on protection spells, this is not what I had in mind.”

“The spell isn’t from the one you gave me. It’s from the Weret-hekau Maleficium .”

“Even worse. I told you I don’t mess with Egyptian cursed books. Neither should you. There’s always a cost with those spells.”

“I’ve got no choice and no time to dick around. I have to know what the spell does. Can you help me? Please?” I was on the verge of tears again. Since leaving La Paloma to pick up the boys, I’d been second-guessing myself.

Should’ve gone directly to Desmond’s place the minute Margaux’s connection died. I might’ve helped her.

And you might’ve been overpowered and then there’d be no one left to save Bronwyn and Ronan.

Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve—my brain was swimming with doubt.

“Where are you? Are you driving?”

“On my way to La Paloma. I voice-dialed you, don’t worry.” I reached over and switched off the radio. KLXX was now halfway through “Miracles” by Jefferson Airplane, a song I’d always liked but didn’t particularly want to hear right now.

“Goddess, do you think that’s what I’m worried about?” He sounded almost aggrieved. “What trouble have you gotten yourself into?”

“The La Paloma coven mother was taken down, Bronwyn Jonas is missing, and so is …” My breath caught on a sob I’d been trying to suppress. “Ronan Pallás.”

There was a pause during which I heard the thunk of something hitting the counter. A book. Hopefully, a helpful book.

“It’s finally happened? I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” The susurration of pages turning were followed by a strained sigh. “Got to admit, the revolution is coming sooner than I’d anticipated.”

I passed Wicked, which was still closed—not that I’d expected anything else—and hung a left. “I’m not looking to start some kind of uprising. I just want to find my friends.”

“Finding them is going to take an earth-shattering kind of change. Or it’s going to prompt one. Might as well accept it.” The sound of pages turning sped up. “I think I’ve got something here. Let me cross-check this with the Martinus Tome …”

“Why? I thought that book was about wars.” I sped up as I drew closer to Desmond’s neighborhood, though I had no reason to think being there two minutes earlier would have any effect at this point.

“Paranormal wars. Witch wars,” he said.

“You think this spell is warfare?”

“All magic is warfare. Some of you use it in peacetime, is all.”

I didn’t agree, but I didn’t have time to argue about it. I pulled over a block down from Desmond’s house, behind my orange Mini parked a half block up. Put the LTD in park and let it idle.

“So, what I’m seeing here is the spell has several iterations. If we’re going from nastiest to nice, a death sleep spell can either put you in a coma or down for a nap. It’s most often used to drop the spelled into suspended animation. It’s actually not all bad. Magicals have paired it with healing spells to good effect.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Alpha Floyd and the coven are using it to benefit anyone, Beau.”

“No, they’re more likely to use it to take down an enemy.”

“Or two or three,” I said.

Beau let out another strained sigh. “What kind of trouble are you in, Betty Lennox?”

I didn’t see any reason not to tell him. So, I did. All of it. Right down to what I had planned for the next few minutes. Someone besides Ida and Gladys should know, in case…

In case.

“Holy shit. You sure about going in there? Why now?”

“No sense waiting. Just gives him more time to plan.”

The sound of pages riffling and the thud of books landing on the counter came over the line. “That spell is no joke. If the person under it isn’t given some sort of sustenance, they’ll eventually starve to death. Most of the body’s other functions can be slowed to nearly a stop, but the brain needs food.”

“All the more reason not to wait. ”

“I guess, yeah, but you gotta be careful, kid.”

“I will.” It was another version of my patented “I’m fine,” because there was no way anything I was about to do could be construed as careful.

“Check in with me when you’re out of there. Text or something. Anything. I want to know you’re okay.”

“Um, I’ll try, but?—”

“Dead serious here, Betty. I promised your mom I’d— Look, just text. A thumbs-up emoji, or the letter ‘k.’ Something.”

I told him I would, and we ended the call.

“Another one, Mom?” I asked the ceiling.

It was weird to think of the otherworld as up or down, but years of human movies had conditioned me to think angels floated around in the sky and devils burned beneath my feet.

“Did Beau know what you were doing, too?” I laughed humorlessly. “Of course he did. Who else would’ve helped you with the information you needed to make those hex bags? Did you find the spell in one of his grimoires? Are you happy that you turned all your friends into liars?” I was angry with her, but mostly I was tired of her machinations from beyond the grave.

So godsdamned tired.

I stared through the windshield at Desmond’s house then glanced down at the guys. “Let’s get closer.”

I drove the LTD directly behind my Mini. With an angry jerk, I rammed the car into park, killed the engine, and opened my door.

“You’re up first, Cecil. Do your dirtiest.” We were giving him a head start to do his part, since he was handling the hex bags. “Well, not your dirtiest. You know what I mean.”

He chattered something to Fennel, who meowed back. He rubbed his tiny hands together then scuttled out of the car and disappeared into the same bush he and Fennel had hidden in a day— Has it only been a day? —ago.

“I feel like I might’ve given him carte blanche to blow up the house. ”

Fennel meowed his agreement. He thought I had, too.

My cell vibrated, reminding me I needed to turn it all the way off before going in. If there was anyone around who might have especially sensitive hearing, I’d give myself away by leaving it on.

“Hello, it’s Betty.”

“Betty, it’s Gladys. Charlie Hannigan just got back to the bar. He says Ronan definitely took his wolf on his usual run late last night, early this morning. It’s a pack path east of here. He says he followed Ronan’s scent to a dirt road where it died out. He sniffed the path another half mile and couldn’t find a thing. He couldn’t find any of his belongings, either.”

“Nothing at all?” That seemed hard to believe.

“Nope. Sounds like he got grabbed by someone.”

“Or he went willingly,” I said.

“Could be. Though I find it hard to believe he’d just forget to tell us he wasn’t coming in. He knew the distributor would wake up Karen if they couldn’t find him. Some bosses wouldn’t care about waking her up after her working all night, but Ronan isn’t like that.”

No, he wasn’t. He was a conscientious boss who genuinely cared about his employees’ well-being.

“Did Charlie pick up any other scents I should know about?”

“Yeah.” Her voice dropped low. “You didn’t hear this from us, though.”

“Floyd’s?” I didn’t really think it would be. Why would Floyd do his own dirty work when he could just send out one of his wolf errand boys?

“No,” she replied. “Worse.”

“Mason Hartman.”

“Yes.”

Of course it was. The guy was like a contagious disease to which I had no immunity. Someone needed to develop a Mason vaccine. Maybe I’d set Cecil on the task after this was all over.

“Betty?” Gladys’s voice was shaky. “Can you get the boss back? ”

How the hell did I know? I was one witch against a coven and a wolf pack.

Fennel head-butted me. Meowed.

He was right. I wasn’t just one witch. I was a smart-ass witch, a stealthy magical cat, and an ecological anarchist gnome who took the term “prescribed burn” a little too seriously.

I was the daughter of a witch who’d died to protect me and the granddaughter of a cemetery demon. I was a trailer-park manager with spaces to fill and bills to pay. And I was the “kind of” girlfriend of the best man I’d ever known.

“Yes. I’ll get him back.”

Or die trying. I didn’t say that part, though. It didn’t seem helpful.

I’d just pressed my thumb to the power button to turn off the phone when it grew so cold that I dropped it into my lap then bucked it onto the floorboards. It rang, the sound weirdly distorted.

“I was a second from not having to answer,” I muttered to Fennel.

Although, even if I had managed to turn off the phone, the call probably still would’ve come through. His power didn’t follow the rules of the human world, and he had little respect for privacy.

I snatched it up and tapped the screen. “Sexton, I know I promised to answer when you called, but this really isn’t a good time. Also, you froze my phone. Literally. Again.”

“My apologies. I forget your kind’s susceptibility to cold.” Instantly, my cell returned to room temperature. “Do you require my assistance?”

“No. Thanks, though. I’ve got this.” Sort of.

Okay, maybe I didn’t “have this,” not a hundred percent, but I’d be damned if I’d run to “Grandpa” every time something went sideways in my life.

“Your friends are missing,” he said, “you’re attempting to retrieve them from a dangerous witch. You are not at full power. This is unwise. ”

“Godsdamn it, who told you that?” I asked, as if I didn’t know it was Ida. For someone who’d despised Sexton for years, she sure called the guy a lot. “I don’t need help,” I lied, then thought better of it and added, “yet.”

“You need only summon me, and I will be at your side.”

Not that I’d ever do it, but I had to ask, “How exactly do I summon you?”

“There is the traditional way, salt circle, chant—but I prefer the alternative.”

I stared at the front door of Desmond’s house and wondered how many hex bags Cecil had already taken care of. I tried not to worry about him too much. He was magical in ways I didn’t understand, just like Fennel.

He’s okay. He’s okay. I repeated the words in my head like a mantra.

“The alternative?”

“Call out my full name. No need to yell it, but you must speak it. Include my honorific, or I will not hear you.”

“So, what? Mr. Bertrand Sexton? Bertrand Sexton, Esquire?” Flippancy in the face of abject fear was entirely on brand for me, so I’m sure it didn’t surprise Sexton.

“No. I am not an attorney, nor am I landed gentry.” His voice, and the phone, went ice cold again. “I am Lord Bertrand Sexton. There is no need to include my other titles.”

That gave me pause. “You’re a Lord? What does that mean?”

“Summon me, and I shall tell you.”

“Feels like a trap.”

His laugh was like a Buick in a car crusher. It hurt my ears and my teeth. “You are wise, my granddaughter. Very wise.”

He ended the call.

“You heard that?”

Fennel nodded.

“It was weird, right?”

He nodded again .

I powered off the phone, and we got out of the car. I grabbed Cecil’s pack and strapped it onto my back. It took more trust than I’d have thought. My eyebrows had barely grown back since the last time Cecil set off an explosive in my vicinity.

“Stay out of sight for as long as you can while still watching my back,” I said to Fennel. “We want him to think I’m alone. If anything happens to me, get Cecil and go home. Ida knows what to do. You’ll be safe with her.”

“ Meow .” He shot off to the side of the house and ducked beside the porch.

Fear gripped me then, the reality of the risk I was taking hitting home. It felt as if I were wading through a thick, sticky fog. Every drop of self-preservation I possessed was screaming at me to run in the other direction, which told me my instincts were correct.

I have to get into that house.

The neighborhood felt like a ghost town, yet there were cars parked in driveways, a portable basketball court on the street, sprinklers running… It was very obviously an occupied community; it just didn’t seem that way. Maybe everyone was at work. Maybe things got livelier after five.

Or maybe I was looking for reasons to be weirded out.

To knock or not to knock?

Announcing myself would be about the stupidest thing I could do. However, it would also be the last thing Desmond expected.

I took a moment to plant my feet in the inevitable event of a violent hello. I finished the chant I’d started after leaving the car—a shield spell to prevent me from being slammed with magic. Unfortunately, it was one of those double-edged-sword type of spells. It formed a magical protective bubble that left me unable to cast any magic from inside.

Out of habit, I wiped my feet on the mat before lifting my fist. Good manners died hard. Abuela would be proud. Mom would probably have laughed.

The door opened before my knock landed, and a steel beam of an arm yanked me through the doorway and clamped a hand over my mouth. A physical attack wasn’t something I’d accounted for, which was pretty stupid of me.

I worked my teeth against his hand and reached back for his hair, but it was too short to grip. Yes, I was a biter and hair-puller. Anyone who tells you they aren’t hasn’t ever been in a fight. In a real fight, you don’t give a shit about rules. You kick and bite and pull and punch. Instincts kick in and you’d slug someone’s granny in the gut if it meant getting away.

I lifted my right foot and stomped hard on his instep. He made a sound of pain—though it wasn’t as loud as I’d have liked—and shoved my face into his chest.

Fennel launched through the doorway with a vicious “ reeeeeowww ” and slashed at my assailant’s face. The man jerked back with a muted oof and a rasped cry of pain.

“Call off your familiar, witch ,” he said in a fierce whisper.

“ Mmm mmm mmm mmm-mmm-mm. Mmm mmm MMM-MMM. ”

My face still squished into his chest, he walked his hand down to my chin, keeping me immobilized against him. I repeated, “He’s not my familiar. He’s my partner.”

“Keep your voice down. And call him off. I don’t want to kill it—or you.”

It wasn’t hard to pick up on the implied yet . “He’ll stop if you let me go. He’s protecting me.”

“There’s nothing to protect you from. If I wanted you dead, I’d have snapped your neck already. Call him off before he gets hurt,” he whispered back.

“You think it’ll be that easy to kill us?” I asked, matching his volume and intensity.

“ What I think is you’d better call him off or I might decide leaving you alive is too much effort.”

“I told you, he’ll stop if you let me go.”

“Fine.” The man shoved me away from him. Put a finger to his lips to shush me.

Jeez, Fennel hadn’t been screwing around.

Blood poured from a slice on his forehead, partially hiding his face, but I’d already recognized him from his threats of violence and his iron grip.

After all, I’d been assaulted by him before.

“What the hell are you doing here, Mason?”