“What?” I asked.
“I can post that question to Area 51,” he answered, producing his cell phone.
He had Web access, and inside the house, technology worked just fine. It took him a while to get the message typed on his tiny keypad, but he seemed confident we’d have an answer by morning. That was good; I suspected we’d need it.
I borrowed his phone and looked at the post I’d made requesting a witch to do a cleansing. We had one taker, but she couldn’t leave Atlanta for two weeks. That might be too late to do any good, but I slowly typed a thank-you on the message board.
I picked Butch up and went to bed shortly thereafter. You’d think the nightmare would have come like it always did when times got tough. But maybe I’d simply reached my tolerance threshold. Thankfully, my mind shut down, and my sleep was dreamless.
In the morning, I felt ready to tackle whatever might come. We had to be getting close to the end of the line. I took a quick shower and ate a PBJ for breakfast.
Jesse spent the day banging around in the kitchen. Chance was still meditating, or whatever he’d been working on the day before. I suspected it had to do with his confession of how much he hated being helpless. If I had to guess, I’d say he was trying to jumpstart his luck. Shannon listened to whispery music on the old transistor radio; if she was bored, she didn’t complain, but she did spend a lot of time looking out the window at the woods.
I spent the day doing laundry. Ever since Mexico City, I’d been living out of a backpack, and I hadn’t washed my clothes since we left Chuch’s house, weeks ago now. Though we’d picked up a few things on the way here, I still didn’t have an extensive wardrobe. Then I had to decide what would be suitable attire for a church social.
Shannon wore black leggings, a plaid skirt, combat boots, and a black T-shirt, layered with a black and white flannel. I’d never gone through a Goth phase like that, but I could see myself in her, especially the attitude she projected. Deep down she was nothing like she looked at all.
As for me, I chose a demure black peasant skirt, a black camisole, and a black lace sweater. My long red hair streamed over my shoulders, contrasting with the sober attire. Studying myself in the mirror that gave a wavering reflection reminiscent of a fun house, I realized I looked like a witch. All I needed was a pointy hat and a broomstick. As Butch trotted in, I realized I even had a familiar.
Had I intended to do that? To drive home the point about the witch’s daughter? Well, I didn’t plan to change, so this would have to do.
But I’d sure get my share of attention at the church social.
By early evening, we were ready to go. I stood waiting in the living room, tapping a dainty ballet flat against the hardwood floor. Chance came in, wearing charcoal dress slacks paired with a black and silver striped shirt. He flashed me an admiring look.
“We match.” He seemed pleased, reaching out a hand to smooth the hair that fell past my shoulder. “You look gorgeous. Witchy hot.”
I felt the sheepish curve to my answering smile. “Too obvious?”
Chance shook his head. “No, it’s great. Should be funny.”
From her place at the corner of the sofa, legs curled under her, Shannon stifled a snicker. “For sure.”
“What’s wrong with you people?” Jesse asked. “You don’t show up empty-handed.” With a grin, he flourished a pan.
I stepped forward for a peek beneath the foil and then blinked at him. “You were making a cobbler in there?”
Not being overly domestic, I hadn’t recognized what he was doing when I’d wandered in and out. Impressive—he’d baked dessert out of the bare staples we had on hand. Jesse Saldana would make a great husband, no doubt about it. For a few seconds, I imagined him in nothing but an apron, but I didn’t know where else to go with that mental image, so I shooed it out.
Jesse playfully smacked my hands away, giving me a little grin. “Yeah. My mama taught me. I have two older brothers, and she got tired of waiting for a daughter.”
“So Jesse is short for Jessica,” Chance said with a smirk.
Was Jesse’s family worried about him? Shit. I had nobody, and Chance had only his mom. We weren’t exactly poster children for normal relationships. Maybe that was why we’d gravitated together. I tried to see myself assimilating into what I imagined to be the big, boisterous Saldana clan.
Jesse slapped Chance upside the head in answer as he went out to the Forester.
I glanced down at Butch, who was waiting expectantly by the front door. “You want to come?”
He yapped once.
Why did I bother asking? This dog didn’t like letting me out of his sight. Given what he’d been through, I couldn’t blame him. There was no point in asking him to behave himself, and he seemed to find the request offensive. It wasn’t like he’d ever given me any trouble, apart from the time he’d run off into the woods. I wished he could give me some more insight as to why he’d done that, but we were limited to yes and no questions.
As I headed out, I reflected that it was sweet that Officer Saldana had church-going in his past. That certainly dovetailed with his becoming a cop to fight for truth and justice. Climbing into the front, I realized I could easily fall in love with him.
“I got an answer about the restless dead,” Jesse told me, sliding in back. “But we need a witch or a medium to lead us in the ritual.”
Well, the witch from Atlanta might be able to take care of that, but I hoped we wouldn’t be here in two weeks. So it looked like we were on our own. Given the state of the town, it was probably just as well.
Shannon drove because she knew the way. The guys didn’t seem to mind that we were both in the front, and I figured it was my turn. I brooded all the way to the Methodist church, a sprawling white stone building with an ostentatious steeple.
“Someone’s compensating,” I muttered. I quite forgot I was talking about Shannon’s grandpa.
She cut me a disgusted look. “That’s . . . so wrong.”
Belatedly, I remembered she had said he had the place built before she was born. The lot was lit up like a bingo parlor in marked contrast to the dark all around the place. Cars crowded the parking lot; some had overflowed to the street and the neighboring field. It seemed everyone who was anyone in Kilmer attended the weekly potluck.
“You guys ready for this?” I asked, hopping down from the SUV. The chill in the night air swirled my words around in a white mist.
“Absolutely,” said Chance.
With no forethought, we fell into Reservoir Dogs-style formation, with Jesse leading the way. I had to admit, it amused the crap out of me to stroll into this holiest of holy buildings behind a blue-haired septuagenarian. If she hadn’t been tiny and doddering, I have no doubt she would have favored us with a sniff and a disapproving glare.
My first thought as we stepped into the hall was, Who the hell knew there were so many flowered dresses in the world? Older women stuck to gray, black and white, or navy; young ones ran around in pastels. They were unified by the floral prints.
Men, on the other hand, wore button-up shirts and belted slacks in varying hues. Everyone milled around, talking a mile a minute, while a handful of women fussed over a table laden with food. Kids wove in and out, playing tag around the masses. It was at once completely wholesome and achingly foreign.
Despite the darkness plaguing this town, I sensed such genuine warmth. The normal folk here cared about one another. When a stout, middle-aged lady crossed the room and gave a hugely pregnant young woman a hug, she meant it.
I smiled as she rubbed the woman’s stomach. “Oh, you’re carrying low this time, Millie. Must be a boy.”
The younger woman giggled. “I sure hope so. Dan’s out of patience with the girls.”
Conversation paused as people noticed us. All of us wore black in some form, but Shannon and I stood out more than the guys. In button-up shirts and dress slacks, they both fell within the bounds of normal for this gathering, even if Chance was one hundred percent more urbane than the elder gentleman wearing polyester pants and a plaid shirt.