Her scolding finished, Mama Heloise returned her attention to Clarissa. Removing a rattle from the hemp bag she’d brought along, she chanted something in Cajun again, the rattle’s tasseled cords stirring the air above the mattress. Once she’d completed her ritual, she marked each corner of the bed with some mysterious powder. “This will keep her body tethered to life and repel any evil spirits who might try to steal ownership of this vessel.”
He didn’t know what angered and sickened him more—the idea of Clarissa’s body being homesteaded by an entity with dubious motives or having her referred to as a vessel. It made her sound like nothing more than an empty vase or something, for fuck’s sake.
“Just out of curiosity, Clarissa’s soul won’t be repelled by that stuff, right?” Fiona’s expression turned nervous as Mama Heloise sent her an intimidating stare.
“No spirits will be able to pass through the barrier, including hers. If by any miracle you do find a way to call her soul back, you will have to remove her from this room to allow passage.” Her expression turned properly chastising. “But I wouldn’t risk it, if I were you. Not unless you are absolutely certain she is returning. Otherwise, she will be gone from here forever. That is a guarantee.”
Mama Heloise stuffed her things into her bag and waddled toward the door. Domino and Fiona traipsed after her, but Willa remained rooted in place, her unwavering gaze glued to Clarissa. “She hasn’t given up yet.” Apparently feeling the heat of his stare, she lifted her head and looked him square in the eye. “I can feel it. Her determination.”
He didn’t question how Willa could possibly sense what nobody else seemed able to—even the feisty Mama Heloise. She was reaffirming his hope. That was all he needed. All that mattered. Willa crossed to him and took his hands. “We can’t give up on her, either. No matter how dark things look.”
In that, they were in complete accord. Even if he had to search the bowels of Hell itself, he’d bring his mate back.
Sometime around dusk, the sound of loud voices coming from the front entrance managed to tear his focus from Clarissa. Reluctantly uncurling his arm from her waist, he shoved from the mattress, being careful not to disturb Mama Heloise’s mysterious white powder. He went to the top of the stairs and peered down at the commotion below. A petite, dark-haired woman was standing beside a tall, lanky kid. She looked exceedingly uncomfortable as the boy argued over something with Constance.
The kid’s raised voice easily drifted up the stairs. “I’m telling you, she told us to come whenever. If you don’t believe me, just ask her.”
“And I told you that’s not possible right now. And seeing how Clarissa never mentioned one word about this, I’m inclined to think you’re full of shit.”
More than curious to see what was going on and what the hell Clarissa had to do with it, he loped down the stairs. The boy and the unknown woman both glanced his way as he drew to a halt next to Constance. “What’s going on?”
Constance waved toward the pair. “He says Clarissa promised him and his mother they could live here.”
He frowned at the kid, gravitating toward the same conclusion as Constance. It wasn’t like Clarissa to make a rash decision like this one, particularly without consulting her coven sisters about it first. But just as he was about to suggest to the pair that they find somewhere else to take whatever con they were working, Ms. Peach walked into the entry. The elderly witch eyed the new arrivals suspiciously. “Who’re you?”
“Tanner Montgomery. This is my ma, Sarah.”
Ms. Peach adjusted her spectacles, inspecting the boy from head to toe. “You’re not an alien, are you?”
While Tanner stood there, looking justifiably confused by the question, Constance ran his story past Ms. Peach.
“Oh yeah. She mentioned you’d be showing up. You look like you’re a loud snorer. You’re sleeping down here.”
Logan figured his expression must have come pretty damn close to mirroring Constance’s slack-jawed incredulity. “Wait, he’s telling the truth?”
Tanner stacked his arms over his chest defiantly. “Told you so. I’m no liar.”
The woman, Sarah, cast her eyes to the floor. “If it’s too much trouble, we understand. I figured it was too good to be true anyway. Most folks don’t offer their home to total strangers.”
Her soft admission managed to make him feel like he was a big bag of shit. Judging from the crimson stain coloring Constance’s cheekbones, she felt the same way. She cleared her throat. “Look, I’m sorry if I came across like a bitch. There’s just a lot of…stress…going on around here right now. You’re more than welcome to stay. Where are your bags? I’ll help bring them in.”
“No. I’ll get ’em.” Tanner turned and strode toward the door, his gait stiff.
In the wake of her son’s absence, Sarah continued staring at the ground, her awkward shyness more than apparent. Taking pity on the poor woman, Logan glanced at Ms. Peach. “Why don’t you take Sarah into the kitchen and see if Gloria can’t whip up some dinner.” From the looks of it, it’d been a while since Sarah had seen a decent meal. She was even skinnier than her son, her cotton blouse hanging from her shoulders like the threadbare rags of a scarecrow.
“We don’t want to put anyone out.”
Ms. Peach snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. If there’s anything that makes Gloria happier than a fly in a port-a-john, it’s getting to cook.”
Sarah looked a little queasy at the fly reference, but she shuffled after Ms. Peach anyways. A moment later Tanner returned, struggling under the weight of two black garbage bags. When Logan moved to help the kid, Tanner’s face turned beet red and he dragged the bags behind his ratty sneakers. “It’s okay. I’ve got them.”
Logan had the distinct impression the boy was ashamed that he carried all his worldly goods in a trash bag. Empathy overtook him. No wonder Clarissa had offered room and board to Tanner and Sarah. Still, he instinctually suspected that the kid wouldn’t welcome anything resembling pity. “Yeah, you best carry them yourself. You could stand puttin’ some meat on those scrawny muscles.”
Constance sent him an incinerating look, but Tanner’s scowl slipped and was instantly replaced by a grin.
Logan scratched his jaw. “Guess we better find you and your ma a place to bunk.”
“We’re not picky. We’ll take a floor somewhere if we have to. We’ve…we’ve slept in worse places before.”
Constance tapped her chin in contemplation. “Get him set up in Gert’s old room. It’s probably a little musty smelling, but the bedding’s fresh. I’ll send Sarah your way once she’s finished in the kitchen.”
Heeding Constance’s suggestion, he led Tanner down the hallway to the room across from the parlor. Once upon a time, it’d been Gert’s study, but the former mistress had converted it into her private quarters when her arthritis began acting up too much to take the daily trip up and down the stairs. He held the door open for Tanner, giving the boy plenty of maneuvering room for the bulky bags. The kid finally looked up as he cleared the door, his eyes going wide as he took in the spacious suite. “Th-this is our room?”
“Yep.”
Tanner took a hesitant step forward, almost as if he were afraid the illusion would shatter. “It’s so…big.”
“Well, there are two of you. You’ll need the space. ’Fraid there’s only the one bed though. We’ll dig up an air mattress for you.” The mention of air mattresses instantly brought his mind careening back to Clarissa. Pain ripped through his heart.
“Like I said, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. I’m just grateful…” As if he were too choked up to finish the sentence, Tanner shook his head. “Anyways, I want to thank Clarissa. I owe her everything, and then some.”