toad witch 04 - aunt tilly were canning demons Read online

  Frank averted his gaze, deliberately not making eye contact, and quickly slunk away with his feral wolf-dog, keeping Nick in his peripheral vision.

  Nick watched him go, tension running through his body, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

  NICK CAME IN, and I locked the gate behind him.

  “What was that about?” I asked. “I was worried you were going to shoot him.”

  “Was that guy bothering you? I’ve seen him here a few times now. I don’t like it. We’ve been getting reports of break-ins down the street.”

  “His name is Frank. And he seems okay. I don’t think he’s your perp or unsub whatever you call them. I gave him some lunch and was letting him wash up in the bathroom. That dog of his though, gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “You need to curb your Mother Earth vibe. Homeless people can be dangerous.” Nick said, his face still hard.

  “Okay, message heard. But I think you’re being silly. He seems like a nice guy.” I looked at my watch. It was past time to open the store. “What are you doing back here so soon?”

  “I have an update for you on your brother,” Nick said, sitting down at the table. “We can talk in the store, if you need to open up.”

  “No!” I cleared my throat. “I’d rather not be interrupted by customers.” The truth was that there was no way in hell that I wanted to have this conversation in front of Aunt Tillie. I pulled out a chair and sat next to him. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “I found a guy named Vin, who’s big in occult circles in Southern California. He’s based out of San Diego, not Los Angeles. But you may want to stay away from him.”

  “Why? What’s the problem?”

  Nick sighed. “Guy’s big into the vampire scene. He’s been a suspect in a number of robberies, including blood bank robberies. Sounds unhinged to me.”

  But it sounded right to me. I could feel every sense go on alert and my skin tingle. My entire body was screaming that this had to be the right Vin. Especially after that dream. My hand went up to my neck, where I could feel the two little scabs.

  “All these wannabe vampires.” Nick snorted. “More gothic Hollywood nonsense.”

  “Right. Because witches are normal and vampires…they’re just figments of everyone’s imagination? Can’t possibly be real?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, giving me a look like I was an idiot. “Don’t take it personally. I’d have the same reaction if he walked around claiming he was a garden gnome. Everyone knows that the goth culture is based on fantasy.”

  “For a guy who grew up in a family of witches, you sure are judgmental.”

  “I’m a cop. What do you expect? I swear the movie industry out here chaps my hide. Twinkling, misunderstood vampires, my ass. They’re right up there with all those movie heroes who can be shot, stabbed, beaten and tortured and walk away with just a scrape and a small scar, ready for round two. If Hollywood is going to portray violence and blood and gore, they should show the real aftermath. The permanent disabilities, the chronic pain, the brain damage. The spread of hepatitis through stupid kids drinking blood. It would make my job easier. Do you know how many times I arrest kids who didn’t think they were causing as much damage to another human being as they did? Because it doesn’t work that way in movies and on TV?”

  I sighed. “I get it. But it would totally mess with movie sequels if the hero gets progressively and permanently damaged. Or winds up with dentures because his teeth got knocked out. Kind of ruins the fantasy. Do you have a phone number for my non-twinkling vampire half-brother?”

  “I may be able to get one. I wanted to talk to you first. Are you sure…”

  “Yes!” I yelled. “How fucking sure do I need to be before anyone believes that I’m sure?! I don’t care what he’s into, or who he thinks he is, I want to talk to him.”

  Nick’s face grew harder, more like a pissed-off cop and less like someone I once dated.

  I paused, closed my eyes, and started again. “I’m sorry. I’m so grateful that you’re helping me with this, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate it. I don’t mean to yell at you. This is just a left-over reaction from the hassle I was getting from people back in Devil’s Point. I apologize. Can you please get me his number?”

  Nick gave me a look and left.

  Shit. Whether that look meant that he was done, or that he was still going to help me, I had no idea. While Nick was a good flirt, he was a horrible communicator, especially once his feelings got hurt.

  That was why we broke up originally. Dating Nick was how I found out that I really needed an open and honest flow of communication, or my imagination started coming up with worst case scenarios. And once that type of fear took hold of my psyche, that’s when I started invading his privacy, using witchy methods to snoop into his life.

  It made me a lousy girlfriend for a cop who needed to keep part of his life private. Unfortunately, it also proved me right. That was how I found out that Nick was also dating the woman who used to babysit Gus, at the same time he was dating me.

  AFTER NICK LEFT, I locked the back gate and opened up the store. Other than people coming up to the outside, looking through the windows, maybe opening the door for a quick look inside and then leaving, it was dead.

  I tried to ignore them. I pulled out my stash of demonology and dark magic books and started reading, looking for anything that could tell me more about Emily’s demon, but I kept getting distracted by the looky-loos.

  They seemed normal enough to start with. Some were much older, which surprised me. One woman who popped in was wearing multiple, conspicuously large, crosses. She reminded me of my old building manager when I lived in Los Angeles, Mrs. Lasio.

  But after awhile, this weird pop-in type of surveillance was starting to creep me out. What were they looking for? I was starting to miss Aunt Tillie. I could have used someone to talk to, but she hadn’t surfaced from her skull since I had opened the store. Which was probably a good thing. The last thing I needed was the looky-loos catching me talking to someone they couldn’t see.

  I decided to take Gus’s advice and check in on Paul. I pulled out my phone and texted him, hoping he was there.

  Just checking in on the menagerie. How are they doing? Is Grundleshanks eating whole crickets? Or just sucking out cricket brains?

  The three dots on the screen started flashing, indicating he was writing a response. Finally, my phone dinged with Paul’s reply.

  Anyone ever tell you that you’re weird? Menagerie is fine. Grundleshanks is eating many crickets and looking like Jabba the Hut. He may need to go on a diet. He gives me evil looks when I try and cut his crickets back, so you can deal with that when you return.

  He sent me a picture of a huge Grundleshanks, with a mini-Princess Leia, in a slave bikini and shackles, in the tank with him. I texted back:

  ROFL! How many freaking crickets are you feeding Grundle the Hut? We haven’t been gone that long.

  He replied:

  He’s a hungry boy. Gus said give him whatever he wants to eat. So far, he’s eaten about thirty crickets and a small mouse.

  Holy cow. Being a zombie must be hard work. I’d never seen Grundleshanks eat that much before. I texted back.

  What?! Whoa! He’s never eaten a mouse before. If he starts looking at you like you’re food, run.

  Paul texted me a laughing emoji, but I wasn’t kidding. I face-timed him to get a better look at Grundle-Z (who was huge). We might just have to change his name to Grundle the Hut.

  Paul and I talked about the Dobes for a bit, and California, and Mama Lua’s and the latest book he was working on. But he couldn’t stay on long, because he had a class to teach at the university.

  After we hung up, another run of looky-loos popped in and out of the store. It wasn’t closing time yet, but I was pretty much done. The next time it happened, I locked the door and flipped the sign to: Closed.

  I put the demonology book I had been reading on the shelf. It had be
en spectacularly unhelpful. It was one of those make-a-quick-buck books that conflated fact with fiction, and didn’t actually tell you anything worthwhile. All it did was highlight the fact that the writer didn’t want to do the research, so they decided to rehash stereotypical urban legends instead.

  Thankfully, I had a lot more to read through. Although I was surprised there hadn’t been more demonology books in the shipment. You’d think it would be a popular topic.

  But for now, I was tired of reading. After I locked the store, I went to the back to clean up the outside bathroom. After Frank’s impromptu shower and clothes drenching, it was a mess.

  I put on a dust mask and latex gloves, and got out the cleaning supplies, to return it to its previous level of gloriousness. I wished I could ask Nick to send over the crime scene cleaners again, but I was pretty sure they had more important work to do.

  By the time I was done mopping up the water, cleaning the bathroom and washing and drying the towels, it was starting to get dark. I tossed the gloves and mask in the garbage, washed my hands, made sure the back door and back gate were both locked, then ambled over to Mama Lua’s cottage, to figure out what I was going to have for dinner.

  I texted Gus to remember to get groceries and reminded him that it was getting late. Then I grabbed a few slices of cheese, the ice cream container from the freezer, (which turned out to be half-empty), and a spoon, and took them to the outdoor bedroom unit, so I could snack while I was unpacking my suitcase and getting into my jammies.

  WHILE I WAS PUTTING my clothes away, I opened the drawer of the table next to the bed and I found a manual Mama Lua had been writing for us, on running the store. Of course. It was my typical run of luck, to find something I needed, a day or two too late.

  I tossed the empty ice cream container in the trash and flipped through the manual. It looked like Mama Lua didn’t get a chance to finish it, since it trailed off mid-sentence. But it had all the important things. A list of vendors, her resale number, an inventory with wholesale and retail pricing, a ledger and instructions on how to keep track of all the accounting stuff.

  Thankfully, I had spent a summer working at a boutique store after high school, so I wasn’t completely new to working retail. I had been writing down sales in a notebook I found by the register. Not that it had been difficult, business had been on the slow side. And after I closed for the day, I had religiously counted down the register and put the day’s profit into a deposit bag, for Gus to take to the bank at the end of the week. Hopefully, we wouldn’t be here long enough to have to deal with vendors and wholesale purchases.

  I flipped through the rest of the pages. Tucked into the back of the manual, was a folded, handwritten note.

  Gus and Mara,

  Bonjour, ma chers. Thank you so much for minding the store. I’ll be back in two shakes of a snake’s tail. I am going to a small Louisiana parish, out by the swamps. It’s so remote, few people have the internet and cell phones only work so-so. If you need me, my loves, the best way is to send me a letter. I’ll write my address on the back of this note.

  The Crooked Pantry customers run the gamut from young to old, rich to poor, superstitious to religious. From normal people like us, to those poor souls who are truly lost and delusional. We have witches, vampires, ghost hunters, new agers, goths. People of all different spiritual paths; some light, some dark. They all need help in different ways, so do your best.

  We have people who are predators and people who are prey, and you may have to separate them, if they arrive at the same time. Don’t let the predators feed on the prey. You may not understand that now, but you will. The space is warded, but you should also cleanse it regularly.

  We’ve been having some problems lately. But I’m sure you’ll see those for yourself once you re-open the store. I will try to hurry my return.

  Bon chance, ma chers, laissez les bons temps rouler.

  Mama Lua

  At least now I knew why we couldn’t get Mama Lua on her cell. It was pretty much what I had seen when we had done the ritual to locate her, but it’s always good to get mundane confirmation of magickally-received information.

  My phone dinged with a text. It was from Emily.

  When are you getting rid of this demon?!? What the fuck am I paying you for?!

  Oh, geez. Please don’t have found any more bones, I thought to myself before I texted her back:

  We’re still researching.

  Her answer was quick.

  This is bullshit. If I find any more bones Friday morning, I’m going to sue you for fraud.

  I put the phone in my pocket, read Mama Lua’s note again and sighed. We were definitely going to need some bon chance, if the last two days were any indication of what happens at the Crooked Pantry when you let the good times roll.

  I sighed, put my jammies on, crammed my swollen feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers, then went back to the store, to look through the rest of the demon books. There had to be something there that would help.

  I SHUFFLED IN, yawning, and turned on the lights.

  “I thought you were done for the day,” Aunt Tillie said.

  “Me too. It’s amazing how energizing the threat of a law suit can be. What do you know about demons?”

  “Why would I know anything about demons? Do you really think if I died and went to Hell, I’d be able to leave and visit, whenever I wanted?”

  “I have no idea where you went to after you died, Aunt Tillie. All I know is that you seem to be visiting this side of the veil an awful lot. You keep refusing to talk about the Otherworld.”

  “It’s on a need-to-know basis. And you don’t need to know.”

  I yawned again, as I looked through my stack of books. “Cut me some slack. Haven’t you ever researched demons at all? Like, when you were alive? Can you at least tell me…”

  A knock on the door made me jump. With the lights on inside, and the darkness outside, I couldn’t really see who it was, but it seemed to have woken the baby up, as well.

  “We’re closed!” I hollered.

  The lock turned on its own and the door opened.

  The vampire guy from my nightmare stood in the doorway, large, muscular, imposing and scary. As if Mr. Clean had gotten a second life as a vampire.

  He stepped inside and locked the door behind him. Instead of a cape, he wore a black leather jacket, black boots, and carried a motorcycle helmet.

  “You must be Mara. I thought it was about time we met, face-to-face. I’m Vin Vestry.”

  SO MANY EMOTIONS ran through me, back to back. Fear, anger, hope, anticipation, but most of all, I wished Gus was here and I seriously wished that I hadn’t left my pepper spray in the bedroom.

  “Why not? After all, we’ve already met, face-to-fang, Vin,” I said, backing up. Why, oh why, did I change into my Minion jammies and slippers? It was hard to look bad-ass when you had a giant cartoon on your belly.

  Mama Lua had an athame display behind the counter. I nonchalantly sidled over there, and picked up a Masonic ceremonial dagger. Just in case.

  Vin smiled a slow, chilling smile, and I noticed he actually had fangs. My blood ran cold and I started breathing harder. It was like I was suddenly back in my dream.

  I pulled the dagger out of its sheath and held it up. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “No need to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Too late,” I said.

  “My apologies. Marking…” he paused and I could clearly hear the words, “my prey,” in my head, but what actually came out of his mouth was: “you on the astral, makes it easier for me to track you in the mundane world.”

  Anger pushed through the fear and I grasped at it like a life vest. “It was invasive, it was rude, and you didn’t have my permission. You violated my dreams, you violated my astral body. That’s a crime.”

  He looked at me, his head tilted. “Too bad there are no police on the astral,” he said, in a cold voice.

  “Police or not, you s
hould be ashamed of yourself, Vin McDougal Vestry.” Aunt Tillie snapped.

  Vin looked around, suddenly tense. “Tillie?”

  I looked over at her. The skull’s eyes were snapping blue with indignation.

  Vin relaxed. “Hello again, Tillie. It’s been awhile.”

  “Not long enough,” she muttered.

  “You’ve lost weight,” he grinned. “A whole body’s worth of it, apparently. What are you doing here, Tillie? I thought you disavowed me. I’m the black sheep, remember? Why haven’t you transitioned all the way over? Or are you allergic to having fun and socializing with the denizens of the Otherworld?”

  “I’ve been trying to save Mara from ruining her life. But she’s been determined to find you. Maybe now she’ll understand why you’re a lost cause. Your behavior’s been appalling.”

  He shrugged. “Most people enjoy being marked. It can be a very sensuous experience. It’s not my fault she took it in a different direction.”

  “You bit your own sister. What kind of incestuous claptrap is that?”

  “I’m sorry, what?” He looked stunned and a little sick. “I don’t have a sister.”

  “Surprise,” I said. “You do. A half-sister. That would be me. And that little biting thing you did wasn’t sensual. Ick. It was nasty and painful.”

  “It wasn’t all joy and jumping jacks on my side either, chickie. No wonder you left such a bad aftertaste. I thought I was getting sick. It can be hard enough to force my will on another person. With you…” he shook his head. “It wasn’t a pleasant experience at all.”

  “Good,” I said. “I hope you spent the day vomiting.”

  “Why are you mad at me? That whole thing was your own fault. I wouldn’t have had any need of finding you—I wouldn’t even be here right now—if it weren’t for you overstepping your bounds with Morte. We need to have a little conversation, you and I.”