Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (32 page)

“His name is Tommy,” Junior said. “He’s a zombie. He wants to go to ground, but his maker won’t release him.”

“Show me this maker.” Meredith’s blue eyes glowed with irritation and righteous, unspent fury. “He’ll cooperate. I’ll make him so miserable he’ll throw himself on a buzz saw.” She widened her eyes at Junior in fake consternation. “Oh, wait. Somebody already did that to you, didn’t they?”

“You are such a bitch,” Junior said. “A total, pluperfect, stone-cold raving bitch. You’re perfect for the job.”

T
hanksgiving morning, Beck drove the Tundra into town. Conall and Annie rode with her, and Toby followed in his truck. To no one’s surprise but Verbena’s, Hank invited Verbena to his little cabin on the river for the day, promising her a meal of Cajun-fried turkey, onion and mushroom dressing, spicy greens, and sweet tater biscuits.

“That is, if you don’t have other plans,” Hank had said, turning a dull red.

Verbena blushed, too. “I’d like that.”

Hank grinned, displaying a mouth full of large, white teeth. The effect was startling against his dark complexion. “It’s a date then. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

Hank stomped out, whistling and looking happier than Beck had ever seen him.

“He likes you,” she’d told Verbena.

“I like him, too. What should I wear?” Verbena’s expression grew anxious. “I ain’t never had a date.”

“It won’t matter,” Beck advised. “Wear whatever makes you feel pretty.”

Verbena’s hand crept to her cap of strawberry-blond hair. “That ’ud be everything. I ain’t never had so many nice things, thanks to you and Mr. D.”

Verbena refused to call Conall by his first name.

“Well, then, you can’t go wrong,” Beck said.

Verbena had nodded and hurried toward the little back room where she was living for the time being, presumably to go through her clothes.

Toby watched the girl leave with a shake of his gray head. “This ain’t good,” he’d said. “Reckon it’s too late to get one of them ‘no fraternization’ policies?”

“What’s wrong with Hank inviting Verbena to his place?” Beck asked. “I think it’s sweet. I didn’t even know Hank had teeth until just now.”

“First time they get to squabbling, you’ll see,” Toby said darkly. “Never pee in your own well.”

“Meaning what, Confucius?” Beck asked in exasperation.

“Unhappy cooks make for bad digestion. It’s all buttercups and roses now, but what happens when they fall out? We ain’t got a cook, that’s what.”

Having deposited that little dollop of sunshine, Toby had strolled away.

Beck slowed the truck to a stop in front of a house. “This is it,” she said.

Brenda and Jason lived in a ranch-style house in Meadowbrook, a neighborhood of uniform dwellings built in the sixties and seventies. Homes in Meadowbrook were small and squeezed close together. Brenda and Jason’s place was red brick with blue shutters. Rings of monkey grass imprisoned two towering pines in the front yard, and a line of sickly gray-green hedges marched across the front. A few blocks over in the historic district, lawns were deep and narrow, shaded by towering oaks and maples, waxy-leafed magnolias, and frilly dogwoods, redbuds, and crepe myrtles. The houses in the older part of town were steeped in character, ranging in style from homey Craftsman bungalows to steep-roofed Victorians and staid brick Tudors. In Meadowbrook, the houses all looked like they needed Prozac.

Fall in Alabama was menopausal: hot one moment and cold the next. This morning, the sky was clear and the temperature was already in the mid-sixties by eleven o’clock. With the inconstancy of Mother Nature in mind, Beck had donned a blue ruched-sleeve sweater over a white camisole, jeans, and half boots. For a millisecond, she’d considered wearing a dress to please Brenda and decided against it. Brenda would just have to deal.

She glanced at Annie. The kid looked like a catalog model in some of her new duds, a neon pink cotton cardigan over a navy cupcake skirt and matching tee, pink and blue leggings, and navy Mary Janes. Her dark hair was brushed to a soft shine and held back by a bejeweled headband.

“Remember what we talked about,” Beck said. “No monkey business around the norms. It makes them nervous.”

“I know.” Annie clutched the teddy bear Conall had given her. “Why couldn’t I stay at the house with Mr. Cat?”

“Because it’s Thanksgiving and I want you with me,” Beck said. “The twins are excited you’re coming. It’ll be fun for Jay and Darlene to have someone to play with.”

“They’re norms,” Annie said. Her expression was pinched. “Norms don’t like me.”

“We’ll play a game and pretend we’re norms, too,” Beck said. “It’ll be fun.”

“Did
you
play with norms when you were little?”

“No, my daddy wouldn’t let me.”

“Then how do you know it will be fun?”

Beck sighed. “Just try and get along with them and no funny stuff.”

Brenda had insisted they didn’t need to bring anything, but pride wouldn’t allow Beck to show up at her stepmother’s house empty-handed, so she’d brought a gallon of Hank’s seafood gumbo. She’d also made Jason one of his favorite desserts: Boiled Can, a recipe from the Great Depression that consisted of caramelized condensed milk, chilled, and served over a Graham cracker and topped with whipped cream.

They got out of the truck and Beck handed Conall the heavy Crock-Pot. He wore dark wool trousers and a blue broadcloth shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His shaggy black hair gleamed in the sunlight, and he looked so freaking handsome Beck wanted to offer up her hoo-hah on the altar of his magical hotness right then and there.

She wouldn’t, of course. Not on Daddy and Brenda’s front lawn and not in front of the kid. But, wouldn’t that just send Brenda into a paroxysm of prayer?

The thought made her giggle. It came out more of a nervous snort.

“Rebekah, are you well?” the Divine Dalvahni asked.

“Fine,” Beck lied.

Annie hugged her teddy bear. “My stomach hurts. I want to go home.”

“My stomach hurts, too,” Beck said. “But we’re here and we’re going inside.”

Annie looked up at Beck, her face scrunched in concern. “Do you think you’re going to barf?”

“I sincerely hope not,” Beck said, ringing the doorbell.

A dog barked inside the house, growing louder as the animal rushed for the door.

“They have a dog.” Annie gave Beck a look of reproach. “You didn’t tell me they have a dog.”

“It’s just Boo, their miniature dachshund,” Beck said. “She’s harmless.”

The door opened and Beck almost dropped the dessert plate. “Latrisse! ”

Latrisse wore a clingy black dress that hit her right above the knees. The dress was simply cut, conservative even, but Latrisse’s shoes more than made up for it: shimmering snakeskin double-platform pumps with five-inch heels, mottled purple uppers, bright turquoise heels, and cheetah print soles. A black and tan miniature dachshund danced around Latrisse’s feet, barking nonstop.

Conall looked at the dog, and Boo shut up.

“Latrisse, this is a wonderful surprise,” Beck said. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Latrisse waved them into the foyer. Boo circled them, sniffing at their ankles, before trotting off to the kitchen. The rich scents of baked ham and roast turkey, cornbread dressing with onions and celery, squash casserole topped with butter-soaked crackers, baked sweet potatoes, and warm bread wafted through the house. Brenda Smith Damian might be a Bible-thumping, holier-than-thou pain-in-the but-tocks, but she sure could cook.

“I saw your daddy at the Burger Doodle yesterday,” Latrisse said. “After he finished having a heart attack because it turns out I’m not dead, he invited me and Mama to the big feed.” She gestured with her hands. Her long nails had been painted purple and turquoise to match her shoes. “And here we are.”

“I’m so glad,” Beck said, and meant it.

Being with her norm family was awkward under the best of circumstances. Jason meant well but was always on edge with her, especially around Brenda and the kids. Oh, he tried to act like everything was okay, but it was always there, that watchful, wary look she’d gotten from him all her life, the look that said he was terrified she might do something strange. The twins were cute kids, but she’d never gotten to know them, not really. Brenda had suffered two miscarriages before she’d had Jay and Darlene and she was over protective as a hen with one biddy. She’d never let Beck babysit or, heaven forbid, let the twins spend the night at her place, because Beck lived on the river and Brenda was convinced they’d fall in and drown. Understandable—and then there was the whole you-work-ina-bar-so-you’re-going-straight-to-the-hot-place thing.

Beck looked around. Brenda had added the twins’ latest school pictures to the already groaning shrine on the foyer wall, but nothing else had changed. To the right was a combination formal living room and dining room. Through the open door that connected the dining room to the kitchen, Beck glimpsed Brenda taking something out of the oven.

The foyer spilled into a paneled den with a fireplace. Down a narrow hall were three bedrooms and two small baths.

Toby loped through the door behind them. “I brought ice and a gallon of sweet tea,” he announced in the triumphant tone of a conquering hero returning with the spoils of war.

“Awesome,” Latrisse said. “Brenda forgot to buy ice and everything’s closed.” She smiled down at Annie. “You must be Annie. The twins can’t wait to meet you.”

“I like your shoes,” Annie said, zeroing in on Latrisse’s feet. “They’re pretty.”

“Aren’t they?” Latrisse pointed one foot, tilting it this way and that. “Would you like to try them on?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annie said.

“Me, too.” A blond-haired girl popped up from behind the living room couch like a prairie dog coming out of its hole. “Can I wear them, too. Please?”

Jason stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Happy Turkey Day, y’all. Don’t just stand there. Make yourself to home.” He hurried to take the Crock-Pot from Conall, giving it an appreciative sniff. “Mmm, smells good. Gumbo?”

“Yep. Hank made it.” Beck held up the dessert plate. “I brought Boiled Can.”

Jason’s eyes lit up. “Hot diggity dog, you know I love it. Just set it on the sideboard with the rest of the sweet stuff.”

Beck put her hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Daddy, this is Annie. I told you about her.”

“Nice to meet you, shug.” Daddy gave Annie a distracted smile. “Toby, stick that tea in the fridge and put the ice in the cooler.” Brenda called his name from the kitchen. “I’m coming, woman,” he said. “Keep your apron on.”

Conall followed him into the living room. “I would greet your lady wife, if it pleases you.”

“Sure, sure,” Daddy said. He paused to frown at Darlene standing behind the couch. “You and Jay quit horsing around and say hello to our guests.”

The twins bolted into the den after Annie, who’d followed Latrisse of the Splendiferous Footwear.

Stepping around the card table and folding chairs Brenda had set up for the kids, Beck set her plate on the sideboard between an enormous bowl of banana pudding and two pumpkin pies. Brenda’s oak dining table gleamed with her prized Fiestaware. In the center of the table, a covered-glass cake plate filled with fall fruits and vegetables added a decorative touch.

Having made her offering to the dessert gods, Beck went into the kitchen. Steam wafted from the pots on top of the stove, and the double ovens and microwave were going full blast. Jason stood at the breakfast table carving a turkey as big as a Volkswagen, and Toby was slicing the ham. The dachshund sat at their feet, her back legs flattened behind her like bat wings, patiently waiting for some tasty ort to hit the floor.

Over by the stove, Brenda buzzed back and forth, tending to her cooking. Brenda was eight years younger than Jason, but she looked every one of her forty-nine years, and then some. She’d never lost the baby weight she’d gained with the twins. A few inches over five feet tall, Brenda was bosomy and as soft and doughy as her homemade rolls. She wore an animal print polyester dress with a vee neck and a chunky red and black necklace. Her frosted brown hair was curled, teased, and sprayed to a fare-thee-well.

“Put me to work,” Beck said. “What can I do to help?”

Brenda gave her a polite little smile, the same smile she’d been giving Beck for years, one that implied tolerance without affection. “Your gentleman friend brought flowers. You could put them in a vase for me and set them on the sideboard with the desserts, if you would.”

Her “gentleman friend” hadn’t had flowers when they arrived, which meant Conall had used hoodoo. Brenda would have a fit if she knew.

Beck picked up the bouquet of flowers lying on the butcher block—plump white and orange roses, a dozen each, mixed with delicate, drooping Chinese lanterns—and put them in a vase with water.

“Done,” she said when she’d completed the task. “What else?”

“Nothing,” Brenda said, without turning from her task. “Go visit with Song and Latrisse in the den. Too many cooks spoil the broth.”

Dismissed and feeling about as useless as an ashtray on a motorcycle, Beck walked into the den. Annie and Darlene sat on the floor gazing worshipfully at Latrisse’s feet. Jay leaned over the arm of Conall’s plaid recliner, showing him an oversized plastic gun.

“It’s an Armadillo Vengeance Blaster,” Jay was saying to Conall. “You load the plastic discs in here.” He poked his finger in the chamber and wiggled it around. “And you pull this trigger to shoot.”

Brenda stuck her head out of the kitchen, spoon in hand, and gave Jay a death-ray glare. “Bubba, don’t you dare shoot that thing in the house.”

“Aw, Mom.” Jay slumped, boneless as a jelly fish, over the arm of Conall’s chair.

“I mean it,” Brenda said, employing the universal mom tone. “Don’t make me come in there.”

“Perhaps later, you can demonstrate this remarkable weapon to me outside,” Conall said in his solemn way.

Jay snapped to his feet in a miracle of bone regeneration. “Promise?”

“You have my word.”

Jay grinned at Conall. “Cool.”

Something funny unfolded inside Beck, a warm, scary feeling that made her feel weak and floaty and altogether strange. Stress; it had to be stress. It’s a well-known fact family makes you crazy.