Demon Hunting In the Deep South (12 page)

“Like I told you the other day, Meredith, I am
not
having an affair with Trey.”

“Liar. Every female in town wants Trey, especially you, Tubby. You’ve been sniffing around him for years. Like any man, especially my Trey, would be interested in such a gross, disgusting—”

“Enough.” Ansgar gave Meredith a cold glare. “You will be silent.”

Meredith propped her hands on her trim hips. “Oh, yeah? Make me, asshole.”

“With pleasure.”

Ansgar snapped his fingers and an ornate perfume bottle appeared in his hand. He removed the crystal stopper and pointed the open mouth of the bottle at Meredith. The Death Starr’s body stretched, growing thin and smoky.

“Hey,
hey,
” Meredith wailed. Her face sagged and her eyes melted into blue oval smears. “What do you think you’re doooo—”

Her words faded to a shrill moan of despair as her wispy form was sucked into the glass container.

Ansgar slammed the stopper back in place. “There. By the gods, I despise her shrewish tongue.”

Evie stared at the crystal container in his hand. “You put Meredith in a perfume bottle.”

He gave her an aggrieved look. “It is not a perfume bottle. It is a djeval flaske, a special container used by the Dalvahni to transport demons.” He shrugged. “Demons and ghosts are amorphous beings, so I reasoned it should work on both. My assumption was correct, I am happy to say.” He handed her the bottle. “Here, see for yourself. But for pity’s sake, do not let her out. I would take a battle-ax to the head rather than listen to any more of her raving.”

The bottle was made of curved blue glass bound in gold scrollwork at the rounded base. A mini Death Starr stood at the bottom of the flask. She shook a tiny manicured finger at Evie and kicked the side of the bottle with her shoe.

Ansgar looked pleased with himself. “An improvement, is it not?”

“Oh, yeah,” Evie said with a slow smile.

She gave the bottle a little shake. She knew it was mean, but she couldn’t resist. Meredith staggered on her high heels like a drunk on a two-week bender. It was like watching an ant do the jitterbug.

Evie giggled. “Where were you when I was in the seventh grade? I could have used one of these for real.”

“A djeval flaske does not work on humans, Evangeline.”

“Oh, well. A girl can dream. Think of it. Bully in a Jar. It’s perfect.”

Evie heard an angry buzzing noise and looked down at the bottle. Meredith had her face pushed against the glass. Her lips moved, but Evie couldn’t tell what she was saying. Judging from the Death Starr’s expression, that was a good thing.

“Shoot.” Evie sighed. “I guess we better let her out.”

“No,” Ansgar said. “I forbid it. It is bad enough you insist on spending the night in this accursed jail without suffering that harridan.”

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” Evie kept her gaze fastened on Mini Meredith, afraid that if she looked at Ansgar he would see how much she wanted him to stay. “I’ll be fine.”

Ansgar tugged her into his arms. “I will not leave you.”

“I’m glad,” she whispered. She relaxed against him, soaking up his warmth. “I know it’s selfish of me, but I want you to stay.”

“It is a good thing you want me. I would not leave you, in any event.”

The bottle in her hand vibrated.

“Oh, my goodness!” Evie stepped back. “I forgot about poor Meredith.”

“She is not ‘poor Meredith.’ She is a harpy. You are too tender hearted, Evangeline.”

“I think she must be very unhappy on a basic level to be such a bitch. Besides, we can’t keep her like this forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s mean. And because she’s already had a really bad day, getting murdered, and all.” Evie stilled as her exhausted brain put the pieces together. “Oh, my goodness! Why didn’t I think of this before? Meredith can tell us who murdered her!”

“She thinks
you
murdered her, remember?” Ansgar said.

“But I didn’t! We have to try and convince her otherwise.”

“Why do you care what a ghost thinks?”

“I don’t. Well . . . okay, I care a little. But here’s the point. Maybe, if she concentrates, she can remember something that will lead us to the real murderer.”

“Doubtful,” Ansgar said. “Nor do I think she will be inclined to cooperate. She is a most unpleasant creature.”

“Please, Ansgar.”

He sighed. “Very well, if you insist. Release the hag.”

Evie removed the stopper from the bottle, and Meredith’s ghost flowed out in a smoky stream and took shape.

She glared at Ansgar. “I’m going to get you for this. You’ll be sorry you ever messed with me.” She rounded on Evie. “That goes double for you, Jell-O Butt.”

“Guard your tongue, she devil,” Ansgar said, “or you go back in the bottle.”

“Don’t you dare! I’ll suffocate.”

“You cannot suffocate,” Ansgar said. “You are already dead.”

Meredith stiffened in outrage. “Of all the insensitive—”

Evie cleared her throat. “Uh . . . speaking of death, Meredith, we were hoping you could tell us who killed you.”

Meredith rolled her eyes. “Is your head as fat as your ass, nitwit?
Helloo. You
killed me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Evie said. “Honest.”

Meredith frowned. “Then who did?”

Bing!
A bell chimed and a pudgy, middle-aged man with doughy features materialized. A narrow peninsula of mousy brown hair ran down the middle of his balding head. He wore brown dress slacks, a pin-stripe dress shirt, and a pair of thick-soled, black orthopedic lace-ups. His shirt was open at the neck and his sleeves were rolled up. He held a pen in one hand and a notepad in the other.

“Who are you?” Ansgar demanded.

The ghost blinked at Ansgar from behind a pair of bifocals. “I’m Leonard Swink, a licensed professional counselor. I’m here to see Mrs. Peterson.”

“Buzz off, Tinker Bell. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a haunting?”

“But we have an appointment.” Swink gave Meredith a bland smile. “Don’t you remember?”

“Hell no, I don’t remember, you sawed-off rabbit turd. I don’t need therapy. Go away.”

“Foul language, denial, and hostility.” Swink
tsked
and jotted something down on the notepad. “This is worse than I thought.”

Meredith gave the therapist the evil eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve had a psychotic break, Mrs. Peterson,” Swink said. “PTDD, we call it in my profession. You need extensive therapy, if you expect a fully realized afterlife.”

“What is this PTDD?” Ansgar asked.

Swink stuck his pen in his pocket. It leaked, leaving a blue blob on the front of his shirt. He didn’t seem to notice. “Post traumatic death disorder,” he said. “Mrs. Peterson is a classic case. She died suddenly and violently, and is having difficulty adjusting to her new station.”

“I’m
dead,
not starting a new job, dickwad.” Meredith’s narrow-eyed glare roved over Swink. “Your shoes are ugly.”

“More hostility.” Swink shook his head. “I see I have my work cut out for me. Why don’t we go to my office, Mrs. Peterson? We can have our first session there.”

“She can’t remember who killed her,” Evie blurted. “Is that normal with PTDD?”

The expression on Swink’s round face brightened. “You’re saying she has deathnesia? My, this
is
an interesting case.” He took out his pen and scratched a few more notes on the pad. “The trauma can manifest itself in many ways, certainly, but deathnesia is unusual. Fascinating.”

Meredith waved her hand in his face. “I’m right here, Tweedle Dee. Stop talking about me like I don’t exist.”

“Well, technically speaking, you don’t exist, at least in a corporeal sense,” Swink told Meredith. “You are no longer alive, after all.”

Meredith rolled her eyes. “OMG, you figured out I’m dead. What a genius. I bet I can guess what happened to
you
. You starved to death from lack of patients, you lame-ass psycho-babbling numb nuts.”

Swink’s cherubic face creased in a slight frown. “Increased manifestation of verbal abuse.” He dotted something down on the paper. “Likely a defensive reaction with roots in patient’s confusion and anger relating to premature demise.”

“Oh, no, Doctor Swink,” Evie said without thinking. “Meredith was pretty much the same way when she was alive.”

“Shove it, Buffalo Butt,” Meredith snarled.

Evie offered Swink an apologetic smile. “See, same old Meredith. She cusses more, that’s all. I think she’s frustrated.”

“Frustrated?” Meredith’s voice went up a notch. “You bet your plus-sized ass I’m frustrated. This morning, I had a life. I was president-elect of the Lala Lavender League. I had a husband, a nice car, a seven-thousand-square-foot home on the river, and another house at the beach.” She pointed a finger at her chest. “
I
had an appointment with Jerome at Shear Ecstasy in Mobile next week. Next
week.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to get an appointment with
Jerome
?”

Ansgar frowned. “Who is this Jerome?”

“I think he must be a hair dresser,” Evie said.

“Not a hair dresser, you freak. Shear Ecstasy ain’t a frigging beauty parlor. It’s a salon.” Meredith’s voice got louder. “Jerome is a
stylist.
He used to do Reba McEntire’s hair. Women wait for months, for
years
even, to get an appointment with this guy. He’s a freaking hair god. But he’s not going to be doing
my
hair, because I’m dead.”

Swink tucked his notepad under his arm. “Come along, Mrs. Peterson. The sooner we start our sessions, the sooner you can achieve self-actualization and a healthy afterlife.”

“Chew me, dough boy. I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t need a therapist.”

“Enough!” Ansgar scowled at Meredith. “You will go with Swink and you will cooperate in these so-called sessions. When you have recovered your memory, you will return and tell us the identity of your killer, so that we may extricate Evangeline from this coil.”

Meredith’s eyes narrowed to slits of pure evil. “Like I give a Technicolor fart what happens to her. I’m
dead,
and that really pisses me off.”

“Heed my warning, shade.” Ansgar’s voice was cold as arctic tundra. “There are worse things than being dead. If Evangeline comes to harm because of your spite, I will hunt you down and rend your hateful spirit into nothingness.”

Evie put her hand on his arm. “Ansgar, please. She can’t help it.”

Meredith bristled. “Save your pity for yourself, Jumbotron. I’d rather be dead than be you.”

Swink stuck his notepad under his arm. “I cannot work in such a negative atmosphere. Mrs. Peterson, if you wish to continue this session, it will have to be in my office.”

Bing!
The bell chimed again and Swink disappeared.

Meredith straightened her shoulders. “I’ll do it, but not because you threatened me and not to help
her
. I’ll do it for Trey, because if Elephant Ass didn’t kill me then whoever did is still out there, and I don’t want my Treyzy Wazzy hurt.” Her blazing gaze shifted to Evie. “In the meantime, stay away from my husband, you pathetic whorebag heifer, or I’m gonna make the Amityville horror look like a Disney movie.”

With that final venomous parting shot, Meredith disappeared, too.

Chapter Twelve

“G
ood riddance,” Ansgar said when Meredith had gone. “ Of all the poisonous creatures I have ever encountered, she is undoubtedly the worst. Medusa was a girl in braids by comparison.”

“That’s why we call her the Death Starr.” Evie’s eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in. “Wait a minute . . .
Medusa
? You mean the chick with the snakes coming out of her head? Are you saying she was
real
?”

“Of a certainty. She was a beautiful woman until she was possessed by one of the djegrali. I was with Perseus the day he slew her.”

“You were with . . .” Evie stared at him. “How old
are
you, anyway?”

“Ten thousand of your years, give or take a few centuries.” He gave her an odd look. “Addy did not tell you this? I thought you knew of the Dalvahni.”

“She told me some stuff, but—” Evie stopped as a memory flickered through her mind. She was sitting at a table in the Sweet Shop. Ansgar was there, and Brand and Addy.
Ten thousand years without chocolate . . . that’s harsh
she heard Addy say before the sliver of memory faded. Evie shook her head. “I recall her saying something about it, but the way I remember it, you were there. And that’s not possible, is it?” She rubbed her throbbing temples. No, please, God, not another headache. “Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“You are not losing your mind.” Ansgar picked her up and deposited her on the bed. “You are weary, that is all. You need rest. Go to sleep.”

She spread the thin blanket over her legs and feet. “I don’t think I can. Too much has happened. My brain’s going ninety to nothing.” She looked up at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you staying?”

“Yes.”

“But, you’ll be uncomfortable.”

“Evangeline, I have slept in the rain and snow, on rocks and sand, and in the mud. This place is warm and dry, a palace in comparison to some of the places I have stayed while in pursuit of the djegrali. I will be fine.”

Some of Evie’s tension evaporated. He was going to stay. She’d been afraid he would change his mind; that she’d have to do this alone.
Don’t get used to it,
her wiser self warned.
He’s a demon hunter and a heartbreaker. He won’t be around forever.
But she was frightened and exhausted, heartsick from her roller coaster of a day.
You can pretend he’s staying. Just for a little while,
she promised herself.
Just one night.

“But the guards . . . what if they see you?”

His sexy mouth curved in amusement. “Have you learned nothing about demon hunters?”

He vanished.

“Oh, I get it.” Evie clutched the blanket, feeling foolish. “You’ll be invisible. But, you’ll be here, right?” She sounded needy, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be alone, especially tonight. “Ansgar?”