Demon Hunting In the Deep South (14 page)

“I take it you refer to the Directive Against Conspicuousness. Do not be concerned. Brand will erase the Peterson human’s memories.”

Evie stiffened. “What about the sheriff?”

“He may yet be of use, so he may keep his memories . . . for the moment.”

“That’s horrible! You can’t treat people that way.”

“Do you think it kinder to leave them in doubt of their sanity, like Mr. Collier?”

“No, of course not. But people aren’t playthings for the mighty Dalvahni, either.” She put her hand to her forehead. “Sorry. That was bitchy. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

She turned and walked out of the kitchen.

He followed her down the hall. “Where are you going?”

“To take a bath and try and get in a better mood. I’m not fit company for anyone right now.” She paused in the bathroom door, staring in dismay at the broken window and the shards of broken wood—all that remained of the bathroom door. There was a shower upstairs, but she preferred to soak in the tub. She
needed
to soak in the tub. “Or maybe not.”

Ansgar moved her gently aside. “Do not be distressed. I will remedy this. I should have done so already, but I had my mind on other things.”

He waved his hand. The splintered wood and broken glass flew back into place, and the bathroom was restored to its former state.

It was a moment before Evie could speak. “Wow, that’s some trick. Definitely a violation of that directive of yours, I think. Are you going to wipe my memory now, too?”

A strange expression flitted across Ansgar’s handsome face. “No, that I will not do, no matter what.”

“Thank goodness. I would hate that.”

He met her gaze and looked away. “You would not hate it. You would not know it.”

“You’re wrong. I would know.” Evie touched her breast. “Right here.” She surveyed the pristine bathroom. No broken window. No busted door. It was magic. “So, is there anything the Dalvahni can’t do?”

“We can be injured, but we heal instantly and we are extremely difficult to kill. We can mend most things, but we are not all-powerful. The Dal cannot bend time, for instance, nor can we restore the dead to life.” He turned to leave. “I will leave you to your ablutions. I will be in the kitchen finding us something to eat.”

Evie straightened, remembering her empty cupboards. “Oh, dear, I still haven’t been to the grocery store.”

He retraced his steps until he towered in front of her. Tall and brawny. Impossibly handsome. She took a step back into the bathroom, needing to put space between her and his sheer splendor.

He followed her, his big body filling the open door. “That will not be necessary,” he said. “I took the liberty of stocking your pantry. The Dal can go long periods without sustenance, but that is not to say we do not enjoy food.”

“How did you—” She shook her head. “Never mind, I get the picture. More woo woo. You cleaned up the kitchen, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. You’re quite the multitasker.”

“I can do several things simultaneously, if that is what you mean.” His voice deepened, and the hot look in his silver gray eyes nearly scorched her in her tracks. “I look forward to demonstrating my . . . er . . . multitasking abilities most assiduously to you in the near future.”

He gave her one of his rare, devastating smiles. “Enjoy your bath, milady,” he said, and closed the door.

An hour later, Evie sat at the sunny kitchen table eating the breakfast Ansgar had prepared for her—a mushroom and cheese omelet, fresh fruit, and crusty bread with butter. She was wearing a loose dress of moss green cotton with long, flowing sleeves. She thought the dress was romantic, like something a princess of eld would wear while waiting for a handsome prince to come along and rescue her.

She stole a glance at Ansgar through her lashes. Definitely a fairy-tale prince—granted, a modern one dressed in jeans. He leaned against the counter watching her eat, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Granny Moses, he was handsome. Sexy beyond belief. And he could cook? Wow.

A rap at the window drew her attention from Prince Ansgar. Addy peered through the glass at them. Evie waved her inside.

“Good morning,” Addy said, stepping through the back door.

She had Dooley, her yellow Lab, with her on a leash. Dooley slunk into the kitchen, the picture of misery, head low and tail tucked between her legs. Normally, Dooley was a four-legged bundle of enthusiasm, especially in the vicinity of anything edible—like the omelet Evie was eating. But the dog seemed oblivious to the delicious smells wafting in the air. Something was definitely wrong in Dooleyville.

“What’s the matter with Dooley?” Evie asked.

“Evie,”
Dooley said in her growly voice. Dragging Addy across the kitchen by the leash, the dog laid her head on Evie’s leg and looked up at her with sad, brown eyes
. “Dooley bad dog. Go house of pain.”

Thanks to a little Dalvahni woo woo from Brand, Addy’s dog had the power of speech. After all these months, Evie still found it startling to hear the dog talk.

“House of pain?” Evie raised her brows at Addy. “What’s she talking about?”

“She’s upset because she’s going to the v-e-t for her s-h-o-t-s,” Addy said.

Dooley could talk, but that didn’t mean she could spell.

“Stupid cat no go house of pain.”
Dooley flumped to the floor in a forlorn heap.
“Dooley bad. Addy mad at bad Dooley.”

Poor Dooley. She was like a toddler, petrified of the doctor. There was no way to make her understand that going to the vet was for her own good. To make matters worse, Mr. Fluffy Fauntleroy, the fairy cat that had taken up residence with Addy, didn’t have to go to the vet. Dooley clearly thought she was being punished.

Evie tried to think of a way to cheer up Dooley.

“Would you like part of my omelet?” Evie asked the dog.

Dooley did not raise her head from her paws. Goodness, this
was
serious. Dooley Anne Corwin was all about the chow.

“Oh, Addy, I’ve never seen her like this,” Evie said. “It makes me want to cry.”

“I know.” Addy worried her bottom lip. “I feel horrible about it, but she has to go.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Ansgar said. “Dooley, come here.”

There was a note of compulsion in Ansgar’s hypnotic voice. Dooley obediently rose and trotted over to him. Squatting down on his muscular thighs, Ansgar looked Dooley in the eyes.

“You are a good dog,” he said. His big hands were gentle as he stroked the dog’s head. “And, because you are such a good dog, Addy is taking you to the House of
Treats
. When you get to the House of Treats, you will not be frightened. You will feel no pain. Do you understand?”

Dooley wagged her tail.
“Dooley good dog?”

Relieved, Evie smiled across the room at Addy. Addy smiled back, her eyes filled with tears. Golly, Addy loved that goofy dog.

“Yes,” Ansgar said, rubbing Dooley’s ears. “You are a very good dog.”

Dooley began to do the doggy dance
. “Dooley good!”
She pranced up to Addy.
“Addy! Dooley good dog!”

“Yes, you are Dooles,” Addy said, laughing. “Thanks, Blondy. That was nice of you.”

“It is of no moment,” Ansgar said stiffly.

Evie wanted to kiss him. Ansgar could pretend to be cold and uncaring until the cows came home, but he was a marshmallow inside.

Dooley rushed over and stuck her nose in Evie’s crotch, a sure sign that Dooley was feeling better.
“Dooley good dog, Evie.”
She sniffed the edge of Evie’s plate.
“Dooley like eats.”

“Dooley Anne, don’t beg,” Addy scolded. “It’s not polite.”

“Dogs care not for human niceties,” Ansgar said. “She is hungry.”

“You may be right. She didn’t touch her breakfast this morning,” Addy said. “Probably because she knew she was going you-know-where.”

Ansgar bowed. “With your permission, I will cook her some scrambled eggs with cheese.”

Uh huh. Definitely a big old marshmallow.

The Lab gave Addy a hopeful look.
“Dooley like cheese.”

“You can cook, Blondy?” Addy said, raising her brows. “My, you are full of surprises.”

“Oh, yes, he can cook.” Evie spooned a few more raspberries onto her plate and added more tea to her cup from her mother’s favorite sturdy yellow teapot. “I bet he’ll fix you something, if you ask nice.”

Ansgar grunted. “Then of a certainty she will starve.”

“Huh,” Addy said. She examined Evie’s plate. “That egg stuff doesn’t look half bad.”

Ansgar sighed and reached for the bowl of eggs on the counter. “That, I suppose, is your version of nice.”

“Pretty much,” Addy said. She sat down at the table across from Evie and poured herself a cup of tea. “I’m pulling my hair out,” she said. “I usually close at noon on Saturdays, but the big Halloween dance is tonight and I’ve got a bunch of deliveries to make, including two dozen carved pumpkins and sixteen table arrangements ordered by the Hoo Hahs.”

Evie swallowed a smile. Addy looked harried, and with good reason. The Purple Hoo Hahs were a supper club of rowdy old ladies. Addy’s great-aunt Muddy was a Hoo Hah ringleader. Their outrageous and unpredictable antics struck fear into the hearts of local law enforcement, and shock and awe into the remainder of the populace. Fright Night was the Hoo Hahs’s annual Halloween dance at the country club. Anything involving the Hoo Hahs was sure to be a moneymaker for the flower shop and a major headache for the police. Last year, half the Hoo Hahs ended up in the Fountain of Ever Flowing Grace in front of the First Baptist church.

Addy plucked an envelope out of the wooden napkin holder. Her brows shot up when she saw the contents. “Tickets for Fright Night? You didn’t tell me you’re going.”

“That’s because I’m not. Muddy insisted I have those, even though I told her I hate that kind of thing and I don’t have anything to wear, even if I was of a mind to go.” Evie shook her head. “Which I’m surely not.”

“You mean because of what’s happened,” Addy said. “I guess I can understand that. You are kind of notorious right now.”

“Thanks,” Evie said. “That makes me feel loads better.”

“That’s what friends are for. Speaking of friends, you wanna help me make some deliveries?”

“Deliveries!” Evie dropped her fork. “That reminds me. I met a woman yesterday who could use a job. Her name is Nicole. I told her to come by the shop.”

Addy’s expression grew wary. “Weren’t you busy yesterday getting arrested? Where’d you meet this woman?”

“At the sheriff’s office. She just moved to town. She’s got a dog stalker.”

“Come again?”

“A dog stalker,” Evie said. She rushed on, breathless. “Oh, it’s just terrible, Addy! This man—a vet by the name of Snippet from Baldwin County—is after Nicole’s dog because Frodo bit off two of his fingers.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to hire some random woman to work at the flower shop. That you met yesterday. In jail. A woman with a vicious dog.”

“Nicole wasn’t in jail. She was at the sheriff’s office to get a restraining order. This guy’s trying to kill her dog. Think how you’d feel if someone threatened to hurt Dooley. And Frodo bit the man while protecting Nicole. This Snippet fellow put the move on her. He’s what your mama would call a masher.”

“I don’t know, Evie. The whole thing sounds a little sketchy. Whadda you think, Blondy?”

“I think many things,” Ansgar said without turning from the stove. “You will have to be more specific.”

“I’m talking about this Nicole woman and her man-eating dog, of course, Captain Literal. You were there. What am I getting myself into?”

“Why are you asking him?” Evie said. “Don’t you trust me?”

“With my life.” Addy took a sip of her tea. “But you’re a pushover for anybody with a sob story, and you know it.”

Ansgar put a plate of cheesy eggs on the floor for Dooley, and the dog had at it.

“Adara is right,” he said, setting a huge omelet in front of Addy. “Much as it pains me to say it. You are too sweet and kindhearted for your own good, Evangeline.”

“Don’t let it pucker your butt, big boy,” Addy said. “Everything about you pains me.” She took a bite of the omelet and smiled in ecstasy. “Except your cooking. This is the mack daddy of egg stuff, dude.”

Ansgar looked down his nose at her. “Am I to presume from that bit of incomprehensible gibberish the omelet meets with your approval?”

“Oh, yeah. Presume away.”

Ten minutes later, Addy had finished her omelet and Dooley was running around Evie’s backyard chasing Mr. Fluffy Fauntleroy. The fairy cat had appeared without warning as soon as Dooley hit the back steps. They were a comic pair to watch, the energetic Lab and the flying fairy cat. Mr. Fluffy flitted on gauzy wings from flower to flower with Dooley in hot pursuit. The dog was singing her favorite song as she galumphed around the yard after the flying cat, a round with simple lyrics that consisted of
Cat. Cat. Stupid cat.
Dooley Anne had many sterling qualities, but songwriting was not among them.

At first, Evie had found it weird that she could see the fairy cat, but not the other fairies, until she realized that other people could see Mr. Fluffy, too. There’d been a bad scene one day in the flower shop when the fairy cat made an unexpected appearance to warn Addy that Dooley had escaped the fenced-in backyard. Again.

Miss Mamie Hall had freaked until Addy made up a whopper about Mr. Fluffy being a battery-operated flying toy.

Addy finished her omelet and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “So, are you ready?”

“For what?” Evie asked.

“Haven’t you been listening? I need you at the shop today. I’ve got orders out the wahzoo, and no help.”

“Oh.” Evie shrank back in her chair. Go to town and face people? Her breakfast rose in her throat and parked there. “I don’t have a car. The sheriff impounded it. Besides, you’ll have Nicole.”

“Nice try,” Addy said, “but you can ride to the shop with me, and you know very well I expect you to use the van to make the deliveries. Besides, who knows if this Nicole chick will even show? I need you, and you need the money. You quit your job this morning. I was there. I heard you.”