Demon Hunting In the Deep South (25 page)

Yep. A man with a new toy, all right.

“You got it.” The boy climbed in the truck and wump wumped off.

They stepped inside the lavishly appointed foyer of the club, and Evie heard the faint strains of music coming from the ballroom. The haze of happiness that had enveloped her since making love with Ansgar evaporated, replaced by a cold wave of panic. This was real. This was happening. In a few minutes, she would walk into a crowded room and be the center of attention. Staring, angry, outraged, scandalized attention.

“Down the hall and to the left,” said the vampire bunny who took their tickets.

Evie clutched Ansgar’s arm. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he said. His cool, liquid voice washed over her, soothing her and taking the edge off her panic. “I will be with you.”

Stomach fluttering, she walked beside him down the hall. Officer Curtis stood outside the double doors of the Collier Ballroom talking to a short woman with her back to them. The woman wore a strapless cream-colored gown with gold trim and an abundant wig of long, curly brown hair. Dan stopped in midsentence when he saw them.

“Holy shit, Evie, is that you?” Dan blurted. He turned bright red. “I mean, you look great.”

The woman whirled around. “Miss Evie! Mothertrucker, you’re
gorgeous
.”

“Nicole!” Evie exclaimed. Mullet Woman was gone, and in her place stood a stocky little Roman goddess in a sexy floor-length tunic. She held an oversized feather duster under one arm. Maybe she was supposed to be the goddess of cleanliness. “You look gorgeous, too.”

Nicole straightened to her full height, which was somewhere around five feet two. “Don’t I though? Miss Muddy gave me the gown.” She jiggled the feather duster under her arm. “I made Frodo a costume out of a dishcloth so’s we’d match.”

“Frodo?” The feather duster lifted its head with a familiar snarl, and Evie realized it was the Chihuahua. Frodo looked like the victim of a perm gone tragically wrong. His steel-blue fur sprang in thick, wild curls all over his tiny body. “Good gracious, I didn’t recognize him.”

“It’s that shampoo of yours. It’s a flat-out miracle.” Nicole fluffed her long wig. “Look what it did to my hair.”

“Wait, that’s your hair? I thought it was a wig.”

“I
know.
I used your
Fiona Fix-it.
Ain’t had hair like this since . . . well . . . like
never.
”

“But Nicole, that’s impossible. No shampoo could do that.”

“That’s what I told Miss Muddy, but she says you got a gift.” Leaning closer, Nicole said in a low voice, “I didn’t want to argue with her—she’s a real nice lady and been awful good to me, you know—but I’m thinking maybe
he
had something to do with it.”

“He?”

“The guy in the woods, Free Willie. I think he put the whammy on us.”

“The whammy?”

“You know, magic.” Nicole made a whoo-ooo-ooo noise. “I mean, look at the two of us. Girlfriend, we is
hot.
I think Frodo looks hot, too, though he don’t seem to appreciate it so much.”

And no wonder. Frodo resembled a periwig with teeth. To add to his humiliation, Nicole had pinned a tiny circlet of spray-painted leaves to the puff of gray curls that bushed around his head.

“Um . . . Nicole?” Evie said, upon taking a closer look at the dog. “Frodo’s not wearing his E-collar.”

“I know. Couldn’t get it on over all the hair. He’ll be all right.”

Yeah, right. Frodo was having a bad hair day. He was one pissed off Allihuahua. Somebody was gonna lose a finger tonight.

At that moment, a man in a bumblebee suit lurched down the hall and swerved into Nicole, almost knocking Frodo out of her arms. The Chihuahua went crazy barking.

“Cute poodle,” the bumblebee said with a drunken smile.

“Hey, buddy, watch it,” Dan said, steadying Nicole. He reached out and took the snarling dog from her. “You’d better go soak your head. You’ve had too much to drink.”

The bumblebee mumbled something else and staggered off.

Music blared as the doors to the ballroom swung wide and two dashing figures stood posed in the open doorway. Addy was Veronica Lake in
The Blue Dahlia
in a white-pleated gown with a tightly fitted ruched bodice, her platinum hair swinging around her shoulders in a sultry peek-a-boo style. Brand, like Ansgar, was dressed as himself, a dark and dangerous demon hunter in warrior garb. Well, duh. Big surprise there.

“Ah, brother, ’tis you,” Brand said. “I thought that I sensed your presence. The festivities began some time ago, and I was growing concerned at your absence. All is well with you?”

Ansgar slid a possessive arm around Evie’s waist. “I am sorry for your disquietude. Evangeline and I were . . . delayed.”

Heat rushed to Evie’s face as Brand arched his dark brows. Oh, geez. He knew what they’d been doing and why they were late. She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. Brand would have to deal. Tonight with Ansgar was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her, and she didn’t regret it. Not for a moment.

She forgot her discomfort the next moment as Addy rushed up to her with a happy squeal of excitement. “Oh, my goodness, oh my
goodness,
you look wonderful, Eves! That dress is an absolute dream, and that color red is ah-mazing on you. Who did your hair?”

“I did.” Ansgar pressed a lingering kiss on Evie’s bare shoulder that sent a shiver of delight to her hot place. “I took great pleasure in the task.”

“Huh,” Addy said with a knowing look. “I’ll just bet you did.” She grabbed Evie’s hand. “Come on. Muddy’s gonna have a whole litter of kittens when she sees you.”

She pulled Evie toward the open doors.

Evie hung back. This was it, the moment she’d been dreading. “Wait, Addy. I don’t think—”

Too late.

Like her mama and Aunt Muddy, Addy Corwin was an irresistible force. Ignoring Evie’s protests, Addy dragged her into the ballroom.

Chapter Twenty-five

T
he music ground to a halt, and everyone turned and looked at them, men and women in costumes frozen like bizarre statues on the dance floor. A werewolf, a Frankenstein monster, and two she-devils gaped at Evie from the edge of the crowd. The creepy guy from the Burger King ads was dancing with Little Red Riding Hood; he swiveled his smiling, plastic head in her direction. At the far end of the room, Trish and Blair stood on the bandstand with a knot of women. Trish wore a French maid costume that was two sizes too small. Blair was reliving the days of Bitchmas Past in a tiara and an emerald green gown complete with a banner across her chest that said H
OMECOMING
Q
UEEN
2000

They were all staring at her, even the members of the band. It was Evie’s worst nightmare, the gym locker room in middle school all over again and she just got boobs. She wanted to slink away and hide, but something wouldn’t let her.

Maybe it was the dress. Maybe it was the much needed confidence the past few glorious hours in Ansgar’s arms had given her. Maybe she was tired of acting like a kicked dog. Whatever the reason, her chin came up, her shoulders straightened, and she leveled what she hoped was a look of haughty disdain at the room full of people.

“Oh, gosh, Evie, I’m sorry,” Addy said. “I wasn’t thinking. I wanted to show you off. You want me to kick some butt?”

“Yes.” Evie took a deep breath and blew it out again. “No. I knew it was going to be like this.”

Blip!
Ansgar and Brand were beside them in a blur of motion, flanking her and Addy on either side, two perfect bookends of demon hunter badass. Evie heard the low grumble of the Chihuahua’s chainsaw growl and knew that Nicole and Frodo had joined them.

“Why’s everybody staring at Miss Evie?” Nicole demanded loudly. “Surely these people don’t think she murdered nobody? ’Cause that’s a bunch of hooey.”

“She will be vindicated, you have my word,” Ansgar said.

The menace in his tone startled Evie. Her tender, passionate lover of the past few hours was gone, and he was all warrior again, lethal and deadly.

“See, Miss Evie,” Nicole said. “We gotcha back. Ain’t that right, Precious?”

The Chihuahua chirked like a prairie dog.

“Thanks,” Evie said, smiling in spite of herself. “That makes me feel better.”

A short, bloated Elvis in a white, sequined jumpsuit waddled out of the crowd, nearly collided with the drunken bee, and headed toward them. Evie’s brain did a
WTF
before it registered that Mayor Tunstall was beneath the sideburns and jet-black pompadour. The mayor had his pet possum Priscilla with him on a leash. Priscilla went everywhere with the mayor. The possum looked fetching in a lavender and white princess dress with a matching pointy hat and veil. Priscilla grinned at Frodo, and Frodo grinned back. It was a regular toothfest.

“Evie, my dear, you are a sight to behold in that gown,” the mayor said, ogling her bosom. He seemed oblivious to the budding romance between canine and marsupial. “But under the circumstances, I think you’d better leave. The Petersons are here and all the Lalas. Meredith was going to be president of the Lavender League next year, you know, and the Petersons are about to announce a special donation in her memory. This is awkward.”

The Petersons were here? She didn’t expect that, not with a death in the family. Awkward didn’t begin to describe it.

Muddy sailed up on the arm of a giant panda, the picture of elegance in a black and white 1920s flapper dress and feathered headband.

“Suck it, Eugene,” she said. “The gal’s not leaving. She has just as much right to be here as anybody.” She nudged the panda with her elbow. “Tell him, sugah.”

The giant panda removed his head and tucked it in under one arm, revealing Amasa Collier in the furry suit.

“My client is innocent,” Mr. Collier said. “Somebody in this town has framed her, and I intend to find out who. Justice will prevail.”

The mayor looked uncomfortable. Most folks in Hannah thought Mr. Collier was a few bricks shy of a load because he claimed to see demons. It was obvious that number included the mayor.

“That so?” the mayor said, fidgeting nervously with the veil on the possum’s hat. “And how do you propose to do that?”

“With my contrabulator.” Mr. Collier whipped a long wire instrument out of his fuzzy sleeve and waved it around. “It’s a multipurpose demon-seeking divining rod. If the murderer’s a demon or a demonoid and he’s here, I’ll find ’em with this little baby.”

“Demonoids. Really, Amasa?” the mayor said. He looked around. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

Frodo threw back his puffy head with a mournful howl as the mayor wobbled off with Priscilla the possum princess.

“Thank goodness that old sack is gone,” Muddy said. She eyed Evie up and down. “I declare, Etheline’s dress does look good on you, child. She’d be proud.”

Evie smoothed the soft velvet skirt. “It’s beautiful, Muddy. I can’t thank you enough for letting me borrow it.”

“Oh, pooh, it was going to waste sitting on a shelf. I knew it would be breathtaking on you. High time you stopped hiding your light under a bushel basket. Although that green gown you wore to the Grand Goober Ball looked mighty good on you, too.”

Green gown? Images flashed through her mind of a different dance floor: Ansgar in a tuxedo and she in his arms. The floor rolled beneath Evie’s high heels, and her temples began to throb. Oh, no, she was getting another migraine.

“The Grand Goober?” Dimly, she was aware that the music had started up again. Light shimmered around the whirling dancers, making Evie queasy. She lifted a trembling hand to her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Evangeline?” Ansgar put his hand on her shoulder, his deep voice full of concern. The warmth of his palm against her skin comforted and steadied her. “Are you well?”

“Yes, a headache, that’s all,” Evie said. “I think you must be mistaken, Muddy. I’ve never gone to the Grand Goober Ball.”

“Muddy,” Addy said through her teeth.

Muddy looked odd, almost panicked, but that couldn’t be right. Nothing ever panicked Muddy Fairfax.

“I’m sure you’re right, Evie, dear. Pay no attention to me.” Avoiding Evie’s gaze, Muddy waved to a caramel-skinned Cleopatra gliding around the dance floor with her burly Roman centurion partner. “Don’t Viola and Delmonte look fine? Those ballroom dance lessons in Pensacola are paying off, huh?”

Del and Miss Vi made a handsome couple, but that was beside the point. Muddy had changed the subject.

Evie tried again. “About that green dress, Muddy—”

“So, Friend Collier,” Ansgar said, interrupting her. “Have you found anything with your demon sensory device this evening?”

“A few tingles, that’s all.”

Addy perked up. “You got a tingle? Ooh, does that mean there’s a demon here?”

“Nah, no demons,” Mr. Collier said, adjusting his contrabulator. “Just some demonoids, but that’s nothing new in Hannah. Like fleas on a dog.”

“Demonoids?” Addy looked around. “Who?”

“Well, let’s see,” Mr. Collier said. “Trey Peterson for one.”

“What?”
Evie yelped, forgetting her headache.

“Oh, pooh.” Addy looked disappointed. “I’ve known about Trey for ages.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Evie gave Addy an indignant look. “He was my boss. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried. You wouldn’t let me. You said you didn’t want to know.”

“You’re right,” Evie said. “You did try to tell me.” Trey was a demonoid. Could he have murdered Meredith? Oh, this was horrible. She couldn’t live like this, suspicious of everyone she met. “Where is he?”

Ansgar’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “Why do you care where he is?” he said, his voice dripping ice.

“Down, Blondy.” Addy patted Ansgar on the arm. “She’s surprised and embarrassed, that’s all. If she was interested in Trey she could’ve had him months ago. He’s been mooning over her for ages.”

Evie flushed. “Addy, that’s not true. Trey’s not interested in me like that.”

Addy made a rude noise. “Get a clue, girlfriend. He’s interested in you
exactly
like that. Why do you think he put up your bail money?”