Demon Hunting In the Deep South (44 page)

No. I want her.

“You do? But, I don’t think you can—”

Don’t be a fool, Blaketon. You will cut me into pieces and feed me to her. Every last bit.

Evie’s stomach lurched. “No,” she said, stepping back.

Blake grabbed her. “Do you think that’ll work?”

I have no idea. It has never been done. But then few other djegrali have slain a Dalvahni warrior. I will make it work.

“No.” Blake’s hand bit into Evie’s arm. “If you could promise me it would work, then I’d do it, but I’m not going to waste her on a ‘maybe.’ You’ve had your time, now it’s mine. I’ve got plans. Big plans and I—”

Blake screamed and staggered back. Creeper Dude’s blind pecan head swiveled.

What is happening?

Evie whirled around. Clarice held the Dalvahni dagger in her hand. It was dripping with blood.

“That’s for all the mistresses and for screwing the maid and my best friend,” she said. Blake grunted in pain as Clarice stabbed him again. “And that’s for all the beatings I’ve taken from you over the years.” She drew her arm back, her eyes blazing. “And this is for killing my son, you son of a bitch.”

Clarice drove the dagger deep into Blake’s belly. He dropped to his knees and looked up at his wife in shock and surprise, like his favorite hound had bitten him.

Clarice shoved a key in Evie’s hand. “Go. Get out of this house now, if you want to live. Tell the sheriff he can find my signed confession to Meredith’s murder in my safe–deposit box at the bank.”

Evie took the key, unlocked the door, and ran down the labyrinthine hallway. In the distance, she heard a roaring sound. It was Ansgar calling her name.

“Here,” she shouted, running faster. “I’m here.”

He came around a bend in the tunnel and snatched her into his arms. His eyes were wild, and there were white lines of strain around his mouth.

“Evangeline, are you—”

“I’m fine. Just get us out of here. Where’s the sheriff?”

“Searching the grounds for you in case he took you that way.”

“Good. Get us out of here. Now. And use your woo woo.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and a second later they were standing on the Peterson lawn. Sheriff Whitsun came striding up. Evie wondered where his clothes went when he shape-shifted, but didn’t ask, ’cause that would be rude.

“Well met, Devlin,” Ansgar said, surprising Evie by calling the sheriff by his given name. They must be big buds now. “I thank you for your help.”

“Glad to do it,” Whitsun said. He nodded, indicating Ansgar’s bloody shirt. “How bad is your wound?”

Ansgar rubbed his chest. “It pains me still, but it will heal.”

“Good,” Whitsun said. “I see you found Miss Douglass.”

“Yes, though just barely.” Ansgar’s mouth tightened with anger. “Stay here, Evangeline. I’m going back for Peterson. He must pay for what he has done.”

She grabbed his arm. “No, he’s dead. Clarice killed him.” A low rumbling sound came from underground, followed by an enormous explosion. Servants poured out of the house. “And I’m pretty sure she just blew up the furnace.”

Whitsun made a quick call on his radio. “Fire department’s on its way, though I don’t know what they can do.” His nose twitched. “From the size of that blast, I’d say she used explosives.”

“Oh, Sheriff,” Evie said, remembering. Her brain was whirling, but this was important. “Mrs. Peterson killed Meredith. She said you can find her confession in her safe-deposit box in the bank.”

Whitsun grunted. “Not surprised. My nose told me Trey was lying. With Blake Peterson dead, I assume Trey inherits the family fortune?”

“Most of it, I guess,” Evie said.

“In my experience, money does not bring out the best in humans,” Ansgar said.

“Poor guy might be safer in jail,” Whitsun said. “He’s got all that money, and now he’s a widower. Women will be killing each other over him.”

Meredith might have something to say about that, Evie thought. She lifted her head, listening. “What’s that?”

“Siren,” Whitsun said. “Fire Department is on its way. ’Scuse me, I see Chief Davis. I need to speak to him.”

He strode off.

“I hear music.” Evie started toward the burning building. “Someone’s still in there.”

Ansgar grabbed her. “Someone
is
in there, but he is not alive. It is the shade of the one called Junior.”

“Trey’s daddy? Show me.”

“Very well,” Ansgar said.

The Peterson mansion was engulfed in flames, and, though the fire department had arrived and was valiantly trying to put out the fire, it was pretty much a done deal. Shielded from sight in Ansgar’s arms, Evie stood on the east side of the house and stared into the burning music room. Blond head bent, a man played the piano amidst the flames. The tune was wild and lonely and, yes, utterly haunting.

“I do not see her,” Ansgar muttered. He sounded troubled.

“Who?”

“Clarice Peterson. She loved her son’s music. I thought she would stay with him.”

“She did stay with him,” Evie said. “Far longer than most people would have done.”

Junior played on.

Epilogue

Two weeks later

E
vie and Addy stood quietly together in the narthex of the Trinity Episcopal Church waiting for the wedding to start. This would be the second double wedding in Hannah since Halloween, and the town was abuzz with the excitement of it, though
technically
only one of the weddings had taken place locally. Two days after the Big Fire—the local name for the conflagration that had burned the Peterson place to the ground—Muddy and Mr. Collier had eloped to Disney World. And so did Shep and Lenora. Muddy had a premonition there’d be a last-minute cancellation, and the two couples had gotten married in the Disney Wedding Pavilion. Afterward, Muddy and Mr. Collier left for his place on Cape San Blas, and Shep and Lenora got a room at the Grand Floridian—another one of Muddy’s hunches. Several days later, they’d picked up Lily and William at the Orlando airport, and the new family had spent five happy days vacationing with the Mouse. The kids were ecstatic, Lenora was lit up like a Christmas tree when she came home, and Marilee’s liver was permanently curled.

Initially, Bitsy had been taken aback by Muddy’s defection. But, in typical dynamo fashion, she made a speedy recovery. A few adjustments here and there that included a new bride and groom, a rapid consultation with Tweedy Gibbs down at Tompkins about tuxedos for exceptionally tall and bodacious men, and a hurried trip to Mobile to find a wedding dress for Evie, and it was on. Piece of cake for a pro like the Bitser.

The windows in the nave were decorated with candles, greenery, and flowers; the pews were bedecked with satin bows; and the church parking lot overflowed. Not one single person had regretted.

“Not that they would have anyway, mind you,” Bitsy had chattered happily over supper a few days before, “but now that Evie and Ansgar are
celebrities
because of the thing with the You Know Whos, no one will want to miss it.”

Voldemort had nothing on the Petersons now that Clarice’s confession had come to light. People in Paulsberg thirty miles away swore they could see Hannah glowing in the distance like a gi-normous lightning bug because of all the excitement and gossip generated by the revelations in that letter. And it was some letter. Clarice aired the Peterson dirty laundry big time. But she was smart about it. She didn’t say anything about magic or whoozits or demons. Nope, people would’ve thought she was a nutter and dismissed her out of hand, unless they were demonoids—and they would have been ticked. It was an artfully woven tale of cruelty, greed, corruption, lust, and murder, and people sopped it up, savoring every last drop.

Nah, that was for regular old ordinary run-of-the-mill gossip. People kept
this
tucked between teeth and gums like a jawbreaker or a chaw of tobacco, so they could suck on it a long time. Like forever.

Trey was released from jail and immediately faced with planning some kind of memorial service for his grandparents and for the great-grandfather everybody had thought was dead and buried. And was—now. Poor Trey was a basket case. His mother and sister bailed on him—no surprise there—and his two aunts claimed they couldn’t get away from their obligations in Atlanta and Birmingham long enough to bury their parents. So Bitsy had stepped in to help. The service was short and simple, but everybody came, including Meredith, Swink, and Junior Peterson, though most people didn’t seem to notice them.

Just another weird day in Hannah, supernatural suck hole of the universe.

Due to the vagaries of human nature, Evie went from pariah to pop star princess overnight. People stopped her on the street to shake her hand and to assure her that they never,
for a minute,
thought she killed Meredith
. No sirree bobtail,
such an encounter typically went,
I told my wife Ellen, Ellen, says I, I no more believe that tale about Evie Douglass than a man in the moon.
The names and the gender of the speaker might change, but the drift of the conversation stayed the same.

It made her extremely uncomfortable, but she was learning to deal. After the things she’d been through, it would take a lot to rattle her cage from now on.

And now it was here, the Big Day, and Evie and Ansgar and Addy and Brand were getting married in the double wedding of the century—no, the
millennium—
and Evie was so happy she thought she might burst. She didn’t say so, of course. Not in front of Bitsy, anyway. Ladies don’t say things like burst, or pop, or blow up—rule number fifteen in the
Rules of Lady-tude Handbook
by Hibiscus Hamilton Corwin. The
ROLH
was only in Bitsy’s
head,
mind you, but that didn’t make it any less real.

Evie saw Addy’s cousin Bernadette raise her hand. “This is it, Adds. You’re on. I’ll be right behind you.”

Addy flung her arms around Evie’s neck. “Oh, Evie, I’m so happy we’re having a double wedding. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Evie said. “You make a beautiful bride.”

“You’re both beautiful.” Muddy hurried up. “Come on, Addy, before your mama pops like a zit right here in the middle of God’s house.”

“Don’t say pop, Aunt Muddy,” Addy said automatically, stepping forward.

She didn’t know what she was saying, of course, Evie reflected, watching with tears in her eyes as Addy walked toward the open doors of the nave in her white, one-shoulder, A-line wedding dress of organza and satin, with asymmetric layers of lace and an elegant sweep train. Evie had learned
a lot
about dresses during her shopping trip to Mobile with Bitsy. But the
ROLH
was pretty much engraved in Addy’s DNA. Hers, too, come to think of it.

Bouquets in hand, Evie’s matron of honor fluttered up, looking very pretty in her ivory dress of tulle and organza that coordinated with Evie’s wedding gown. “You so look like a fairy-tale princess in that dress, Evie,” Nicole said.

“Thank you.” Evie smiled, her heart overflowing with happiness. She felt beautiful and loved. Oh, so very loved. She smoothed her hand over the flowing ivory skirts of her strapless tulle and organza ball gown with embellished lace. An organza ribbon sash encircled her waist. “You will, too. It’s the way every woman should feel on her wedding day.”

Nicole blushed. “Daniel’s got me moved out of ‘never’ to living in ‘we’ll see.’ Miss Muddy says to come on. They’re playing your song. Though how the heck you’re supposed to know it’s your song beats the tar out of me. Did you know you can’t play sexual music in the ’Piscopal church? They got some rule against ‘Here Comes the Bride.’ ”

“Secular music,” Evie said. Merciful heavens, Bach was rolling in his grave right about now. “Yes, I did know that.”

She took her bouquet from Nicole, an exquisite arrangement of white roses, sweet peas, ranunculus, and tiny lily-of-the-valley that Addy had designed, and glided across the narthex.

Shep smiled down at her. “Ready?”

Evie looked through the open doors and down the aisle at Ansgar. He stood at the altar next to Addy and Brand, waiting for her. He wasn’t hard to miss. He’d always been gorgeous, but in a tux he took her breath away. She was going to need an inhaler to live with this man.
Her
man.

Her love.

The glorious strains of “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring” floated down from the choir loft above the nave. Junior Peterson really was a brilliant musician. The cellist and the violinist hired for the wedding joined in, clueless, along with Bitsy and most of those present, that the guest organist Evie had requested was a ghost.

Evie smiled back at Shep and nodded, her soul lifting with joy. She walked through the doors and into the nave on Shep’s arm. Everyone was looking at her, but she didn’t care. She saw only Ansgar. He watched her come down the aisle. His look of hungry yearning and his fierce expression of pride and possessiveness, of eager longing, gave her feet wings. He loved her. It was written in every line of his beautiful face, and it was in his eyes. It poured out of him like light.

She loved him every bit as much.

Oh, yes, she was ready.

Trey sat in his car outside the church. He’d parked down the street under a tree, close enough to hear but not be noticed. The gossips would have a field day if they saw him, lurking in the shadows like a pathetic lovesick loser.

The organ music swelled; the wedding had begun.

Evie. Oh, God, Evie.

She’d gotten her happy ending, leaving him with nothing but the ashes of his former life and bitter regret.

And Meredith.

He laughed at the thought. Yes, he still had Meredith, although God knows he didn’t want her. He glanced around, half expecting her to appear, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t.

Maybe she was with Swink the Shrink. Trey didn’t care where she was as long as she wasn’t with him.

She hardly ever left him alone anymore. He’d kill himself, but Meredith would only follow him into the afterlife. She’d never stop hounding him. He needed to get rid of her, but he didn’t know how.