Brand opened his eyes and pushed upright. “No, Adara, this I cannot allow.” He removed her hand from the other warrior’s arm. “I will take him.”
Brand ignored her protests and helped Ansgar to his feet. The two warriors lurched toward the entrance. Addy darted ahead of them. She held open the door, and they reeled outside.
Ansgar grinned and waved at Evie. “Greetings, fair one.”
Evie’s frowning gaze moved from the blond warrior to Addy. “He’s plastered.”
“Told you,” Addy said. “So’s the other one.”
Brand swayed but managed to keep a grip on Ansgar. “The other one is right here, and he can hear you.”
“And they got this way on
chocolate
?” Evie asked.
“Yep,” Addy said.
Evie shook her head. “Unbelievable. Addy, did you know there’s a tree in the middle of the Sweet Shop? A great big
silver
tree.”
“Yeah, I know, Eves. I’m not a happy camper about it, either. How in the world are we going to explain this to people?”
“Do not be troubled,” Brand said. “The tree is no more.”
“But I saw—” Evie looked back through the window. “It’s gone,” she gasped. “It’s all gone, the flowers, the trees. All of it.”
“Thank God,” Addy said. “That’s one problem solved.”
Brand gave her a crooked grin, and the sidewalk at her feet exploded with flowers. “I told you all would be as it was. You worry too much.”
“For goodness’ sake, stop smiling!” Addy scolded. “When you smile, something sprouts. What about Vi and Del and the others? They’ll think they’ve had a mass hallucination. How you going to fix that?”
“Peace, little one. They will remember nothing but a sense of contentment and well-being.”
Addy gave him a black look. “You mean you messed with their brains.”
“I altered their memories.”
“I don’t like it, but I guess it can’t be helped.” She turned to Evie. “Come on. Let’s get them out of here before something else happens.”
“We could go to my house,” Evie suggested. “It’s not far.”
“Good idea.” Addy patted Brand on the shoulder. “Come on, big guy. Bring Blondy. We gotta walk off some of that pie.”
Brand’s handsome features assumed a blissful expression. “Pie.”
“P-i-e,” Ansgar echoed.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Addy caught them at the door to the Sweet Shop and turned them around. “No more chocolate for you. Not so much as a Milk Dud. You’re quitting, cold turkey.” She gave Evie a pleading look. “Help. Blondy likes you. Talk to him.”
“Sure, Addy, sure.” Evie hurried up and took Ansgar by the arm. “Would you like to see where I live?”
Ansgar gazed down at her, his silver eyes unfocused. After a moment, recognition seemed to dawn.
“Evangeline,” he said.
With a drunken grin he burst into song. Evie’s face went slack.
She mooned up at Ansgar. “Pretty.”
“Good grief,” Addy said.
Chapter Fifteen
S
omehow, Addy coaxed Brand, the still-singing Ansgar, and a stupefied Evie past the drug store, the hardware store, and Toodles, then around the corner onto Church Street without anybody seeing them. Evie trailed after Blondy like an eager little puppy. She was flotsam drifting on the mesmeric tide of Blondy’s alluring voice, a leaf helplessly swirling in the seductive eddy of Ansgar’s song. He was a male siren, and poor Evie’s ship had been lured from the safety of deep water and dashed upon the rocks.
With Addy in the lead, they left the small cluster of businesses that constituted downtown Hannah and entered the quiet neighborhood that Addy and Evie had grown up in and Evie still called home.
Addy loved this part of town with its hodgepodge of cozy 1920s arts-and-crafts-style homes, rambling two-story Victorians, and occasional Tudor dwelling. A few blocks over, the older homes disappeared, choked out by the drab, uniform ranch-style houses that sprang up in the 1960s like crabgrass and dandelion weeds bespoiling a once well-tended garden. But, on Magnolia Street, magnificent towering oaks shaded the deep, narrow lots, and dignified magnolias splayed limbs studded with broad, glossy leaves. In spring, dogwood, redbud, pear, and crabapple trees festooned the yards with a lacy profusion of pink and white petals, and banks of pink, orange, and white azaleas lifted their skirts to show off their colorful bloomers.
Alas, spring was gone, and the dogwoods, redbuds, and azaleas had shed their bright petals for a more sedate garb of summer green.
Evie lived down the block from Bitsy’s house in a brown Craftsman bungalow with stone accents and a deep, squarecolumned front porch. Addy looked anxiously up and down the street. What if Ansgar’s seductive crooning ensorcelled the entire neighborhood? She envisioned a zombified stream of blue-haired old ladies, old men tipsy on Dalvahni happy hormones, and bedazzled young housewives shuffling mindlessly after them. She was exhausted and running on raw nerve by the time they reached Evie’s house and climbed the steps to the porch.
“Put him over there.” Addy pointed Brand toward the porch swing that hung from one of the rafters.
Brand heaved Ansgar into the swing. Ansgar sighed and stretched out his long legs. He closed his eyes and lapsed into quiet humming. From the top of the steps, Evie gazed down at him, her expression adoring but not quite so befuddled as before. Huh. Seemed like Ansgar’s humming only
addled
Evie’s brains, instead of scrambling them the way his singing did.
“Your turn.” Taking Brand by the hand, Addy led him to a large wicker arm chair and gave him a little push. He dropped into the chair. “You sit here while I talk to Evie about something.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just around the corner of the house. I need to get Evie away from Blondy so I can detox her. He’s like Dalvahni crack or something. His singing messes with her head.”
It seemed to take Brand a moment to process this. “You refer to a drug, and not a narrow opening or a witty remark.”
“Uh yeah.”
“Very well.” Brand put his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “Do not wander any farther. The djegrali . . .”
His words trailed off as he fell asleep. Taking Evie by the hand, Addy eased off the porch to the side yard.
“Evie.
Evie.
” Addy patted her on the cheek. “Snap out of it. I need your help.”
“Huh? Wha—” Evie blinked at Addy. Gradually, her eyes cleared. “He did it again, didn’t he?” She sounded disgusted with herself. “Whammied me with that si-reen voice of his.”
“ ’Fraid so. Listen, I need to run, and check on the shop. Think you can handle both of them for a few minutes? I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” Evie made a face. “I’ve had plenty of practice, remember?”
Addy felt a rush of sympathy for her friend. Evie’s father had been a weekend drunk. At his job at the feed store clean and sober Monday through Friday, week in and week out. But come five o’clock Friday, he started drinking and wouldn’t quit until he passed out Sunday night. Poor Evie had poured him into bed, cleaned up after him, and been his caregiver until his death two years earlier. Drunks Evie knew about.
“I won’t be gone long,” Addy said, “but I need to close the register and check my messages and that kind of stuff. You set the alarm when you left the store, right?”
“ ’Course I did.”
“Good. Don’t tell Brand. He’s asleep. With any luck he’ll stay that way until I get back.”
“But, Addy, what about the demons? Suppose something happens to you? Suppose . . .” She shuddered. “Suppose
Old Man Farris
happens on to you? I saw him, Addy. He’s out there.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s broad daylight. What are the chances he’ll show up at the flower shop while I’m there? I’ll pop over and right back, I promise. If I see him, I’ll run like hell. How fast can a dead guy be, right?”
Evie shook her head. “Think what you’re doing. You’re acting like those dumb people in the horror movies we make fun of.
You’re going to the flower shop alone, and there’s a creepy dead guy out there looking for you!
If this were a movie, we’d give you the Darwin award for being colossally stupid.”
“I’ll be fine.” Addy assured her again. “Trust me. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t feel like I had to. You know I hate dead guys. But the thermostat on one of the new coolers is acting up, and I can’t afford to lose a whole shipment of roses. I’ll check on it and be back in a flash.”
Addy peeked around the edge of the porch at Brand. He was still sitting in the wicker chair asleep. She hesitated, captivated by the beauty of his chiseled features in repose. Hot damn, he was gorgeous. Why did guys always have the longest eyelashes? It was so unfair. Women gooped their pitiful little eye hairs with mascara, and guys hit the planet naturally follically enhanced.
The corners of Brand’s finely shaped lips curled, and she stepped back with a little gasp. Cripes, if he smiled she was done for, as loopy and brain dead as Evie high on Blondy’s yodeling. Taking a steadying breath, she tiptoed into the neighbor’s yard, slinking from tree to tree so Brand could not see her if he happened to open his eyes. She felt ridiculous, a grown woman playing hide-and-seek from a man she hardly knew. The back of her neck tingled, and she was as jumpy as a frog in a frying pan. The feeling did not subside until she reached the next yard over.
Shaking off the jitters, she set out at a trot for Main Street. In what seemed like two steps, she was standing at the front door of the flower shop. She looked down. Smoke curled from the bottom of her shoes. She’d done the Speedy Gonzales thing again. At this rate, she’d blow through half a dozen pairs of shoes a week. She put her hand on the door. It swung open. The alarm was off. Evie said she set it, didn’t she? The hair on the back of her neck stood up and saluted, and she got an unpleasant crawly sensation along her spine.
“Get a grip, Addy,” she muttered.
She stepped into the shop and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. She was greeted by the low hum of the coolers and the familiar sweet smell of blooms and greenery mixed with the herbal scent of Evie’s soaps. Then why did she have that creepy, itchy feeling, like someone was watching her? She was overreacting, that was all. She hurried over to the troublesome cooler and checked the thermostat. Thirty-nine degrees, plenty cool enough to keep the roses at optimum freshness.
She stepped behind the counter to turn off the computer and close out the cash register. The answering machine light was on. She was trying to decide whether to check the messages or leave them until first thing Monday morning when she heard the storeroom door creak open. She whirled around expecting to see Dwight Farris’s waxen figure standing behind her, but the doorway was empty. Probably a draft, she thought, relaxing a little. She wrinkled her nose as she was assailed by the rancid buttery smell of microwave popcorn. The odor was coming from the back room. She started for the storeroom door and stopped. What was she doing? Evie was right. She was acting like those stupid bimbos in the horror movies, the ones who went into the darkened basement without a flashlight or walked down a deserted alley alone in the dead of night.
The shop lights flickered and went out. Addy froze at a scuffling noise in the back room. In her mind, she was up and running, survival instinct in full gear. She raced around the counter and fumbled for the front door. But, in reality, terror glued her feet to the floor, the legs that ran her more than thirty miles a week as useless as the palsied limbs of a paralytic. It was the old childhood nightmare of being rooted in place, petrified with fear as the monster under the bed crept out to gobble her up.
A low groan sounded from the inky well of the storeroom. Her skin did a strange, shivery dance like thousands of invisible insects were running a road race up and down her body.
“Ad-d-d-y. ”
Her name was a whispered moan from the other side of the door. She heard the slow drag of feet on the concrete floor. This was no dream. The monster was here, and it was coming for her.
“A-a-d-d- -y.”
Crappy doodle, where was a flamey sword-carrying-demon-chasing guy when you needed one?
Asleep on Evie’s front porch sloshed on chocolate pie, that’s where.
Perfect.
Chapter Sixteen
T
he ghoul moaned her name again from the darkened recesses of the storeroom. Not “the ghoul,” she corrected. Mr. Farris. This ghoul had a name, and somehow that made it worse. Or at least she
assumed
it was Ghouly Farris, unless her storage room was infested with some other supernatural icky thing that knew her by name.
“Ad-d-d-y,”
it called again.
Actually, it sounded more like
“Humm-humm.”
But Addy heard it loud and clear
inside her head,
a sibilant hiss that slithered through her mind, full of hate and an evil hunger that made her shiver. There was a humming ghoul in the back of her flower shop. How did these things happen to her? And why was the damn thing
humming
? Humming was annoying under the best of circumstances. Was it trying to freak her out before it finished her off? If so, it was working. On the freak-out scale, she was past the “heebie-jeebies” and into “pee yourself.”
She had but a moment to ponder this question before Mr. Farris shuffled out of the storeroom. As animate corpses went, he looked pretty good. The hair and makeup job Jeannine, down at the Kut ’N’ Kurl, had done on him looked fresh, and his shirt and tie were still neatly pressed and starched. His eyes, though . . . His eyes were horrible bits of grape jelly, liquid and wobbly, like pudding that hadn’t set. He smiled at her, a slow sinister smile that made her feel faint. Correction. He
tried
to smile. The most he could manage was a slight upward tilt of his lips, which were tightly pressed together. That explained the humming. It’s hard to talk when your lips are superglued shut.
For some reason, that made her feel better. Out of a whole town of live ones, this demon picked a dead man to possess. How bright could he be?
“Having a little trouble with the old chops, are we?” she said, taking refuge in smarminess to disguise her fear. The sound of her voice steadied her. Heck, she’d been dealing with her mother for twenty-seven years. A demon ought to be a piece of cake. “It’s that whole lip-glue thing you got going on there. You can’t enunciate properly if you can’t open your mouth, and so ‘Addy’ comes out “humm-humm.’ The cotton balls probably don’t help. Bet you got that dry, tickly feeling in the back of your throat. Don’t you hate when that happens?”
There was a wet tearing sound as Ghouly Farris opened his mouth. The superglue held. Part of his bottom lip stuck to the top, and the flesh tore in a ragged line, leaving a tattered opening that exposed the corpse’s bottom teeth and gums. The ghoul hawked, spitting out the wad of cotton balls that puffed his cheeks. The gooey mess landed on the floor.
“That’s nasty,” Addy said. “Do you have any idea how dirty the human mouth is? Dirtier than a dog’s, and a dog will lick his butt.” Along with her smart-ass mouth, her muscles had started to work again. She eased away from the ghoul. “I imagine your mouth is dirtier, you being dead and all. I’ll have to scrub that floor with hot water and Pine-Sol to get the dead cooties off it. May even have to rent a steam cleaner. Did I mention I hate dead guys? I know it’s narrow minded and prejudiced of me, but there it is.”
“You talk too much,” the ghoul said. The raspy voice reminded Addy of the whir of insect wings or wind-rattled husks of dead roaches in an abandoned shed. “I wonder if you’ll have so much to say when I crack you open and eat your liver while you’re still alive.”
“Hmm,” Addy said, pretending to consider this. “Tempting, but no thanks.”
She turned and made a dash for the front door. Something dark and foul smelling whooshed past her. A smoky shape formed and solidified between her and the exit. Ghouly Farris; so much for her theory about no-pecker dead guys being slow. This guy moved faster than poop through a goose.
The ghoul’s mangled mouth widened in a horrible, toothy smile. “Come to me.”
“Sorry, dude. You’re not my type.”
The ghoul raised its arm and pointed. Addy cried out in pain as the black mark on her breast seared and burned.
“But you are
my
type.” The ghoul smacked his torn lips. “I have marked you, and you are mine. I will feed upon you and grow stronger.”
A triumphant gleam shone in the ghoul’s watery eyes. So, Dead Dude planned to make a Happy Meal of her and thought she’d meekly comply. Dead Dude had a lot to learn. She sensed the power behind the command. Oh, yeah, the compulsion was there, plain as the nose on her face, but she wasn’t the teensiest bit inclined to play along. Oh, no. The scar on her chest hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but that was all. Something, maybe the infusion of Dalvahni DNA Brand had given her when he saved her, gave her the ability to resist.
Addy pressed her hand to the throbbing mark and shook her head. “Sorry, Ghouly, no can do.”
For a moment, the ghoul looked puzzled by her resistance. Then it sprang at her with a snarl, knocking her to the floor. She hit her head on the counter edge on the way down. Dazed, Addy looked up at the nightmare crouching on her chest. The mark on her breast ached, and her head hurt. The smell of burned powdered butter pummeled her senses, making her gag. Man, this guy
stank.
The ghoul wrapped its fingers around her throat and squeezed. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. Breathe. She had to breathe. She grabbed the ghoul’s wrists and pulled. To her surprise, the demon’s steely hold broke.
The ghoul seemed surprised, too. “You are very strong.” Addy flinched as the ghoul touched her cheek with the tip of one clammy, ossified thumb. “And yet so very soft. I am going to enjoy feasting upon your tender flesh, Addy Corwin.”
Eww. A dead guy was touching her, getting his own special brand of dead guy germs all over her. It should have been her worst nightmare. Addy hardly noticed. She was too busy dragging in a lungful of air through her bruised windpipe, an act she regretted an instant later when another puff of the thing’s moldering breath hit her in the face.
“Dude, have a mint, why don’t you?” she gasped. “You could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon with that breath.”
The ghoul chuckled. “You have spirit. That is good. The stronger you are, the stronger I become.” He grabbed Addy’s breast, the one with the mark, and squeezed. She screamed as blinding pain shot through her. “No, no, don’t pass out,” the ghoul said. “I want you awake when I begin to feed.”
The ghoul opened its horrible, gaping mouth and lunged for her throat. Addy got a flashing impression of crooked, yellow teeth and pus-filled gums, and then the ghoul was gone. A deafening roar shook the room followed by a loud crash. Somehow a wounded lion had gotten inside her shop. Huh. Which was worse? she wondered. Being eaten alive by an enraged lion or a creepy dead guy with halitosis and serious gum issues? It was an old game, one she and Shep used to play.
Which would you rather have happen to you—and you have to choose one!—be eaten alive by a Great White shark or chewed up in the blades of a tractor combine?
Before she had time to decide, Ghouly Farris flew past. Dead Dude hit the wall across the room with a satisfying splat and slid to the floor. The ghoul jumped up, a look of terror on its frozen features.
The lion roared again. The roaring coalesced into a word: her name. More craziness. How could a lion know her name?
Addy blinked and sat up. There was no lion. A glowing figure limned in fire stalked the ghoul around the room. The fire creature roared and reached for the ghoul with blazing arms. The ghoul shrieked and scuttled away. The fire creature followed, pulsing with a horrible rage. Addy could
feel
the thing’s anger and hate. It wanted the ghoul, wanted to destroy it, to burn it to ash leaving nothing. She smelled burning linoleum. With each menacing step, the fire creature left a melted footprint in the floor. At this rate the whole place would go up in flames. Addy got to her feet. She had to get out of here. Her breast ached and her head hurt. There was blood on her silk blouse and blood on the floor, but whose? She touched the throbbing knot on the back of her head. Her fingers came away wet. The blood was hers.
Other than feeling a little woozy, she seemed to be all right. Head wounds always bled a lot, didn’t they? Time to leave, before the fire demon finished off the ghoul and came after her. That fire critter was
not
something she wanted to deal with. She almost felt sorry for poor old Ghouly.
Almost, but not quite. If not for the timely intervention of the other fiend, the ghoul would have eaten her alive.
Holding on to the edge of the counter, she eased away from the battle. Not that it was much of a battle. Mostly, it consisted of Ghouly Farris shrieking like a girl and running around the room as he tried to avoid the other demon. Ghouly was fast, but the fire demon was faster. And relentless, driven by that allconsuming rage that was a palpable presence in the room. She could
feel
the fire demon’s rage and . . . and grief? No, that didn’t make any sense.
The fire demon caught the ghoul by the neck. A horrible stench rose up, the smell of burning flesh and embalming chemicals. Mr. Farris’s clothes burst into flames. With a roar, the fire demon tore off the ghoul’s head and tossed it aside. The body hit the floor with a sickening thud. Something dark flew out of the ragged neck of the smoldering corpse and streaked toward Addy. She shrieked and ran behind the counter, flattening herself against the wall. The dark shape flew past her and into the storage room. She heard a loud crash and a lot of thumping and bumping as the terrified demon wraith thrashed about the supply room like a sparrow in a chimney, trying to find its way out. The security alarm on the back door beeped and the metal door slammed shut, leaving her alone with the fire demon.
The fiery head turned in her direction. The fiend saw her. No way could she outrun the thing. It was much too fast. The trick was not to panic. Move slowly and maybe it wouldn’t notice.
Forget it. She was getting the hell out of here.
She lunged for the door.
“Adara? You are
alive
?”
Something in the hoarse cry stopped her. Addy turned. The blazing halo around the fire demon wavered and went out. A man stood in the wreckage of her flower shop, his back to the sunlit display window. She knew him. She’d seen him like this before, his broad shoulders outlined by the light-filled portal behind him, his handsome features in shadow.
Brand.
The fire demon was Brand.