Giving Him Hell: A Saturn's Daughter Novel (Saturn's Daughters Book 3) (35 page)

“But Gloria’s dead and Mikey isn’t. Not that I want him dead, but if he was responsible for those two skeletons . . .”

“No way of knowing that,” I warned. “And how much do we lay on demons? We don’t know if he’s just plain nuts, or if Dane or Gloria shoved a couple of workmen down a hole. Or that two guys didn’t die from messing with the meteorite, as Mikey seemed to believe. Let the legal system do its job. You walked away with the evidence. Any ID there?”

Max/Dane hesitated as if he’d forgotten and was digging about in his pockets. “They may once have been plasticized ID cards of some sort,” he said, apparently finding them. “They’re little more than illegible dust now.”

“The skeletons just got blown to hell. Without them, we have no legal or scientific evidence to stand on. I believe in the meteorite. I believe Paddy and the scientists have found a new element inside that meteorite. I believe two people died, probably a decade ago, while messing with the meteorite. Those are the only real pieces of the puzzle that exist. All the rest . . . science fiction fantasy.”

What, you want me to have a U.S. Senator tell the world that we exorcised a demon from MacNeill’s soul and sent it back to hell, maybe with the help of voodoo priests and witches? And in gratitude, Saturn sank a meteorite at my request? Who do you think would end up in the psych ward then?

“Fantasy, right,” the good senator said with resignation. “I’ll just think in terms of disaster emergency teams and go from there. I’ll get people down to inspect the damage.”

“You’re a smart man, Maxie, a lot smarter than Dane. You can go far if you just let go of the fantasy.” I snuggled the phone next to my ear, knowing this was as close to a senator as I would get once we got past this bump in the road. I liked Max a lot, but his interests were now on the side of the establishment, which was too close to his cousin Dane for my comfort. He needed a wife raised for his senatorial lifestyle, and that ain’t me, babe. “Let me know how MacNeill fares and if there’s anything else I need to do.”

“You have to start meeting and greeting power mongers if you’re to be the Zone’s attorney,” the good senator declared. “Find your little black dress. The limo will pick you up Saturday night.”

He hung up. Damn the man, no matter how I tried to brush him off, he refused to go. Like me, Max was a persistent mosquito. I’d have to find him a better target.

I returned to Andre and Julius, who solicitously steered me toward home and a shower without questioning me about my senatorial connection and his demented relation. Julius was kind like that. Andre asked if he could join me in the shower.

I almost said yes—until I remembered the tablet with Themis’s warning.

Virgin babies, scary stuff. Not going there.

I took the stairs to my apartment with only my cat on my heels.

A piece of plaster with charcoal scratching lay on the carpeted hall in front of my door. I almost closed my eyes and walked over it, I was that drained.

But curiosity won out. I picked it up and carried it inside. While Milo licked himself clean in the window, I turned on a light and studied the chicken scratching.

You need a friend, aziz. I’m sending one. She is not as strong as you, but she is wise. The world is changing, and I cannot help.

With trepidation, I glanced at my tablet on the table. It could wait until after I’d showered. I needed to be prepared before I discovered what Themis’s idea of a
friend
might be.

***

Over dinner at the Montoyas, Andre and I attempted to describe what we’d discovered under the harbor grounds—without explaining the supernatural. Even we didn’t entirely understand hell holes and demonic possession. We could just hope that the sinking of the meteorite had ended that episode of Zone history.

“Will Acme be able to remain open?” Katerina asked. “They’re still making other chemicals, aren’t they?”

“We don’t know how much of the element they’ve stored,” Andre warned. “Paddy needs to pay more attention to business.”

That was an old argument, and I let my mind drift back to the latest message I’d found waiting on my tablet—a Christmas card from Fat Chick saying she’d be in Baltimore over the holiday and asking if we could meet.

Fat Chick ran the Saturn’s Daughters website. Themis had sent me the gift of a lifetime—a friend. I was both excited and terrified.

“We should have a Christmas party at the shelter!” Katerina was saying excitedly when I tuned back in. “It will be a wonderful way to bring the community together!”

Because so many of us had nowhere else to go. I brightened as the idea took root. “I can go shopping for the kids!” For something better than painted garden gnomes—another ugly blot on my escutcheon.

Plotting something pleasant for a change lifted my mood considerably. Who could worry about buried space aliens and meteorites churning up the harbor and armed garden gnomes while planning Santa Claus and candy canes?

Finally, I’d have a real Christmas!

Thirty-three

Leibowitz refused to wear the Santa suit again, but Lieutenant Leo made a far more intelligent jolly old fellow. Schwartz handed out candy canes and new coats to one and all and didn’t stomp off muttering when a toddler peed on the velvet suit.

“Leo’s too good for us,” Cora muttered, sipping the punch and wearing an elf costume. “He took the night shift all week so the guys with kids could have time off.”

“Then he’s flying down to visit his mother in Florida,” I reminded her. “He’s just normal. People like that exist. We just tend to forget it.”

“For good reason,” she grumbled, nodding at a khaki-costumed group in the corner of the festive lobby of the homeless shelter. “What are MSI’s Nazis doing here besides frightening babies?”

I grinned and opened my box of elf hats. I was wearing reindeer antlers and a red nose. The spirit of Christmas should be on all of us. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

The uniformed security guards looked a little terrified at my approach—probably a lingering subconscious memory linking me to their time in concrete. This time, I wasn’t making the mistake of letting my victims wander off and build up a hate against me. I’d made it my task to reform them—just a little. A little human compassion never hurt anyone.

I smiled and offered the box of red and green felt. “Join the party, gentlemen! There’s enough punch and cookies for all.”

They looked leery, then glanced to their fearless leader. Graham Young was dressed in a monk’s brown homespun as he handed out gifts at Santa’s feet. They hadn’t been able to keep him in the psych ward just because he now thought he was a saint. Little kids clambered all over him, and he hadn’t smacked one yet—close enough to sainthood, I supposed. I’d have to keep an eye on him too.

His security team reluctantly donned their caps. Cora tucked candy canes in their pockets. We swept away, stifling our giggles.

“I’m going to miss the weirdness,” Cora admitted. “Where else could an arrogant CEO be turned into a gnome and then into the patron saint of the homeless?”

“We don’t know that the Weird is gone,” I warned. “Never get too confident.” But I stopped to admire our handiwork anyway. With all the gifts handed out, Graham Young was climbing to his feet and talking to our eminent Do-Gooder, Rob Hanks. “I think Andre has agreed to sell the insurance building to the DG’s, and it’s Young’s money financing the sale and renovations. Makes me believe in miracles again.”

Or pink particles. If only Paddy could corner the market on Good!

Tim wandered up festooned in Christmas wreaths and ribbons but wearing clothes that fit and didn’t scream pink—which clashed with red ribbons apparently. “Ned’s dipping spiders in frosting again. He said he’s taking them to some friends of his in jail. I thought he was one of the good guys.”

“He is, young grasshopper, he is. Someday, you’ll understand the many layers of good and evil.” I hugged him and kissed his forehead, and he didn’t disappear in embarrassment. “Thank you and Nancy Rose for the tree and wreaths. Is she still talking of retiring to Florida?”

“Nah, she thinks she’s going to add a greenhouse so we can grow more of our own inventory. That federal grant thing she got from the disaster emergency fund is letting her fix up the apartment, too. She wants me to move in there and live with her and think about college. I don’t need school to grow things, do I?”

“You need school if you plan to
sell
green things, and if you don’t plan to sell them, then you’ll need a job to pay for them, so, yeah, you need school, knucklehead. Go help Ned nab flies for his frosting feast and don’t grow up too fast, okay?”

He shot me a weird look and dashed off to play.

“I think Santa needs to get lucky,” Cora said, apropos of nothing as she watched Leo stiffly nod at a young mother babbling her problems to him. “And he deserves better than that skag.” She sauntered off, all eye-popping swaying curves that Santa noticed for a change.

I grinned, glanced around, and found Sarah and Ernesto arguing over the punch bowl. Sarah arguing was actually a
good
thing, especially when she was no longer carrying weapons. Score another for the Zone and pink particles.

Mrs. Bodine had been persuaded to leave her apartment to join the party. She was wearing the red satin jumpsuit I’d bought her, and talking to Paddy. Our resident scientist was still wearing faded brown corduroy, with the added touch of a new tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. He caught me looking his direction and waved me over.

Paddy wasn’t a hugger. Given what I’d learned of him over the past months, I thought he might suffer from some form of Asperger’s. But he tweaked my red nose when I hugged him. I blamed it on someone spiking the punch when my eyes teared up at this gesture of affection.

“Not everyone at Acme hates me yet?” I asked.

“You’re a burr under everyone’s saddle, Clancy, of course you irritate,” Paddy said. “But someone needs to remind us that we’re not a majority of one.”

“I love it when he talks smart like that,” Mrs. Bodine said with a sigh. “If only I were a few years younger.”

Maybe a few decades, but I politely refrained from bursting her bubble. “And are you seeing any of your family today, Mr. Vanderventer?” I asked with equal solemnity.

Paddy’s eyes lit with what I suspected might be laughter. “Has the media arrived yet? I think the press conference is scheduled for noon.”

“Press conference?—he didn’t!” I exclaimed, glancing around for symptoms of media break-out.

“He did. Dane may be a publicity slut, but at least he’s finally doing some good with his talents. He even has MacNeill eating out of his hand these days.” Paddy studied a plate of sugar cookies one of the kids waved in his direction, selecting one frosted in a particularly hideous swirl of muddy color that no one else had wanted.

Ernesto’s kitchen staff had been helping the shelter inhabitants bake all week. The results had been . . . interesting.

“He does?” I asked warily, still watching for journalists. And Dane, admittedly. “How is Senator MacNeill doing?” I politely didn’t add “since his demon possession and resultant freak-out.” I was practicing political correctness for the holidays.

“A little strange since his breakdown,” Paddy said without concern. “We’re keeping him out of the board offices, letting him work uptown. He’s the one who talked Young into sponsoring the shelter. They’ve agreed the Zone isn’t the best location for the medical center, even though the EPA gave Edgewater a clean bill of health and our infrastructure will be completely updated. Have you noticed that all our phone calls are going through now?”

That was the real reason for today’s joy and celebration—the street was no longer an environmental hazard zone, just the harbor, and our manholes no longer glowed red. Andre could keep his property.

I wanted brass bands and fireworks to release the fizzing joy. We could keep our homes! The relief was so all encompassing that I wanted to hug everyone. Alcohol wasn’t the cause for all the laughter and bright eyes around us—it was pure joy, everywhere I looked.

The swell of noise at the front door warned of Senator Vanderventer’s arrival, or his advance entourage at least. I deliberately didn’t watch but glanced toward the back instead—where Andre was working his way through the partying crowd, his dark gaze on me, making me remember that devastating kiss we’d shared. He had the power to light up my nights, if I’d let him.

Maybe it was time to let him, Saturn be damned, so to speak.

The bandage had been removed after his encounter with the meteorite. His thick hair fell over the scar—the medal for his heroics in rescuing me. For that, I allowed him to drop a possessive arm over my shoulders. He handed me a champagne glass that smelled as if it might contain something besides punch. I pinched his ribs.

“And what has the EPA decided to do about the harbor pollution?” I asked, just to prove I wasn’t paying attention to the commotion at the entrance.

“The morons can’t test for elements that don’t exist, Clancy,” Andre replied. “They’re warning fishermen away because of the chemical contamination from the buildings that fell in. We have no idea what else is in there, but we won’t be turning it into a beach anytime soon.”

“I’m glad we have the shelter for the homeless then. And I won’t miss that spooky stretch along the water in the least.” I walked away from his arm and set the glass on a festive mantel adorned with empty stockings. We’d filled them with candy last night, but that hadn’t lasted long.

I finally gave in to curiosity and turned to watch the senator make his grand entrance. Dane was looking good, less frazzled and more confident as he shook Graham Young’s hand—while he held my gaze. Damn, but I
knew
he had the ability to rock my world. He’d done it more than once.

I waited for him to come to me, despite Andre’s possessive arm over my shoulders.

I’d accompanied Dane to a party of D.C. bigwigs last week. I’d finally had my hair cut and styled into quirky spikes to keep it out of my face, and I’d worn my little black dress—with knee high leather boots and spiked heels. I think I made an impression. I didn’t ask what kind.