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Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

C reedence Clearwater Revival played on the small radio I'd hung by the door. It was sixties classics hour on KLXX.

"Maybe the rat shifters are Alpha Pallás's spies." Ida reclined on my chaise in the garden room, hands laced behind her head. Cecil had placed a lavender bud on her forehead to quiet her down, but it hadn't had much effect.

"You'd have to meet them to know how unlikely that is," I replied from my workstation.

"That's what they want you to think," she said.

I was certain the rats weren't spies, but I also didn't trust them enough to summon a demon with them alone. Although, despite the head wound they'd left me with, Kale and Denzel felt more like annoyances than enemies.

There was no use arguing with Ida when she was on a tangent, so I just shook my head at her and took a roll of lead-free foil out of a drawer under my workstation. I set it next to a loop of twenty-gauge solder, a bottle of low-odor flux, and a hot soldering iron.

My workstation was small but well-stocked. Small panes of glass, jump rings, silver chain, and other charm-making supplies were tucked away in old bottles, small wooden boxes, and hung from little gold cup hooks. At my feet was a stack of pressed herbs, flowers, and vegetable roots that had been bound in wooden books with hemp straps.

Cecil worked with me, though he didn't use a soldering iron to seal the pendants. He used magic. I sometimes did, too, but I also enjoyed the human way of working. Making pressed flower witch charms was a delicate, highly meditative practice.

"So, you gonna need me to come with you tonight?" She held the lavender bud to her nose and sniffed while humming the final notes of "Bad Moon Rising."

"You'd do that for me? Even considering how you feel about Sexton?"

"Sure I would. You're my best gal pal," Ida balanced the lavender bud on the tip of her nose.

"And you're mine."

"I know," she said.

I thought about the mage Beau had called about. If I sold the park to that person, I wouldn't get to hang with Ida as much. Who would draw on her eyebrows every morning?

For that matter, who'd done it today? They were a shade too dark and had given her the look of someone five seconds into a surprise party.

"Thanks for the offer, but Cecil, Fennel, and I've got it."

"Maybe you should ask the lady from Wicked to come? Sounds like she really saved your bacon today."

While I'd worked on tonight's spell and the charms I'd need, I'd given Ida a rundown of my day, the way I always did. Everything except the stuff Ronan and I'd discussed in his office. It didn't feel right to share our private conversation.

"Bronwyn's beholden to the La Paloma coven, so no."

The opening strains of the Animals' "House of the Rising Sun" drifted out of the small radio.

"I don't blame you for being angry about what Margaux Ramirez pulled the day Lila died, but you can't hold that against Bronwyn. She wasn't there." The lavender on her nose fell into her hair.

"I don't hold it against her. But I'm not going to risk Coven Mother Margaux inviting herself along, either."

"Makes sense, I guess." Ida shook the lavender bud from her hair and rubbed it between her fingers. "Still feel like I should go. Cemetery dead can be an unpredictable bunch, especially the new ones. And you're doing a summoning right on top of them."

"Sexton will be around."

"How reassuring," she said, drily. "We used to be friends of a sort, he and I. Did you know that?"

"No. What happened?"

"He refused to let me talk to Anita. You remember, she was the lover after Harold, before Lana and Jun Hie. The telepath."

Vaguely. Ida had led a romantically adventurous life, and it was hard to keep track sometimes. "Was Anita the one who looked like Sophia Loren?"

"No, that was Terese. Anita looked more like a young Diahann Carroll."

Ida had been a stunner herself back in the day—still was, for her age. She and Anita must've made a striking couple.

"Why did you want to talk to her?"

Ida held the lavender against her cheek. "She'd been so terrified of death. I thought if I showed up on the other side and walked with her a while, she might feel better."

"Why did Sexton refuse?"

"He said she was too far gone. That to pull her back would be wrong."

"Was she?"

"She'd only been dead two days when I approached him, her ashes already scattered in the paranormal section of the cemetery." Ida sounded close to tears. "I swear I could feel her there. It was so frustrating. I'd been out of town on a job when she died of a freak heart attack. Only forty years old."

"Oh, Ida. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Time's made her loss sting less, though I still miss her." She cleared her throat. "As much as I'd like to punch Sexton in the kisser for what he did, I keep my distance. He could make the afterlife very uncomfortable for she and I if he chose to."

That cinched it. No way was I taking her with me tonight. I didn't need her and Sexton hashing out their beef while I was summoning a death god. Or whatever the rats were going to summon, because I was a hundred percent sure that whatever came forth, it wasn't going to be the actual Mictlantecuhtli.

We back-and-forthed a little more, but Ida finally agreed it was best for her to stay home. She left shortly after our talk to go watch the latest BTS performance, and I loaded Cecil, Fennel, and a fully prepped tote bag into the Mini and took off for Sexton's cemetery.

Paranormals didn't do funerals the way humans did, with caskets and viewings. We couldn't take the risk. All paranormals were cremated immediately after death to prevent the body falling into the wrong hands. It was the one thing we all agreed on.

Beyond cremation, various sects, groups, and packs had diverse ways of honoring their people, but most Smokethorn County paranormals ended up at Whispering Willow Cemetery.

Whispering Willow lay on a half-acre between Smokethorn and La Paloma, near a crossroad and a ley line. It was primarily a place for paranormals—most humans ended up at the three-acre Victory Gardens on the outskirts of La Paloma, though there were a few buried here alongside their paranormal spouse or parent, and some cremated paranormals buried in Victory Gardens alongside their human loved ones.

Sexton not only ran Whispering Willow, he lived onsite, though he had a human-presenting manager in the front office for appearances. The only buildings on the property were the office, a large supply shed, and a tiny house Sexton wouldn't even be able to stand upright in, much less live in. I suspected he lived underground. Many paranormals did—burrowing shifters, ogres, and certain elementals. Even earth witches occasionally lived beneath the soil.

I parked the Mini outside the heavy, wrought-iron gate. Sexton had left it unlocked but asked that we go in on foot so as not to rouse the spirits any more than necessary.

Gods only knew what that meant.

Lamps dotted the property, imparting soft, dreamy light. Enormous willow trees provided shade in the daytime and gothic ambiance at night. Cement benches for the bereaved to rest on were scattered throughout. In the center of the only roundabout were several tiny headstones. Sexton had planted wildflowers atop the small graves. As many times as I'd been here, I'd never once seen the flowers dead or even wilted.

Tucked in the left corner was a military mausoleum, honoring paranormals who'd served in war. In the right corner, there was a private mausoleum for wealthier clients. And one long strip of land was reserved for the scattering of ashes for those who preferred to keep their cremains above ground.

When Mom died, I'd been unsure what to do with her ashes and had ended up putting her in a wooden urn I set on her fireplace mantel. Maybe someday I'd bring her here.

Cecil, Fennel, and I traversed the main road, enjoying the brisk night air. I squinted at a crumbling, cross-shaped headstone and pretended to read the inscription.

" Alas, I told ye I were ill ."

Cecil snickered. Fennel flicked his tail, annoyed by my dad joke.

The rats showed up at the rear entrance of the cemetery a few minutes before midnight. This section had been recently expanded, and there were no bodies here. Sexton had assured me of that.

"You're alone?" Denzel peered around, shivered. "That's creepy as hell, even for a witch."

Kale shivered, too. Both men had worn nylon basketball shorts, hoodies zipped to the chin, and rubber flip-flops. "Man, I sure wouldn't come here alone."

Fennel and Cecil had melted into the shadows after we'd finished our preparations and before the rats arrived. They'd intervene only if I needed them.

"Let's get this over with," I said. "What do you need?"

"We've got it. Just make sure you stand back," Denzel said.

To say I was concerned about whatever these goofs were about to conjure up would've been an understatement. Kale and Denzel were a walking, talking Dunning-Kruger effect, and that was never a good thing when it came to dipping into the otherworlds.

So, while the rats prepped their containment circle, I casually walked the perimeter of the wider one I'd drawn around the area with spelled salt mixed with rosemary. At each directional point, I dropped one of the pressed glass pendant charms Cecil and I had prepped in the garden room, each representing an element—trapped bubbles for air, droplets for water, a burnt wick for fire, and a pinch of soil for earth.

To boost the final symbol, I plunged my hands into the loosest soil I could find, withdrew a palm-sized mound, imbued it with magic, and placed it on the southern marker of the circle, setting the charm atop it.

The soil here was receptive, probably due to Sexton's influence. Power crackled through the minerals in the earth like sparks popping off a handheld firework. I was certain it would support my magic as long as I stayed linked to it.

This was how the soil in my garden room behaved for me. How it all behaved for me—except for the soil I needed most.

I dusted my hands off on my jeans and faced the supposed god summoners. I'd changed out of my bloody sweater before my shower—Ida was soaking it in her washing machine—and thrown on a black and white Cheap Trick sweatshirt. My jeans were past their prime, but good enough for night work, and I'd braided my hair to keep it out of my face.

I was ready for damn near anything, and when the rat shifters began chanting, I didn't think they could come up with a single thing that would surprise me.

Boy, was I wrong.

The second they finished their strange spell, which was an awkward jumble of Spanish, French, and possibly pig Latin, a stink that would've made a boar retch filled the atmosphere, and a symbol appeared in the air.

It was a very specific sort of symbol.

An Aztec skull glyph representing the god of death, Mictlantecuhtli.

A booming male voice thundered into the cemetery. " Who dares to summon me ?"

The rats prostrated themselves in the dirt. "Oh, glorious god of death and the underworld, hear our petition."

" What have you brought me as a sacrifice ?"

"We lifted our voices in prayer to you all afternoon, sir."

" A pitiful sacrifice, but one I will accept. What is your request ?"

I glared at the spirit floating behind the glyph. "Hey, ‘god of death,' I've got a couple of petitions for you, too. No prayers, but I could say a couple of pretty pleases if that works."

"Betty," Kale whispered fiercely, "stop it."

"Number one: Firefly . I want another season," I said.

"Oh my god," Denzel wailed. "He's going to smite us."

"Number two: cellulite," I said. "I'd like it struck from the bodies of every woman in the world." I stuck my hands on my hips and pursed my lips as if in consideration. "Now, I understand that last one's going to upset some of the deals Hades and his cohorts have with beauty product manufacturers, but I'm sure you can give them another way to take advantage of women in the name of profit. Can you do that? For an old friend?"

Gnath, servant of iniquity, commander of the second brigade of malfeasance, and former demon of Highway 86, turned around. "Well, shit," he said, in his normal voice.

"Indeed." I glared down at the rats. "Get up. This isn't a god, you ridiculous rodents."

"Then who is it?" Kale whispered.

"A demon. His name is?—"

" Heeey , now," Gnath said. "Hold on a moment there, earth witch. Perhaps we can make a deal. You keep my name in your pocket, and I do you a favor."

"You already owe me a favor, demon."

"Then you'll have two."

"Fine." I toed Denzel in the side. "Get up. Both of you. You didn't summon Mictlantecuhtli, and there's no reason for you to be afraid of this one—unless you talk to him outside of a containment circle. He's a highway demon."

"Highway demon?" Kale looked confused.

"Or hitchhiker demon. The terms are interchangeable. They pretend to be ghosts with a sob story about a car accident on a lonely stretch of highway , but the second you engage them in conversation, they take control of your body and drag you into Hell—or Limbo."

"C'mon, we had a deal, witch." Gnath's spirit form floated to the edge of the circle the rats had drawn in the dirt. "Cool it with the information sharing."

The men climbed slowly to their feet, keeping their eyes averted from the demon trapped in the two circles—theirs and mine. Denzel spoke without looking at me. "This really isn't Mictlantecuhtli?"

"Not even a distant relative," I said.

"Hey, you don't know that. I've been told we share a cousin on my mother's side," Gnath scoffed.

"So, you're saying we aren't in trouble?" Denzel asked.

"Hate to make a blanket statement. You've probably pissed off a few gods in your time, but the Aztec god of death isn't one of them, as far as I can tell."

"You're sure?" Kale looked shaken.

"Yep. Just stop worshipping him, and he'll forget you existed, if he even knew at all, which he probably didn't. Mictlantecuhtli is a ruler in the underworld. I imagine world political leaders, megachurch preachers, and corporate shareholders keep him pretty busy."

The men backed away from the circle.

"Can you banish the demon for us? Forever?" Denzel asked.

"It'll be difficult," I lied. "And you'll both owe me a favor."

"You got it," Denzel and Kale said together. "We swear it on our honor."

"The deal is done," I said, theatrically. "Now, get out of here."

They scampered off, shifting to rats halfway through the cemetery, leaving clothing and flip-flops strewn on the road behind them.

"Do all witches like collecting favors as much as you do?" Gnath sounded annoyed and a little bored.

"No. Guess I'm a bit demon-like in that regard."

"Perhaps you are."

He hadn't assumed his human form, but my eyes still watered from his stench. Not all demons smelled bad. Sexton, for instance. It was just my luck to keep running into one that smelled like he'd crawled out of a hot sewer.

"So, what was the deal with the rats? Some sort of scam to gain power? I thought you were a highway demon."

"I believe in diversifying my portfolio." He floated around the edge of the circle. "The power I got from the clowns in that cult enabled me to open the occasional portal."

"Just not hold it open long."

"Well, no. I mean, I was down to a congregation of two, and look how quickly they ran away. It's not as if their worship was very potent. But it was a boost." One side of his ghostly body quirked up in what I assumed was a shrug. "What do you plan on doing now? Will you banish me to Hell?"

"Most people wouldn't say that with such hopefulness."

"I'm a Hell demon stuck in Limbo. There's nothing to do. Everyone's so disgustingly repentant here." He peered past the edge of the circle, eyes lighting on the one I'd poured. "A second circle. Why do you do that? Don't you trust your power?"

"The rats drew the first circle," I said. "They were so consumed with fear, they didn't even notice I'd drawn a second one around them. What would you have done in my place?"

"Brainless sycophants are the worst, aren't they? We have so much fun with them in the otherworlds." He sighed, and I felt my eyebrows to make sure they hadn't been singed off by the odor crawling out of his mouth. "It's been so long since one made it to Limbo. Most go straight to Hades, do not pass GO, do not collect?—"

"Right. And that's why you want to go back to Hell? To torture sycophants?"

"Part of the reason. I told you. I'm booooored."

Bored, huh? I can use this.

I cleared my throat and raised my voice. " Gnath, servant of iniquity, commander of the second brigade of malfeasance, former demon of Highway 86, and Mictlantecuhtli impersonator , how would you like to use up both your favors to me in one go and get everything you want?"

"Do I have to do the Firefly thing? Because I can't swing that or the cellulite. You were right about Lucifer and women's beauty product manufacturers. They're pretty tight."

"No, you don't have to do either of those things. All you have to do is be yourself. Kind of."

His lips peeled back, revealing razor-edged teeth. "I'm listening…"

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