Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

" B etween three and four a.m. then?

"The witching hour, yeah."

"You got the gravedigger demon's word?" Ida paced from one end of her living room to the other, her leopard-and-zebra-print swimsuit coverup fluttering behind her. The pink night-vision sunglasses were atop her head.

She'd loved my gift, as I'd hoped she would.

It had taken me two hours to cast the spell on them with help from Fennel and Cecil. I'd finished it a half hour ago, exhausting what remained of my magic in the process. I'd hoped to take another nap before tonight, power up a little, but no dice. As it was, I was late getting to Ida's.

"He swore on his honor." I picked at the red strap on my black-and-white, polka-dot bikini top and tugged up the high-waisted red bottoms.

" Honor , right." The mobile home floor shuddered when she pivoted with a stomp and paced to the window.

"Let me put you up at a hotel tonight. That nice one with the indoor pool in La Paloma." I did a mental calculation. With the money Sexton had paid me today, I had just enough money to cover her stay and the spell renewal. "Or I could stay here with you. Or you could stay in the Airstream with me." I peered into a rainbow-colored, stuffed-full tote bag sitting on a dining room chair. "I demand to be the little spoon, though. You're eating cheese tonight."

"Like you can digest dairy any better than I can, smart ass." She scrunched up her nose and lifted her chin. "Thanks for the offer, but as long as you're sure you have the demon's word, I'll be fine in my own home."

"Ida, I'm sorry." I reached for her arm, and she halted her pacing.

"It's all right, Betty. I understand. Besides, Sexton and I have a truce. I don't reanimate any of his charges and he doesn't murder my soul."

My stomach dropped. "Oh goddess. I didn't realize he could do that." I patted myself, searching for my phone, until I remembered I'd left it on the charger at home. "I'll be right back. This isn't happening. No way am I risking?—"

"Oh, piffle. Don't cancel on account of me. Sexton's going to talk to the soil here. If you can figure out what's going on with this place, you can fix it and sell it. I know leaving is important to you." She picked up the rainbow tote on the dining chair and another she'd set on the floor. The latter hit her hip and clinked. "I wish it weren't, but I understand. Thanks for the sunglasses. I can't wait to wear them to poker night next week."

"Ida, I?—"

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything else."

But I did. "I'm an elemental witch. I need to live on soil that responds to me."

She slung a towel over her shoulder. "And you think you need to get out from under Lila's shadow."

"Mom was far more powerful than I'll ever be." I worked to keep my voice calm, but an anger, a fierceness, came through anyway. "She was a better elemental witch, a better spell witch, a better overall magical, and everyone in town knows it. The saguaros knew it. The soil knows it. Hell, I've known it since I was a kid."

We stepped out onto her small porch, and I took her bags so she could lock up. "You know, sometimes we believe things as kids that don't turn out to be true. Far as I know, there's no Santa Claus or tooth fairy."

"It's not the same."

"It is. You're holding onto a belief you should've outgrown years ago. I could tell you no one thinks you're less of a witch than Lila. I could tell you that magic emanates from you like heat off a radiator. But you won't believe me, because you're holding onto a lie you told yourself after what happened with that wolf shifter years ago, and you won't let go of it."

"It's not a lie," I snapped. "I told myself I was every bit as powerful as Mom and could help him. You know what happened."

"I do. I also know why it happened and all you've done to make up for it." She gave me a sad smile and took the bag back from me. "Let's go. The wine's getting warm."

This was the moment.

I should tell her how I was weakening, how living on soil that hated me was sapping my magic, drop by drop. I told Ida everything. Why was this the one thing I held back?

Because you don't want her to worry.

No. I didn't micromanage Ida's feelings. I didn't trauma dump on her, but I didn't adjust my behavior to ensure she wouldn't have to feel a particular way. Besides, Ida was unpredictable. She rarely reacted the way other people did.

Because you don't want her to know.

There it was. As much as I loved and trusted Ida, I didn't want her to know. I didn't want anyone aside from Fennel to know, because if I said it aloud, admitted to another person that it was happening, I'd have to face it. And facing it meant confronting my own weakness.

Again.

Damn, I really didn't like myself sometimes.

I followed silently as she led the way to the Brittons' hot tub.

Jaqueline and Xandra, the senior couple who lived behind Ida, had installed it on their patio a few years ago. It was big enough for six as long as no one minded their outer thighs touching the person beside them.

If I'd been planning to stay in Smokethorn permanently, I'd have created a more spacious natural hot spring for the park. Working with the rock beneath the soil and the groundwater, I'd have used my magic to form a strong hydrogeological framework and encouraged the soil to allow heated water to break through.

It would take time, but I knew it was possible because I'd done it before, for an elemental coven in Tucson, Arizona. At one time, I'd thought I might even join that coven.

Then Mom called late one night and turned my whole world upside down.

Ida, Gladys, Xandra, Jaq, Trini, and I drank wine—regular, not spelled wine, thank the gods—ate snacks, told stories, and soaked peacefully in the hot tub. The music was nice—an eclectic playlist of K-pop, American Top 40, and classical—but I couldn't help wishing for a little Linda Ronstadt, Styx, or Cheap Trick.

At eleven, I handed out peace charms I'd crafted with Cecil and hugged them all goodnight—giving Ida an extra-tight hug that she returned. No matter what happened, I could always depend on her to love me back.

Even when I didn't deserve it.

Exhausted from the day and the night before, and more than a teensy bit drunk, I let myself into my trailer. I tossed my damp towel on the table and kicked off my flip-flops, my gaze zeroing in on the boysenberry wine on the counter.

Uh oh. I'd almost forgotten to give Cecil and Fennel their Valentine's Day gifts.

Fennel wouldn't mind, but Cecil was more demanding, and he expected to be celebrated in some small way on every major holiday. I'd found out the hard way how long he could pout after I'd neglected to acknowledge him on St. Patrick's Day last March. Cecil had become so much a part of my life that it was sometimes hard to believe the gnome had only been with me a year.

A wolf shifter friend of mine, who'd since moved away, had called me for help with him after he'd gone full anarchist in her trailer park outside La Paloma and attacked her neighbor. I'd driven over, scooped him into a spelled bag, and taken him home.

These were the sort of jobs I did around town. Jobs too small, too annoying, too tedious for the coven to deal with. Casting highway demons into Limbo, breaking curses, repotting giant carnivorous plants, and occasionally wrangling gnomes with bad attitudes.

I'd worried about Fennel's reaction to the mean-spirited gnome, but the cat had seemed fine with it. And Cecil had immediately taken to Fennel, which was strange, because Cecil didn't like anyone. He tolerated Ida and me, but he hated most everyone else.

I poured a measure of wine into a small shot glass, opened the fridge to grab the plate of salmon I'd picked up after my meeting with Sexton, and headed to the garden room. As long as I made it before the close of day, Cecil should be satisfied.

The door was cracked open, a rock keeping it from closing, allowing cool, dry air to flow into the room. Cecil was a lot of things—nihilist, extortionist, climate rabble-rouser, to name a few—but above all else, he was a master gardener. He wasn't an earth witch, but he did have magic and enough horticultural knowledge to fill a library. If the door was open, it was because the plants needed it.

I went inside, set the wine on Cecil's worktable and the salmon near Fennel's empty bed. The cat often roamed at night, so it wasn't unusual for him to be gone at this hour.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Cecil and Fennel," I sang. My voice echoed through the room.

A lavender flower broke free and drifted to the floor beneath the planter. I picked it up, held it to my nose, and drew in a deep breath. With my other hand, I dug into the soil, my fingers stroking the plant's roots with gentle magic.

"Thank you." I felt the soil's joy at my touch. It hugged my hand, sending a feeling of gratitude through me.

This was the relationship I wanted with the soil I lived on. This was how it was supposed to be.

I extracted my hand, tucked the lavender into the waist of my bathing suit, since I had no pockets, and headed to the door—stopping short with a gasp when I saw what Cecil had done.

Roofing nails hammered into the windowsills around my workstation were crowded with new pressed-glass botanical charms, all of them exuding so much peace I felt it from a foot away. The gnome must've worked all day and into the evening to finish so many in such a short time. The cousins at the Desert Rose Café were going to love them.

"Thank you, Cecil," I said, touched.

I left the door cracked and walked back to my trailer. Unlike the soil in the planter, the dirt beneath my bare feet ignored me. It showed no joy at my touch, only disappointment and anger.

The feeling was mutual.

"Betty?" The voice was deep, male, and familiar. It sent delicate shivers up and down my spine—and into a few other parts of me.

" Ronan ?"

Sure enough, Ronan Pallás stood in the shadows by the mailboxes.

"I've been trying to call you all night. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"So, you just showed up like a stalker weirdo? That's not creepy at all," I said, with a heavy measure of sarcasm.

"I'm not stalking you. I have news about Gladys. You said to let you know."

"At nearly midnight?"

"I run a bar. You know I keep strange hours. I was under the impression you did the same."

I did, though I'd been hoping to get into bed before midnight tonight.

"What did Papa Pallás have to say about Gladys?" I asked, not expecting much.

Ronan growled at the invisible barrier keeping him from coming any closer. "I'm not going to have this conversation from the other side of a protection spell. Let me in or come over here. Or meet me tomorrow afternoon when it might be too late. Up to you."

"Hang on." I studied a pile of rocks at my feet. I selected a gray one, resting it against my lips as I chanted a spell into it. Thankfully, it didn't take much magic, because I had next to nothing left. Gods, I needed sleep.

"Here." I tossed it to Ronan, who barely managed to catch my terrible throw.

He held up the rock. "What's this?"

"A key. It'll allow you inside. For now."

"This won't take long." He took a tentative step across the barrier, and after experiencing no resistance, walked up to my front door with me.

"Good, because I'm a little soused, a lot tired, and I have no patience for wolf bullshit tonight."

"You and me both—except for the soused part. Cool bathing suit, by the way. You look like one of the women they painted on the nose of World War II bombers. Is there a pool around here?"

"Hot tub." I waved him into my trailer and motioned for him to sit at the table where I'd left my towel. "Coffee? Tea? Wine? Whisky? All out of beer, sorry."

"Wish I could soak in a hot tub about now." He handed me the damp towel and sat down with an audible sigh. Rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. "I'd love a cup of tea, if you don't mind."

"Mint okay? I grow it myself."

"Sounds amazing." He raked a hand through his dark red hair and rested his head on his forearms, powerful shoulders tugging up the sleeves of his T-shirt. It was an unguarded gesture, and despite my innate distrust of all things Pallás, I liked it.

I tossed the towel over my folding bathroom door then pulled the lavender from the waist of my swimsuit and tucked it into one of his hands.

His fingers closed around the delicate flower, though he kept his head down. "Thanks." His voice echoed off the tabletop. "The one you gave me earlier ran out of juice this afternoon. Right around two o'clock. Speaking of which, why the hell did you bring a demon into my bar?"

"It wasn't intentional. Don't worry, it won't happen again." I grimaced. "I think. At least, I won't do it on purpose. I can't guarantee anything beyond that."

"Wonderful. Demons and deception." He rubbed his thumb over the lavender the way I'd told him to earlier, like a worry stone. "If I ever write an autobiography, that'll be the title. See, the demons part will play ambiguous. Are they personal demons? Real demons? No one will know for sure. The chapter on deception will, of course, feature you."

I scowled. " Unintentional deception, which really isn't deception at all, when you get down to it."

"Yes, let's argue semantics, Betty. That's exactly what my head needs right now."

"Fine, I'll drop the subject," I said, and cast around for another. "Hey, have you heard anything recently about Mictlantecuhtli?"

He groaned into the table. "You brought a freaking death god into my pub?"

"Don't be ridiculous." I laughed nervously. "I was just wondering if you'd heard anyone talking about him, seen his glyph painted on the door of an illuminati-esque cult hideout in the city, that sort of thing."

"No. And I don't want to hear about it. In fact, I'd like to know less about it than I do right now." The lavender released its fragrance as he stroked it. "Stop talking about it. I beg you."

Ronan still hadn't looked up. I was an earth witch. For all he knew, I could've handed him wolfsbane instead of lavender.

He trusts me.

A flutter of warmth started in my stomach and spread throughout my body.

I liked that he trusted me.

Ronan was kind, and funny, and hotter than a Smokethorn sidewalk in July. I'd never met anyone quite like him. He was nothing like his bastard of a father.

Oh no.

Oh hell.

Oh hell no.

I would not, could not start anything with Ronan Pallás. It was the king of bad ideas. I hated his father every bit as much as I hated the coven and trusted the elder alpha and the wolves in his inner circle even less.

Falling for the son of your sworn enemy was a bad idea at the best of times, and with my magic slowly weakening, this was far from the best of times.