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Authors: Lexi George

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BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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“How?” she asked, unable to manage anything more coherent.
Brand, bless him, seemed to understand. “Ansgar.”
“Blondy did this?”
He nodded. Great, she thought with an inward groan. She owed the frozen hemorrhoid another one. Her cup runneth over.
She flipped the CLOSED sign to open, booted up the computer, and checked her messages. She was working on the flower arrangements for the upcoming monthly meeting of the Purple Hoo-Hah Club, a supper club of rowdy, cigar-smoking whiskey-slugging older women who Chief Davis proclaimed a “frigging nuisance,” when the bell chimed and Evie and Ansgar strolled in. Evie looked different. She looked . . .
She knew that look, that dewy, glowing, multiple-orgasm look. She'd seen it this morning when she looked in the mirror. Blondy and her best friend had been canoodling.
Addy stiffened. “Oh, no he didn't.”
Brand put his hand on her shoulder. “Leave it alone, Adara. It is not your affair.”
“She's my best
friend.
”
“And he is my brother. I believe Ansgar has strong feelings for Mistress Evangeline. I have not known him to act thus before with a human.”
“So help me, if he hurts her—”
“Morning,” Evie said, not looking at Addy. “We thought we'd check and see how you two were doing.” She glanced shyly at Brand. “Ansgar said you weren't feeling like yourself last night, Mr. Dalvahni. Are you all right?”
“I am fully recovered, Mistress Evangeline. And call me Brand.”
Evie blushed. “All right, but only if you call me Evie.”
Brand smiled at her. “Very well, Evie.”
“I'm starving,” Addy announced. “Why don't you two guys slide on down to the Sweet Shop and get us something to eat?”
“Adara, you have already broken your fast,” Brand said.
“I'm hungry again. So sue me.”
“I will not leave you unaccompanied. It is too dangerous with the djegrali about.”
“Ahem,” Ansgar said. “Brother, I believe the females would like to converse alone. The usual protective spells and a guardian should suffice for the short time we will be gone.”
“I do not like it,” Brand said. “Trouble has a way of finding Adara.”
“Oh, for Pete's sake, leave the stupid guardian and go,” Addy said. “Blondy's right for once. Girlfriend and I need to talk.”
“Very well.” Brand's expression grew distant. “Stop aggravating that poor creature and make yourself useful,” he said, speaking to someone unseen.
Mr. Fluffy materialized with a sharp metallic
ping!
The kitten meowed and fluttered around Brand's head.
Evie squealed in delight. “A fairy cat! I haven't seen one of those since your Aunt Etheline died.”
“Mr. Fluffy is your idea of a
guardian
?” Addy said. “You've got to be kidding.”
“The fae have many talents,” Brand said. “But if you feel unsafe with Mr. Fluffy . . .”
“No, no, that's all right.” Addy watched the kitten make a circuit around the shop. “Mr. Fluffy will be fine.”
“Very well.” Brand held out his arm, and Mr. Fluffy landed on his wrist. He addressed the cat sternly. “Ansgar and I have to leave for a short time. You will remain here and guard Adara and Evangeline while we are gone. Understood?”
“Meow.”
“Good. You will alert us at the first hint of trouble. Do not attempt to engage the djegrali on your own. If other humans arrive, disguise yourself. Is that clear?”
“Meow.”
Brand put the cat down on the counter. He leaned over and gave Addy a hard kiss. “We will return shortly. You should be safe here for the time being. Do not leave this place.”
He strode to the door and looked at Ansgar over his shoulder. “Brother?”
Ansgar nodded. He tugged Evie into his arms and kissed her. “To hold the taste of you in my memory until I return,” he murmured, releasing her.
Evie watched him leave, a goofy grin on her face.
“Hello, Earth to Evie.” Addy waved her hand in Evie's face. “Spill it, girl. What's going on with you and Blondy?”
“He has a name, Addy. It's Ansgar.”
Addy rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. What's up with you and Ansgar?”
Evie blushed rosily. “Oh, Addy, I'm so happy!”
“You and Blondy had sex, didn't you?”
“Addy!”
“Well, didn't you? Sorry to be so blunt, but I don't have time to beat around the bush, if you'll excuse the pun. Brand is Mr. Over Protective. He won't stay gone long.”
Evie walked over to her display table and made a business of straightening her soaps. “Yes, to answer your question, and it was wonderful. More wonderful than I could have imagined.” She whirled around, her lips trembling. “I didn't expect to feel this way. I'm so happy and . . . and, at the same time,
terrified.
What am I going to do, Addy?”
Addy hurried across the room and gave Evie a quick hug. “I know how you feel. It's been a crazy couple of days.”
Evie chuckled and wiped her eyes. “You can say that again. Remember how we used to moan and groan about nothing happening in Hannah? We sure can't say that anymore.” She gave Addy a curious look. “What about you? Have you and Brand . . . uh, you know?”
“Yep, we have definitely ‘you know-ed.' And, that's all I'm going to say about it, except that I'm crazy about the big jerk and I don't know how I'm going to stand it when he leaves.”
Evie sighed. “I know what you mean.”
“Evie, I have so much to tell you. Muddy's back in town. And you were absolutely right. I shouldn't have gone off alone. Ghouly Farris was waiting for me, and Brand turned into a fire monster and there was a big fight and he pulled Dwight's head off, and the two of them wrecked the shop.”
Evie blinked. “Slow down, Addy. Dwight Farris was waiting for you? Here?”
Addy nodded and launched into a condensed version of all that had happened since Saturday afternoon, telling Evie about the demon attack and Brand going berserk, and Ansgar repairing the damage to her shop.
“And when I got up yesterday morning, Muddy was sitting in the living room and Mr. Fluffy was a flying cat, and Jebediah Hannah was on the front lawn,” she said, winding things up. “The demon cut Jeb's head off and left him as some kind of sick-o demon message that he's not through with me.” Addy shivered. “The police are at Muddy's guarding Old Jeb until the folks downtown can figure out how to move him. Oh, and Dan Curtis has a crush on me—how weird is that?—and Muddy and Mr. Collier have secretly been in love with each other for thirty years, and Mr. C has quit drinking because he knows the demons are real and he's not crazy, and he and Muddy are getting married.” She took a deep breath and blew it out again. “There. I think that's about it.”
Evie stared at her openmouthed. “Wow that was some weekend.”
“Meow.” Crossing his front paws, the fairy cat assumed a wide, fake grin and turned into a figurine.
“How 'bout that? Mr. Fluffy has made himself a bobble head. What do you think it means?” Evie's eyes grew round, and she grabbed Addy by the arm. “Oh, my goodness, Addy, what if it's the
demon
. What do we do?”
Addy looked out the window with a feeling of dread. “It's a demon, all right,” she said.
The bell on the front door jingled angrily, and the Death Starr walked in.
Chapter Twenty-six
M
eredith waddled up and slammed her purse down on the counter. Mr. Fluffy's head bobbed up and down.
“Hey, watch what you're doing.” Addy laid a protective hand over the kitten. “This is a very special bobble head, I'll have you know.”
“I don't give a hoot in Hades about your tacky little bobble head, Addy Jean Corwin. You take this curse off me.”
“No idea what you're talking about, Meredith.” Addy looked her up and down. “Nice muu-muu, by the way. Living on the edge though, aren't we? I mean, going around town in a housecoat. You know how big Trey is on appearances.”
“Don't you dare make fun of me!” Meredith fidgeted with the front of the hot pink terrycloth bag she wore. “I hate you! It's all your fault I have to wear this ugly old thing. Nothing else is comfortable, because of the . . . the . . .”
“Gi-normous bumps on your butt?” Addy widened her eyes at Meredith. “Humongous boils on your backside?”
Meredith pounded her fist on the counter, and Mr. Fluffy's head moved crazily up and down. “I can't stand it! I can't sleep. I can't sit down. Make it go away, or I'll ruin you. So help me, I will, if it's the last thing I do.”
Addy raised her brows. “Listen to what you're saying, Meredith. You're blaming me because you got pimples on your butt. That's crazy.”
“You did this because you're jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
“Of
me
. That I married Trey and you didn't. You've hated me since I took him away from you in high school.”
Addy laughed. “That's funny. Sorry to burst your bubble, Meredith, but I don't want Trey. I lost interest in him when I caught the two of you boning in the backseat of his car. What I
do
want is an apology. Tell Evie you're sorry you were so rude to her, and I'll bet your little—er—dermatological problem goes away.”
Meredith slid Evie a venomous look. “Apologize to that disgusting pig? I'd sooner eat roadkill.”
Addy shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I think I should warn you that spite is a very negative emotion. Poisons the whole system. Why, there's no telling where you might break out next.”
Meredith's eyes narrowed. “Don't you threaten me, Addy Corwin. You fix this, or I'll make you sorry you were born.”
“Sorry, no can do.” Addy propped her elbows on the counter. “Say, Meredith, what's that on your face? You getting your period? 'Cause it looks like Zit City from here.”
Meredith's hands flew to her face. “No! What have you done?”
Hobbling over to a mirror, she stared at her reflection in horror. Dozens of angry-looking red pimples erupted on her once flawless skin. A huge ugly bump swelled on the end of her nose and burst.
“Eww, that's gross.” Addy shook her head. “Negativity is a very destructive emotion. Gosh, wouldn't it be terrible if you got a zit on your face for every time you've been ugly to Evie? Why, that would mean hundreds of zits, maybe thousands! I'd work on that negativity if I were you. Try and find your happy place.”
“I'll get you for this, Addy Corwin!” Meredith raged. “And you, too, Whaley Douglass.” She looked around the room and spied Evie's neatly arranged wares on a nearby display table. Stomping over, she swept her arm across the tabletop, scattering soaps and lotions and scented oils onto the floor. “I'll get you both for this, if it's the last thing I do.”
Turning on her heel, she stalked across the room. She snatched Mr. Fluffy off the counter and hurled him against the wall. He bounced off with a muted squeak and took flight. Spreading his wings, the furious kitten dive-bombed her like a crazed mockingbird protecting its nest.
“What is that thing? Go away!” Meredith shrieked and batted at the flying cat. “Make it go away!”
“I told you not to mess with the merchandise,” Addy said.
Mr. Fluffy made another swoop, and the Death Starr ran screaming out the door.
The enemy routed, the outraged kitten spit and burbled like a kettle, then settled back down on the counter.
Addy gently stroked his fur. “Mr. Fluffy, I owe you an apology. You are a magnificent guardian.”
“Meow,” Mr. Fluffy said, and vanished.
The air shimmered and Ansgar and Brand appeared, weapons drawn.
Brand looked around. “I heard a noise. Is something amiss?”
“Addy put the whammy on the Death Starr,” Evie said in tones of awe. “It was so cool.”
Brand frowned. “I do not understand. Explain.”
“Meredith came in acting all ugly and stuff and Addy gave her what for.” Evie giggled. “You should have seen the way Meredith walked.”
“Like a constipated duck,” Addy said.
“Quack, quack.” Evie's eyes brimmed with laughter. “Oh, I know it's mean of me to laugh, but it was
so
funny.”
Brand visibly relaxed. “Ah, I see. The unpleasant female with the viperous tongue was here. Adara, it does not behoove you to use your abilities to torment humans.”
Addy snorted. “Meredith isn't
human.
Besides, she had it coming. She's been hateful to Evie since the seventh grade.”
“Do not be too hard on Adara, brother.” Ansgar put his arm around Evie. “I remember the creature. She is most unpleasant.”
“Unpleasant?” Addy repeated. “That's an understatement. She's a giant, moon-size carbuncle on the ass end of mankind, that's what she is. Now, where's my food?”
Brand re-sheathed his sword. “I regret to say that in our haste to return we did not obtain sustenance.”
“Damn,” Addy said. “Whammying the Death Starr gives me the munchies.”
Evie and Ansgar stayed behind to mind the flower shop while Addy attended the Farris funeral at 10:30 Monday morning. Generally, she avoided such things like the plague, but this was one dead guy she wanted to personally see put in the ground. And she was nervous about the whole mutilated corpse thing. What if Shep hadn't been able to reattach Dwight's head? She imagined Shirley running around Corwin's, her husband's severed head dangling from one plump, pink hand, and his . . .
She shivered, her mind balking at the terrible image.
Brand accompanied her to the funeral home, looking disgustingly gorgeous in his blue dress shirt and black slacks. The guy was a major hunk, no matter what he wore, but in dress duds he was a killer. Every time Addy looked at him, her eyeballs did a little happy dance in their sockets and her hormones went into overload. To her disgust, all the females at Corwin's had a similar reaction. And a few
males,
too, she noticed, taking mental notes about who was and was
not
out of the closet in Hannah. In fact, she suspected there might have been a stampede if they'd been anywhere other than a funeral home.
Addy went straight to the chapel, a two-hundred-fifty-seat space decorated in traditional funeral home blah. Canned music floated out of the speakers mounted in the four corners of the room. The blond paneling on the walls gleamed softly in the muted light from the arched windows. The flowers had been moved from the viewing room and lined up on one side of the pulpit in anticipation of the service. Working quickly, Addy made a few last-minute repairs to the arrangements and hurried to take a seat beside Brand on a cushioned pew in the back of the room. The casket was rolled past the Farris family members and placed in front of the wall of flowers. Shep came in bearing a large, framed picture of Dwight Farris. He placed the picture on an easel and stepped back. Addy studied the likeness. Young Dwight looked a lot like Dinky, sans mullet. There was one gene pool she wouldn't want to take a dip in.
Shep turned, and Addy stifled a gasp. Although he was dressed with his customary care, his hair smooth and polished, something about him seemed
different.
The expression on his face startled Addy. He looked beatific . . . serene. Heck, Big Bro looked
stoned.
Shep wasn't into drugs or a big boozer. Still, it had been a stressful forty-eight hours, what with Dwight disappearing and showing back up decapitated. Who could blame Shep if he had a little something before the funeral? Poor guy was probably petrified Dwight would lose his head again.
Shep's weird behavior increased Addy's anxiety. She needed to
know
that Dwight was dead. She wanted to see the head. Shirley was bound to notice if Dwight didn't have a head. Sure,
she
cut things off the poor guy. Important things, Dwight's
favorite
thing, rumor had it. But that didn't mean anyone else was allowed to do it. So, when the eerie wailing from the phantom organ overhead intensified and, one by one, people began to drift out of the pews to file past the dearly departed and pay their respects, Addy got up and got in line.
Shirley stood at the head of the casket accepting condolences. Dressed in a powder-blue, double-knit dress with a belt and shoes to match, she clasped a shiny patent leather blue purse in one hand and a white lace hanky in the other. Addy couldn't help but wonder if Shirley had
it
in the bag. Knowing Shirley, the answer was probably yes.
With a combination of morbid curiosity and dread, Addy shuffled closer to the body. Reaching the deceased at last, she sent up a prayer that the dead guy cooties wouldn't jump out of the casket and permanently stick to her eyeballs and looked down. Dead dude's head was right where it ought to be. Dwight's eyes were closed, thank you, Lord Jesus. One of the worst things about Ghouly Farris had been that horrible wet, purple-black gaze, like liquid evil. As she gazed upon Dwight's waxen features, she realized something. She was nose to nose with a dead guy, and she hadn't fainted or run screaming out of the room or thrown up. Her fear of dead people was gone. She still wasn't crazy about the living-impaired, but she could deal. Huh. How about that? Her little run-in with Ghouly Farris probably had something to do with it. Nothing like rolling around on the floor with a flesh-eating dead guy to cure a girl of necrophobia. Immersion therapy at its best.
She inspected the corpse critically. For a guy who'd been emasculated, demonically possessed, beheaded, and barbecued, Old Man Farris didn't look half bad. The gray suit was a definite improvement over the cheap polyester nightmare Widow Farris had put him in. His cheeks had been restuffed and the damage to his mouth repaired. Super-glue was good stuff. Her big brother was some kind of freaking funeral home genius, because the only evidence of the ugly gash between Dwight's lower lip and chin was a single thin line that looked like a scar. The collar hid Dwight's neck, so Addy couldn't tell how Shep had reattached the head. She suspected duct tape was involved. Southerners use duct tape for everything from patching mufflers and hemming pants to wart removal. There were rumors floating around town that Darryl Wilson had once used Saran Wrap and duct tape to create a super condom. The duct tape stuck to his skin, so the story went, and Darryl and the Silver Surfer ended up at the ER in Paulsberg.
Various family members and friends had left little offerings in the casket with Dwight, a kind of Great Beyond travel kit. There was a pack of apple-flavored Skoal, a pair of nail clippers, a fountain pen—Wha? Did they think the guy was going to
write
?—a bag of circus peanuts, a box of Good & Plenty, a girlie magazine, and ajar of spiced peaches. The edge of a photograph peeked out of Dwight's lapel pocket. Addy bent over for a better look. It was a picture of Dwight standing next to Bessie Mae. In the photo, Bessie Mae wore black, leather-look, spandex leggings, a leopard print tube top, and five-inch black stilettos. A cheetah print headband separated the front of her jet-black, cotton-candy hair from the high poof of sprayed and teased hair in the back. Dwight had a death grip on one of Bessie Mae's boobs. Like he was afraid it might escape or something. Girlfriend had a terminal case of camel toe. Addy could practically read the woman's lips.
Addy glanced over at Shirley. Clueless, bless her heart. Bessie Mae was like the Stealth Bomber of girlfriends, able to penetrate the enemy's defenses, nuke 'em, and glide back out again without being seen.
Mama appeared out of nowhere at Addy's elbow. Mama was a Stealth Bomber, too. Real sneaky like Bessie Mae, only without the camel toe, thank God. Mama's genitalia would never betray her in such an uncouth manner. Growing up, Addy was certain Mama was a smoothie, like Barbie. No hootie at all.
“Move along, Addy,” Mama said. “You're holding up the line. You want to make a scene?”
A scene at the Farris funeral? Heaven forbid. Addy gave Shirley a sympathetic smile and sat back down.
Three preachers, two yowling soloists, and an hour and a half later, Addy and Brand waited at River Oaks Cemetery for Old Dwight to be interred. Located at the edge of the older part of town, the cemetery had been built at the turn of the twentieth century on the slopes of a gentle hill. Hundred-year-old oaks shaded the lots. The Farris plot was one of the newer ones situated at the front of the cemetery on a small rise. Shep stood to one side of the prepared grave, his expression unnaturally placid. The sarcophagus was removed from the hearse by eight deacons from the Cleansing Waters Baptist Church—referred to by the irreverent as Massengill Baptist—and placed in the center of the tent that covered the gravesite. The pallbearers stood sharply at attention as the family members exited their vehicles and seated themselves in fabric-covered chairs under the awning and out of the heat. Everyone else was allowed to bake.
BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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