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Authors: Lexi George

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BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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Brand tightened his jaw and measured his words with care. What he was about to admit was unprecedented. “In thinking the matter over, it is perhaps possible that Adara—uh—I mean, the female may be responsible.”
Ansgar gazed at him without blinking. “She is a sorceress, then?”
“No. As I told you last night, she was harmed during the fight with the djegrali.”
“Harmed in what manner?”
“An ice dagger. The creature stabbed her in the chest as it fled. 'Twas a mortal injury. I repaired it.”
For the first time in Brand's memory, Ansgar's perpetual air of imperious complacence wavered.
“A mortal wound and you repaired it? Such a thing is not permitted. If she is responsible for transporting us here, then that means . . .” Ansgar's eyes widened. “It means you gave a human a portion of your essence! It is forbidden.”
“She came to my aid and in doing so was injured. Healing a human comrade wounded in battle is not unknown, although I will admit it is unusual and generally discouraged. As for the other, where is it written? I do not recall such a prohibition.”
It was Ansgar's turn to clench his teeth, a circumstance that gave Brand some small measure of satisfaction. “You do not recall it because it has never been done,” Ansgar ground out. “We are immortal. The consequences of what you have done could be disastrous.”
“Don't you think I know that? That is why I mean to keep a close eye on the human.”
“It wasn't your eyes I noticed on the female, Brand.”
Brand ignored him and strode up the road. “I take full responsibility for my actions, including the consequences. I bid you good hunting. I must return to my charge, lest the djegrali find and harm her in my absence.”
Ansgar trotted after him. “I will accompany you. The demon I seek will no doubt be drawn to its fellow creature.”
“As you wish.”
They rounded a curve in the road and saw a number of buildings in the distance.
Ansgar stopped in front of a faded metal sign on the side of the road. “
Brand.
”
Anxious as he was to get back to Adara, something in the other warrior's voice gave Brand pause. He retraced his steps.
“What is it?” Ansgar stood unmoving before the sign, a peculiar expression on his face. Swallowing his annoyance, Brand joined Ansgar. “What troubles you, Ansgar?”
Ansgar raised his hand and pointed. With growing impatience, Brand turned and looked at the strange squiggles painted on the worn metal marker. The Dalvahni were blessed with the gift of languages, a necessary talent in their travels between worlds. After a moment's concentration, the unfamiliar marks shifted and blurred into something recognizable.
“It is a sign proclaiming the name of this hamlet. What of it?”
“Look at it again, Brand. And this time, speak the words out loud.”
“Han-nah-a-lah.” Brand read the strange script aloud. Startled, he stepped back. “By the sword, it cannot be.”
Ansgar nodded. “Han-nah-a-lah. How many times have you heard those words?
The Dalvahni shall be bound to the hunt until Han-nah-a-lah,
or so the old saying goes. We always assumed Han-nah-a-lah meant until the end of time. The end of time, it would seem, is upon us.”
“Dooo-ley.” Addy trotted down the paved path in the park, slowing when she saw the clump of trees ahead. Even in daylight the shadows in the wood seemed menacing. She did
not
wish to go back into those trees. She cupped her hands to her mouth and called the dog again. “Dooley Anne Corwin, you come here. Don't make me come after you.” She heard the Lab's excited barking from the belly of the woods and decided to try bribery. “Be a good girl and come here, and Addy will give you a piece of cheese.”
“Lost your dog?” a voice drawled.
She spun around. She relaxed when she recognized Darryl Wilson, the strapping security guard hired by the home owner's association to keep an eye on things. Darryl finished high school a few years ahead of her and was harmless enough. There were six Wilson brothers. All but one played football at Hannah High. Like most of his brothers, Darryl worked hard and played harder, which around here meant hunting, drinking, and running around raising hell in his pickup truck. The gig as security guard, he once confided to Addy, was, he hoped, a stepping stone to the local police force.
“Oh, hey, Darryl, you startled me.” She flung him a distracted smile, her thoughts on her dog. “Yeah, Dooley got out, and I'm trying to round her back up. How you doing?”
Darryl did not answer. Addy glanced back and found him staring at her chest, mouth ajar. Her face grew hot. She'd rushed out of the house without putting on a bra, and her nipples were on high alert, pushing against the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Her first instinct was to cross her arms and slink away. Nice girls did
not
go out of the house without a bra. From the look on Darryl's face, you'd think he'd never seen a pair of undomesticated casabas, which Addy knew for a fact wasn't true. Darryl's girlfriend, Raeleene, was rough as a cob and a threat to get drunk and hang out the window of Darryl's truck, her bare boobs flapping in the breeze. Addy straightened her shoulders. Well, Darryl could get over it, 'cause these puppies weren't going back in the crate until she found Dooley. She hoped Mama didn't find out she'd been running around without proper undergarments. Sheesh, the thought of the bear jawing she'd get made her wince.
“Yoo hoo, Darryl.” She waved her hand at him.
“Huh?” He dragged his eyes off her breasts. “Say, Addy, your hair looks different. Kinda crazy sexy, if you know what I mean.” His gaze moved to her bare legs and stuck there. He swallowed like he had a potato stuck in his throat. “Y-you wanna go out sometime? I got my own truck.”
Lord love a redneck, Addy thought with a mental eye roll. “Thanks, but I don't think Raeleene would like it.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about her.” He looked alarmed for a moment and then wistful. “Would she have to know?”
“It's a small town, Darryl.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn't want to carpet it.”
Oh, brother, a comedian. She really did not need this.
“Aren't you the funniest thing?” Addy gave him a bright smile and edged down the path. “Well, nice to see you, Darryl. Tell your mama I said hi. I'd best go look for Dooley.”
A deep bay from the stand of trees drew her up short.
“That your dog, Addy? He sounds hepped up. Maybe he's treed him a cat or something.”
“She,” Addy said absently, her gaze on the woods. Dooley was chasing something, and she sounded excited about it. “You seen any deer around here, Darryl?”
“In River Bend? Not unless you count them ornamental ones Miz Hiebert has on her lawn. She dresses them thangs up for holidays. Puts bunny ears on 'em for Easter and gives 'em fangs for Halloween. It's wrong.” He spat. “I can't wait until I get me a real police job. It's deadsville working in a retirement community. Bunch of blue-haired little old ladies mostly. You still house-sitting for your great aunt?”
“Yeah, I'm staying in River Bend while Aunt Muddy does the world tour thing.”
“That Muddy's whatcha might call a gen-u-ine character, ain't she?” He was staring at her chest again with that deer-in-the-headlights look.
Her
headlights. The poor guy practically drooled. “Why, I 'member one time when I was a boy, she—”
A loud snort interrupted him. An enormous white deer with silver antlers trotted out of the grove. Dooley bounced behind the gigantic animal barking like mad. The buck ignored the yapping canine with magnificent disdain and danced across the park, his hooves skimming the surface of the grass.
“Holy shit.” Darryl's eyes bugged out of his head. “Take a look at the rack on that buck. I ain't never seen a spread that wide. Where's my gun?”
He dashed off in the direction of the gatehouse and his truck.
“Typical guy,” Addy muttered. “Always going for the bigger rack.”
The stag cantered past her and cleared the eight-foot wrought-iron fence that encircled the subdivision with room to spare. Dooley tore after the gigantic ruminant and threw herself against the fence with a last emphatic woof as if to say,
There, and don't come back.
Tongue lolling, she turned and galloped up to Addy for approval.
“Bad dog,” Addy scolded. “What would you do with that thing if you caught it?” Dooley hung her head and whined. “I cannot believe you went back into those woods. Didn't you learn anything last night?” Hands on hips, Addy glared down at the dog. “Well, young lady, what have you got to say for yourself?”
The Lab rolled over and showed her belly.
“Sorry, Addy. Sorry.”
Dooley looked up at Addy with soulful eyes and sprang to her feet.
“Ooh, Addy, Addy! Can Dooley have cheese?”
Chapter Four
T
he shrill ring of the telephone greeted Addy as she stepped into the house. She grabbed the receiver off the cradle. Balancing it between her shoulder and ear, she rummaged through the refrigerator looking for dog cheese. Dooley watched her open the drawer and remove the block of cheddar, ears perked and eyes bright with interest.
“Hello?” Addy grabbed a knife and sliced off a piece of cheese to give to the salivating dog.
“Addy.” Her mother's voice on the other end of the line sounded tense. “You need to open the shop early this morning in case there are any last-minute orders for the Farris funeral. It's a morning service, you know.”
“Yes, Mom, I know.” Addy resealed the cheese and shoved it back in the drawer. “I always open early when there's a funeral. I'll be there in a few minutes.”
“And wear something appropriate. Don't think about wearing jeans, or, God forbid, spaghetti straps. A funeral is not the place for cleavage.”
“Oh, I don't know, Mama. A little T and A might be a surefire way to make certain Old Man Farris is dead before we stick him in the ground. From what I hear, he was quite the womanizer.”
“I'll have you know, Adara Jean Corwin, that your brother is a professional. His customers come in here dead, and they stay that way! And don't speak ill of the dearly departed. It's disrespectful.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Addy put her hand over the mouthpiece. “But the man was still a dog, if you'll pardon the expression,” she told Dooley. “I've heard her say it more than once. I don't see what's wrong with saying so just 'cause he's dead.”
“What's that? I can't hear you,” Mama said. “Addy, are you talking to that dog again? People are going to think you're as crazy as Aunt Etheline if you're not careful. I swear you need a husband, someone you can carry on a real conversation with.”
Addy glanced at the clock. Fifty-five seconds before her mother dropped the “h” bomb. Predictable, but nowhere near her world-record time. Mama was off her game today.
All her life she'd tried to please her mother, to stay inside the lines when she was a color-outside-the-lines kind of girl. But her stubborn nature balked at Mama's attempts to get her hitched. She would not marry someone to please her mother. But that didn't mean she didn't feel guilty about it.
“You'd be surprised what a good conversationalist Dooley is, Mama,” she said. “Listen, I gotta go.”
She hung up the phone with a sigh, snagged her favorite mug out of the cabinet, and fixed a cup of hot tea. After a moment's hesitation, she went to the liquor cabinet and added a liberal splash of Grand Marnier. She took a small swig, enjoying the spicy orange flavor the liqueur added to her Irish Breakfast tea. Normally she wasn't much of a drinker, especially in the morning, but between her Close Encounter of the Absurd Kind with Darryl and Bambi from
Land of the Giants,
and her conversation with Dooley the Loquacious Labrador, she thought she was entitled to a little tonic for her nerves. Sipping her drink, she padded into her bedroom and made the bed, then laid out a black skirt and blue silk blouse to wear. No spaghetti straps, no jeans. As if she didn't have more couth than to show up at a funeral with her girls hanging out. She finished her cup of tea and felt a little calmer. She could do this. The trick was to handle one thing at a time. Sure, a talking dog was a little unusual, but that didn't necessarily mean she was losing her mind. And if it did, she didn't have time to worry about it. She had too much to do.
She stripped off her clothes and tossed them into the hamper in the closet. As she stepped into the bathroom she spied her contact case on the counter by the sink. The case was still closed. She did a quick recap of the morning. Nope, she hadn't put in her contacts before she left the house.
Moving like a sleep walker, she went over to the sink and plucked her glasses out of the case. She'd been blind as a bat since third grade. Without contacts or glasses, things should be hopelessly blurred, but she could see great. Better than great, in fact. She had perfect vision. Stunned, she looked up and saw herself in the mirror.
“Holy cow,” she squawked, stumbling back. She caught her foot on the rug and fell into the shower, banging her arm on the way down. Nursing her bruised wrist, she scrambled to her feet and rushed back to the mirror. Her hair was a pure white blond, the same color it had been when she was a child. A color only nature—and no hairdresser—could produce. In addition to the startling color change, her hair had grown four inches overnight. It floated around her shoulders in soft, wild curls that gave her a tousled just-been-bedded look. She remembered Brand with a blush. And she nearly had been, hadn't she? Who would have guessed her inner whore lurked so close to the surface.
She glanced down and gave a little shriek. The hair
there
had turned blond, too. She dragged her gaze upward to study the woman in the mirror. She looked different and yet the same. Same nose, same chin, same mouth, but better. Addy to the twelfth power. Super Addy with flawless skin, glowing cheeks, and a sultry, pouting pink mouth. She leaned closer. Her brows and lashes were golden brown, not blond like the hair on her head, thank God. Blond eyelashes and she'd look like a roach in a flour barrel.
She touched the jagged, black mark above her left breast, the single blemish on her otherwise flawless skin. Even the little white scar below her right eye, the one she got falling off her grandmother's porch when she was eight, had vanished. As she watched, the angry, purple and red lump on her arm faded and disappeared, too. What was happening to her? This was way past Aunt Etheline crazy. This was
Twilight Zone
stuff. Hannah was a very small town. People were bound to notice and comment on her new makeover. Mama would notice that was for darn sure.
Oh, God, her
mother.
Addy jumped in the shower to get ready for work.
Thirty minutes later, she deactivated the alarm system and entered the flower shop through the back door. Stepping inside the stockroom, she took a quick mental inventory of the floral supplies that lined the shelves on the wall, a ritual that seldom failed to soothe and ground her. The shop was her home away from home, had been since the eighth grade when she fled the horrors of Dead Central to work after school in her great-aunt's flower shop. It was a betrayal her mother had yet to forgive or forget. Two years ago, Aunt Muddy had sold her the business and sailed off to see the world, leaving Addy, at twenty-five, the proud new owner of the only floral business in town. She remodeled the shop, which hadn't been changed since the late sixties, adding two open display coolers banked along one wall that invited customers to browse a wide selection of flowers. Several large worktables and sinks in the middle of the space allowed patrons to observe floral arrangements being made, and a separate workstation in one corner contained balloons, a helium tank, rolls of ribbon, and balloon weights. In addition to the cosmetic changes Addy had made, the shop's inventory now included a small number of tasteful gift items and monogrammed stationery. Last, but not least, there was a line of exquisite handmade candles, soaps, and lotions made by her best friend, Evie Douglass.
Addy entered the front room of the shop. She flipped on the lights, unlocked the front door and booted up the computer. Within fifteen minutes, she received three more orders for the Farris funeral. She was putting the final touches on a sympathy vase of Stargazer lilies, snapdragons, Fuji mums, and alstromeria when the bell on the door chimed and a woman came in wearing a shapeless ankle-length dress, a wide brimmed gardening hat, and Birkenstock knock-off sandals. She staggered inside, her face obscured by the large cardboard box she carried.
Addy smiled. “Morning, Evie.”
“Green tea and banana bread for breakfast and brownies for later.” Evie set the carton down on the counter and gasped in surprise. “Addy, your hair! Oh, my God, why didn't you tell me you were thinking of going blonde?”
Oh, Lord, here we go, Addy thought with an inward groan. What on Earth was she going to tell people? What on Earth was she going to tell
Evie
? They'd been friends since elementary school. She'd never be able to buffalo Evie Douglass. Evie had a sixth sense about such things. She'd know in a second if Addy lied to her.
For that matter, so would anybody else, Addy reflected glumly. She was a terrible liar.
“Uh, I didn't exactly plan it.” Addy avoided Evie's gaze. “It—uh—just kind of happened.”
“What do you mean, it just kind of happened? Did you trip and fall into a vat of peroxide on the way to work?”
Addy snorted. Evie could always make her laugh. It was one of the things she loved about her. Not that Evie shared her sense of humor with many people. She was way too shy.
“No, smart ass, I didn't.”
Evie came around the worktable. “No way you got this done at the Kut 'N' Kurl. You went to one of those she-she salons in Mobile, didn't you?”
The hint of accusation in Evie's voice made Addy smile. A trip to the big city was a rare treat. “Calm down. I didn't go to Mobile without you.”
“I should hope not.” Frowning, Evie examined one of Addy's curls. “I have to admit, it's a great dye job. It looks so natural. But the upkeep is going to be a bitch, and all those chemicals are going to ruin your hair.”
“Relax, Granola Girl, I didn't dye my hair.”
“You didn't? So, what happened then? Somebody scare the crap out of you and make your hair turn white?” Evie gave her a squinty-eyed glare. “Your hair is straight as a stick, not curly. And it's grown to your shoulders overnight. Explain that.” Her expression eased. “Oh, it's a wig, isn't it? Gosh, girl, you had me going. Can you imagine what your mother would say if you dyed your hair? She'd have a cow.” She waved her hands in the air. “She'd have a whole
herd
of cows.”
“I didn't dye my hair, and it's not a wig.”
“But, Addy—”
Addy shoved aside the bouquet she was working on. “Look, Eves, I have to tell somebody or I'm going to explode. Something happened last night, and I—”
The front door chimed, and a petite, fashionable blonde sailed into the shop on designer sling-back heels.
“Later.” Evie sounded panic stricken. “Death Starr at two o'clock.”
“Great,” Addy said. “Just what I needed.”
Summoning a smile, she turned to greet her customer. “Good morning, Meredith. What can I do for you today?”
“Good heavens, what have you done to yourself, Addy? You look wonderful.” Meredith Starr Peterson ignored Evie and set her Fendi leather baguette on the counter. She placed her left hand on top so that the huge diamond ring she wore sparkled in the light. “You went to Mobile for a makeover, didn't you, you sly thing, and didn't tell me!”
“Evie and I went together.” Addy winced as she received a sharp kick in the ankle from Evie. “It was a lark, you know. One of those glam shot things at the mall.”
“You and The Whale went?” Out of the corner of her eye Addy saw Evie cringe as Meredith's attention shifted to her. Meredith's upper lip curled as she looked Evie up and down. “Looks like the same old Whaley Douglass to me. I'd say you wasted your time and your money.”
Meredith had been a thorn in Addy's side since seventh grade, but that was nothing to how she'd mistreated poor Evie over the years. For some unknown reason, Meredith
hated
Evie. To make matters worse, Evie was now the bookkeeper in the Peterson Land Office, the business owned and operated by Meredith's husband, Trey. This seemed to make Meredith hate Evie worse and gave the Death Starr more torture time.
“Grow up, Meredith, and stop picking on people,” Addy said. “This is not high school.”
Meredith raised her arched brows. “This is a small town, Addy. It will always be high school. Only we're in the twenty-first grade instead of the twelfth.” She drummed her long, red nails on the counter. “And in case you've forgotten—though how you could when it was ‘the' social event of the season three years ago is beyond me—I'm Mrs. Trey Peterson now. What I say goes, same as in high school.”
“You mean, because Trey has money.”
“Exactly. Something you'd do well to remember as a businesswoman.”
Addy swallowed her retort as Brand and Ansgar strode into the shop. Brand looked bigger and more intimidating and—God help all females—more handsome in broad daylight, even in that ridiculous getup. Nobody in their right mind wore leather in Alabama in the summertime, unless they were into something kinky or on the back of a motorcycle. Or maybe both. Ansgar looked around him with interest, but Brand seemed indifferent to his surroundings, bored even. And then he looked at her. His expression might be impassive, but his green eyes blazed with fury. Whew, she had one seriously pissed-off medieval dude in her shop. She edged away from the counter. Maybe she could make a run for the back door. But, that would leave poor Evie with Macho Man and Testosterone Pal
and
the Death Starr to deal with. That would be a rotten thing to do, especially to a friend. Besides, she was pretty sure Brand would catch her before she got out the door.
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