How to Kill Yourself in a Small Town (14 page)

Desty

I
had never needed to go into the Council Building back in Hannibal, so I wasn’t sure
what to expect from the Halo Witches’ Council. Maybe tree stump chairs and
people wearing long robes and moon charms—not desk phones, computers, and
corporate casual. There was even a water cooler in the corner.

“Hey,
Jax,” the receptionist said. “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“Hey,
Celeste,” Jax said. He pointed at the woman in the peach shirt in the far
corner of the office. “We’re actually just here to see Bailey.”

“Come
on back,” Bailey said without looking up from the papers in front of her. She
had one finger on a thick piece of vellum and the other running across symbols
written in blue ink in a notebook. When we stopped in front of her desk, Bailey
pushed down on both fingers like she was clicking a mouse with each one. She
looked up at us and pushed her reading glasses back on her head. “I didn’t
expect to see you today, Jax. Who’s your friend?”

“This
is Desty,” Jax said. “Her twin sister is Kathan’s familiar and now he wants
Desty to become joint-familiar.”

“So
he can become a commander,” Bailey said.

“Yeah,
and since you’re translating that Nephilim thing, I figured you could help us
out.”

Bailey
leaned back in her ergonomic desk chair.

“What
exactly do you need help with?” she asked.

Jax
looked at me.

“Really,
I’d just like to know more about the whole thing,” I said. “Is it true that if
he’s a commander there isn’t any brain corrosion to his familiars?”

“The
problem with the way humans translate texts is that our brains are structured
to look for patterns that create words and sentences,” Bailey said. “Even
calling it a ‘text’ can be misleading. When you’re dealing with another race,
you might find something completely different like a history recorded
completely in colors or feelings.”

“Well,
what you gave me is a whole bunch of words that read like sentences, so you
must know what this Nephilim thing’s recorded in,” Jax said.

Bailey
nodded.

“Therein
lies the rub, Ajax,” she said. “Feelings or colors would be easier. The
Nephilim account was recorded in… The closest way I can describe it is
intentions or maybe unborn hopes.”

Jax
closed his eyes and his lids flickered as he read.

“You
got, ‘To rise to the level of commander it would appear that an alpha of
certain strength must be able to impose his essence on two of the same nature
and body at the same time’ from unborn hopes or maybe intentions?” He opened
his eyes. “You’re badass, Bailey.”

“I
am the best,” she agreed. She looked at me. “Jax can give you anything he’s
uploaded to that brain of his, but I’m afraid I’ve only gotten what amounts to
about a page of translation done so far. It’s slow going and lately I’ve been
focusing on more important matters.”

Jax
raised his eyebrows at her. “You’re going to sit there and tell me there’s
something more important than—and you know I quote—‘a force able to grow and
command the most powerful army ever to march the earth?’”

“Holy
crap,” I mumbled.

“I’m
telling you there are more things in heaven and earth than you or I have ever
dreamed of,” Bailey said. “And I’m going to go ahead and assume that covers
abstractions like ‘order of importance.’ For you, anyway.”

“Touché,”
Jax said. “Thanks anyhow.”

“No
problem.” Bailey scooted her chair back up to her desk and put her reading
glasses on. She leaned over her papers again. For a second the spots where
she’d last had her fingers glowed nitrogen-headlight blue. “Let me know if
there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“Could
you show me how to translate it?” I asked.

“How?”
Bailey asked, giving me a look that very clearly said to grow up. “Magic?”

Jax
shook his head at me, hard, but I didn’t take the hint.

“I
mean,” I said, “This is the Witches’ Council, right?”

*****

“Don’t
be embarrassed,” Jax said in the car on the way back to the house. “I made the
same mistake when I started working for them. They’re all pretty touchy about
the magic/witchcraft distinction—especially with some of the dumbasses that get
born with the ability to do magic. Witchcraft takes more finesse.”

I
pressed the back of my hands to my cheeks. If I could follow Jax’s advice and
not care that I’d just been lectured like a child in front of a roomful of
people, my face wouldn’t burn so bad.

“I
wish your car had air conditioning,” I said.

“I’m
getting it fixed when I get rich.” He slowed down by the bakery and looked over
at me. “What would make you feel better? We could stop by Tiffani’s for a
cookie or something.”

I
shook my head.

“She
creeps me out,” I said.

“She’s
gay,” Jax said. “Maybe you’re homophobic.”

“I
don’t think that’s it.”

“Vampophobic?
You racist.”

I
rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh. As we turned off the square, we drove by
a sign for Rowdy’s Bar—featuring
Live Music Thurs-Mon Night!

“Tell
me a story about you,” I asked Jax. “That would make me feel better.”

“I
will, but only if I can tell it in terms of ‘once upon a time’ and also you
have to answer a question when I’m done,” he said.

“Sounds
fair,” I said. I liked Jax. He seemed like the kind of person I could’ve been
friends with in high school if I hadn’t stayed hidden in Tempie’s shadow.

“Once
upon a time, a beautiful goddess fell in love with a warrior,” Jax said. “She
loved him because he was different from all the other… I can’t think of a
medieval equivalent to hicks. Serfs?”

I
shrugged. “I’m willing to accept that.”

“She
loved the warrior because he could see through her mystical forces and he
realized she was a goddess.” Jax nodded like he was agreeing with himself. “The
warrior’s best friend was a hick-serf who also loved the goddess, but to him
she was just another hot girl. For a while—like most of junior high until tenth
grade—the warrior and the hick-serf couldn’t be friends. Then, in the middle of
January, the hick-serf showed up on the goddess and the warrior’s co-habited
castle step with possible frost bite and definite sleep-deprivation. It turns
out the hick-serf had been kicked out by his brother and he’d been living in
the snow for the past week, but he couldn’t sleep because…dragons and
stuff…kept picking fights with him whenever he shut his eyes. The beautiful and
amazing goddess made the hick-serf and the warrior work out their differences
so that they could all live together because she loved them both, even though
she only loved the hick-serf like a brother. And the hick-serf realized he didn’t
love the goddess like the warrior did, anyway. So the three of them lived
happily ever after and eventually the warrior will ask the goddess to marry him
when he’s worthy.”

I
grinned. I’m such a sucker for happy endings. And for finding out there wasn’t
anything between hot guys I really liked and their coed housemates.

“That
was a great story,” I said. “So, how will the warrior know when he’s worthy?”

“When
he’s got enough money for a big, flashy engagement ring and also some other
crap so he can take care of the goddess the way she deserves to be taken care
of.” Jax pulled into the driveway by their house—castle—and parked beside
Tough’s big, jacked-up Ford. Jax saw me look at the truck and then the house.
“Hold your horses, lady. You still have to answer my question.”

“Okay.
Shoot.”

“Why
didn’t you just ask me to tell you a story about Tough?”

I
looked down at where my thumb was tracing the door handle.

“Here
I thought I was being subtle,” I said.

“About
as subtle as my codenames.” He shut the car off, but didn’t get out.

“I
read once that you can learn more about a person by the people they’re friends
with,” I said. I looked over at Jax. “Why did his brother kick him out?”

“Tough
said it was because Colt couldn’t handle reality.” Jax shrugged. “Their family
was pretty screwed up, though. Their dad turned them into his
military-holy-commandos when Tough was eight, so you can imagine. His sister
was the only one he really liked out of the whole bunch.”

“He
had a sister?”

“Sissy.
She was such a badass—she could even keep Ryder in line. Ryder was Tough and
Colt’s older brother. That guy was nuts.” Jax shrugged. “Well, none of them was
all right in the head, but Ryder wasn’t OCD-crazy like Colt was, he was
beat-your-ass crazy. And Mikal killed Sissy like three months after the war
ended, so Ryder ended up raising Colt and Tough for…I’m pretty sure it was four
years before Mikal killed him, too. Even before the whole warrior-goddess-hick
triangle, I never went over there while Ryder was around. That cabin was a
warzone. I think sometimes Tough pulled shit on purpose just to send Ryder off
the handle.” Jax shook his head. “I don’t know. Just makes me glad I was an
only child.”

“It’s
not always like that, though,” I said. “With siblings, I mean.”

Jax
smiled. “You do realize you’re the girl whose sister punched her in the face,
right?”

“For
all I know that was Kathan’s idea.”

“For
all you know denial is just a baseless psychological theory in Egypt.”

I
laughed.

“Anyway,
let’s get the hell out of this car,” Jax said. “Fat boy like me can’t take this
kind of weather without some werewolf massacre.”

Inside,
a guitar was rasping along a thirsty, sunbaked melody that made the afternoon
heat seem even worse.

“Shit,”
Jax said, glancing toward the ceiling. “If you’re headed up, tell him we know
it’s a million and ten degrees. He doesn’t have to hot box us. Better yet—tell
him to play something cold.”

The
best I could do was half a laugh because Jax was right. I swear just listening
was making me sweat harder.

“Do
you think I’ll be disturbing him?” I asked.

Jax
leaned over the television to turn on his game console.

“No
one’s talented enough to play guitar and jack off at the same time,” he said.

“I
meant if Tough’s practicing, I don’t want to bother him.”

Jax
sat down on the couch and picked up his controller.

“Did
you see Tough play last night?” he asked.

I
nodded.

“Then
you know he’s the last guy in the world who needs to practice,” Jax said. “He
ain’t up there playing so he’ll get better at it.” He stared down at the
buttons on his controller. “For real, there are people who sell their souls at
crossroads to sound like Tough does. And the craziest part is, he can’t even
start to play as good as he sang.”

I
looked toward the stairs, feeling like I shouldn’t be asking. “Why can’t Tough
talk?”

Jax
pushed a button and a Resume screen came up. For almost a whole minute, he sat
there staring at the options.

Finally,
he said, “You’re bound to hear it around town sooner or later. Just don’t say
it was me who told you. And don’t mention it to Harper. She thinks it’s her
fault.”

“I
don’t think we’ll be on speaking terms anytime soon,” I said. “No offense.”

“I
know how she is,” Jax said. “But it wasn’t her fault, okay? This fucktard Jason
was mouthing off at the bar one night because Tough sort of worked for him.
Harper heard him and she got up in Jason’s face like—well, you know.”

I
nodded. Like Redneck Revenge Barbie.

“She
told Jason he wasn’t shit and at least Tough could’ve been someone if he could
leave Halo. See, Tough ran away once to see if he could make it in Nashville.
He would’ve gotten signed if his parents were alive, but the only people he
ever told that to were me and Harper.” Jax rubbed his hand across his mouth.
“She didn’t mean to say anything, but she let it slip how close Tough got. So,
about a month and a half ago, Jason stole Tough’s voice and ran off to be on
that stupid
Country Idol
show.”

“How
did—”

“Magic.
Actual magic, not witchcraft. In addition to being a fucktard, Jason was a
mage. And now he’s Jason Gudehaus, country music sensation.”

A
flicker—pre-SoCo—of the night before came back to me.

“A
fallen angel at the Dark Mansion said Tough tried to kill a man and his wife in
Nashville,” I said. “A mage and a vampire.”

Jax’s
blond-brown eyebrows jumped.

“He
tried to kill them?” He shook his head. “Nah, that’s probably bullshit. It’d
have to be.”

For
a few minutes the only noise in the house was the action music from Jax’s game
clashing with the dry-bones sound of the guitar upstairs. As if it couldn’t
take the heat anymore, the fridge kicked on.