Interview With a Gargoyle (15 page)

The logical, conscientious part of his brain lost a swift and brutal argument with the part that was desperate for release. His work would wait, forever if necessary. He’d rather sell everything he owned and live in a tent if it meant breaking the curse. He’d find Melodie and Calypso, and tonight he’d demand some answers.

With every window in her apartment open and sunlight streaming in from all angles, Mel felt reasonably normal all day. She forced herself to eat a small bowl of soup, though she tasted nothing, and she forbid herself from returning Arnie’s call. He’d left a concerned voice mail asking her when she thought she might be back to work and thanking her for the wonderful job she’d done on the Ladies’ Club Luncheon cupcakes.

Guilt gnawed at her over that. Calypso had covered for her brilliantly, and she’d been petulant at Starbucks. Was it wrong to demand the Witches’ Council move fast on this? After all, everyone agreed a mistake had been made. She’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and odds were, a human possessing the Cabochon could screw up the delicate balance of everything, so didn’t it make sense to reverse the process ASAP?

Left with little to do but worry, Mel cleaned. She scrubbed the bathtub, aired out rugs, polished all her windows with vinegar and newsprint and rearranged some furniture to eliminate a couple of small hiding spots that she deemed just the right size for curious Fremlings.

She sensed them. Even with the midday sun reflecting blinding rays off the spotless kitchen counter, she felt them watching her. The back of her neck tingled, and every time she opened a closet or a cabinet, the skin on her arms turned to gooseflesh.

By dusk, she’d exhausted herself. What would she do all night if she didn’t go to work? When the last purple smudge of sunset faded on the horizon visible through her living room window, she snatched up the phone and dialed Blake’s number. Before it rang twice, the doorbell chimed, and she flung the receiver down and ran for the door.

Palmer stood on her front steps, his hair mussed, wearing a sheepish grin. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. It’s the Fall Blowout Sale at Taylor Tools, and I promised I’d help my uncle. Plus I had to do some research.”

Mel stepped back to invite him in. Heat crept up from the knot in her stomach when he brushed past her. “Uh…Palmer, I just want to say about last night…”

He waved off her apology and settled himself on the couch. A sheaf of papers appeared from inside his jacket, and he began spreading them out on the coffee table. “We don’t have to go there. More importantly—I got some of the scoop from Calypso on the Witches’ Council. I know they’re not in any hurry to break the curse, but the way I see it, if we don’t get the Cabochon into the demon queen it was meant for, Amberville is going to become a hub of demon activity.” He shuffled the papers around and glanced at her.

Mel crossed the living room and knelt beside the coffee table. Upside down, the papers he’d assembled look like chicken scratch. Spidery handwriting interspersed with unusual symbols and fine-lined sketches of plants, feathers and stones covered what appeared to be photocopies from very old books. “What is all this?”

“The Demon Hunters’ Network has a few resources at their disposal. I called in a favor, and I got my hands on some pages from a seventeenth-century grimoire.”

“That’s a spell book, right?”

Palmer nodded and rearranged pages again. They seemed to be in a specific order, though none of the sheets were numbered. Palmer motioned for Mel to join him on the couch, and he scooted over on the cushion to make room for her.

He smelled slightly spicy, and his Docker-clad thigh was warm against hers. She ignored the sudden flare of awareness. No way would she allow the demon in her blood to take over again. The embarrassment would destroy her.

Instead she stared at the pages in front of her. Now arrayed like the pieces of a puzzle, the half-dozen sheets looked like one large diagram.

“It’s a spell and incantation book written by an English witch back in the early 1700s. My sources tell me spells were very elaborate back then and very powerful. The old magick was stuff not to be messed with. Modern witches aren’t even allowed to perform these spells.”

Mel gave Palmer a sidelong glance. “And this will help us how? You don’t think Calypso would use one of those old spells if it’s forbidden?”

“If she won’t, we can do it ourselves.”

Mel might have laughed, but Palmer’s blue eyes had gone steely. That tingle crept up her spine again, and she shivered. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Nowadays, a lot of a witch’s power is internal. The spells they use have been simplified, and many of the purposes of those spells are benign…protection, warding, health, happiness and recharging psychic energy. The darker spells and curses are forbidden except under dire circumstances. These old spells relied more on ambient power that anyone could summon. Because witchcraft was demonized, though, the average person wouldn’t dare try casting a spell when they could be hung for something as simple as making a home remedy for heartburn.”

“So what is
this
spell? It looks complicated.”

“It is, but nothing we can’t handle. The ingredients are relatively common, and the incantations are in Latin, here…” He pointed to some of the chicken scratch. Mel couldn’t make out any of the words, but Palmer seemed confident. “It’ll take a little time, but we could have everything ready in a couple of days.”

“Ready for what? What does this do?”

“This is a transfer-of-power spell. It should transfer the Cabochon from you to someone else, preferably a demon. My friends in the network are willing to help me track one down.”

Mel gaped. All the normalcy just drained out of her day. “You’re going to capture a demon? A live demon.”

“Well, a dead one won’t work.” Palmer smirked. He nudged her shoulder with his own. “C’mon, don’t look so bleak. It’s doable. We capture a demon and hold it in a magical cage, perform the spell, then get out of the way and dissolve the cage.”

“Do you have a spell for making a magical cage?”

“They’re easy. I have the stuff in my lair—a few crystals, some salt and a power charm.”

“This is crazy.” Mel covered her face with her hands. “Why can’t you just pixie dust me and let me forget all about this whole mess?”

“Then you’d be chased by demons and not know why. When all this is over, if you want to be dusted, I’ll do it, but I don’t know how much of your memory could be erased. Considering the circumstances, you might forget all of us.”

Mel thought about that. She didn’t have many good friends. Larry had managed to keep all the couples they’d hung out with in Boston, and with the exception of her college roommate, who lived in Albuquerque now, there weren’t many people she could confide in. Could she afford to forget Calypso and Palmer…and DeWitt? How could she ever forget him?

“Well, let’s worry about that later, then. What does this spell entail?”

Palmer picked up the first page and read a laundry list of kitchen herbs.

“This is either a transfer spell or the recipe for Italian wedding soup,” she said. “I’ve got most of this stuff in my cupboard.”

“It all has to be fresh, no preservatives—don’t worry. I know a couple of magick supply shops that should have almost everything we need. We might have a little problem getting desiccated leeches this time of year, but—”

The doorbell rang before Mel could question the necessity of desiccated leeches. She rose, and Palmer shuffled all the grimoire pages together and stuffed them back into his jacket. “We should keep this under wraps for now.”

“You’re right. I don’t think Calypso would approve.” Mel hurried to the door. Blake and Calypso stood on the top step, shoulder to shoulder. His Harley was parked at the curb in front of Palmer’s Jeep, but there was no sign of Cal’s beat-up Toyota.

“Uh, hi?” Mel stepped back, and Cal shouldered her way in.

“I brought some warding stones to put around your apartment. That should keep the Fremlings away. Ooh, Palmer. You look like the cat that ate the canary. What have you two been up to?”

Mel’s curious gaze followed Cal’s sinuous sway across the room. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and thrust one hip out, plopped her heavy purse on the coffee table where Palmer’s secret spell pages had just rested, and smirked at Mel. “You look like you’re feeling a lot better than this morning.”

Blake sidled past Mel with an apologetic grin. “I’m sorry you had to wake up alone this morning. I hope you slept well.”

Palmer glared, and Mel blushed. The strange rivalry between the two men didn’t make much sense. They couldn’t be fighting over her. Calypso just raised a brow.

“I’ve got your crossbow, Van Houten. For such a
small
weapon, I have to admit it’s well designed.”

Palmer rose, and Mel’s heart did a small flip. Had his shoulders just gotten broader and his blue eyes darker? “I’ve been told accuracy and skill are more important than size. The bigger weapons can be clumsy, and they have a tendency to misfire.”

DeWitt rose to the bait, and Calypso crossed her arms over her chest, settling in for a front-row seat in the testosterone battle.

“I imagine if you’re used to handling something slim and compact, you’d find a larger weapon difficult to control. I’ve always preferred something more powerful. When I fire on something, I like it to know it’s been fired on.”

Palmer surged forward, and Mel planted herself between him and DeWitt. “Boys, you can compare weapons later. Right now, let’s let Calypso do her warding spell.”

“Aw, Mel. Things were just getting interesting.” Cal pouted as she rummaged through her purse for a collection of black stones. Palmer and Blake circled each other like caged beasts, and for a moment, Mel entertained a vision of them naked to the waist, covered in sweat, ready to battle to the death for the right to possess her.

Cal caught her faraway stare and squinted at her. “You okay?”

Mel shook herself back to reality. “Fine. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Calypso performed the warding spell, which gave the whole apartment a faint, unpleasant scent of ozone. It took less than an hour and left the four of them squared off again in the living room.

Palmer spoke first. “Melodie, I have some more research to do. If you want to come with me, maybe you can help.”

Cal eyed him. “Research for what?”

He flattened a palm against his chest. “Demon hunter. I research
demons
for a living.”

Mel shrugged. Why not? But DeWitt made his move. “I was thinking maybe you should be someplace bright and full of people. You want to put some distance between you and the Fremlings, and they’d be less apt to come near you if you were somewhere well-populated…like a restaurant.”

Cal gaped. “What did I do a warding spell for if she’s not going to stay in her apartment?”

“Well, maybe they can’t get in, but they’re certainly going to congregate outside,” Blake shot back. “Take it from someone who knows about being cooped up, this is no place to spend the evening. Come with me. I’ll take you to dinner.”

“Like a date?” Cal asked. Her eyes went flinty and narrow.

“No, just dinner.”

“Research, Melodie. We—
I
have a lot of things to go over.” Palmer tapped his jacket. Mel looked at Cal.

“I have to go to Gleason’s and fill in for you,” the witch said. “In fact, I’m due there in an hour.”

“Uh, well, since I’m sort of hungry, I think I’ll go with Blake. I could use some normal time, and I really don’t want to sit here listening to the Fremlings mobilize outside my bedroom window.”

“Can you ward the yard too?” Palmer asked as Cal grabbed her purse. He cast a skeptical glance at DeWitt, then dismissed him with a shrug.

“I’d have to get more stones. I could do it tomorrow night.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any desiccated leeches lying around would you?”

“What for?”

“Aren’t they good for demon warding?”

Mel held her breath. Was Palmer trying to make Cal suspicious?

“Hmm. Sometimes. I’ll have to check into that.”

“Need a ride?”

Mel’s jaw dropped. She’d just been ignored by Palmer, and DeWitt wore a satisfied grin that spoke of the superior size of his weapon. Mel rolled her eyes.

“I guess it’s settled, then,” she said. “If anyone should come across a cure for cabochon affliction while I’m gone, please text me, okay?”

Chapter Fifteen

“It gets worse at night,” Mel said. She slathered sweet butter on a plump roll as she spoke. Blake sat across from her in a cozy booth near the bustling salad bar of a place called Rossie’s in the Highway Mall just outside Amberville.

The clack of flatware on hot plates, the sizzle of entrées whizzing by as waitresses hurried to fill orders and the buzz of subdued conversation combined to make the place lively and fun. Mel felt good, normal and just a little flirty, not in a demony, tear-your-mate-apart-and-eat-him-raw kind of way, but in the way she hadn’t felt since she and Larry had dated a million years ago.

The combined crimson glow of the small votive on the table between them and the low-hanging copper-shaded lamp suspended above lent an exotic tinge to Blake’s golden eyes.

He stared at her over his own salad and the dark beer he’d ordered, and his expression filled with sympathy. “I haven’t been a fan of the night for a long time. Too much unseen happens at night. I never knew, until the curse, about all the things that are out there. Most people never know what really happens after dark.”

Mel bit into her roll. She waited for the flavor that should have accompanied the succulent aroma of the fresh-baked bread, but it never came. She set the roll down and shifted salad around on her plate with her fork. “I wish I could forget everything I’ve seen in the last few days, but maybe it’s better to remember. What you don’t know
can
hurt you.”

“Let’s forget it for a few hours. The mall’s crowded, everything’s lit up. You’re safe here. It feels good to pretend none of that other stuff exists.” Blake raised his glass, and Mel followed suit, clinking her mineral water against his beer. “Here’s to a few hours of normal.”