Temping is Hell (12 page)

“No, she sure isn’t.”

Yagi’s eyebrow quirked for a second with that, then he frowned. “Which leaves us with one question.”‘

“What’s that? She’s not signed to anyone.”

“True,” Yagi countered. “And she’s not possessed. I don’t know why, but she’s somehow immune.”

Thomas frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. “Which means…?”

“Which means we don’t know what she is. I’m calling the private investigator. I want to know everything there is to know about Kate O’Hara,” Yagi said, shrugging. “We still may have to kill her, after all.”

…

“No way.” Prue handed Kate a mocha in a huge blue ceramic mug, her brown eyes wide. “No. Way.”

“Way.” Kate took a sip. God, she needed this. After the weirdness at Fiendish, she’d made sure the guys were off for the night—she’d insisted that I.T. bring down a big TV and DVD, and they were watching “non-violent entertainment,” mostly cartoons. Al and that Yagi guy had both been adamant about that. Now, she was finally where she wanted to be, at Jung at Heart, the bookstore/coffee shop/mystical emporium where Prue worked.

She hadn’t told Prue about the kiss. Yet. She knew she should—but taking the job there was embarrassing enough. One humiliating detail at a time.

You are like the patron saint of fuck-ups.
Kissing the boss? Kissing a billionaire, uber-rich, probably evil guy?

And her parents thought her weed-dealing boyfriend back in high school was bad.

Kate squirmed uncomfortably in the ancient, tapestry-upholstered sofa, ignoring Prue’s pointed stare. “Mmm, this is good. Ghirardelli chocolate syrup?”

“Yes, and don’t try to distract me.” Prue leaned against the counter, her gold eyes like lasers. “This asshole has smuggled illegal immigrants stowed down in his basement, and now… you’re on the
payroll
?”

“No, he’s not an asshole, and yes, I’m on the payroll.” Kate sighed heavily, taking another comforting sip of mocha. “And they’re not illegal immigrants. Although he mentioned they’re actually prisoners. Like, gnarly violent offender felons.”

“So he says. Which, by the way, totally justifies them being
starved
and
beaten
,” Prue said, and Kate suddenly regretted calling Prue on the BART after she’d been fired. “And why in the world would he choose violent felons to go through a bunch of weird documents? When I’m thinking of cheap labor to go through paperwork, I don’t think, ‘Hey, you know who would be perfect for this?
Murderers!
’”

“First, I don’t think he knew about the conditions. Second, they’re being treated fairly now—rest breaks, plenty of food, enough time to relax at night,” Kate interjected, ignoring Prue’s sarcasm. “It was one of the conditions of me working there.”

“Oh really?” Prue rolled her eyes. “And how long do you think that’s gonna last?”

“Prue, damn it, I’m doing the best I can.” The words were torn from her. “You didn’t hear my father’s voice when he was talking to Uncle Felix. The thought of losing the house… it’ll destroy them. Dad and Mom, I mean.”

Prue’s gaze softened, and she sank down on the couch next to Kate, giving her a shoulder hug. “It sucks,” she said, nudging Kate’s head with her own. “All the way around.”

“Yeah, but it’s what I’ve got.”

They sat there, silent, for a second.

“There’s no other way you can make money?” Prue finally asked.

Kate shrugged. “I could always hook.”

Prue snorted. “Yeah, I hear flat redheads are all the rage on the streets these days.”

“Bitch.” Kate nudged her hard with her shoulder, and Prue laughed. Kate chuckled with her. It was a relief… a little pressure release.

“Besides, it’s been like, what, a year since you got any play, yeah?” Prue shook her head. “Ever since that dweeb. What was his name?”

“Jake.” Kate shuddered. “The slam poet?”

“The limp kisser.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“You need to get some,” Prue declared. “That might at least help put a rosier glow on the rest of the crap.”

“Yeah,” Kate agreed, then hastily picked up her mocha and took a sip, hoping the soup-bowl-sized cup would hide any telltale blush.

She’d done plenty of stupid stuff in her past—age twenty-four to twenty-six qualified in their entirety—but she’d never, ever gone so far as to kiss her
boss
.

He kissed me first. I kissed back in self-defense.

She sighed heavily, drinking the rest of the mocha in a few large gulps, like a gunfighter taking a swig of whiskey.

Prue smiled, shaking her head hard enough for her dreads to bounce around like snakes doing aerobics. “You know what they say, the universe doesn’t close one door without opening another one.”

“Yeah, but those hallways are a bitch.”

“You need a reading,” Prue said, patting her knee. “Let me get my cards.”

Prue came from a long line of psychics and Tarot readers, so she really did feel that was a useful, even practical, line of action. She was good, too.

What the hell
, Kate thought.
I could use all the advice I can get.

“You know,” Kate said, as Prue pulled out a small ebony box and cleared off the coffee table, “I still think you could have a rockin’ online business.”

Prue made a face. “Online readings,” she muttered, the same way most people said “bestiality.”

“Hey, it could work.”

“I live simple, and I like working for the Madame.”

Kate giggled. “Now that sounds like
you’re
the hooker.”

Prue let out a long-suffering sigh. “Focus, Pinky. Okay?”

Kate closed her eyes, stifling any further humor. She took a few deep breaths, just like she’d been taught when Prue still held out hope that Kate could meditate. “Okay, what am I thinking about?”

“Think about what you need to know.”

Kate got a little somber as she cleared her mind.
I want to know if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. I want to know if I’ll be able to get my parents out of this jam. I want to know if I’ll ever find work that makes me feel like I’m finally doing something good.

She squinched her eyes shut.
Oh, and I’d like to know if I’m going to find love or at least get laid. It’s been a while… my boss notwithstanding.

And no, he
does not
count.

She finished shuffling the heavy, slippery cards and handed them in a pile over to Prue. A card fell out during the transfer, and Kate moved to retrieve it.

“Nope, we’ve got a jumper,” Prue said, grabbing it herself and putting it face-up on the battered oak table. A hooded skull with a scythe grinned back at her. “Oh, good. Death card.”

“That’s promising.”

“Remember? Death card’s a good one,” Prue said. “It means change, which you’ve got in spades. Your uncle’s publishing company going under, moving back in with your parents…”

“Again, whoopee.”

“Relax. It rarely means physical death.”

“Rarely?”

“Hush,” Prue said, starting to flip cards like a blackjack dealer. Then her face turned into a blank mask—the look that Kate knew, from experience, meant she’d seen something bad. “Hmmm. This is… um, interesting.”

There was a picture of what looked like part of a castle getting struck by lightning. People were falling headfirst out the windows, which were filled with fire.

“That can’t be good,” Kate muttered.

“It’s The Tower,” Prue said, and she sounded apologetic. “It means… well, change, basically.”

“So it’s like the Death card?”

Prue bit her lip. “The Death card is good change—when you let go, surrender to what’s coming, and ride the wave.”

“So what’s the difference with the Tower?”

“The Tower is when the universe has been trying to tell you something by tapping you on the shoulder, and you’ve been ignoring it,” Prue answered. “After a while, it stops tapping and just, um…”

“What?”

“Smacks the shit out of you.”

Kate stared at Prue, wondering if she was joking. The nervous look in her friend’s eyes suggested she wasn’t.

“Great. Just great.” She picked up her cup. “Barista, I’ll take another, please. Pure chocolate this time. I need a belt of the hard stuff.”

“Don’t worry,
chica
,” Prue said, trying unsuccessfully to comfort her. “I’ll be here. Besides, the Death card jumped out. If you just learn to ride the wave, odds are good you’ll be carried to a great new adventure.”

“Sure, sure,” Kate said, as Prue made her a hot chocolate. “Besides… how bad could it be, right?”

The bell on the entryway rang out like a gunshot as someone shoved the door open. Jumping, Kate spun.

“What the hell?” she blurted.

Nan Temper walked in, holding a rosewood cane and shuffling. Her robes were a royal purple, almost like a sari, embroidered with gold thread. They were at odds with the bright blue Reebok sneakers she was shuffling in. Her hair was gray, in dreads like Prue’s, except down to her waist. She tilted her head, eyes bright as a bird’s.

“Nan Temper?” Prue said, her mouth dropping open as she rushed around the counter to the smaller woman. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right? You know you’re not supposed to drive at night.”

“Is this her?” Nan Temper said, shoving off Prue’s well-meaning hands. “Is this the girl who gave you that filth?”

“Pardon?” Kate asked, taken aback.

The little old woman stood in front of her, eyes blazing like hot coals. “Do you even know what you gave her?”

“You mean… the contract?” Kate ventured. “The symbol I gave Prue?”

“You knew!” Nan’s hand shot out, and she gripped Kate’s wrist in a painful vise. “You
knew
, and you let her handle something so evil?”

“Ouch! What?” Kate said, aghast. “What are you talking about? It was just some paperwork from my office!”

“Oh, it’s paperwork, all right,” Nan muttered darkly, not releasing her grip. “Someone sells his soul to the devil, this is the paperwork. It’s binding—and unbreakable except by death.”

Chapter Ten

Kate couldn’t help it. After the stress of the day, she burst into laughter. “You’re telling me that’s a contract with the Devil?”

“It’s one symbol from a contract,” Nan Temper spat out, dropping the thing on the coffee table. Prue stared at it curiously. “Which is the only reason I’m not beating you for letting my little Prudence touch it. If you’d given her a full contract…” She let the words trail off menacingly, and gripped her cane hard enough for her knuckles to crack. Seriously—
crack
.

Kate looked at the paper, then at Prue. “Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding, child?”

Nan’s face looked like the grim reaper… if the grim reaper were black, female, short, and pissed as hell. Kate took a deep breath, sending another quick look at Prue, who shrugged.

“You know I love Prue like a sister,” she started. “I would never give her anything that I thought would hurt her, and I swear I didn’t realize it was dangerous. How was I supposed to know that one weird symbol thing could hurt somebody?”

Nan’s narrowed eyes didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Besides, I know this company isn’t the nicest, and they have some really sinister business practices, but Satanism? I just don’t see it.”

Insanity. Possession.
Kate remembered Al saying something like that. But it just seemed like bullshit, just a big, hyperbolic metaphor or something.

Wasn’t it?

“Do you believe in the Downbelow?” Nan got into Kate’s face, her bony finger poking Kate’s chest. “When was the last time you thought your soul was
truly
in danger?”

“First time I had sex,” Kate said without thinking, then blushed when Prue let out a surprised bark of laughter. Even Nan seemed to soften a little, backing up a step.

“This is serious. You don’t know how serious,” Nan said, sinking into a chair. “Tell me a little about this company you’re working for. How did you come to find this paper?”

Slowly, Kate explained about Fiendish and the boys in the basement. Prue looked even more worried.

“I need to look into this. Talk to some people… old contacts,” Nan muttered, seemingly to herself. Then her gaze bore into Kate. “You need to quit. Now.”

“I can’t. I need this job.”

“Even if you don’t value your soul, you should value your life,” Nan pointed out, nudging the paper with her cane. “You already know too much. As soon as you cease being useful, you’re going to be signed on or in the ground.”

“Nan,” Prue interjected, handing her a cup of tea, “why would he have a bunch of contracts? Is he signing people up?”

“Probably,” Nan said. “It’s a way to gain power. I never really worked with big signers, but I’ve seen the aftereffects of their plots. They sign on people, offering favors in exchange for a draw of the power of their souls and outright ownership on the signatory’s death. Then, those who sign have the option of signing on
their
own people, and the master draws power from both his signatory and any that signatory adds on.”

“So what you’re saying,” Kate said slowly, “is that Hell… is like Amway.”

Prue smirked. “I have always suspected.”

Nan stared at them, then looked at the ceiling as if praying for patience. They started to snicker.

That stopped immediately when she slammed her cane down on the coffee table.

“You two want to laugh, that’s fine.” Her Louisiana accent became more pronounced; her voice was like sweet tea laced in arsenic, smooth yet deadly. “You want to think I’m some dotty old woman, you do what y’all want. But Prue, I’m not answering to your mama if you end up dead. Your friend is bein’ stupid, that’s her choice. But you, Prue…
you know better
.”

Prue immediately went contrite. “I’m sorry,
Granmere
.”

Nan grabbed a small incense-burner from one of the store shelves and lit the paper. It didn’t burn immediately, until Nan muttered something. Then it almost exploded, disappearing in a cloud of oily black smoke. “Who else saw that abomination?”

Kate shook her head. “Nobody.” Then she frowned. “Wait. Tadpole saw it.”

“Anybody you care about?”

Kate thought about his behavior when she’d retrieved the flash drive. “Not particularly.”

“Good. ’Cause he’s probably dead anyway.”

Kate winced. “What?”

“He’s been exposed to the symbol. Once you’ve seen it, depending on your personality and your soul strength… well, you start getting crazy. You open the doorway to all sorts of nastiness.” Her eyes narrowed, and she stood in front of Kate, who leaned back against the sofa cushions.

“Now that I think about it… You seem awfully chipper for someone who’s been around the full contracts,” Nan said, and her knuckles cracked again. “Only two ways someone could be around those contracts and not be affected. That somebody’s possessed… or that somebody’s already signed her soul.”

“Oh,
come on
,” Kate muttered.

Nan closed her eyes, took a deep breath—then opened them, quick, and gave her the sort of glare that was almost a physical poke.

Kate huffed. “Did I forget to put on deodorant? Because you are the second person to pull a super-glare on me today, and frankly, it’s getting a little old.”

Nan blinked. “Well, if you’re possessed, you’ve got the best shield I ever did see,” she muttered. “That just leaves signed.”

“I swear, I did not sign my soul,” Kate growled.

“She didn’t, Nan Temper,” Prue vouched. “I’d know.”

“Oh, really?” Nan turned back to her granddaughter, looked like she was going to say something acidic… then her expression softened. “Oh. I s’pose you would, now. It’s long past when you and I had a little chat, there, Prudence.”

Prue nodded, looking more Zen, like her father, for a second.

Kate shot her friend a surprised look. “You’re not bullshitting?” she asked. “Seriously. You can tell if I’ve signed my soul or not?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Wow. Because I was afraid this conversation couldn’t get any more surreal.” She chuckled, unable to move past the disbelief. “Know any other cool party tricks?”

Prue shot her a quick grin. “You’ve seen my cherry stem knot.”

Nan stood up, headed for the door. “I’ve got to go, contact some… people,” she said slowly. “Prue, don’t do anything stupid. You—girl.” She pointed her cane at Kate. “Don’t do anything
else
stupid.”

“Wait, Nan Temper,” Prue said. “What about Tadpole?”

“What about him?” Nan grumped. “He ain’t one of mine.”

“We really need to make sure he’s okay.” She looked at Kate. “You don’t want him hurt, do you?”

“No,” Kate admitted. “He might be a butthead, but this is really my fault.”

Nan looked at the two of them, then huffed out an impatient breath. “Well then, fine. I’ll drive.”

Prue immediately started shaking her head, looking panicked. “No,
Grandmere
, we could… Um, Kate, did you bring a car?”

“Nope,” Kate said. “But I can bring one tomorrow. Can’t it wait till then?”

“Sure, why not?” Nan Temper said.

Kate felt a little wave of relief.

“After all, if we’re lucky,” Nan said, eyes gleaming, “he’ll just be dead.”

…

Thomas was at the condo at a decent hour—ten p.m.—and had work spread out on the living room table when Yagi entered the room. He cleared his throat. “I’ve got the report from the P.I. on Kate.”

“That was quick,” Thomas said, leaning back against the couch. He pushed aside the paperwork on the proposed Fiendish Foods launch so he could focus. “So—do we need to kill her?”

He was kidding. Sort of. The pang the lame joke sent through him was a little alarming.

“It’s hard to say at this point.” Yagi popped in a disc and cued up something on the large TV screen. A picture of a child with bright red hair and a gap toothed smile came on—her expression one of mischief, with just a little hint of screw-you to it.

“That’d be Kate,” Thomas guessed.

“Born Katherine Anne O’Hara, at San Leandro General Hospital, to Rita and Terrence O’Hara.” Yagi consulted the notes in the accompanying folder. “Father worked on the San Leandro police force until very recently—laid off due to budget cuts.”

“Kate said she needed the job,” Thomas said, making the connection. “Are they having money troubles?”

“Looks like. We pulled their financials. Parents gave some money to the father’s brother, Felix—which, strangely enough, Kate did, too. Her parents are in for twenty-five thousand, however, and they took on a second mortgage to do so.”

“So Kate’s helping them out.” Another twinge of guilt pinched him.

“That’s exactly the kind of leverage that could allow someone to force her to betray you,” Yagi pointed out.

Thomas took a deep breath. “We’ll put a pin in that. Keep going.”

Yagi nodded, then turned back to the file. “Her mother, Gertrude, is a nurse. And her older brother, Timothy, is a detective for the Oakland P.D. Homicide.”

“Of course it’s homicide,” Thomas groaned. “So they’re all local. Been here for years, I imagine.”

“The father’s family is from the area—Kate’s paternal grandmother has a bit of a slumlord enterprise, owns a number of rundown apartment buildings—but the mom’s from Connecticut originally. Kate and family moved to Southern California when she was eight.”

The slide show clicked forward to an unhappy-looking child in a green-and-black-plaid schoolgirl uniform, complete with a green blazer. She was standing in front of a McMansion-styled house with a large palm tree in the yard. Her red hair was held back with a tie-dyed bandana. That screw-you look was more pronounced, Thomas noticed.

“At that time, her father moves the family to San Clemente—town about an hour north of San Diego,” he said. “Beach community, very rich. Dad’s job was head of security for a gated housing development. It looks like he got the job because the developer of the community was an old school friend.”

Thomas stared at Kate’s unhappy expression. “Guess Kate wasn’t too happy about the switch.”

“Hard to tell, though she did get expelled from the first Catholic school they’d put her in—but since the same thing had happened in San Leandro, that wasn’t really a surprise.”

“Expelled?”

“Let’s see… Ah. In San Leandro, she was expelled for behavior issues. Specifically, she asked too many questions,” he said, and there was definite humor in his eyes. “According to the reports, her mother blames the neighbors who watched her during the day. Communists and aging hippies, apparently.”

“I see.” Thomas chuckled. “Well, this would be the area for that sort of thing, I’d guess. What happened in San Clemente?”

Yagi shrugged. “It seems that she just kept asking the wrong questions—variation on a theme. Questions about organized religion, and specifically, why the parish bishop was driving a Lexus. Also she got into a fight with a classmate. She claims she was standing up for another kid who was being bullied, but Kate was the one who got expelled. That’s where I start to get worried.”

“What, her standing up to a bully?” Thomas asked. “Seems like a good thing to me.”

“It’s pointing to a pattern. She has a tendency of getting into trouble when standing up for the underdog.” He paused for a beat. “The wrong thing, for the right reasons. Who does that remind me of?”

“Shut up,” Thomas said absently. “So they were down in San Clemente. What brought them back?”

“The pattern repeated.” Another click of the remote, and the next picture came up. “Specifically, when Kate was sixteen.”

Thomas gawked. Then grinned.

Fast forward to the teen years. Kate was wearing a Weezer T-shirt over shapeless jeans. Her smile was shy, showing the slightest glint of braces. And her red hair was pulled up in the ponytail he had grown so accustomed to. Glasses—round, not square like her current ones—looked like they were slipping down her cute nose.

She was adorable.

“She met Simon Millday, and things went steadily downhill.” Yagi clicked to another picture. This one was of a teenage boy, good-looking enough, in a nerdy way. Glasses, too, and straggly long brown hair. He looked… soft, Thomas thought with disdain. “Simon was apparently her boyfriend. They appeared to be very involved, considering she went on the birth control pill at around that time.”

Thomas blanched. “How the hell do you know that?”

“The next time you wonder at my P.I.’s bill, you’ll know where the money goes. The man is quite thorough,” Yagi said. “At this time, she’d transferred from the Catholic school where she was expelled to a very exclusive private academy, again thanks to the father’s friend. She seemed to be quite unhappy. Her school attendance was suffering, as were her grades. Simon was from Oceanside, a nearby town with a markedly less affluent population…”

“I see where this is going,” Thomas muttered. “Star-crossed love, yadda yadda. Parents disapproved?”

“They did after Simon’s family got busted for their pot-growing ring,” Yagi said, and Thomas’s eyes widened. “Simon’s father went to jail, Simon’s mother moved the rest of the family, and they all blamed Kate. I guess the ‘tip’ came from a boy at her school.”

“One who was in love with her?” he guessed. She really was cute as all hell, even with braces and glasses. He could see a hormonal teenager going a little crazy over her.

“One who had a rival pot-growing scheme and who was on the right side of the tracks,” Yagi corrected. “Here’s where her pattern goes one step further. She managed to get herself arrested
again…
breaking into the kid’s house and calling the cops herself, to guarantee that they’d find the pot and bust the kid. She was willing to fall on the sword to get justice.”

“Damn.” Thomas had to admire the woman’s gumption. She managed to do all that as a teen. “So what happened?”

“The kid did get busted, and Kate’s father managed to get her record sealed. But too much damage was done.” He paused a beat. “Guess who the kid’s dad was?”

Thomas frowned, then he let out a deep breath. “Don’t tell me. Her father’s friend—the one who set him up with the cush job.”

“It sounds like there was an attempt to bribe her father, to get him to cover it up. Maybe even somehow have Kate take the fall for the kid’s pot growing, admit that she was crazy and had set it all up to frame the boy,” Yagi said with distaste. “A clumsy attempt, at best—although I suspect that she went to her father first, and he didn’t listen to her. At any rate, Kate was expelled, her father lost his job, and the whole family moved back with the paternal grandmother, returning here to the Bay Area.”