Bloodstone (6 page)

“Is it okay to come in?” Ivy asked.

Fiona probably just forgot to lock the back door.

“It seems to be. Come on. The book should be in my bedroom,” I said.

We crept quietly and I wondered where Moonlight could be. He was my little white cat I brought with me when I moved back to Amethyst. Fiona said she would care for him while I was “out of town” but I doubted that meant he could stay at the inn. Maybe he was on the prowl.

Ivy was right behind me as we made our way toward the bedroom door. I couldn’t help but notice that my desk, my chair—even the sword Birdie had given me—was gone.

“Where is all my stuff?” I muttered.

The handle on the bedroom door squeaked then. And rotated.

That’s the problem with my “gift”. The dead never show up when you need them.

EIGHTEEN

Ivy clutched my coat behind me and I said, “Go!”

She turned and catapulted forward so fast she was airborne. I followed, but being the sister with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, I tripped over the stupid sofa and landed face first in the carpet. My consolation prize was a rug burn across my chin.

The door flew open hard enough to bang against the wall. I was sure there would be a dent from the impact. “Who the hell are you?” A man’s voice. Deep. Angry. Like a volcano that had swallowed one too many virgins and had a serious case of indigestion.

I was on all fours, ass poking the air. Not exactly a good first impression. Especially since my legs were my best feature.

I lifted my head and noted that Ivy, thankfully, was nowhere in sight.

“John? Honey?” A woman’s voice.

Crap.

I could pretty much piece together what was going on at that point. I started to get up and heard a soft click.

Then again, I’d been wrong before. I flattened my body back into the carpet wishing to the gods I had brought Thor.

“Go back to bed, Deirdre,” John said and when I heard the door shut, I figured Deirdre knew better than to argue with him.

“I’ll ask you again, real slow so we understand each other. What the hell are you doing here?” Chicago accent. Probably a Sox fan. I hated Sox fans. There’s a reason they call that park the Cell. Actually it’s Cellular Field, but double entendre and all that.

Any light from the moon had scurried away to the corners of the cottage. There was only blackness.

I found a voice, but it wasn’t mine. It was on loan from a Muppet. “I, I, actually used to live here.”

“You always break into houses you used to live in?”

Youdsed
. He actually said
youdsed
. I had a sudden urge to empty my bladder. And to order an Italian sausage sandwich.

“What I mean is, I live here.” Until my aunt sold me out. Dammit, Fiona. “You rented this place, right? For a week probably? The Geraghtys are my family.”

My voice sounded more like my own by then and John told me to stay put.

“Why you sneaking around in the dark?” he asked.

Good question. I thought fast. “Um, well, I needed something...from my bedroom.” I flung an arm behind me. “And, I, well, I, um, gee—”

“What are you retarded?”

Whoa, that was uncalled for! How do these people choose my family to spend their vacation with? “Hey that is an offensive word! People with mental disabilities prefer to be called challenged. I think. Anyway, it’s something like that, but if you must know, no, I’m not. Challenged, that is.”

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

I hated to be called sweetheart more than I hated Sox fans. I was still doing the breaststroke in the carpet facing away from him, so I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by ‘turn around’. I considered rolling over like a dog for a moment, but opted instead for an all-fours three point turn.

“Stand up.”

I did.

“Turn on the light.”

I did. Wish I hadn’t.

As soon as my eyes adjusted to the light I caught a full on shot of John buck ass naked. The pistol he was sporting was larger than any I had ever seen.

So was the gun.

I shut my eyes.

“Deirdre?” I called.

John chuckled. Apparently my squeamishness was amusing him.

Deirdre poked her head out the door as I opened one eye.

She must have realized there was some kind of mistake. “John, put your pants on!” She opened the door wider.

We looked at each other for a minute. She had all the curves of a Champagne flute with a shock of jet-black hair. The doily on the coffee table was less revealing than Deirdre’s negligee. I could see some sort of tattoo wrapped around her thigh.

“You must be on your honeymoon.” I was mortified.

Deirdre cocked her head and nodded.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll be out of here in a minute. I was just looking for a book.”

Ivy said, “Stacy! That’s a secret.”

Deirdre raised an eyebrow. “Come out from there,” she called.

Ivy scooted into the doorframe and Deirdre’s face relaxed. She smiled at Ivy, her eyes so blue I could see waves crashing through them. The woman appeared to be in her mid-thirties.

Deirdre looked at me. “I got a sister too. The things they put you through, huh?” Deirdre said. “C’mon, sit, I’ll make coffee.”

On my reverse bucket list of the top ten things I never wanted to experience, sharing a honeymoon with the Sopranos and Buffy the Vampire Slayer would rank right up there.

“No,” I said hurriedly. “We should get going. I cannot tell you how sorry I am to interrupt your honeymoon.” I pushed Ivy towards the back door.

John came out of the room with his pants buckled and his shirt unbuttoned.

“Whoa,” Ivy said.

“Don’t stare.” I tapped her shoulder.

“Did you see the size of that gun?” she asked.

I hoped she was talking about the Glock in his holster.

“You girls need a ride somewhere?” John asked.

Before I could clamp my hand over Ivy’s mouth, a sickening scream pierced the walls.

NINETEEN

“A fear of weapons is a sign of retarded sexual and emotional maturity.”

-Sigmund Freud

Ivy jumped and Deirdre yelped.

John rushed to the window, hand on his holster.

“What was that?” Deirdre demanded.

I hugged Ivy close to me, wondering the same thing. It wasn’t a playful scream. It was a scream of pure terror. And it came from the direction of the Geraghty Girls’ House.

John parted the thick curtains, tassels smacking his face. “Get dressed, Deirdre.”

“Do you see anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Just get dressed.” Deirdre rushed into the bedroom and I began inching closer to the door, tucking Ivy behind my back.

John tossed a look over his shoulder. “You two stay put.”

My body began prickling, a twitchy nervous feeling that told me something was not right. There was no nausea, which is what usually hit me when I encountered a man holding a gun, but something bad was about to happen.

Every inch of me felt it.

I said, “I think it’s best if we left.”

“I didn’t ask what you think.” John started buttoning his shirt.

Gun or not, this machismo act was pissing me off.

“Look, unless you plan to tie us up and hold us hostage, we’re leaving.” I turned to the door.

Ivy looked at me like I had lost my mind.

“Wait a second,” John said. “Wait one freaking second there.”

I turned back, praying to the Goddess Morrigan he didn’t have the gun pointed at me. “Don’t I know you?” he asked.

“Nice try,” I said.

“No, I do.” He snapped his fingers. “You’re Stacy, ain't you?”

Ivy widened her eyes.

I tensed. This man did not look familiar. “How do you know my name?”

John laughed. “Holy crap! Hey, Deirdre, get out here!”

What the heck was happening here? “Who are you?”

Deirdre came out of the bedroom wearing a tight knit turquoise dress, hair teased to the ceiling.

“This is Stacy,” John said to her.

Deirdre clapped her hands and I was growing ever more uncomfortable.

“Well you are a doll!” Deirdre said.

John said, “Hey, ain’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

How could he know that? I didn’t like how this scenario was playing out one bit.

I could hear muffled voices outside then and John peeked out the window. “Uh-oh,” he said and looked at Deirdre, then me. “We got trouble.”

“Seriously, who the hell are you people?” I said, not bothering to hide my frustration. I felt like I was trapped in a Dashiell Hammett film except without the witty banter.

Deirdre rushed to the window, peered over John’s shoulder and said, “I’ll call Leo.”

“Get my badge too, honey,” John told her.

Leo? Badge? “You’re a cop?” I asked.

John gave me a wicked grin. “I think the term is peace officer.” He enunciated the words perfectly.

IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS

by Ivy Geraghty

Entry #6

Alas, the Great Book remains just out of our grasp! It seems that my sister’s home has been intruded upon and just when we were about to battle the trespassers—a scream cut through the walls!

Rushed into the dark night, we have been forced to face an unforeseen obstacle (actually they kicked me back to the porch). I have full confidence that Anastasia will settle the matter with me as her most faithful servant and our Mission shall continue. My meeting with Brighid must wait another day. I am off to my secret Lair.

-Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)

TWENTY-ONE

A visibly shaken elderly woman stood on the front lawn of my grandmother’s bed and breakfast in her pajamas. Next to her, I assumed, was her husband who could have passed for Father Time.

Deirdre was on the phone with Leo and John was trying to extract what had happened from the woman, while the old man stood next to her, shivering and looking annoyed.

The screams from the woman’s throat grew louder and I was sorry that whatever upset her hadn’t happened after she washed off her makeup. She looked like a Picasso left in the rain.

The woman was pointing toward the house. I had no idea what had transpired, but from personal experience, I thought it best not to subject Ivy to it. I asked her to wait on the porch.

Just as John called me over I heard Ivy say, “No worries. I’ll just go text Scully.”

I swiveled around. “What? No, don’t do that.”

She dashed off.

“Stacy, come over here, would ya?” John said. In the light from the porch, I could see he was a generation older than his bride. “Can you please translate for me? I don’t speak Blubberish.”

Man, this guy got under my skin. “What makes you think I do?”

“Ask her what happened.” John flipped out a notebook. “The husband says he didn’t see nothing, the wife went to use the john and came out all koo-koo for Cocoa Puffs.”

Deirdre was still on the phone and gave me an encouraging smile.

The house had a lot more lights on, but there was no sign of Birdie or the aunts.

That feeling came again. An itchy, twitchy sensation.

The woman looked at me, although I wasn’t sure what she could see through the sea of mascara muddying her eyeballs.

Her face looked a little more horrified when she took in my attire.

“Are....yyyyooou with, with, the ppppp-olice?” she asked between sobs.

“Sure, why not.” Then I smiled at her. In a soft voice I asked, “Can you please tell us what happened?”

She nodded and took in a series of long breaths that looked a lot like hyperventilation protocol.

Quickly, I asked her husband, “What’s her name?”

“Cece Honeycut.”

Her hands were trembling as I reached for them. “Mrs. Honeycut, please tell us what you saw. Why are you so upset?”

“It was...just...so, so...awful.”

Her hands grew warm, despite the chilly night, then fiercely hot between mine and a pain shot through my skull.

“Leo’s on his way,” Deirdre said to my right.

It came in a flash, so quick, I nearly missed it.