Rocks & Gravel (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 3) Page 8

  “What did this to you?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Never mind. I’ll fix it.” He shrugged off his leather jacket and set it aside. I watched, expecting him to take off his t-shirt and rip it into a bandage. Instead he got so close to me I thought he was going to kiss me or something. He took my hand, using his fingers to push open my closed fist, and twined his fingers in mine like a lover. The warmth radiating off his body and the smells of gasoline and open road, scents I’d forever associate with Wade, enveloped me in a comforting cocoon.

  Wade closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his lips moving. At first I thought he was doing a spell, but then I heard the words “Heavenly Father” and realized he was saying a prayer. Then he began to speak aloud. I didn’t recognize the words, but I knew the cadence, knew where they must have come from.

  The first electric pinpricks of magic passed from Wade’s hand and into mine, radiating through my body and settling in both the wound on my head and the one on my leg. The feeling intensified, and my body jerked with each prickle. The magic found the black opal, and my skin went numb, singing with power. I felt whatever bone the horror in my car had broken slide back together and fuse.

  Next to me, Wade stiffened, his head thrown back and cords standing out on his neck. The heat radiating from him grew uncomfortable, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead and ran into his hair, slimy dampness growing between our joined hands. I heard my own breathing coming in pants, Wade’s words punctuating them. It took me to a place, an old place, somewhere in my mind where my subconscious and body knew what to do even if the conscious part of my mind didn’t.

  The world clouded, my heart thundering in my chest. The pain from the wounds ebbed away into an awful itch. The black opal heated to an unbearable level, and a hum filled my ears as even the itch went away. Wade let go of me and sagged forward, putting his hands down on the pavement. We sat panting in silence until I heard a car coming and struggled to my feet, forgetting the injury until I put weight on my bad leg. It held without a twitch or a tingle. Wade hurried to his feet and got his motorcycle out of the road before the car reached us. Both of us waved as it passed. I turned to Wade, seeing not the jokester thug I’d grown to love as a friend over the months but, instead, someone whose weirdness surpassed even mine.

  “What did you do?” Speaking hurt my throat. Had I screamed that much?

  “Healed you.” Even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I heard the uncertainty in his voice. He knew I didn’t like seeing ghosts and wished I could be normal.

  “How though?”

  “By the power of the divine.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been working with your memaw and Esther Bruce, too. Your memaw was the one who figured out what I am, though.”

  “What are you?”

  He turned his face away from me and then spoke. “The seventh son of a seventh son. There’s a lot of folklore, but the only parts true for me are the ones about being a healer and always getting in a bunch of trouble.”

  “Thank you.” I gripped his arm, barely able to get my hand around it. “Thank you so much. I think my foot was broken.”

  “Broken?” He snorted. “Looked like someone took a pair of pincers and nearly sheared it off. What the hell got after you?”

  “It came out of my phone. It’s still in my car, I guess.” But I wondered why the sharp-toothed monster hadn’t come after both of us. Had it considered its message delivered and gone on its way?

  Wade let go of me and marched over to the vehicle, bending double to lean in. He came back almost immediately, shaking his head.

  “I don’t understand. What happened?”

  “A, uh, monster came out of my phone.” I described the thing to Wade as best as I could, but ended up talking more about its hands and teeth than anything.

  Wade retrieved my phone from the car, his brow knitted. “It’s dead. Got a charger?”

  I didn’t want to get back into the car, so Wade found my charger and hooked it up to a rig he had in his saddlebag. I tried to calm myself, but the thing I’d seen had been real. It hurt me badly, and I might have died out here had Wade not come along. A few minutes later, the cellphone powered up.

  “It’s in the messages. Look for some from unknown.” I didn’t want to go near the thing, even though I knew I needed it for work and life. I told Wade my passcode and he tapped the phone’s screen to access the messages. He stared at the phone for a long time, his face expressionless. Finally, he turned it where I could see it.

  The screen was filled with the picture of Priscilla Herrera.

  “Tell me everything again. Slow this time.”

  I explained what happened again, going as slowly as I could. My voice sped up at parts, and Wade simply shook his head at me, motioned for me to calm down. I conveniently left out the part about the curse, needing to think it over by myself before I let others know what I’d seen. Other than that, I didn’t leave out one scream. He listened stoically.

  “My great-aunt, the one who taught me to use my gift, would’a said somebody sent a booger after you.” He glanced at the blood still pooled on the road. “Like to’ve got you from what I can tell.”

  My cellphone dinged with a message. Wade held out my phone to me, but I shook my head. He read the message.

  “It’s Hannah Kessler. She says to get your ass to the barbecue now. You’re late.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “What are you going to tell them happened? Think Mr. Dean Do-Right’ll like it?”

  I went to my car and held out my hand for the cellphone.

  “You want me to follow, I can.”

  I rubbed my arms against the chills ripping through my body, despite the pent-up feel of the day’s heat still hanging in the night air.

  “I can give you a ride.”

  His words hit me like a blast from a sink sprayer. Dean would have a fit if Wade came roaring up at the barbecue and dropped me off.

  “Will you follow me to town?” I took one more look at my clothes but knew it was too late to do anything about them.

  “Flash your signals left and right like you’re crazy if you run into trouble.”

  I nodded and held my hand out for my phone again, flinching when it touched my skin. This whole thing was no joke. I could have gotten run over cowering in the highway like a teenager at a horror movie. Either Priscilla Herrera’s order to the dark guardians was no joke or she was a great bluffer. Didn’t matter which. She had my attention. I wished with all my heart she’d picked somebody else to save Gaslight City. I didn’t even like most of the people here.

  The tremors rocking my body ceased after the first mile, and I put one of my father’s ZZ Top cassettes in the ancient player set into the dashboard and turned it up loud to drown out any thoughts of what I just experienced. It was too much for my brain to comprehend. All I knew to do was move forward, keep surviving. The hum of Wade’s motorcycle blatting behind me made the task seem possible. What if he hadn’t happened along to save me?

  Dean’s campaign had rented an establishment named the Hoedown Party Barn for the barbecue. The ten-year-old corrugated metal building, new by Gaslight City standards, squatted a quarter mile from downtown on Textile Road. It occupied the site of the old Fountain Textile Mill, where both my uncle and father worked before tragedy took away their lives. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I got close enough to see the parking lot.

  Cars and trucks jammed the prairie of asphalt, spilling over into an overgrown grassy area next door. I parked on the edge of the herd of vehicles and shut off my Chevy Nova. Wade pulled in behind me and cut his engine. I met him at my bumper.

  “You want to come in for a plate of barbecue? It’s free.”

  “Nah. You were right earlier. Little man might split the seams of his boy’s extra medium dress shirt.”

  I didn’t bother defending Dean to Wade. Their different paths in life ensured they’d never be friends. “Thanks for following me.”

  “Never any need to
thank me. Just doing what I need to do.” He started his motorcycle before I could offer him supper again and did a U-turn on the narrow road, raising his hand to wave goodbye. I watched him until the noise of his ride faded into the night.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Hannah stormed across the parking lot, Rainey Bruce right behind her. Both their arms pumped like people I’d seen walking in a mall. I realized I didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with them about the time they reached me.

  “Dean’s waiting on you,” Hannah said. “He wants you to stand onstage with him when he gives his welcome speech. Come on.”

  “She isn’t going in there looking like she’s been bar crawling for a week,” Rainey said. “Not as long as I’m Dean’s campaign manager. Eddie said you left his house forty-five minutes ago. I figured you’d gone to change. What did you do? Go partying with Wade Hill?”

  My throat ached with the buildup of what I’d seen. The thing came out of my phone, reached for me. It could have killed me. The whispers I’d heard all my life filled my head. Schizophrenic. Hallucinations. I shook my head to clear it.

  “It came out of the phone and chased me into the road.” Even as I said the words, I knew they were out of context and wouldn’t make sense. Sure enough, both Hannah and Rainey shook their heads. I explained what happened, leaving out the stuff about how the boogie man would kill me and everybody I loved unless I kept the curse attached to the treasure. No need to cause a panic. What little I told them must have been enough. Both women drew away from me, their eyes widening.

  “Oh no.” Hannah put her hand over her mouth. “No wonder you’re filthy.”

  Rainey took out her cellphone. “Dean. Stall them ten minutes, okay?” She paused while he said something. “Just do it, you hear me?” She hung up and spoke to Hannah. “You got anything to fix her up?”

  Hannah studied me, raising one eyebrow. “I’ve got my makeup box in the car. But it’s the one I travel with. Not much in there.”

  “It’ll have to do. Let’s get her over there.”

  They dragged me to Hannah’s BMW sedan and forced me inside. Hannah took out a plastic case bigger than some of the toolboxes I’d seen and opened it. Inside lay an array of tubes and tins, all filled with mystery substances. I reached for a black eye liner pencil and Hannah slapped my hand.

  “Clean some of the dirt off your face. Get your neck, too.” Rainey handed me a damp disposable wipe. I started scrubbing. Rainey grabbed a hairbrush out of the toolkit and started dragging it through my hair. I moaned once to let her know it hurt. The look she gave me dried up any more complaints. Hannah dabbed at my face with creams and powders, the brushes she used tickling my face. Three minutes of tickling, tugging torture later, both women leaned back to scrutinize me.

  “Her shirt’s still filthy,” Rainey said. “You got anything else?”

  To my amazement, Hannah went to her trunk and pulled out a pile of clothes. “None of this is going to fit her. She’s smaller than me.”

  Rainey picked through the clothes and came out with a sleeveless spandex shirt and tossed it at me. I wanted to argue. The color was a pastel blue, and the straps looked like bra straps. One glance at Rainey’s face convinced me to keep my mouth shut and do as they said. Hannah took one look at me and dug through the pile of clothes again, this time pulling out a short black jacket. I slipped it on over the tank top and waited for their judgment.

  “A dress would have been better, but this’ll work in a pinch. She doesn’t look as awful as she did.” Rainey gripped my arm and tugged me toward the party barn, lecturing me in her courtroom voice as we went. “Sheriff Joey Holze posted to some online social media sites today about Dean’s problems back in Louisiana.”

  “How bad?” My throat ached again, and I knew I’d end up crying if I didn’t get myself under control. The day had taken its toll on me. What Sheriff Joey did made sense. The poisonous son of a bitch hated Dean and me wholeheartedly. Me for being a ghost-seeing, devil-worshiping freak and Dean for having the temerity to run against him in the sheriff’s election. Using underhanded methods to get ahead in the election fit the nasty SOB to a tee.

  “Bad enough,” Rainey said. “He posted links to newspaper articles about Dean’s partner getting killed and about him resigning in a cloud of drunken disgrace. The article he linked to mentioned Dean and his wife-at-the-time were getting divorced and did all kinds of creative speculating about the reasons.” She puckered her lips as though she tasted something sour. “Of course, Sheriff Joey made comments like ‘Is this who you want for your sheriff?’ in his postings online.”

  “This is so embarrassing,” Hannah moaned. “I can’t believe my uncle acts like this.”

  Teeth clenched together so hard it hurt, I imagined how satisfying it would be to put signs with stuff like “gorilla cock sucker” and “dookey breath” in Joey’s yard right alongside his “Joseph Holze for Sheriff” signs.

  “You’ve got to get in there and make Dean look good.” Rainey gave my arm a shake to emphasize her point.

  “What if we leak what you found in Joey’s house?” I spoke to Hannah.

  “There’s no proof either of you found anything.” Rainey, many inches taller than me, stooped to lean into my face. I’d known her since we were six. She was the most competitive person I’d ever met. She signed on as Dean’s campaign manager with one conclusion in mind: winning. She wouldn’t tell me to keep Joey’s likely theft of the Mace House to myself to be nice.

  “She’s right,” Hannah said. “We’ve got nothing.”

  A rivulet of sweat tickled its way down my side. The day’s upheaval had pushed the election to the back of my mind. All my worries came roaring back wearing streamers and waving. How you doing, Peri Jean? Let’s par-tay. Dean’s chances of winning looked dire, and I had no idea how to help. Me showing up to a public appearance looking like a dirty possum would actually crap things up worse.

  Dean came out of the big metal building, turning his head left and right, obviously looking for me. Rainey inspected me once again, grimaced, and pushed me towards Dean.

  “What the hell happened to her?” He spoke to Rainey.

  “She was visiting Eddie.” Rainey put her hands on her hips. “Time got away from her, I think.”

  Dean took several steps closer to me and put his arms around my waist. I leaned against him, and his lips brushed mine, casually at first, then more seriously. “You’re beautiful no matter what,” he mumbled against my lips, his breath mingling with mine. I drank in the scent of soap coming off his clean skin and thought, as I always did when he touched me, we’d figure out a way to make everything work.

  “Come on in.” He threaded his fingers through mine. “I want to you to stand with me onstage. Your memaw has her camera ready.”

  Dean opened the building’s door. Both of us winced as a blast of country music greeted us.

  A loose crowd had congregated on the far side of the room. Nobody paid much attention to either Dean or me until we took the small stage. There was no microphone, so Dean raised his voice. He knew how to holler from his job in law enforcement.

  “Folks?”

  People slowly turned our way. Someone began clapping, and a short burst of applause swept through the room.

  “First, thank you all for coming out tonight. Hope the weather’s been warm enough for you all.” He waited while the polite laughter died down. “Peri Jean and I want to welcome you all to the barbecue.” He tightened his arm around me as they applauded. “Thank you all for coming out, and I hope you enjoy—”

  “Deputy Dean?” The voice came from the dimly lit area where some tables had been set up, so we couldn’t see the speaker, but I recognized the voice right away. Myrtle Gaudet was a harmless busybody by herself, but she became a formidable biddy when she joined forces with Loretta Brent, who happened to be the mother of Felicia Brent Fischer Holze. The two of them sat at a table near the bandstand. The tension I’d almost let go of came roaring back w
ith its friends migraine and backache. Dean stiffened next to me as he made the same connection I had. We could do nothing but wait to see what horror she was about to shit upon all of us.

  “What’s the necklace around Peri Jean’s neck?”

  My legs went soft as cooked noodles, and I struggled to keep my face impassive and stand as tall as someone my height could. Dean glanced over, saw the necklace, and his shoulders relaxed a little.

  “My mother gifted it to Peri Jean. It goes back several generations in my family.”

  “Didn’t it used to belong to a witch?” Myrtle stood from her table and picked her way toward the stage. People hurried out of her way. They probably hoped she’d keep talking. No matter how much people like other people, they love seeing them suffer even more.

  Several gasps came from around the room. I searched for Memaw, looking for support. Her face was stiff with rage. When our eyes met, she gave me a small nod of encouragement. I stood a little straighter.

  “My great-grandmother was absolutely, positively not a witch.” Dean probably didn’t sound angry to anybody else in the room, but I knew him well enough to know that tone of voice. “She might have been an eccentric old lady who visited local traiteurs, but that does not make her a witch.”

  Myrtle stood in front of the stage by then. She held up an electronic tablet of some sort. “But it says right here online that the necklace is magical, and you’re descended from witches. Burns County don’t want no hocus pocus happening behind the scenes.”

  Dean took the tablet with a trembling hand. On its screen was a post by Felicia Brent Fischer Holze on a popular social networking site. It said pretty much everything Myrtle had told the room. Dean gaped at it, his normally golden tan turning yucky green.

  “Myrtle?” Julie Woodson, owner of Silver Dreams Antiques, appeared at Myrtle’s side.

  Myrtle slowly turned, the triumph on her face souring. The two women exchanged sneers. Earlier in the year, Julie outbid Myrtle at an estate auction. The war started then, each woman searching for ways to make the other one look stupid.