Chapter Four
Verbena gave a startled squeak and scooted behind Duncan. “That’s Joby Ray. Lord a-mercy, them Skinners done found me.”
“Stay inside. I’ll deal with this.” Cassie gave Duncan an inclusive glare. “Nobody, but nobody, bosses me around in my own home.”
“You got a gun?” Verbena peeked around Duncan with a doubtful expression. “Onliest way to get rid of a Skinner is to shoot ’em dead.” After a moment’s reflection, she added, “Knives work, too—and axes and shovels and a whole bunch o’ other tools. Pizen will kill ’em—if’n you can get the varmints to drink it. Don’t seem likely, so a gun would be better.”
“She has no need of weapons.” Duncan’s sword appeared in his hand. “I will accompany her.”
“No, you will not,” Cassie said. “This is kith business.”
“Fear not. I am the soul of discretion. They will never guess that I am Dalvahni.”
Cassie gave him a duh look. “Give me a break. You’re tall. You’re handsome, and you’re muscled to the max. And you’re waving around a meat cleaver. Trust me, they’ll know.”
“You think me handsome?” His laughing eyes teased her. “I am gratified.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Cassie said. “I don’t like you worth a damn, but I’m not blind. For God’s sake, do as you’re told for once and stay inside with Verbena.”
She spun on her heel and strode down the hall. She kept a variety of hiking staffs in a rack by the back door to enhance her magic: poplar wood to aid in banishment spells, apple for harmony and fairy magic, ash and basswood for healing and love spells, cherry for spells of detection, and cedar for invocation, to name a few. Wands were less cumbersome and more portable, but too obvious. Nothing screamed Look at me, I do magic and shit like a wand, and she didn’t want to draw the attention of the norms. But nobody thought twice about her carrying a staff, not when she lived alone in the woods on the river. And if anyone did give her a funny look, the word “snakes” dispelled suspicion. Alabama was crawling with snakes, some fifty species, and rattlers, cottonmouths, and copperheads were among them. And there were snakes of the two-legged kind, as well, like the Skinners. Cassie held her hand over the bristle of walking sticks. Which staff should she use? She’d had a run-in or two with old Charlie before he’d died, and he’d been a piece of work. Charlie had tried to hire her. Offered her money to hex the Furrs, his competition in the moonshine trade. He hadn’t been happy when she’d declined. If this Joby Ray character was anything like his brother, then he was a slimeball maximus. Better take something to counter bad energy, she decided. After a moment’s hesitation, she selected an elder staff studded with blue chalcedony. That should combat negativity nicely. If not, she’d bean him over the head with the damn thing.
Flinging open the door, she stepped onto the porch. The air shimmered beside her and a whiff of a woodsy scent told her that Duncan had ignored her admonition not to interfere and had followed her out of the house. Color her not surprised. On the plus side, he’d made himself invisible. She’d forgotten he could do that.
“I know you’re there,” she said through her teeth. “What part of ‘stay inside’ did you not understand?”
“Worry not, my sweet. My cognitive abilities remain unimpaired.” His disembodied voice spoke out of the ether. “Though I doubt not you will acquit yourself well with these scoundrels, I desire to see them for myself.”
He was impossible. She could stand here talking to the ozone, or she could get on with the task of delousing her property.
Pasting a pleasant smile on her face, she strolled down the steps to greet the interlopers, the elder stick clutched in one hand. Six ferrety-faced, shifty-eyed men stood in her driveway. A wormy-looking lot, Cassie concluded, assessing the men with the practiced eye of a healer, as though they suffered from the same wasting disease.
And they smelled to high heaven, a sickly-sweet odor that reminded her of rotting fruit.
They appraised the place with calculating eyes. Mentally tallying her belongings and their worth, no doubt. A sticky-fingered lot, the Skinners. So many members of the clan had been arrested for burglary and receiving stolen property, they could have their own recovery group, and bring stolen cookies to the meetings.
A middle-aged man with bandy legs and the slicked-back hair of a televangelist stepped to the front of the mangy cluster of men. His face was gaunt, as though he’d lost weight—a lot of weight, and fast. He was dressed in baggy jeans and a short-sleeve shirt, unbuttoned to display his scrawny physique. A few hairs straggled across his narrow chest and trailed down his sunken belly.
Hitching up his jeans, he swayed closer. “Name’s Joby Ray Skinner, and these here are some of my kin. You Cassie Ferguson, the one folks call the witch?”
Cassie planted the elder staff in front of her. “That’s the norm term, but I’m kith, same as you.”
Not exactly the same, thank God. They were both demonoids, but the Skinner family tree didn’t branch.
“That right?” His slimy gaze roved over her, lingering on her breasts in a way that made her skin crawl. “Could be, I reckon. You got the eyes. You a shifter?”
“No. I have other talents.”
“I bet you do.” He grinned, showing small, pointed teeth, like a possum’s. “Right, boys?”
There was a chorus of grunts and whistles from his kinfolk.
“Charming.” Cassie pointed her staff at the dusty black Ram 3500 mega cab sitting in her drive. Three nervous hounds paced in the back of the vehicle. “Nice truck.”
Fifty grand plus worth of nice, unless Cassie was mistaken.
“Ain’t ours,” a cadaverous man at the back of the group volunteered. “We brodied it. Stupid norm left the keys in it.”
“Shut up about that. That’s Skinner b’ness.” Joby Ray gave Cassie an oily smile. “Nice place you got here. Kinda remote, though. Ain’t safe for a purty thang like you to live alone.”
“Oh, I’m not alone.” There was an invisible demon hunter hanging around, somewhere. “And I’ve got a security system.”
Her magic was on the fritz and so were her alarms, but the Skinners didn’t know that, thank goodness. Later she’d reset her wards, but first to deal with this riffraff.
The easiest thing would be to turn the girl over to them, the voice whispered in her head. Why get involved? It’s not your style.
No, but Verbena was alone and in trouble, and Cassie knew what that felt like. She couldn’t turn the girl over to this white-trash posse and look herself in the mirror.
She gripped the staff. “What can I do for you, Mr. Skinner? I have a variety of spells and potions that might interest you.”
“Don’t want none of your juju. We come for our kin.”
He stepped around Cassie, his acrid scent washing over her.
She hurried to block him, barring his way with the staff. “And who might that be?”
“My niece, Verbena. Worried about the poor little thang. We had a fallin’-out, see? I come to welcome her back into the fold.”
“Verbena’s staying with me.”
“That right?” Joby Ray’s sunken eyes narrowed. “Why would a fine lady like you wanna rub elbows with a gal like Beenie?”
“Our friendship is recent.” Like a few minutes old. “I give her room and board in exchange for her help around the place.”
Whoa, where’d that come from? It was one thing to lend a helping hand, another altogether to take someone on to raise. The Skinners were trouble, and she was asking for it.
“That’s real kind of you,” Joby Ray said, “but it’s time Verbena came home.”
“And if she doesn’t want to?”
“She’ll want to. Blood’s thicker ’n water. We’s kin.”
“Some family,” Cassie said. “Verbena’s told me how you treated her.”
“Don’t get your ass in a pucker. The gal’s a whiner, but we love her jes’ the same.” Cupping his hands to his mouth, he yelled, “Beenie, get your ass out here.”
“No,” Verbena hollered back from inside the house. “Ain’t gonna.”
“Make me come after you, girl, and I’ll beat you raw.”
The door opened and Verbena stomped out of the house, her face pale and set. “Go ’way, Joby. I ain’t coming with you.”
“Don’t be like ’at, gal,” Joby Ray wheedled. “I done brought your sweetheart.”
Reaching behind him, Joby Ray jerked a young man forward. This specimen of Skinner pulchritude was clad in filthy jeans and a grimy T-shirt, and he had long, stringy blond hair and a wet mouth like a fish. Like the rest of the clan, he was emaciated and unhealthy looking.
“Wha?” Fish Mouth’s lips worked and his pale eyes bulged. “I ain’t marrying Beenie. She’s a stick and ain’t got no tits. ’Sides, I done got a girl.”
Joby Ray whacked Fish Mouth upside the head. “Shut up, peckerhead. You’ll marry who you’re told, and I say you’re gon’ marry your cousin.”
“I ain’t marrying him,” Verbena shouted. “And we ain’t cousins. I ain’t no Skinner.”
Joby Ray’s pointy face darkened. “We give you vittles and a place to stay. You owe us.”
“You threw me to them demons like I was a chicken leg. I don’t owe you jack diddle.”
Cassie gave the staff a threatening flourish. “You heard her. Now leave.”
Joby Ray’s sallow complexion splotched with rage. “I don’t give a good goddamn what she says, she’s coming with us.”
Grabbing the end of the staff, he shoved Cassie aside and barreled toward the porch with the rest of the Skinners at his heels.
Cassie regained her balance and slammed the elder staff into the ground. “Stop.”
To her shock, the earth billowed like a sheet, knocking the Skinners off their feet and sending them tumbling across the yard like chess pieces on an upended board. Cassie stared at the staff in her hand. A dislocation spell of that magnitude took an enormous amount of power, and she’d been off her game for months. What just happened?
Behind her, the dogs in the stolen truck set up a howl. Bewildered, Cassie glanced around. The Skinners were groaning and getting to their feet, but the dogs weren’t looking at them. They were looking at her truck, parked by the garden at the side of the house.
“Eek,” she yelped when she saw the cause of the disturbance.
The slain werewolf had risen from the dead—or part of him had. Dripping blood and gore, the severed head drifted across the yard like a hideous paper lantern blown by the wind.
“That there’s Mac Randall.” Joby Ray’s voice was a high-pitched squeak. “You done cut off his damn head. I thought you and Zeb was keeping company. The alpha ain’t gon’ like it when he finds out you done kilt his nephew.”
“I did not—” Cassie protested, but she was drowned out by a roar from the dead werewolf.
The fanged, hideous mouth parted. “Depart, miscreants, and return upon penalty of death.”
Fish Mouth shrieked and bolted for the purloined truck. Flinging the driver’s door open, he threw himself inside. The remaining Skinners hotfooted it after him, knocking one another down in their haste to escape. Scrambling inside the Ram, they slammed the doors.
“Come back here, you chickenshits,” Joby Ray shouted as the big vehicle rumbled to life. “We ain’t leaving. Not without Verbena.”
If the Skinners heard, they gave no sign. They were staring at Cassie’s truck, their faces white behind the windshield. The decapitated corpse had risen to its feet. Turning blindly toward Joby Ray, the headless body swung its legs over the side of the Silverado and slid to the ground. The corpse lumbered across the yard, a disjointed Frankenstein with arms outstretched for Joby Ray.
There was a chorus of muffled shrieks from the interior of the black truck.
“Christ on a tricycle,” a Skinner yelled. “Whatchoo waiting for? Let’s get out of here.”
Fish Mouth wheeled the truck around and spun off in a cloud of dust.
“Shit,” Joby Ray said, backing away from the advancing ghoul. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Grabbing his sagging jeans in both hands, he tore after the truck, cursing a blue streak as he went.
“So much for chivalry,” Cassie said, watching Joby Ray rabbit it down the driveway. “Nice work, Duncan. You scared them off.”
The bloody corpse wobbled and folded to the ground in a heap of limbs. A moment later, Duncan appeared, the severed werewolf head dangling from one hand.
“What is Zeb Randall to you,” he asked in thunderous accents, “and what is the meaning of ‘keeping company’?”
* * *
Verbena rose, ghostlike, from behind one of the huge ferns Cassandra kept by the back door.
“It means Miz Cassie and Zeb been having a thang,” she said. “That’s right, ain’t it, Miz Cassie? The Randall big dawg been sparkin’ you?”
“Zeb and I have had dinner a few times,” Cassie said, avoiding Duncan’s gaze. “But that was a year ago.”
Her words sent a shaft of pain through Duncan’s heart, and he let the werewolf head drop to the ground and roll away unheeded. The Provider, the translator that allowed the Dalvahni to travel from sphere to sphere, conversant with the language and customs of the various places they went in pursuit of the djegrali, had properly deciphered Joby Ray’s words.
Cassandra had been with another.
The world went red.
“Did you lie with him?” Duncan demanded.
“Don’t take that tone with me. I don’t answer to you.”
He roared and brought his hands down in a slashing gesture. Clumps of dirt and rock spewed into the air, and deep trenches opened on either side of his feet. Verbena squeaked and ducked inside, slamming the door behind her.
“Answer me.” Duncan drew in a ragged breath. “Did you lie with him?”
“None of your damn business.”
“I disagree. For years, I have searched for you, knowing that one day we would be reunited.”
“Well, give you a big old prize.” Cassandra planted her feet and glared back at him, uncowed. “But here’s the disconnect. I didn’t know you were looking for me. You said a Dalvahni warrior couldn’t be with demon spawn, and you took off, and you made it clear you weren’t coming back.”
“Yes, by the gods, I spurned you, and I was a fool.” Duncan was shouting, but he didn’t care. “I knew my mistake within the fortnight and returned to beg your pardon. To tell you that I love you. That I was wrong to leave. That I am nothing without you, but you were gone. I kept looking, and I never gave up.” His lips twisted. “Alas, I have been casting my net at the moon.”
Cassandra’s lovely face was pale and set. “Don’t you dare make this about me.” Her knuckles were white around the staff. “I was broken when you left. Couldn’t eat or sleep. I wanted to die.”
Duncan reached for her. “Cassandra, listen. I—”
“No, you listen.” She jerked away from him, her violet eyes bright with unshed tears. “Then Baby Rose came down with a fever. Scarlet fever, probably, but there wasn’t a doctor around, so who knows.” Her mouth trembled and her gaze grew far off. “I shooed Jimbo and Maggie out of the house to keep them from catching it and then I did everything I could think of to save her, but the fever took her anyway. I wrapped her in a blanket and went to tell Jimbo and Maggie their baby sister was gone, but they’d slipped into the woods. I found them near the creek. The Hag had torn them to pieces. Part of me did die then. I buried what was left of them underneath the oak tree the next morning and left.”
Sorrow washed over Duncan, and bitter regret. He should have been here. She should never have suffered such horror alone.
Anger forgotten in the face of her grief, he closed the space between them.
“Cassandra . . .” His throat tightened with remorse and longing. “If I could but go back . . . spare you this pain and anguish, I would, and gladly.”
She gazed up at him, a storm of emotions flitting across her expressive face. She was so near, a heartbeat away. He inhaled, breathing in her light, crisp scent. A single crystal tear hung, suspended, on her lashes. He reached out and caught the droplet on his fingers. She held still, her eyes wide, like a startled doe’s. Unable to resist, he let his trembling fingers drift across her cheek.
Her skin was soft and warm. The single, slight caress sent an electric shock of awareness through him that made his knees buckle. He gazed helplessly down at her, his foolish heart pounding at her nearness, at the sheer heart-stopping wonder of her.
Gods, it had been too long. He wanted to taste her, to drink her in. The empty, meaningless years without her had been a desert, and he was dying of thirst.
He bent closer. “Cassandra, my sweetest love . . .”
She gasped and stepped back. “Don’t you ‘Cassandra’ me, Duncan Dalvahni. I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a grown woman with responsibilities and a life.”
“A life that has included other men?” He did not conceal his bitterness.
“Yes,” she said. “You rejected me, Duncan. Emphatically and completely, and more than a century and a half ago. I like men, and I like sex, and I’m not going to apologize for it, especially to you.”
“But we—”
“Were in love?” She looked him squarely in the eye. “Yes, and it was wonderful—while it lasted. Then you left, and it was terrible. No one—no one, especially you—will ever hurt me like that again. Whatever we had, Duncan, it’s over.”
“Do not say that,” Duncan begged. “Cassandra, my love—”
She clapped her hands over her ears with a shriek of rage. “Stop calling me that. I am not your love. You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t love me. So, for the last time, leave me alone.”
She dropped the staff and walked into the house, closing the door behind her with the finality of a death knell.