The Witching Hours, page 3
“Oh. Right. Speaking of that.”
Brigid wasn’t ready to talk about the phone bill. “I’m going to check on Kenny.”
“I’ll warm up your coffee.”
Kenny’s fever was climbing again. When Brigid returned to the kitchen, it was to say, “His fever is back and it’s too soon to give him more medicine. I’d better take him to urgent care.”
“Don’t be silly,” Grace said. “It’s just a virus. You have everything you need right here in the house.”
Grace was a big believer in homeopathic remedies.
“Grace. Are you sure? I don’t want to take chances with my baby.”
“First, you’ve got to stop calling him that. Second, I won’t let anything happen to my nephew. Where are those things I brought you?”
Brigid pointed to the hutch at the end of the room. Grace opened the cabinet and began selecting a mix of essential oils and herbs.
“Where are the rosebuds?” she asked over her shoulder.
“In that dark jar you can’t see through.”
“Okay.” When Grace was satisfied that everything was available, she said, “Where’s that old mortar and pestle?”
“There in the hutch.”
“Alright. I’ll work out amounts while you start grinding.”
Brigid looked toward the bedroom. “Grace, are you sure?”
“Of course. It’s what I’d do for my own.”
“We can try this, but if he’s not better by lunchtime…”
“I know. You’ll take him to urgent care.”
Brigid began grinding up rose petals as Grace added a little bit of herbs here, a couple of drops of oil there.
“I need tea tree and don’t see any here. That’s okay. I have some in the car. Be right back.”
“Okay,” Brigid said.
She’d never confess it to Grace, but she had to admit that there was something soothing about the repetitive monotony of grinding up Grace’s concoction. She let the pestle handle rest on the side of the mortar for a second so she could reach for her coffee mug on the counter behind her. As she turned her finger brushed up against a stray splinter on the back of her chair. It went deep. She jerked it out and yelled, “OW!” even though there was no one to hear.
She washed off her finger at the kitchen sink tap and went back to grinding. In less than a minute she’d regained that pleasant slightly buzzed feeling she’d had before. Glancing down at the mortar she noticed streaks of red. At first, she didn’t connect that it might be blood because the wound wasn’t big, and it no longer hurt. Bringing her finger to eye level, there was no mistaking the telltale signs. She’d thought the slight bleeding had stopped. It hadn’t.
Grace came breezing into the kitchen just as Brigid was throwing the mixture away.
“What on earth?” Grace asked.
“Got a splinter.” Brigid held her finger up. “It bled into the mix before I noticed.”
“Oh. Well, then. Let’s just start over.”
“Grace?”
“Hmmm?” Grace turned back to see what might be the matter.
“Is this supposed to happen?”
Brigid was standing over the garbage bin watching a thin veil of purple smoke rise from the mix she’d thrown away. She guessed by the way Grace’s eyes popped the answer was no. That was definitely not supposed to happen.
Grace grabbed hold of the crystal she wore around her neck and said, “Saints be with us. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Brigid decided to take the bag that held the concoction outside. Whatever was causing the weird purple haze, she didn’t want it in the house. When she returned, she said, “Grace, you’re my older sister. I love you and respect you, but I’m taking Kenny to urgent care.”
“Your call.”
“Will you watch the boys till I get back?”
“Of course.” Grace looked at her watch. “I have to pick up Lana and Laura at two and it’ll take forty-five minutes at that time of day.”
“Gotcha. We’ll be back. If you can’t scrounge lunch in the freezer…”
“We’ll be fine.”
Brigid knew they would. Her sister was resourceful, an absolute magician when it came to making meals out of little to nothing.
The wait at urgent care was a blessing in its brevity, but she had to pay out of pocket for the visit. Steve’s office had made a point of saying their insurance was no longer valid.
She stopped by the pharmacy on the way home to pick up a prescription, relieved to know Kenny would be feeling like himself by dinnertime. She would’ve called Grace to say she’d pick up lunch, but her phone wasn’t working.
On that score, the good news was that bill collectors couldn’t call. The bad news was that she didn’t want the boys to go back to school with no way to be reached. She vowed to make phones and insurance a priority and figure out a solution as soon as Grace was gone.
Grace had made a healthy vegetable soup with tiny little meatballs. It made Brigid feel like a failure as a caregiver. But she tried to lift her own sprits by telling herself it was not a competition and that she could kick Grace’s ass in kickboxing.
By the time Grace left at one, the day had grown colder with a dark overcast.
“Yes, you can stay inside and play video games in the game room,” she told Blake and Judson. “But stay quiet enough that Kenny can sleep. Your brother is still sick.” They didn’t have to be asked twice. They went thundering up the stairs sounding like a herd of elk had just passed. Apparently, they missed the memo about being quiet so Kenny could rest.
She allowed herself a small sigh of self-pity before throwing herself into maintenance. Laundry was calling as was the dishwasher and plans for dinner. She didn’t want to leave the kids to go to the grocery store and hated the idea of paying a delivery fee, but there wasn’t much choice. Having used up the last of the credit left on their household card, she went to the safe to retrieve the untouchable card. The one that was reserved for what they’d do if they were being chased to South America by the mob. Or something similar.
She used it to buy groceries online then caught up phone charges and fees. She called Grace to reassure her sister that communications were restored.
“Hello?”
“Just checking to make sure they got my phone working.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Thanks for all your help this morning. You’re the best.”
“I know. You’re so lucky.”
Brigid chuckled. “I really am. Kiss. Kiss. Bye.”
She was feeling like the farthest thing from lucky, but she didn’t let that keep her from feeling grateful for her sister’s ministrations.
When the doorbell rang, she assumed it was grocery delivery. So, she answered without checking to see who it was.
The person standing on her porch had no groceries. He was also a ringer for that Ralph Lauren model who’s a real-life Argentinian polo player. Of course, he was wearing a white polo with the collar turned up under a black, expensive-looking puffy. Brigid was pretty sure she’d never seen a person so perfectly perfect.
His supremely confident smile said the vacant look she had on her face wasn’t a unique reaction. “You called?”
She shook her head slightly. “Called?” She looked past his shoulder to see if the grocery van was parked in the drive. “Not unless you’re grocery delivery.”
He waggled his head a little then said, “In a sense. At least that’s a small part of what I can do. You’re inviting me in then.”
“Inviting you in? No! I’m not. I, uh, don’t know you. Who are you?”
He lowered his chin and stared into her eyes in a way that sent a chill all the way down her spine. “I’m the one you called.”
“I didn’t call you,” Brigid protested.
He smiled. “Pretty sure you did.”
“Didn’t. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m closing the door now.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
“Why?”
“Because if you do, I will leave and I’m getting the sense that you won’t know how to get me back.”
“What makes you think I would want to get you back?”
“Because I’m the only one who knows where your husband’s life insurance policy is.”
Brigid’s lips parted and suddenly she wanted to hear what the beautiful man had to say. When he started forward, she moved aside and allowed him to cross the threshold. It wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t a hard refusal either.
“Alright. You can come in, but just so you know. I’m not alone.”
“Oh, I know,” he said. “Kenny’s in your bed. Blake and Judd are engaged with Grand Theft Auto upstairs.”
“Grand Theft Auto?” I sounded like a dumb ass, but really. I knew enough to know my boys aren’t old enough to be playing that game. No boys are old enough for that game. And where did they get it? “How do you know my boys’ names? And how do you know where they are and what they’re doing?” She looked him up and down. “Who are you?”
“Someone who’s here to help. And you need help, don’t you? Without my intervention they’ll be coming to dismantle your life. And that would be a shame.” He turned right into the study like he knew the way. Brigid followed like she was the guest. “Let’s have some wine,” he said as he removed his jacket and laid it across the ottoman. “Maybe sit by the fire? And talk about your predicament? I like a nice red blend when the weather is cold. How about you?”
On the table between the two red leather chairs, there were two crystal glasses of wine she hadn’t poured waiting by the fire she hadn’t lit. She didn’t remember him bringing wine. The bottle wasn’t one she recognized, and she was the one who stocked their wine column.
He sat, he gestured toward the other chair imperiously. “Come. Sit.”
Still staring at the wine, she said, “Where did this wine come from? I don’t drink wine in the middle of the day.”
“Well, why not?” he smiled. “That seems like a rather silly rule. Did you make it up or just absorb it like a sponge with no brain cells.”
“I didn’t allow you in to be insulted.”
“Well, finally. There you are, Brigid.”
Brigid sat, but didn’t accept the wine. “You know our names. What is yours?”
“Amon.”
“Amon what?”
“Just Amon.”
“You said you know something about a life insurance policy on my husband?”
‘Yes. How much would you like it to be?”
“What’s with the double speak? Insurance policy amounts are established when purchased. They’re not flexible. If the document exists, where is it? I’ll find out how much it is when I read it.”
“Well. The thing is it hasn’t exactly been created yet.”
She stood up. “Okay. Time to go. Get your coat and get out or I’ll call the police. You can take your wine with you.”
He chuckled. “Good thing you got your phone reinstated. That’s about the only thing in your life with breathing room right now. Right?”
“Look. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but…”
“Let’s make it simple, shall we? You conjured a demon. You got a demon.”
Brigid’s lips parted as she began to realize what a serious mistake it had been to let this man into her house. She stood up. “I’d really like you to go now.”
“Why?”
Thinking she needed to appease this person long enough to get him out, she said, “I don’t need or want a demon.” He put his head back and laughed. She looked toward where her phone was lying on top of the desk. “It’s very strange that you would summon me and then try to get rid of me.”
“I didn’t summon you.”
His brow furrowed. “You did.”
“Okay. Let’s say I did. I changed my mind. Will you go now?”
“If you insist,” he said. When he snapped his fingers, the fire went out and the wine disappeared.
Brigid gasped and took a step back. “Oh my God.”
“Wrong directory.” He paused. “I’m sensing that you may be changing your mind about hearing me out.” When he snapped his fingers, the fire lit, and the wine reappeared.
She looked him over. “You’re a demon? You’re…”
“What? Beautiful? Humankind is so easily deceived by beauty. That’s why it’s one of our staple tools.” She didn’t look convinced. “Is this the potato po-tah-to thing? If you recoil at the word demon, perhaps you’d prefer fallen angel. Both are true. Pick your poison.” He chuckled. “I like that one. Pick your poison,” he repeated.
“Your senses are wrong. I want you gone.” She stepped to the desk, picked up her phone and noted that his demeanor changed.
“Wait. Are you seriously saying my summoning was an accident? I thought you were just mucking around and was kind of admiring you for it. Not many have the nerve to trifle with, ah, fallen angels.” He glanced at the phone in her hand. “Make the call for help and I will be as good as gone, but I’m like the Cadbury bunny. When I’m gone, I’m gone for good.”
“Cadbury bunny?”
Ignoring that, he continued. “And what a waste would that be. You know summoning is all but a lost art. Very few know how to do it anymore and I have the impression lightning won’t strike twice in your case. I mean, you might’ve called me without intention… somehow.” He looked briefly troubled by that. “But here I am. No reason to waste a well-executed summoning. Let’s be practical. You might as well benefit.”
She glanced at the phone, hesitating. “Amon. You’ve barged into my home, said a whole bunch of truly crazy things, like that my husband has a life insurance policy, but it hasn’t been written yet. I feel like every minute I let you stay is endangering my kids.”
“I pose no danger to your offspring. For the time being, you might say I’m actually your servant. Harming you and yours is forbidden. Definitely against code.”
“There’s a code?”
“Of course. What do you think?” He set his wine glass down and stood. “Very well. Let’s do a dog and pony show as they say. What would prove to you that I’m telling the truth about who and what I am?”
Her fingers were practically getting numb from clutching the phone so tightly. The doorbell rang. They both looked in the direction of the front door.
“That would be grocery delivery, I assume?” Amon ventured.
She squinted her eyes at him. “What are the limitations?”
“Can’t control time and weather adaptations have a tendency to go wrong. Anything else is fair game.”
“Okay. The groceries? I want them accepted and put away in the kitchen without opening the front door.”
Amon laughed. “My lady. You are an original. This might be fun after all.”
He sat back down and picked up his wine glass.
“So. You can’t do that!” she accused.
He turned toward her and smiled. “Go look.”
Brigid glanced toward the stairs. She was dying to do as he instructed, but didn’t want to leave the hallway to her bedroom where Kenny was sleeping or the stairwell unguarded. On the other hand, what could she do to stop this young, muscular six-feet-two guy if he wanted to get past her?
She practically ran for the kitchen, but stopped on the way and retraced her steps. She’d caught something in her peripheral vision. The dining room table was set with fine linens, heavy stainless flatware and colorful hip pottery that she did not own. The look was complemented by a modern floral arrangement of lilies, tree fern, and red alstroemeria. She recognized it from a layout she’d seen in Elle while waiting at urgent care. It had caught her attention and she’d lingered on the photography thinking it was different and outstandingly gorgeous.
Her heart was beating a little faster as she reset her course for the kitchen.
It had definitely not been quite as spotless as the last time she’d seen it. Even the glass front cabinets were gleaming like they’d just been cleaned. On the stove was a large soup pot of something that smelled heavenly. She lifted the lid to see Guinness beef stew almost done. She’d ordered the ingredients in a moment of optimism, thinking that she might actually be inclined to cook one day soon.
Well, she thought to herself, the stew didn’t walk into the house and prepare itself.
The pantry was full of everything she’d ordered along with other things she wanted, but had not ordered. Same with the refrigerator. Fully stocked. Beautifully arranged. The shelves and drawers were as spotlessly clean as the day the refrigerator arrived for installation.
She jumped when she heard a smooth voice from behind. Amon was leaning against the kitchen door jamb with his arms crossed.
“Shall we dispense with the games and get down to business now? I’m here to help protect you and your stuff so your family can continue to enjoy the fruits of your labors. Plus, more if you wish.”
The skeptic inside Brigid wanted to argue with what she was seeing with her own eyes, but she’d run the gamut of reasonable explanations and come up short. There was only one conclusion left. She was cavorting with a demon. Well, perhaps she wasn’t cavorting. She wasn’t sure she knew what cavorting meant. She was sure that the stew she’d aspired to make was cooking and the table setting she’d seen in the magazine was proudly displayed on her dining table.
“You’re really not going to hurt us?”
“Not my thing. I’m here to conduct business. Pure and simple. Join me in the study. I noticed you didn’t touch your wine. Would you prefer a white? I know a good unoaked Chardonnay.”
“No. I don’t want wine. I want coffee. I’m going to check on Kenny then I will meet you in the study.”
Kenny had turned on the TV in her bedroom and was watching from bed.
“Hey, pal. How you doing?” She felt his face. He was definitely cooler. “How about some juice?”
“What kind?” he asked. That was promising.
She smiled. “What kind do you want?”
“Coke with lime juice.”
Brigid laughed and shook her head. “No.”
“Coke with cherry juice?” He tried.
“Orange juice?” She parried. He shook his head. “Lemonade?” He smiled and nodded.
