Chapter 44
No one could run forever, especially in Savannah in the double digits of August, so eventually Ingrid slowed down to a brisk walk.
She walked aimlessly, boiling in a ninety-eight-degree cauldron of anger, panic, and elation. As she went, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She felt eyes on her. Watching her. She wondered if Sailor or Rill were having her followed. Maybe by the redheaded goon from Peregrin.
Inside, the bar was neon-blue dark and mostly empty.
A couple played pool at one of the tables and a tall guy stood at one of the pinball machines at the far end of the room.
Ingrid found a seat at the bar and ordered a Chatham Artillery punch, a drink that contained rum, whisky, brandy, and champagne.
She saw on a laminated sign over that bar that there was trivia later. She’d be drunk by then.
“Ingrid? Hey, girl.”
She twisted around to see Boney, UGA baseball cap turned backward over his stringy black hair, grinning at her. “Oh, hey.”
“You saving this seat?” He waggled his eyebrows in a lascivious way.
“No.” Goddess, what a pest.
He nodded at the bartender in whatever shorthand they had and sat on the stool beside her. She sucked a fortifying inch and a half from the liquid in her glass. Positively lethal. Just what she needed.
“Ladies’ night while the old ball and chain works the evening shift?” Boney asked. “I like it.”
Feeling her chest burn pleasantly, she bestowed on him a condescending smile. “It’s the afternoon, Boney.”
“Or were you just really in the mood for a Chatham Artillery mixed up by Percy?”
She rolled her eyes and sucked down another inch of the drink. Boney got his beer and tipped it back. “No, really. What are you doing here?”
“I like this place. Haven’t been here in forever.” In spite of her reluctance to talk to Boney, her tongue felt loosened by the alcohol. “And Sailor’s furious at me. It’s a matter of time before everyone knows that I put a spell on Scoot.”
“You put a spell on Scoot?”
Well, that cat was out of the bag. She sighed. “It was just a karma spell.” She didn’t mention she’d done it at Sailor’s request.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Boney’s half-lidded eyes closed as he drank.
“That family cares too much about their reputation. They’re telling everybody Scoot was tired from all that doing nothing she does and went to a rejuvenation center in Charleston to rest, and I don’t know, get her blood de-toxified or something. ”
Ingrid regarded him doubtfully. “Really?”
“You think they’re going to let it get out that she maimed a homeless guy while she was driving sloshed? No way.”
“Is she really in Charleston?”
“Who knows? Who cares?”
Ingrid did, but not because she felt bad for the woman. Scoot Loeffler needed to be kept somewhere safe. At least until Ingrid figured out what to do about her.
“Ingrid,” Boney said. “Why is that girl is looking at you?”
Ingrid turned. Sure enough, at one of the tables in the corner, there was a family: a square-jawed, muscular man feeding French fries to a toddler with a pink beret angled jauntily on her curly red hair.
On the other side of the toddler was a woman about her age, long red hair, wearing a Ralph Lauren Polo logo cap and a crisp white button-down unbuttoned over a bandeau top. The woman was staring at her.
“Oh, shit.” Ingrid flushed and stared down into her glass, wishing she could somehow shrink down to the size of a tree frog and dive into it.
“Who is that?” Boney said. “She’s gorgeous.”
“Disney villains usually are,” Ingrid muttered.
Boney grinned, making him look like a male model, a look that got him way more attention than he deserved. He contorted his wiry torso to get a better look. “Look at that hair. That Instagram outfit.”
“Boney. Don’t,” Ingrid said. “And stop smiling at her.”
But he kept at it, grinning away and stealing looks at the girl, who obviously took this as a welcome mat. She got up and began walking toward them.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Ingrid muttered, and inhaled two more inches of Artillery. She was buzzing now with the dangerous stew of alcohol she’d imbibed, feeling spiky and spiteful.
“Ingrid? Ingrid White?”
Ingrid whipped around, a bright smile stretching her lips. “Destiny Amos! Well, hi there!”
“Long time no see.” Destiny’s eyes slid over to Boney, and she did that self-conscious little shimmy women always did in Boney’s presence.
“And it’s Garcia now. Amos-Garcia, actually.
I did the hyphenate thing. Well, not at first. At first, I was like, a major trad-wife, rolling deep with the sourdough and shit.
But recently I started this whole lifestyle, wellness business thing and with the branding and then the rebranding and the soft launch, I was just like, ‘Hold up! I’m an Amos but I’m also a Garcia,’ you know? ”
Ingrid snorted softly.
“We all have to be true to ourselves.” Destiny directed this to Boney.
Boney twinkled. “One hundred percent.”
He held out his hand and with a giggle, Destiny took it in hers.
“Tristan Anderson,” Boney said.
“Destiny.”
“Amos-Garcia.”
Destiny twinkled.
“Everybody calls him Boney,” Ingrid said.
Destiny pointed at Boney. “Oh, you do the ghost tours.”
“That’s me.” Boney propped one elbow up on the bar. “You should bring the fam one night. Or date night.” He gave her a look that said everything opposite of date night, and Ingrid frowned. He made a face back at her. She had the impulse to smack him right off his stool.
Destiny Amos-Garcia tore her eyes from Boney and addressed Ingrid. “So what are you up to, girlie?”
“Drinking here with my friend,” Ingrid said coolly. She glanced over at the muscular guy and toddler. “What a cute kid.”
Destiny threw a look over her shoulder. “Thanks. She’s almost two. Quite a handful. Like we were, you know? Back in the day.” She beamed and winked at Ingrid.
“Ho, ho,” laughed Ingrid. “You were certainly a handful.”
Destiny’s smile tightened. Her eyes darted to Boney, then back to Ingrid. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” Ingrid sang gaily and bypassing her straw, gulped the remainder of her Artillery.
“No, seriously.” Destiny squared up to Ingrid. “Is there something you want to say to me?”
“Destiny, it’s fine.” Ingrid waved her off, held her glass up to the bartender. From the far end of the bar, he nodded.
“I mean, it was a long time ago,” Destiny’s mouth was still stretched into a semblance of a smile. “We were just kids.”
“Sounds like a story there,” Boney commented.
“Oh my God, not really,” Destiny said, flipping her hair back.
“I mean, if you want a story,” Ingrid swiveled on her stool, fully facing Destiny. “I have a story. When I was a thirteen-year-old girl, this one tied me to a chair and tried to cast a demon out of me. At a sleepover.”
“We were children,” Destiny protested. “It was a joke. And a very long time ago.” She focused on Ingrid, picking at a strand of her hair.
“Anyway, Ingrid. I heard you were like, hanging out with Sailor Loeffler and doing events for her and stuff. And I, like, had this flash of, like, brilliance? That you and I could maybe do some kind of collab. Maybe fold it into a chamber of commerce thing? Or possibly a charity—”
The bartender set a fresh Artillery in front of Ingrid. She nodded her thanks and took a long pull.
“I know Sailor’s got tons of connections so I thought we could do like a Savannah Sauce-D.A.G. Glow event where you could tell fortunes or something …”
“It wasn’t funny to me, just so you know.” Ingrid put her drink down carefully and edged off her stool. She could feel her internal engine revving, gearing up for a fight. “In fact, I was so upset, my grandmother took me out of school.”
“Oh wow.” Destiny took one step back. “I hadn’t … I had forgotten that.”
“And I don’t tell fortunes, FYI.”
“Listen, Ingrid—” Destiny started to say. “Let’s just move on. That was a long time ago. I just came over here to see if you wanted to do some kind of collab—”
“No, you listen to me.” Ingrid jammed a finger in Destiny’s face. “You said I worshipped the devil. You tried to exorcise me. You humiliated me and made me feel like a terrible person.”
Destiny huffed impatiently. “That’s what my mother told me you were supposed to do if somebody was … if somebody was a witch. She’s very religious, and that’s how she taught me. I didn’t know any better. I was actually trying to help you.”
Ingrid yelped with laughter. “No, you weren’t. You were trying to make all those girls scared of me. Like I was some kind of character out of a horror movie. And that’s exactly what you did.”
“Ingrid, why would I do such a thing—”
“I’ll tell you why.” Ingrid felt a flash of anger.
It was like she’d opened a window in the dead of winter and a wall of cold hit her, shocking her and waking her up. This woman standing in front of her had been nothing but a bully to her, but now that she believed Ingrid was running with Sailor Loeffler, she was trying to suck up to her.
She took a step toward Destiny. “Because it made you feel powerful to put me down. To scare those girls. To push me outside the group. And I get it, Destiny, I do. Power feels good. It feels like everything. In fact, I won’t lie.
I love power.” A singular thought occurred to her.
A thought that gave her a sudden feeling of calm.
With just one spell, she had been able to land Scoot Loeffler in rehab.
Destiny Amos-Garcia would be a breeze.
Ingrid sucked in her cheeks, made the sign of the horns with her fingers and, coolly, calmly, pointed them at Destiny. “I know because I have it.”