Chapter 12
Tess
Fortified by soup and sandwiches (one for me, five for Jack), we headed out to practice. My phone was blowing up with excited texts from everybody on the team about the new uniforms, except for Lorraine, who only wanted to know if her cleats were orthopedic.
Lorraine was a former Dead End mayor and the long-time hostess/chief server/woman in charge at Beau’s Diner, the only sit-down, full-service restaurant in town. We had Judd’s Pizza now, which had added a few tables, and soon we’d have Connor’s Pub, but I didn’t know what the menu there would be. I was a sucker for bar cheeseburgers, so I hoped there would be actual food and not just peanuts and chips.
Brenda called me. “That’s wonderful, Tess! Thanks so much!”
“You’re welcome, but really, Jack did this. I could only afford the basics. We’re going to look awesome!”
“Riverton will gnash their teeth,” I could hear dark satisfaction in her voice.
“Any news about Ace?”
She sighed. “No. Not that anybody told me. Every Truckman in the family tree has popped out of the woodwork to call me and accuse me of nefarious doings, though. I had to hang up on Probie.”
“I really hope Ace shows up soon. Maybe he just ran off with some woman or one of his bros.” I didn’t have a lot of hope, though.
“Yeah,” she said bitterly. “I know just which woman he would have run off with, too. I tried to call her, but she isn’t answering her phone, either.”
“Who?”
“See you at practice.” She hung up without answering my question.
I told Jack about the conversation. “I wonder who she meant, and if some other woman is why she broke up with Ace?”
Jack shrugged and turned into the parking lot. “I really, really don’t want to know about Ace Truckman’s … love life.”
I couldn’t blame him.
We were maybe ten minutes late, and the parking lot was full. The team was already warming up. We left the new gear in the truck to be distributed after practice, grabbed our gloves, and headed to the field.
This year’s roster looked a lot like last year’s roster, with a few changes. I was the pitcher again. I’d been a star softball player in high school before the curse kicked in and I quit the team. As a pitcher, I didn’t have to touch anybody or risk them running into me like Susan did at second base.
Jack was in right field. Rooster Jenkins was at first base, where Uncle Mike used to play. My uncle would be the game announcer from now on. Molly was our shortstop, but Lucky was subbing in for her at practice since she was still out of town. Dallas and Austin Fox, Swamp Commando co-owners and computer geniuses, shared third base duty, but only Dallas was here this evening. Brenda was our left fielder. Nigel, an ogre who owned a dance studio with his water nymph wife, was center field.
Rounding out our roster was seventy-plus-year-old, silver-haired, five-feet-nothing-inches-tall Lorraine at catcher. She was tiny, but she played hard and a little dirty, which nobody ever expected.
She was our secret weapon.
I loved Lorraine. She and Eleanor had both been beloved honorary aunts to me growing up. They regularly got me involved in their wild schemes, and Lorraine and I were both signed up to be bridesmaids at Eleanor’s wedding.
All of that is context for why I was so shocked when Lorraine caught sight of me and started yelling. “Where the blue blazes have you two been? Do you think you have special privileges to be late when the rest of us are here working hard?”
“What? No—I—” To my horror, I could feel tears welling up.
Jack put a hand on my arm and gave Lorraine a narrow-eyed look. “Not sure what’s going on with you, but don’t take it out on Tess, Lorraine.”
She puffed up like a bad-tempered weasel in orthopedic shoes, but then turned away from us with a disgusted snort. I wanted to go to her and find out why she was so angry, but Jack shook his head.
“Let her be. We’ll find out what’s wrong after practice,” he murmured.
I hesitated, but then nodded. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”
It was almost certainly the wrong decision, though, because practice … stank.
We dropped easy catches. My pitches went wild more often than they hit the sweet spot. Lucky, the sweetest guy in the world, slammed his bat to the ground after he missed a pitch and said some very bad words that I’d never, ever heard him use before.
Rooster Jenkins, a mountain shaped like a man, used all of his seven feet and nearly four hundred pounds to block runners … hard. Rooster was always aware of his size and was gentle and kind, careful not to intimidate or scare anybody.
Not tonight.
Dallas, one of our best players, missed every ball that came his way. Nigel randomly sat down in the middle of center field and started plucking blades of grass and tossing them into the air. Susan threw her glove at Brenda, and they started arguing with each other at home plate.
And this was all in the first thirty minutes.
Jack jogged over to me when I quit even trying to throw pitches and just rotated in a slow circle, staring at my teammates, wondering what the heck was happening.
“Something is very wrong,” he said quietly.
“No kidding.”
Jack shook his head. “No, Tess. Look at everyone.”
“I am looking at everyone. It’s horrible. I don’t?—”
“Tess,” he interrupted urgently. “Look.”
I looked again and tried to see past my bewilderment. Jack was right. Something was really wrong. None of my friends were acting like themselves.
“We have to do something.”
“I just wish I knew what,” Jack said. “I have no idea what could cause this.”
“I think?—”
But I never finished that sentence, because a familiar silvery oval formed in the middle of the field not ten yards away.
“Is that the portal to Atlantis?”
Jack studied it. “Similar, but different.”
“Danger?”
“Could be.” He tried to nudge me behind him, but I wasn’t having it. I moved to stand between Lorraine and the portal. Nobody was going to hurt her when I was around.
It wasn’t danger, though.
It was an FBI agent and his extremely pregnant wife.
Alejandro and Rose had come to town.
Rose Cardinal, a powerful witch from a prominent witch family, made a hissing sound and grimaced as soon as she stepped through the portal. She scanned the field and then looked at Jack.
“Who put the bad-luck charm in your dugout?”