Chapter 13. Jenny
Jenny
The bell on the door announced our first customer the next morning. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with bright blue eyes and wavy blond hair to the middle of his back. He had a thick build: layers of fat over layers of hard muscle. Abalone beads decorated his braided beard.
I turned to Ronnie, who was sitting by the window, reading a book on Salem’s history while downing an energy drink. His eyes were bleary and half closed, and his hair was a lopsided, pillow-mussed mess.
“No food or beverages around the books,” I reminded him. “Go check the back of the stock room for me. You’ll see a shelf labeled special orders. I need the brown paper bag labeled Evasson.”
He smothered a yawn and stood. “Great. I’ve been promoted to stock boy.”
“You wish. Stock boys get paid.” I waited for him to leave, then stepped out from behind the counter. “Good morning, Hjálmar!”
Hjálmar Evasson chuckled and gave me a quick hug. “New employee?”
“Something like that.”
“You should put him to work repainting. The trim out front is looking a bit old and chipped.”
I tried to keep my worry from showing. First the basement, now the trim. We should check the whole place over from top to bottom to see what else might be weakening. I’d talk to Temple about it once he woke up.
Ronnie returned carrying a small bag. He handed it to me, keeping well clear of Hjálmar. “You know he’s a selkie, right?”
Hjálmar folded his arms, which were roughly the same size as Ronnie’s thighs. “What of it, boy?”
“Hjálmar is an old friend,” I said firmly. “And a paying customer.”
“I’ve studied selkies and their attacks on humans through the centuries.” Ronnie’s free hand twitched toward the inside of his jacket.
“Take it easy.” I put a hand on his elbow and squeezed just hard enough to remind him I could dislocate the joint with two fingers if he threatened my guest.
“If you know the stories, you know humans have a history of taking our women.” Hjálmar sounded cheerful as ever, but his eyes had narrowed, and his meaty hands curled into not-quite-fists. “Stealing their sealskins and trapping them in their human forms.”
“The actions of a few pathetic, lonely men don’t justify sinking human ships and drowning whole crews,” said Ronnie.
Hjálmar’s nostrils flared. “But you’re gonna blame all selkies for the actions of a few grief-stricken families who avenged their lost loved ones?”
“I’m saying your kind has a history of murdering—”
“Nobody’s murdering anyone today,” I said firmly. I handed Hjálmar the bag. “This should help with your eczema.”
“Hey, now,” he protested. “What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”
“I’m not a doctor.” To Ronnie, I said, “Hjálmar comes in twice a month during the spring and summer for a special skin cream. Being out of the water for too long makes him break out.”
As I’d hoped, Ronnie relaxed slightly. It was harder to see someone as a threat while you were discussing their rashes.
I turned to Hjálmar. “This puffed-up blowfish is Ronnie Kensington. He and I had a misunderstanding of the violent kind. It didn’t go well for him. Between me, Annette, and Temple, we’re hoping to knock the stupid out of him before he gets himself killed.”
Ronnie huffed and rolled his eyes but didn’t argue the point.
“You picked a fight with Jenny Winter?” asked Hjálmar. “You must be a special kind of bonehead.”
“I’m the last of the Kensington line,” Ronnie said stiffly. “I was born to protect this world against—”
“Ah, I get it.” Hjálmar smirked. “He’s a nepo baby.”
I caught Ronnie’s arm and pushed him back. Then I fixed Hjálmar with a stare that made him retreat a step. “The kid’s heart is in the right place. Are you going to stop baiting him, or will you be finding another supplier to help you keep your unmentionables itch-free?”
“My apologies, Ms. Winter. And to you, young Kensington.” He took a pair of coins from his pocket and gave them to me. He tossed a third to Ronnie, who caught it without looking.
I held one to the light to study the worn Latin characters. “Roman?”
He shrugged. “Do I look like Indiana Jones? All I know is they’re gold and they come directly from the bottom of the North Sea.”
“This should cover you through at least the end of June,” I said.
“Thanks, lass.” He turned to Ronnie. “And good luck to you, Ronnie Kensington. If you’ve the smallest speck of wisdom in that skinny body, you’ll listen to every word this woman tells you.”
Ronnie opened his mouth like he was about to protest that “skinny” crack. I jumped in before he could stir things up. “Hjálmar, have you heard any rumblings about the end of the world being nigh?”
He groaned. “Again?”
“What do you mean, ‘again’?” asked Ronnie. “How many times can the world end?”
“There’ve been enough near-misses to turn your pubes white, boy,” said Hjálmar.
“My granddad was present for the second Ragnarok. When Jormungandr stirred in the depths, the selkies helped deploy six tons of barbital to put the beast back to sleep. Killed everything else for a five-mile radius. ’Twas a tragic day, but it could have been far worse. ”
“Lots of near-misses, but only three actual apocalypses that I’m familiar with,” I added. “Temple was pivotal in helping undo the latest, back at the turn of the century. Y2K was nastier than most people realize.”
Ronnie stared at me. “You’re telling me the world has ended before?”
“Not in this timeline.” To Hjálmar, I said, “We’re also searching for a missing boy named Sage, twelve years old, who went missing after taking magic-laced pills.”
Hjálmar’s face turned stormy. He was a grandfather, and he had a soft spot for kids. “I’ll keep an ear out.”
“Thank you.” I shook his hand. He grinned and squeezed hard. I matched his pressure, then gradually increased my own until he laughed and raised his other hand in surrender.
“Fare well, Hunter. May Ullr guide you to your quarry.”
Artemis would not appreciate another god blessing her Hunter, but the thought was well intentioned.
Ronnie watched out the window until Hjálmar got into his pickup truck and drove off. “He’s dangerous. I can feel it.”
“You’re right. He used to sink ships in the harbor for sport in the late nineteenth century. He was a very angry young selkie.”
“You’re a Hunter of Artemis. You should be punishing him, not helping him with his rash.”
“I’m a retired Hunter of Artemis, and a Hunter’s job is to eliminate threats, not to punish.” It was a distinction I’d been unforgivably slow to learn.
Ronnie pointed at the door. “He looked pretty uneliminated to me.”
“Hjálmar isn’t a threat. He hasn’t deliberately harmed another sentient creature for at least thirty years.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
I walked out to the porch and beckoned for him to follow. Pointing to the doormat, I asked, “What does that say?”
“‘An it harm none, do what you will.’ That’s a witch thing, right? A Wiccan tenet?”
“It’s more than that. It’s the contract every one of my patients accepts in exchange for my help.
Temple wove the spell into every doorway.
Then, after an injured vampire showed up at my window, he added it to the window frames, too.
Even the chimney, just in case Santa Claus shows up with a broken leg. ”
He stared at me. “Santa Claus?”
Oh, he wanted so much to ask—I could see a battle playing out on his face, the wrinkling of his brow and the gritting of his teeth. Is Santa actually real? But he was too young and too insecure to admit to wondering.
“The spell is based on an old fairy contract,” I went on. “For my part, I’ll heal anyone and anything that asks, to the best of my abilities. In exchange for my help, they agree to do no harm for a year and a day. There are exceptions for self-defense and such, of course.”
“You’re saying that in a year and two days, Hjálmar can go back to killing anyone he wants?”
I shrugged and went inside. “A year is a long time. Long enough for many people to begin to change their ways. And Hjálmar can’t go a full year without his skin cream, so unless he wants to spend his bar-hopping days scratching his Mariana Trench, he’s pretty much a permanent pacifist now . . .”
I tilted my head to focus on the sound of footsteps upstairs. Temple’s gait was unmistakable, but the tap of his cane was absent, and his steps were erratic. “Everything okay up there, Temple?”
He didn’t answer. The footsteps reached the stairs and started downward.
“Maybe he forgot his hearing aid this morning?” said Ronnie.
“He doesn’t use one.” And inside the house, he wouldn’t need one. The house relayed anything he needed to hear.
The front door slammed shut behind us, clipping Ronnie’s arm. The deadbolt clunked into place.
“I know this house is special, but is that normal?” He rubbed his elbow.
A draft flipped the sign in the window to Closed.
“Nope.” I tried the door, but the lock wouldn’t budge. I could try to force it, but I hesitated to do so until I knew why the house was keeping us in. I trusted this place and its judgement more than most humans.
Things outside appeared normal. A little cloudy. I saw the usual cars and pedestrians and one woman zipping by on an electric scooter. If the threat wasn’t coming from outside . . .
Temple reached the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing plaid flannel pajamas and a newsboy cap. His eyes were shut.
“Oh, great,” said Ronnie. “A sleepwalking wizard.”
The house wasn’t worried about a threat from outside. It was trying to contain the danger that was already here.
“Temple?” I kept my voice as gentle as I could. I didn’t want to startle the man who could pull lightning bolts out of any outlet in the house. “Can you hear me?”
“Get out,” he mumbled. He stretched both hands toward me.
Heat leached from my body. My hands went numb. Beside me, Ronnie stumbled and dropped to one knee. It was like Temple was filling my veins with fresh snow.
A tiny orange flame flickered to life between Temple’s hands.