The Wolfing Hour (The Smokethorn Paranormals #4)

Chapter One

“Bloody damn Mary.”

“Ida, I really don’t need this from you right now.”

“I don’t even drink tomato juice anymore, did you know that? Not since I was a kid.”

“You’ve mentioned it several times since we left the house.”

My octogenarian best friend Ida, magical cat Fennel, Cecil the environmental anarchist chaos gnome, and I were heading into East Pluto in my orange Mini. One of my tenants, Senora Cervantes, had asked us to meet her there.

“Takes forever to get to East Pluto. Hence the name,” Ida grumbled.

East Pluto was an unincorporated town on the eastern edge of Smokethorn County, on the state line between California and Arizona. It took an hour to get there from my place, which was in the town of Smokethorn.

“Everything’ll be closed. I swear, East Plutonians roll up the streets at the end of the day. It’s got the population of a half-full Greyhound bus spread out over miles.”

My eyes watered as I suppressed a sneeze. The acrid scent of alfalfa mingled with the earthy smell of the cattle fields we passed—windows all the way up, of course. I could handle the alfalfa, but manure put my sinuses on red alert every time.

“This isn’t about East Pluto. It’s about Bloody Mary,” I said, sniffling as I reached for the vial of non-drowsy natural antihistamine in the glove compartment. I’d crafted it for exactly this sort of situation.

“It’s partly about it,” she replied. “The last time we were in this town, you almost got smoked by a graveyard ghoul.”

“Smoked is a strong word.” Not too far off base, though. I’d been doing a job for my demon grandfather—though I hadn’t known he was my grandfather then. I’d picked up a package containing a Mictlan mandrake. “And if I hadn’t done that job, you wouldn’t have Meredith.”

“Meredith is the only good thing that came out of that trip.” Ida fished the little mandrake out of her oversized purse and set her in the cup holder. The little plant stretched her fronds and squinted angrily at me before gazing fondly at Ida.

“I had a feeling you brought her.” I sniffed a dose of the antihistamine and immediately felt clearer.

Ida took the vial from me, corked it, and tossed it back in the glovebox. “Of course, I did. Would you rather I left her behind so she could scream and break all the windows in the park? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Ronan said he’d keep her with him.”

“She doesn’t like anyone but me. What if she screamed at your boyfriend, and his wolf popped out and swatted her into the wall?”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Do me a favor and don’t phrase Ronan’s shift as his wolf ‘popping out’ in front of him, okay? Besides, he could handle it.”

She switched off the radio. It had been tuned to my favorite station, KLXX. Bread’s “If” played. It was a dreamy sort of song, and I wished I was back in my little house in the center of the Siete Saguaros Mobile Home Park, snuggled in bed with Ronan listening to it.

Instead, I was on the road out to the middle of nowhere to confront a possible mirror demon with my grouchy bestie by my side.

Fennel and Cecil were cuddled in Fennel’s booster seat in the back.

They’d fallen asleep before we hit La Paloma, and the gnome was snoring like a malfunctioning buzzsaw.

Meredith swayed to the sound like it was music.

I turned the radio on again, and Meredith changed her rhythm, adapting to the Bread song instead of Cecil’s sleep apnea.

“You didn’t have to come,” I said gently. “I know you and Mary have a history.”

“That’s one way to put it.” She crossed her arms and stuck out her jaw. “She came after my cousin Joyce. Flew right through the mirror and grabbed her. Hate to think what might’ve happened if I hadn’t been there.”

“Didn’t Joyce marry your first fiancé?”

“If you’re asking if I ever regretted not letting Mary drag that hussy into hell for a real long time, the answer is yes.

I did. But, in the end, Joyce saved me a lot of heartache.

I would’ve married a guy who clearly wasn’t in love with me.

Best to learn that before the wedding. Even better to learn it before asking someone to marry you, but no one ever accused Gerald of being smart.

” A faraway look came into her eyes. “He was a beautiful man, though. He and Joyce had four wonderful years together before she left him for a lifeguard she met at a municipal pool in Baltimore.”

My lips curved, and a laugh bubbled out of me. Ida started laughing, too.

“You have the wildest stories,” I said.

“My life has been long and storied. I’d hire a ghostwriter to write my biography, but no one would believe it.”

“Do it anyway. Write it as fiction. We’ll know the truth.”

“Sometimes I think the most interesting part of my life started when I became friends with you, Betty Lennox. Maybe I’ll have someone write our story one of these days.”

I drove past a small date farm and turned off the paved road when I reached a group of mismatched mailboxes.

The Cervantes’s house was a small box of a place, single story.

From the outside, it looked about fifteen hundred square feet total.

It was freshly painted, and the tiny yard was xeriscaped with colorful gravel and cactuses.

Mosaic tortoises, hares, Gila monsters, and saguaros were tucked in among the cactuses.

Ida snapped some photos. “I need one of these for my yard. Where do you suppose she bought them?”

“She makes them,” a crisp voice responded from behind the front door screen. “You can buy one from her later. It’s nearly midnight.”

Maria Cervantes was a delicately boned elderly woman with dyed black hair and eyes that seared you like a slab of prime rib on a hot skillet when she was annoyed. Which was pretty much all the time. She was a porcupine shifter, and I hated to give heed to stereotypes, but the woman was prickly.

Ida, who favored Helen Mirren in appearance and confidence, stuck her hands on her hips and glared at the other woman. “Maria, we’re here, aren’t we? Doing this job pro bono, too. So, maybe show a little gratitude.”

“Thank you for coming.” She flung open the screen door. “Now get in here and deal with this thing.”

Cecil didn’t like Sra. Cervantes and refused to acknowledge the woman.

He’d decided to ride on the back of my neck, behind my hair, so he didn’t have to deal with her.

Fennel didn’t like her either, but he adored her fluffy ragdoll kitten Petra so he put up with her.

Ida was already on edge and wasn’t putting up with anyone or anything tonight.

Before she could make an even bigger scene, I took the lead. “Hola, Senora. We come in peace. Take us to your mirror.”

My little joke went over like a lead balloon.

The senora’s mouth tightened. She jabbed her finger at my neck. “Don’t let that travieso near my car. If he vandalizes it again, I’m going to sue.”

Cecil made a clicking sound in response. It was more fear than anger, but there was some of both.

“They were dandelions,” she grumbled. “Weeds. I don’t know why he went so crazy about my throwing them out.”

“My partner is a changed gnome. He apologizes for slashing your tires,” I lied smoothly, “and pledges to be more understanding in the future.”

“Huh. I don’t believe that for a minute.”

Cecil whispered a stream of angry snick-chitters directly into my ear.

“Don’t know why you’re mad at her. You should embrace the title of troublemaker,” I whispered back. “You definitely live up to it.”

The interior of the house was small and tidy and even more colorful.

It was as if the painter had taken the brightest, most vibrant Talavera tile they could find, extracted the colors, and splashed them on the wall.

A mural depicting desert flora and fauna in saturated shades of orange, blue, yellow, and purple covered the largest wall in the living room.

“This place is fabulous,” Ida said.

I ran my finger over a mosaic light switch but didn’t turn on the lights. There was already an oil lamp burning in the room. “It’s an art piece.”

“Of course it is. Maria Elena is an artist.” The senora said this combatively, as if she expected us to argue with her.

“Gracias, tía,” a high, melodious voice called out.

We met the owner of the voice and her daughter in the kitchen.

The woman appeared to be around my age and was dressed in faded jeans and an off-the-shoulder, embroidered Puebla blouse in bright pink.

Her daughter wore pajama bottoms and a concert T-shirt.

I didn’t recognize the band, but they gave off a heavy metal vibe.

All the house lights were off, but the room was lit by seven jar candles. It gave the room a cozy, welcoming atmosphere.

Maria Elena poured coffee into five clay jarrito mugs. They looked familiar.

“It’s you. You made my birthday mug,” I said.

“Yes. My brother and me. We own the business together.” Maria Elena smiled. “I remember when your mother came in. She was so excited to design it for you. I was sorry to hear about your house fire.”

A trailer fire, not a house fire, but it amounted to the same thing. I’d lost everything when my stalker cousin burned down my home. Everything material, that is. I still had the important things.

I glanced at Ida and Fennel. Felt for Cecil at the back of my neck.

“Did you like the replacement?” she asked, in a soft, almost ethereal tone. “We tried to recreate the original, but ceramics isn’t a perfect medium, thank the goddess. Wouldn’t it be boring if it were?”

I nodded. “I love it. Thank you. And thank you, Senora, for suggesting it.”

Senora Cervantes looked uncomfortable. “De nada,” she said quickly then gestured to the sullen girl seated at the table. Petra the kitten purred lazily from the girl’s lap. “This is my sobrina, Violeta. She was the one who summoned her.”

Violeta dropped her chin to her chest and hid her face behind a curtain of straight, black hair. She looked to be somewhere around twelve and was in that last awkward phase before puberty hit like a freight train.