Chapter Sixteen
The rest of the evening went about the same, delivering charms to people who thanked me and warned me about what they knew to be coming.
It was all a lie, though.
None of us knew what was coming.
At six o’clock, Ronan checked in briefly before heading straight back out.
He’d gotten yet another tip about Rory from an anonymous source.
They’d been coming in several times a day and we were pretty sure they were meant to throw us off the trail, but he had to investigate anyway, so he’d taken a few trusted wolves to check it out.
The boys and I sat at my kitchen table poring over maps of Smokethorn County with a set of runes while Black Sabbath rocked “Iron Man” and “War Pigs,” among others, on KLXX’s Metal Hour.
Our search centered mostly on the industrial areas of La Paloma.
We didn’t have many, and most of the ones we had were dilapidated and long abandoned.
It was as if the last stages of the Industrial Revolution had stuck its head in our part of the world, said, “Nope, not for us,” and steam-engined itself straight back east.
I wasn’t sure we were looking for industrialized areas, anyway. Floyd’s disturbing cell room could’ve been anywhere—might not even be in the county at all.
KLXX moved on from metal and slid into top 40, which was about the time we turned the radio off to focus harder.
It didn’t work any better without the music.
Fennel, Cecil, and I took turns with the runes.
The ebony chips—each with a vaguely Norse symbol pressed into the surface—worked best for Cecil, which made sense, since they belonged to him.
I assumed they were from Faery, but he could’ve just as easily ordered them from Etsy.
I’d given him a gift card back in March to celebrate the first day of Spring.
Two hours into our divination, with me excessively yawning, Cecil toppling over in exhaustion, and Fennel purring way too hard to be healthy, I sent them to bed.
“Let’s give the runes time to recharge,” I said.
In truth, the runes didn’t need it, but we definitely did. We’d been whipping up heal charms left and right. I was feeling the magical drain, and the guys had to be, too.
Cecil nodded.
Fennel twitched his tail, took hold of Cecil’s robe with his teeth, and padded out the front door, the gnome swinging from his mouth.
I worked for another few minutes, but it was useless. I was tired, and my concentration was shot. With the moon looming above my head, I walked outside and padded barefoot to Red’s grave—Red’s home. I’d gotten used to mourning at the ring of stones; calling it that was still my first instinct.
Late May was summer in Smokethorn, but no one had told the weather. A chill gripped my shoulders and twisted, the shiver cracking my stiff back. Still, the cold was welcome. Our low desert heat would make even the early hours inhospitable soon enough.
“Hello, Red.”
I ran a fingertip over one of his healthy spines. The saguaro was growing at an astronomical rate—much faster than the others. How long would it be until he flowered? Or sprouted an arm?
“You must find a way to communicate with her, Betty. Because if you don’t have her cooperation, your magic won’t survive—dark or elemental.”
Ugh. Why had Sexton intruded into my thoughts now?
Because you, Lilibet Lennox, are afraid of what’s to come.
No idea where that thought had come from, but it wasn’t a lie. If anything, it was a softening of my emotions, a downplaying of the extent of my fear.
“Old friend, I’m tired of being scared,” I whispered to Red. “Scared of losing my earth magic, of losing the love I’ve found, of losing my family and friends, my mind, my life…”
I removed my clothes as I talked to the saguaro, to the soil, to the grass that parted and allowed me to sink beneath the earth.
Cradled in my element where breathing was optional and peace was mandatory, I sent a supplication to the goddesses that this would pass soon, that we’d find Rory, that Floyd would meet his well-deserved end, I’d conquer my demon side, and everything would be all right.
And while I was underground, safely nestled among the roots, I almost believed it was possible.
I spent a little over an hour beneath the soil. Too short, but I wanted to be close to the phone in case Ronan called with news about Rory.
Around nine thirty, I was at my kitchen table staring out the window at the stars and sipping a mug of tea when my cell rang.
“Dead end.” Ronan’s voice was so saturated with worry I felt it in my own chest. “We’re going to keep searching. One of the rats heard a rumor she was out by East Pluto—he says it’s probably nothing—but I’m going to check it out anyway. Just wanted you to know I won’t be home tonight.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
We ended the call. What Ronan needed most right now was rest, but I didn’t tell him to get some.
It would’ve been a waste of time. He wasn’t going to stop until his little sister was safe—he couldn’t.
If I wanted him to rest, I needed to find Rory.
That way, he could focus on taking down Floyd for good.
I slumped in a chair at my kitchen table, stared at my phone, and considered my next move—no, that was a lie. I’d already decided what to do, I was just working up the resolve to dial Sexton’s number.
Since he’d told me that if I didn’t find a way to communicate with Demon Betty, I risked losing my earth magic, I’d been understandably less than enthusiastic about hearing from him. I didn’t need any more bad news. Still, desperate times and all that.
Brrring-brrring-brrring.
Yeesh. Why did his ringer sound so old-fashioned and creepy?
Brrring-brrring-brrring.
Creepy and loud. And was it getting closer?
On the sixth brrring-brrring-brrring, the line abruptly went dead.
My first reaction was, strangely enough, concern. Had something happened to him? If so, how did I feel about that? Was I genuinely worried that he might be in trouble?
Nope. Not tonight, Betty. That’s a can of worms worth keeping sealed.
Then came the raps on my door. Thrump. Thrump. Thrump. It sounded like someone hurling a bag of bone-carved dominoes against the wood.
I could’ve ignored them and tried calling Sexton again, but a quick peek at my door told me that wasn’t necessary. The knob had frosted over, and ice was spreading in spindly winter fingers over the doorjamb.
Grandfather had arrived.
I grabbed a potholder out of the drawer by the stove and went to let him in.
He blew through the living room and into the kitchen like an arctic wind and pulled out a chair at my table. I didn’t know why, when there was a perfectly good sofa in the living room, but I didn’t question it. My kitchen was welcoming. Most people gravitated toward it.
“Tea?” I asked, not wanting to be rude. “It’s peppermint.”
“No, thank you,” he replied. “You called, granddaughter?”
He’d left his grandpa clothes at home and was dressed as his usual self, in heavy black boots and thin black robes that showcased his emaciated, over-sized body.
Oddly, he’d kept the pocket eyeglasses case. He’d added a pocket to the front of his robes and clipped it there. Why, when he had no real use for eyeglasses, I couldn’t have said. It was just another example of the uncanny-valley bizarreness that was Sexton.
“Yes, I called,” I said, slapping emphasis on the word. “How’d you get past the park’s protection spell?”
“You are not annoyed with my presence, I hope,” he said, dodging the question. “I realize I neglected to ask your permission before entering your soil, granddaughter, but I was nearer your land than I was my mobile device and felt it important to respond with expediency.”
“But your phone is in your pocket—I heard it ringing,” I pointed out.
“Precisely,” he said, with a cadaver smile.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Didn’t have the time or headspace to delve into that one.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Could it be that you have finally extended an olive branch to your dark-magic side?” His brow bone raised like a stage, long wispy brows an invisible curtain against his colorless skin. “Wonderful news.”
“That’s not why I called,” I said.
His hopeful smile drooped. “Time is not on your side, Lilibet.”
“Understatement of the century, Bertrand.”
“You object to me using your full first name?”
“Only when you say it like you’re lecturing me.”
He appeared thoughtful, as if he were taking my words to heart. Although, I wasn’t sure he had a heart. Anatomically speaking.
“There is no music playing,” he said, after a moment.
Not the response I’d expected, but this was Sexton. “I turned it off. The boys and I were working with runes earlier, and we needed to focus. Guess I forgot to turn it on again.”
“Forgot? Your music brings you comfort.”
“Tonight, it was a distraction.”
“Joy is a distraction.” He nodded once—very slowly. “I understand this. Perhaps better than you might imagine.”
Someday, when I had time, I’d sit with him and let him explain his existence, his cryptic comments, and why everything froze when he touched it. Right now, I had more important things to worry about.
I reached into a pile of photos on the table and extracted the most recent one. Ronan and his wolves had been passing them out around town, and these were the few copies left.
“Who is this exquisite young woman?” Sexton asked when I set it in front of him.
A strange, old-fashioned term to use, though Rory was definitely beautiful and delicate in appearance, as the word suggested.
“Aurora Pallás,” I said.
“Your wolf’s kin. I see it now. They have the same eyes.” He removed his glasses from the pocket protector and set them on the tip of his nose so he could peer over them at the photo.
Why he bothered with the affectation confounded me. I filed it in the “someday I’ll ask Sexton about this” folder and moved on.
“She’s missing,” I said. “You helped me find Ronan once, so I thought you might be able to do the same for her.”