“His desperation.”
“Doesn’t mean he was in love with her.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you should probably look into it a little more. It’s extremely weird, okay? I don’t know if I trust this person. He wants us to open up the Veil, that’s risking our lives, basically. What if his intentions aren’t as pure as you think they are?”
Huh. She has a point. God, when did I stop being so jaded and cynical?
Oh yeah. The money.
“You don’t know that we have to do anything with the Veil,” I tell her. “He said it was Shabbadoo on Halloween, the Veil will probably be thin enough for her to walk right on through.”
“Shabbadoo? Is that an Adam Sandler holiday?”
“Whatever the fuck that witchy occasion is called. I mean fuck, isn’t Halloween enough? Anyway, I think it would be pretty low-risk. It’s one woman, it’s in a controlled environment, and for all intents and purposes, it’s probably a reunion between loved ones. We’re not filming a TV show out of it.”
“We’re not filming anything at all,” she says quickly, and from the glint in her eyes, I know she was fucking reading me, since I was actually planning on bringing the camera for research purposes.
“That’s not fair!” I exclaim. She’s such a snoop. “Give my brain some privacy. And anyway, now it sounds like you’re considering it. You’re all over the place.”
“Someone has to be. Anyway, I’m still thinking it over.”
“You’re not scared anymore?”
“I don’t know. Yes. No. Maybe…maybe I don’t have a reason to be. But that really all depends on their relationship, it depends on what happened to her, it depends on if this is all real or not. I mean, for all we know this might be a set-up, a prank. Maybe we’ll be filmed after all, look what these losers from Experiment in Terror are doing now.”
“Losers?” I say aghast, my hand on my chest. “Speak for yourself.”
She leans back in her seat, staring at her hands in her lap. “I think I need to call him later.”
“You think you can get a read on him that way?”
“Maybe. Worth a shot. At any rate, my instincts work pretty damn well. Gut feeling never lies.”
Same went for me.
Just wish I knew what the fuck my gut was telling me now.
Chapter 3
Thanks to the car trouble and traffic, we get to the Palomino house an hour later than usual. I have to admit, there’s something nice about the suburbs this time of year, when everyone has pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns and Halloween decorations up. All we have outside our apartment is the same hobo who keeps pissing on the door.
Shit, what’s happening to me? I’m actually appreciating the suburbs? That’s where people go to give up and die.
No, it’s where people go to have a family and settle down.
I don’t listen to that voice. It’s like it’s forgotten I was born and bred in New York Fucking City.
As we slow down the street, I glance at the quaint house next to the Palomino’s, which is currently occupied by one very cool couple in their sixties, Sage and Dawn Knightly.
Unfortunately there’s a beige Mercedes outside, not their car.
“Fuck,” I mutter, driving past it and parking the Highlander in the Palomino’s driveway. “That’s that freaky fucking ginger’s car, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Perry says, looking past me at the vintage mobile. She looks a little troubled. “I guess Jacob’s here.”
Jacob “The Cobb” Edwards was the band manager for Hybrid, which was Sage Knightly’s infamous rock band in the seventies. Long story short, he died decades ago when he was buried in a crypt in Prague, but apparently was pulled out of Hell, or wherever the hell he went.
Now, he’s here in Portland, driving an old Mercedes.
Did I mention he’s not exactly human?
Oh, and he dresses like a badly upholstered couch that wouldn’t look out of place on the set of All in the Family. That’s probably the most disturbing part of all.
“I still don’t trust him,” Perry says, unbuckling herself.
“Neither do I, kiddo. Neither do I.”
I’ve only met him a handful of times when he’s visiting the Knightly’s. He’s like Jay’s mentor, the King of the Supernatural Ginger Brigade, and I guess he talks to Ada a lot too, about how to hunt demons while balancing a college education.
Thus, it shouldn’t be a surprise when we grab our bags and head up the steps to the front door that it opens, displaying both Ada and Jay, her tall, immortal redwood tree of a boyfriend.
“Took you long enough,” Ada says.
“I told you we had car trouble,” Perry says, pulling her into a quick hug.
I give Ada a nod since she still thinks I have cooties or something, then I eye Jay. Just like Jacob, I don’t trust him. He seems like he’s a good match for Ada, from what I’ve seen, but he’s one of them, forever a thorn in my side. Plus, there’s the fact that he’s like hundreds of years old or something, and Ada is technically still a teenager, even if she’s now quite mature for her age.
“You going to just stand there having a pissing contest with your eyes?” Ada asks me. “Come the fuck inside.”
I shake my head, realizing that I’ve been staring down Jay this whole time. Also just realized that he’s wearing a leather jacket and white tee, like he’s trying out to be a Ginger James Dean. Beats Ginger Elvis, I guess.
At that thought, a wash of sadness comes through me, but I immediately push it away. I’m good at that. It’s the only way to get through.
Jay just squints at me, then lifts his giant jaw in subtle defiance and turns, heading back into the house.
Behave, Perry says, injecting her thought into my brain. She had promised not to do it too often, and she usually only does it when I’m being a dick.
I will, I tell her in my head, though I can’t tell from her expression whether she’s heard me or not. Probably, because she doesn’t believe me either way.
We go inside. It smells comforting, like Ada’s lit a bunch of scented candles called Pumpkin Spice Princess or something.
My father-in-law is standing in the kitchen with a glass of red wine filled up to the rim, the bottle next to him.
“Ah, here’s the lucky couple,” he says to us, and for once I don’t feel his usual begrudging tolerance toward me.
“Daniel,” I say to him as Perry goes over and hugs him. We aren’t quite on the “dad” level yet, and our affection usually consists of a nod, sometimes even a smile. I have to admit, the man still terrifies me. He looks harmless, balding, with a pasta gut, glasses, on the short side. But I know from personal experience he has a mean right hook. Sometimes I get a phantom pain in my nose when he’s around.
“Wine?” he asks us.
“Yes, always,” I tell him as he grabs two glasses from the cupboard.
“Just thought I’d make sure,” he says, peering at me as he uncorks the bottle of Pinot Noir. “I know it’s not always recommended to drink when you’re on medication.”