CHAPTER THIRTY

TEXAS REDHEADS

I FELL INTO bed with the hope that I could sleep through whatever was left of the late hours and not go to battle with whatever might show up in a nightmare. Sunday morning meant I could sleep in. We used to be churchgoers, Mom and I, but all the whispers drove us away. They used to be: “Wonder if she killed him?” and now it was, “Poor woman. He’s never coming back. Wonder if they’ll find a body?” I couldn’t remember if we’d acted like that about other members of our parish, but I hoped not. Surely we hadn’t gone to church to be petty. So, Sundays meant late hours, catching up, and slow afternoons.

Sleep did take me in, soundly and warmly and cozily—but someone forgot to tell the professor about my morning plans.

The firm but quiet knocking sounded on my door insistently until I staggered to it and yanked it open. Brian stepped back, his eyebrow quirked, as if suddenly aware I might be in a bad mood. It could barely have been dawn.

“What?”

“Did I wake you?”

My hair stood on end, my pajamas twisted about my body, and my chin still had sleep drool on it. “Seriously?”

“It wasn’t my idea.” He shuffled from one sneakered foot to the other. “Honestly, the professor knocked and then just left me standing here.”

“And you let him get away with it. Why are you here?”

“It’s time to take care of Mrs. Sherman.”

I scrubbed my eyes to clear them. “I am hoping you’re not thinking about rubbing her out.”

“I . . . don’t think so. He usually doesn’t have malicious thoughts about ordinary people.”

“Fine. I’ll shower and get dressed. You go downstairs, quietly, and make some coffee.” I started to close my bedroom door and then stopped. “Both of you know how to do that, right?”

“Yes.”

I shut the door. The professor might have popped back in as soon as I did because I heard a snarl or two at the tell-tales in the hallway before the stair steps creaked lightly. By the time I was pulling my damp hair back in a ponytail and shoving my toes into a pair of clean jeans, I could smell the coffee. Tea is great and I love it, but sometimes what the gut needs is a hearty kick, and I definitely needed one this morning.

Brian’s body had mugs, sugar bowl, and the creamer lined up at the kitchen sink as the coffee maker settled into rest, its work done for the day. I looked at it.

“Lucky you. Your day is finished.”

“You’re not talking to the coffee maker.”

“I am, and in sheer envy.” I muffled a yawn while stirring the fixings into my mug and stopped when I caught sight of the clock. I counted up. That made all of four hours of sleep. “Seven-ten AM? Good god, Professor.”

“I thought it best to catch her before she went out for the day.”

“What are we doing? Digging a lion pit in the front yard?”

“You are cranky. Drink your coffee.”

I took a long, hot, gulp. It didn’t chase away the mean feeling coursing through my body. “I think you’re still in trouble.”

“Maybe. But this way she gets her remedy and has the whole day ahead of her, feeling radiant and relieved. She seems a naturally pleasant woman, unlike some others I could reference.”

I shook a finger at him. “Better make sure some of that remedy, whatever it is, is left over so I can ‘feel radiant.’”

The professor smiled behind his coffee mug. “I don’t think I made it strong enough for that.”

“Damn right.” I finished my drink and poured half a cup, straight and black, into a paper container. “Let’s go.”

He paused by the row of hats, hoodies, and hanging car keys. “Aren’t you driving?”

I looked him up and down. “You want that body to stay toned? Then you’d better start walking.”

We didn’t talk, but half a block from her little house, I realized that, over the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, I could smell redwood, pine, juniper, and cinnamon. The pockets of Brian’s jacket bulged slightly, and I knew that Steptoe had been onto something. Whether it was the stuff phoenix rituals or dreams were made of, I didn’t know, but I could be fairly sure I wouldn’t get a straight answer if I asked. That made me ponder if our demon friend could be right. Why hadn’t he told me he’d come this far? Was Brandard too cowardly to finish what we had started?

I could understand, but he’d been doggedly determined a few months ago. Had he been compelled rather than motivated? There didn’t seem to be a way for me to know. I might be a so-called sorceress now, but I had no idea how that worked or what I could do with it, other than defending myself now and then and—after the casino heist—not even when it counted. Study seemed in line, but no one really wanted to step up. Remy had been a sorceress and desperate enough at what she did to get tangled up with several different and dangerous bosses. It had not ended well. So if I were looking for a role model, I’d look elsewhere.

Steptoe had left me with the distinct impression that the professor wouldn’t be up to the task either, at least not until he transitioned. That left the dubious Society. If I did decide to go there, were they keeping Judge Maxwell in check and would I have a chance of getting an impartial education? But, like they say, if you have to ask . . .

The professor said abruptly, “I don’t think we can throw Simon’s tail into the bargain with Devian.” He patted his vest as if searching for his pipe. I pointed at his left pants pocket. “It’s probably there.”

He confirmed and pulled it out. “Thank you.”

I would have said, “Think nothing of it,” but he didn’t give me a chance. He plowed ahead.

“I know Steptoe’s upset, and he has a right to be under the circumstances, but that object was one of the first things I went back to retrieve, and it has been missing from the get-go.”

“But you didn’t tell him that.”

“No. My mistake, probably, but I have been busy lining up friends and foes.”

“That, he would understand.”

“No doubt.” He gave up searching for a tobacco pouch and just clamped the stem between his teeth, pipe unlit.

I pointed at Mrs. Sherman’s neat, sturdy little stucco house. “Anything I have to do?”

“No, not really, other than being a person she would trust. I do hope she’s up and about.”

I drained my paper cup of black coffee even though it had gone cold. Might as well complete the punishment for the day. “Her fireplace is working.” And, indeed it was, a little spiral of thin, gray smoke winding out of the chimney. It seemed a little early in the season for that, but she’d always been a woman well-bundled up and maybe she just liked being super cozy.

We trudged up the porch and I stood at her door for a minute before looking at the professor. “What kind of excuse do I have for being here this early?”

He dipped a hand inside his coat and brought out Scout’s harness and leash. “Your pup is missing.”

My eyes brimmed immediately. The professor gave me a scathing look. “No crying.”

I choked it back as I took Scout’s things. “Right.” I knocked on the cheery white door.

It took a few long moments to be answered, but we could hear noises headed our way and then Mrs. Sherman and her vibrant red-bewigged head looked out at us. “Well, land sakes. Whatever are you doing here, Tessa?”

“Scout got loose. Sorry, I know it’s early, but I thought he might have come by here. You fed him cookies. Have you seen him?”

“Dear me, no. Come in, come in, I just took a coffee cake out of the oven. I meant it for circle meeting this morning, but my ladies are all getting a little pudgy as it is. Better we eat it ourselves.” She ushered us in. The kitchen sang with the smells of her baking, overwhelming even the professor’s fragrance, which I had begun to find a bit much. Vanilla, butter, sugar, and other good smells promised better things.

She cut us significant portions, with half a measure for herself. She had a teapot steeping and we got a cup of that as well, although I already felt as if I floated in hot beverage.

She waited until we’d each had a forkful. All I could get out was, “Oh, yum!” and the professor remarked, “Absolutely divine, Mrs. Sherman.”

The baker beamed. “What good manners. But it is good, isn’t it?” She ate two bites and then put her attention on me. “As for your concern . . . How long has the dog been gone?”

“Most of yesterday and all night.”

“Missed his dinner, did he? That’s not good. Well, you can’t call the pound on a Sunday, but you should check first thing in the morning, just in case.” She wagged her utensil at me. “Not that I’ve seen the city’s jail truck about, thank heavens. Does he have one of those thingies? Trackers in him?”

I tried to remember if Carter had said so. “I think so. Not sure. Trouble is, I haven’t had him long enough to change the address info.”

“Still, they’ll know just to look at him that he isn’t some poor stray. Such a shame it is, all the homeless on the streets.”

I wasn’t certain if she meant people or animals, so I just returned to eating my divine coffee cake.

The professor cleaned up every last smidge on his plate and looked up, hopefully.

“Another piece?” she offered. “You’re a growing boy, after all!”

“That would be wonderful.” He held his plate out.

The moment she turned about, he pulled out an envelope and dumped its contents into her half cup of tea, managed a quiet stir, and leaned back in his chair. I could smell a bit of lemon and more vanilla, but nothing like the noxious fumes which had been emanating from the garage for days while he perfected whatever tonic this might be. He gave a satisfied sniff as she handed him a newly stocked plate.

She sipped the tea, and then took a deep, long swallow. “Sometimes,” she noted, “a good drink is very bracing, don’t you think?”

“Nothing like it,” the professor told her. “Quite enjoyable.”

She beamed at him before saying to me, “He has the best manners. I definitely approve.”

My drink went down the wrong pipe, and I sputtered and coughed for a few minutes until the professor thumped my back, hitting the right spot because, I assumed, he’d had centuries of practice rescuing choking people, and I could finally breathe again. I wiped my mouth and chin with a paper napkin.

“Oh, it’s not like that, Mrs. Sherman.” And I crossed my fingers she wouldn’t gossip around about it.

“Well, then, it should be. Good looks and good manners are a winsome pair.” She paused then. “My husband had both. First husband. Second wasn’t so bad either, come to think of it.”

I froze, waiting for melancholy to descend over her again, but she shook herself and said, “Oh, look at the time. I believe there’s enough for me to make another coffee cake.” She winked at us. “There’s a widowed and retired gentleman who comes to services every other Sunday, and I’d like to make a good impression on him.” She straightened her wig. “Out with you now, and if I find your pup, I will call you, Tessa.”

“Um, thanks!” And I found the two of us being hurried outside in unseemly haste, while the snatch of a song broke out in the house behind us.

“Think it worked?”

Brian smiled, and the professor answered, “I can guarantee it did.” He dusted his hands off. “It’s about time we had a win, don’t you think?”