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Fiddlesticks.
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“Hot damn, that man is good with a syringe, if you know what I mean,” Gramma Jude murmured, peeking over the porch railing with mmm-hmm eyes.
Journi looked at her. “No, I can honestly say I don’t know what you mean.”
“She’s down,” Dr. Daniel called from his crouched position beside the now-unconscious mutated calico that had been trying to chew its way through the Burkes’ front door.
Nodding, Journi stood and left the relative cover of the shrubbed corner between the house and porch. Gramma Jude, Frieda, and Josephine followed. As they made their way around the walkway to meet Dr. Daniel, Journi glanced up at the sky. Darkness had fallen, and the rotating cloud of tainted magic had picked up speed and strength. In the wan glow of the streetlights, trees swayed, their nearly naked branches waving like skeletal arms. Stray pieces of trash from a toppled garbage can skittered across the yard and sidewalk, and a wind chime hanging from the Burkes’ porch clanged unharmoniously, its strands tangled. The distant howl of sirens could barely be heard over the roar of wind.
“Let’s move,” she told the others, holding her hair out of her eyes.
Shielding their faces from blowing debris, the group hurried across the lawn, bullying their way through Mr. Jenkins’ prized shrubs. As they neared his tidy porch, the ominousness Journi had felt at the Burkes’ grew more potent with each step, and she realized she’d been picking up the superfluous overflow before. This was where the darkness had been festering all along. And she wasn’t the only one who felt it. Josephine, Frieda, Gramma Jude, and even Dr. Daniel had gone white, their faces drawn with unease. Nothing good waited for them here.
“Yep,” Gramma Jude said, eying the front door. “We’ve found the rectum at the end of the tunnel.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Dr. Daniel choked. Frieda and Josephine only sighed.
Journi shook her head. “Pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes.”
Gramma Jude shrugged and then nodded at Journi and Dr. Daniel. “You two take the front. We’ll take the back.”
Vowing to later chew out her entire family for not-so-sneakily attempting to pair her with the heroic veterinarian, Journi nodded back. “Try reaching the CST again. See if you can get Sergeant Sargent. Let her know we found the source.”
“Will do,” Frieda said, and the three of them left, taking the glow of Gramma Jude’s wand with them.
Journi produced a flashlight from her satchel and glanced at Dr. Daniel. “Ready?”
He brandished a syringe like a dagger. “Ready.”
Sidestepping a garden gnome that the wind had knocked over, Journi hurried up Mr. Jenkins’ porch steps, flattening herself against the brickwork beside the door. Dr. Daniel did the same on the opposite side. They nodded at each other, and Journi tried the knob.
It was unlocked, and she allowed the door to swing open. When nothing immediately lunged out, she peered inside. A tidy living room greeted her, its understated but stylish furniture warmly lit by a holographic fire crackling in the hearth. What appeared to be charming family portraits graced the walls, and a newspaper, neatly folded to display the crossword puzzle, lay on the coffee table, held down by a pair of bifocals and a nubby no. 2 pencil. It was all very welcoming and comfortable and completely at odds with the noxious stench of black magic hanging in the air.
She glanced one last time at Dr. Daniel and then slipped inside. Though she had the distinct impression the room was empty, she and the veterinarian did a quick check behind the sofas and curtains just to be safe. As they hurried on to the rest of the house, she couldn’t help but be irked by how seamlessly she and Daniel worked together. Or, rather, she was irked that she’d noticed in the first place. It was, of course, a result of Frieda’s and Gramma Jude’s meddling and nothing more. Journi didn’t need or want a relationship. And even if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be with someone who’d been handpicked by her cat-hoarding aunt and endorsed by her tobacco-chewing gramma. Not to mention, he was about as far from Journi’s type as they came. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it at any rate. If she survived Catpocalypse, she’d make sure she set Frieda and Gramma Jude straight about any misguided attempts to set her up with the good doctor.
“Check upstairs,” Journi told him quietly. “I’ll check down.”
“Yes, boss,” he said, winking at her before moving up the hardwood staircase.
She stared after him a moment, unsure which annoyed her more. The fact that he’d called her boss or that he’d winked at her. Inwardly groaning, she quickly cleared two bedrooms and two bathrooms before making her way to the kitchen. Like the rest of the home, it was clean and orderly, an under-cabinet bulb above the spotless sink casting a wedge of fluorescent light over the floor. Movement outside the sliding-glass patio doors caught her attention, and as she crept toward them, she realized it was Gramma Jude, Frieda, and Josephine.
And they were arguing.
Journi hurried over and opened the door, letting in a blast of wind that she had to brace herself against. “What are you doing?”
The three elder women stopped bickering to look at her, their faces annoyed in the glow of Gramma Jude’s wand. Frieda threw up her hands in exasperation, and Josephine sighed. Gramma Jude cleared her throat and looked sheepish. “We were trying to figure the best way to break in.”
“It’s unlocked,” Journi hissed.
“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Gramma Jude asked, coming inside.
The others followed.
“Oh, I don’t know, Jude,” Frieda said in a peeved whisper. “Maybe try opening it?”
Gramma Jude waved her hand and inspected the kitchen with a shrewd eye. “Fiddlesticks.”
Journi closed the door behind them just as the wind blew Mr. Jenkins’ grill across the pavers, its legs jittering and screeching. The grill collided with the glass, and the impact made them all jump.
“We need to hurry,” Journi said, eying the spiderweb crack in the glass before turning to the others. “Downstairs is clear.”
“Upstairs too,” came Dr. Daniel’s quiet voice as he appeared in the kitchen’s doorway.
For a moment, his eyes reflected the wand’s glow, and Journi was reminded again that he was something other than human. She also reminded herself that she didn’t care.
“What about the basement?” Josephine asked.
Journi turned and spotted a door to the left of the fridge. She sighed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t the heart of darkness be in the creepy basement?”
“Let’s do this,” Frieda said, grabbing a knife from the block on the counter for good measure.
Outside, something hit the roof of the house, and the wind howled, rattling the windows. Journi nodded and approached the basement door. With her hand hovering over the knob, she paused to listen. The muffled but distinctive sound of chanting met her ears. She glanced back at the others. “Get ready.”
There was a series of grim nods, and then Journi opened the door.
A stifled release of foul magic washed over her, and she and the others cringed. Ignoring the ick, she peered down the stairwell. It was cloaked in shadows, but wavering amber light illuminated the bottom steps as if there was a fire burning just beyond her line of sight. A strange smoky-sweet smell that she couldn’t identify wafted up the corridor to her nose, and she glanced back at her companions with an arched eyebrow.
Dr. Daniel had caught the scent too, his chin slightly raised as he sniffed the air, and even in the indirect light, Journi could see that his pupils were noticeably dilated. He spoke in a low, careful whisper. “It’s catnip.”
Her mouth thinned. She didn’t bother asking how he knew. Instead, she turned and started down the stairs, her armed slingshot guiding the way.
As the group neared the bottom, the chanting grew louder and the pungent scent of burning herbs grew stronger. She paused on the last step and took a deep breath, praying to any deities who may be listening that she wasn’t about to walk in on an all-the-kids-you-can-eat buffet. From where she stood, she could see only a stretch of ordinary basement. Furnace, neatly stacked storage tubs, washer and dryer. Keeping as close to the wall as possible, she peered around the corner.
And saw something she would never, ever recover from.
Sitting cross-legged in a circle around a ritual fire, hands joined, was a group of elderly men and women.
Nude.
All nude.
Nude all over.
So much nude.
In addition to the nudity, there was also a demon. The creature writhed in the center of the ring, its body semi-transparent but hunnit percent ugly. Rising from the flames, its lower half was that of a man, but its upper half was all feline. Pale, wiry fur covered an angular face, and large, tufted ears rose from its head like hairy tortilla chips. A mane of shaggy black fur fell down its back, and wide, yellow cat eyes watched the senior summoners with glee. X cuts had been made on the chests of every practitioner, and the resulting blood coated their sagging bellies and other things she’d rather not inspect too closely. Decapitated rats lay on the floor in front of each person, the rodents’ missing heads nowhere in sight. Though, going by the red smears around the mouths of Satan’s Golden Buckeye Club, she had a pretty good idea of where they’d gone. The combined chants were growing louder and more frantic by the minute.
Journi turned back, staring at the opposite wall while she gathered her thoughts.
“What is it?” Gramma Jude whispered.
“Naked old people,” Journi replied.
Gramma Jude cocked her head to the side as if considering whether that was a good or bad thing. Frieda, Josephine, and Dr. Daniel grimaced in unison.
“Also, they’re summoning some kind of hideous cat demon,” Journi added, counting her remaining marbles by feel. Five left. If things went south, she’d have to make each one count.
“Well,” Gramma Jude said, rolling her shoulders. “This ain’t my first orgy and I reckon it won’t be my last. Let’s party.”
Journi’s expression turned horrified, and Josephine looked green around the gills. Dr. Daniel’s eyebrows practically jumped off his forehead. Frieda shrugged and followed Gramma Jude into the fray.
“Good God almighty, there are enough teats in here to feed a herd of calves,” Gramma Jude exclaimed, regarding the circle of nude geriatrics while spitting tobacco juice on the floor.
Journi approached the group warily, keeping an eye on the demon at its center, her slingshot aimed. “Shut this down,” she called to the summoners. “Now.”
There was no break in chanting, but the summoners’ eyes widened in surprise at the attempted interruption. And surprise wasn’t the only thing floating in their cataracts.
There was also terror.
And it wasn’t her they were afraid of.
Aside from the obvious, something was wrong here. She could feel it. Frowning, she spotted Mr. Jenkins. He sat between two elderly women, his bony arms outstretched and his sagging chest smeared in his own congealing blood. He was pale, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. His gaze latched onto Journi’s like it was a lifeline, but his lips continued to move, his monotone voice joining the others in a language she didn’t recognize.
She glanced at the demon and realized it had noticed her, its leonine eyes tracking her movements. She also realized it wasn’t quite as transparent as it had been a few moments ago. Whatever ritual they were performing was nearing its pinnacle. She had no intentions of finding out what would happen when it did. Looking back at Mr. Jenkins, she infused her voice with steel. “I said shut it down. The CST are on their way.”
Mr. Jenkins shook his head just enough for her to notice but continued chanting.
Journi looked at the faces of the rest of the summoners. All pale, all sweating, and all frightened.
They can’t stop, she realized.
“They can’t stop,” Josephine said almost at the same time, appearing beside her, pink taser in hand. Her delicate brows were drawn together as she studied the group. “They’re bound.”
“They’re losing control of the demon,” Frieda added, the wavering light of the fire dancing off her face. “It’s got its claws in them. So to speak.”
Gramma Jude walked around the ritual circle, gazing up at the undulating being. She spat. “That ain’t no demon.”
Journi looked at her. “What?”
“She’s right,” Dr. Daniel’s strained voice came from behind them. “That’s . . . Sesmu.”
Journi turned to see the veterinarian leaning against a water tank, his back hunched and his fingernails digging into the tank’s top as if he were in pain. He’d dropped the syringe, and it lay on the concrete by his feet. “Are you okay?”
He looked up, and his eyes shone with green light, giving his features an unearthly quality. And his face looked . . . different. As if the bones beneath the skin had shifted ever so slightly. His gaze flicked from her to the demon. Or whatever the hell it was. “That’s an ancient Egyptian . . . god of execution and . . . slaughter.”
Journi’s mouth parted. She’d dealt with all sorts of crazies in her personal and professional life, but she’d yet to come across a god. Suddenly, her charmed marbles felt like bringing knives to a gun fight. How did they battle a god?
You can’t fight what isn’t free, she reminded herself.
“We can’t let it out,” she breathed, fear slithering through her. So far, Sesmu had been able to control cats all over the city and it wasn’t even corporeal. If the ritual completed and Sesmu gained freedom, there was no telling the havoc it could wreak.
Dr. Daniel nodded, his mouth a tight line.
Journi didn’t have time to ponder the veterinarian’s worrisome reaction to Sesmu. Behind her, a liquid-velvet voice purred, “I cannot be stopped, infantiles.”
She turned to look at the god. It was positively aglow now, as if it was absorbing the flames of the ritual fire it had emerged from. Its feline mouth was curved in a terrible smile, its whiskers fanning out like glinting needles. Clawed paws hung from its furred, muscular arms, and its eyes seemed to bore into Journi’s innards, the elliptical pupils hypnotizing her.
Or, at least, they would have if she hadn’t been wearing a choker Gramma Jude had spelled against psychic attacks such as this. Even still, Journi could feel the attempt, and a small part of her wanted nothing more than to succumb to the bottomless abyss the cat god’s eyes promised, and that scared the hell out of her. Whoever this Sesmu was, he was powerful. And he was only partially manifested.
“Nice try,” Journi said through gritted teeth and turned to Gramma Jude, who was inspecting the various ritualistic items as if shopping for a new toaster. “Any ideas here?”
Gramma Jude picked up an ancient-looking dagger whose hilt was embedded with glittering gemstones, studied it, then pocketed it. Journi stared at her. What was this? The End Times Flea Market? “We gotta stop the ritual,” Gramma Jude said. “Pretty soon too, I’d reckon.”
“You don’t say,” Journi said and studied the obviously exhausted chanters. Their liver-spotted backs were hunched with weariness, and their arms trembled as they held each other’s hands. “We could just separate them. It wouldn’t take much.”
At her suggestion, Sesmu’s eyes took on an eager gleam.
“We disturb that salt line,” Gramma Jude said, worrying the chew in her lip, “we destroy the only barrier holding that thing back when the jibber-jabber is through.”
Journi looked and noticed for the first time the fine ring of salt that had been poured around the circle. To be fair, she’d been so caught off guard by all the over-the-hill naked, she probably would have missed it even if it had been made of road flares. Gramma Jude was right. When the ritual was complete, the delicate ring of salt would be all that held back Sesmu. And when the bridge club succumbed to their exhaustion and collapsed? Goodbye sodium.
“If we wait much longer, it won’t matter,” Josephine said, sounding worried. “They’re barely hanging on.”
As if on cue, the energy in the room coagulated as the summoning neared its finale. All around them, the basement shuddered. A crack splintered the concrete floor beneath Journi’s boots, and she took a few startled steps back. The shelves on the walls rattled, sending boxes of holiday decorations and camping equipment clattering over their edges. To the left, a lawn-level window suddenly imploded, spraying the room with glass shards and letting in an incredible howl of wind.
Salt flew.
“No!” Journi cried, shielding her face from the flying debris.
A beach ball smacked Aunt Frieda in the face, and she cried out, flinging her arms and losing her grip on the knife. It clattered across the floor, skidding beneath the washing machine, out of sight.
“Yes! Yessssss!” Sesmu hissed, his serpentine voice rising above the melee. “I will lap the milk of freedom! Suckle at the breast of deliverancccce!
“Gird your loins, hoss,” Gramma Jude shouted, her flannel flapping in the wind. “Ain’t no breasts getting suckled on my watch.”
Recovering, Frieda picked up a mop, balanced it on the floor and brought her heel down, breaking the shaft in half. Wielding the jagged remnant like a spear, she braced her legs, looking like a savage hillbilly in her bibs and faux freckles. A lone utility bulb swung wildly above her head, cutting dancing shadows across her face. She had to shout over the combined noise of the wind and chanting. “Better think of something fast, girls. This cat’s about to be out of its bag.”
She was right. The wind had blown away their only hope of containing Sesmu. As it stood, the moment the ritual was complete, the god of execution and slaughter would be free to execute and slaughter.
“We have to shut them up,” Journi said, wide-eyeing Gramma Jude. “Mute spell?”
The old witch shook her head. “The chant is about intent, not voice.”
Journi cursed. “Can you contain it?”
Sesmu’s laugh crackled through the torrent of air like an electrical current. “I cannot be contained! I’ll eviscerate the vermin under claw and feast on entrails!”
Gramma Jude eyed the god whose black mane now whipped around its lionesque head like Medusa’s snakes, the fire still blazing around him despite the lashing winds. “I’m good,” she said. “But I ain’t that good.”
“The salt is gone,” Journi said. “We could pull them out of the circle now.”
Gramma Jude took her time considering it, and Journi wanted to scream her impatience. Wind shrieked, and the basement ceiling shook, drywall dust raining down as if the upper half of the house was about to be torn off at any moment. Time was very much of the essence.
“Kind of in a hurry here,” Journi shouted at her.
“Spell’s built up a lot of energy,” Gramma Jude shouted back, her expression uncertain. “Could be dangerous.”
An unnerving vibration joined the cacophony of noise, and it seemed to permeate Journi’s bones. It felt as though her very heart trembled in response. Her skin crawled, yet she had to battle the urge to indulge in a languid stretch. Maybe arch her back and—
She glanced at Sesmu and realized he was purring. And watching her with maniacal, enraptured pleasure. As if he could already taste her “entrails” and found them delicious. In just the few moments she and Gramma Jude had deliberated, he’d become vibrant. His fur shone from within as if the muscle beneath was made of fire, and his eyes gleamed like polished orbs of gold. His muzzle was curved in a murderous feline smile that bared teeth meant for rending flesh. He was ready, and his eager-beaver expression said there was no doubt in his ancient mind that there was nothing she or the others could do to stop his glorious resurrection.
Shoving aside the impulse to respond to the cat god’s purr, she forced her gaze back to Gramma Jude. “I think we’re way past dangerous.”
Though she didn’t look happy about it, Gramma Jude nodded. “Lemme try something first.”
Upstairs, something crashed in the kitchen, and Journi had a feeling the patio doors were no more. “Better make it quick.”
With any luck, separating the summoners’ joined hands would be enough to break their concentration and halt the summoning. Then again, it might do zilch. Summoning spells were like fingerprints. No two were identical. Every demon, deity, or spirit required different sacrifices. Different ingredients. Different rituals. The handholding could be a crucial element. Or it could be a token one. At any rate, they were running out of options.
Gramma Jude raised her wand and aimed it at the circle, the runes in the wand’s shaft aglow. Sesmu glanced at her eagerly, his pupils dilating like those of a cat who had glimpsed a squirrel. She ignored him and murmured a string of words Journi couldn’t hear and then shouted, “Trennen!”
Blue light streaked from the hawthorn wand’s tip toward the chanting summoners.
Sesmu’s eyes tracked the racing light, and Journi got the distinct impression that, if he hadn’t still been bound by whatever realm he’d been summoned from, he would have chased it.
The spell hit the circle and detonated a soundless miniature atom bomb.
A bomb that was directed right at Gramma Jude.
The deflected energy hit the old woman with enough force to blow her off her feet and into the air. She flew backward, her arms and legs outstretched as if someone had hit her in the gut with a battering ram. She collided with a metal wardrobe with a horrible clang, and she collapsed on the concrete floor in front of it in a boneless heap, her dimming wand rolling from her unmoving hand.
“Gramma Jude!” Journi cried, her heart sinking to the depths of her chest like a stone.
“Mom!” Josephine screamed at the same time and ran across the room.
A stricken Frieda turned wide eyes on Journi. “We gotta end this now, girl. Before it’s too late.”
Journi looked back at Gramma Jude, torn. Josephine was on her hands and knees checking for a pulse, her face pale and petrified. Journi wanted more than anything to run to her side as well, but Frieda was right. If they didn’t do something now—like now—to stop the summoning, a lot more people were going to get hurt. Growling in frustration, Journi tore her gaze away and focused on the circle. She had to halt the ritual. But how? A muting spell wouldn’t work. And even if it would have, Journi wasn’t a witch. Compared to Gramma Jude, her spellwork was the equivalent of a child’s finger painting next to a Monet.
“Journi,” Frieda warned, her voice threaded with urgency.
With a triumphant roar, Sesmu hefted one leg out of the fire and brought it down on the concrete in a burst of sparks, a trail of flames licking up his muscled calf. He attempted to remove the other leg as well, but it held fast, the ritual having not yet reached its pinnacle. He hissed and glared at the summoners. “Infantiles!”
His surge of fury seemed to enliven the already-frantic seniors, and their hoarse voices rose above the whistling wind further, the tendons in their necks straining.
Journi brought up her slingshot and aimed.
At Mr. Jenkins.
She hesitated, her heart galloping like a steed into battle. She knew what these marbles could do. She was about to kill a man. A man who’d conspired with his fellow AARP members to harm a bunch of innocent kids, yes, but he was still a man. Gramma Jude had aimed her spell at the circle as a whole, and the amassed energy had acted as an invisible trampoline, bouncing it back to her. Journi was aiming at one body. One cog in the machine. If she took him out, the others would fall.
She hoped.
Pulling back the band, she—
Something slammed into her from behind with a snarl.
She cried out and landed on her chest, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Her slingshot skidded out of her grasp, the charmed marble bouncing harmlessly across the floor. A steel hand clamped the back of her neck and held her down. With her cheek smashed against the cool concrete, she opened her eyes just in time to see Frieda running toward her with the broomstick spear. She let out a battle cry and fell on Journi’s attacker. There was a series of grunts, growls, and shouts, and a split second of freedom in which Journi maneuvered herself onto her back.
Only to see Dr. Daniel throw a mad-as-hell Frieda off him with a vicious snarl.
Journi didn’t have time to see where Frieda landed because the enraged veterinarian refocused on her the moment Frieda was out of the picture. For a moment, Journi was too stunned to react. Not only was Daniel straddling her with a broomstick shiv sticking out of his shoulder, but he’d changed. Sometime in the last ten minutes, he’d grown fangs, which were currently bared in a feral hiss. His eyes blazed with unearthly green light, and fine silver fur dusted his cheeks. His ears had elongated and were also covered in shimmering, silver fur.
“Daniel!” she cried, grabbing him by the Henley to hold him off. In her distraction, she’d forgotten all about him. “What’s . . . wrong with you?”
Behind her, Sesmu let out a giddy laugh, and it burrowed into her eardrums. “Kill her, kitten of mine own blood. Kill her. Soon, I’ll be free, and we can bathe in the blood of slaughter together.”
Daniel’s glowing eyes flared brighter and he hissed, snapping at Journi’s face with his fangs. She gasped and rolled aside, kicking and punching anything in reach. Which amounted to a whole lotta nothing. She was no weakling, but Daniel was strong. Inhumanly strong. And it was like pummeling a brick wall. She managed a lucky knee to his groin, and he grunted, raking her cheek with his claws. She cried out as pain lit up the side of her face, and she frantically palmed the basement floor, searching for anything she could use as a weapon and grabbing the first thing her fingers encountered—a half-empty paint can. Snarling, Daniel clamped her throat with his furred hands and squeezed. Blood rushed to Journi’s head and her eyes widened. She fish-gulped for air, struggling to get her unsteady fingers around the paint can’s wire handle. It seemed to take an eternity of blind fumbling, but when she finally caught the wire, triumph soared through her and she swung the can as hard as she could.
It thunked the veterinarian on the temple hard enough to jar Journi’s wrist.
The effect was horribly anticlimactic.
He lurched sideways—a little. He did, however, shift enough for her to wedge her arms between his and pry his grip from her throat, allowing her to suck in a desperate breath.
“Snap out of it,” she croaked. He didn’t, and she sent another knee into his groin. This time, the angle was better, and bone connected with all the right soft bits. He groaned and hunched over, and she shoved him off with a ragged cry.
Free of him, she scanned the floor for her slingshot, spotted it, and scrambled onto her knees.
Just as she reached for the weapon, though, he grabbed her ankle and dragged her back.
“No!” she screamed, digging her fingernails into the concrete. She had to get free and stop the summoning. She had no idea how many seconds had elapsed since Dr. Daniel had attacked her or if there even was still time to stop Sesmu’s rebirth, but she had to try. Her family’s lives—everyone’s lives—hung in the balance.
She kicked and writhed, but Daniel’s grip was like an iron shackle. He hauled her across the floor, flipping her over onto her back once more. Reared above her like a rabid beast, he flexed his fingers, their wickedly curved claws glinting in the firelight, and swung his hand down.
Right for her chest.
She held up her trembling arms in a clumsy defense, but Josephine appeared out of nowhere like a mother bear defending her cub and shoved her armed taser into Dr. Daniel’s throat.
There was a hair-raising crackle of electricity, and then Daniel’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body going rigid. Unfinished, Josephine cried out, more furious than Journi had ever seen her, and brought the butt end of the taser down on his head. It didn’t knock him unconscious, but it did knock him senseless, and it was enough for Journi to get free.
There was no time to thank her mother, and Journi scrambled onto all fours once more, lunging for the slingshot. Grabbing the steel handle, she dug frantically into her pocket and found the remaining marbles. Her hands shook, though, and in her haste, she dropped the pouch, and the marbles skittered haphazardly across the floor.
“Dammit,” she breathed, clamoring after them.
Above her, the wind and Sesmu roared alike. The walls and ceiling shook with so much force she was sure the entire house would come down in the next breath. Dust blew into her eyes, but she ignored it, gathering up the marbles like her life depended on it. Because it did.
That’s when she realized the marbles weren’t all the same.
The one she’d lost when Dr. Daniel had attacked had been gold. So had the one she’d used on Mr. Sniggles. What remained were two solid white, one purple with silver striations, and one clear with rainbow swirls. She couldn’t be sure, but she had a feeling each color variation represented a different spell, and it wasn’t unlike Gramma Jude to leave out pertinent details. Like, say, that the gold ones could explode heads and encase the decapitated bodies in magic Jell-O. Once, Journi had hit a shoplifter in Paige’s Books & Gifts with a marble that had turned the man into a literal walking penis. Which, in retrospect, had worked out. Penises didn’t generally have arms, which made shoplifting difficult. It hadn’t, however, done anything for Journi’s reputation as a respectable, upstanding citizen when the story had been run in the Columbus Dispatch. That had been the last time Journi had accepted marbles, potions, tinctures, or anything, for that matter, from Gramma Jude within a two-week radius of April Fool’s Day.
Journi studied the marbles in her unsteady hand. Which one? And did it even matter at this point? Sure, the wrong marble could potentially be catastrophic, killing them all in a fiery explosion, but if she didn’t do something soon, Sesmu was going to do that anyway. In the end, she loaded the rainbow marble, the magic inside shimmering like a prism. For no other reason than, well, it was pretty.
Swiveling, she aimed the marble at Mr. Jenkins, whose head was thrown back as he screamed the final words of the chant in a hoarse voice. Sesmu tried once more to lift his left foot out of the fire, but it held fast. Going by the victorious gleam in his eye, however, it wouldn’t for long.
Journi pulled back the cord, focusing on her breathing and the creak of rubber.
“No,” a voice croaked from across the room. “No.”
Journi hesitated and looked over.
Gramma Jude had propped herself up on one elbow, her pale face tight with concern.
“Gramma?” Journi whispered, so overwhelmed with relief to see the old woman alive that she momentarily forgot about saving the world.
“Not . . . that . . . one,” Gramma Jude managed, pointing a trembling finger at Journi’s slingshot. “For God’s sake, not . . . that one.”
Journi blinked and looked back at the slingshot, her stalled heart jumping back into the race, her head spinning from the resurge of adrenaline. She eyed Mr. Jenkins, switching the rainbow marble for one of the white ones.
Sesmu let out a triumphant roar.
Journi fired.
The marble flew true, and it hit the chanting senior right on the cheekbone with an audible crack.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then Mr. Jenkins’ eyes widened. His voice dropped out of the chant’s crescendo like a politician caught in a sex scandal during an election, and he looked down at his crotch.
Struggling to catch her breath, Journi watched as he convulsed once, twice, and a third time, his mouth parting in an undeniably . . . orgasmic O.
With horror, Journi realized he had an erection.
For the first and—with any luck—last time, her eyes beheld the boner of a man over seventy.
After that, everything seemed to happen all at once.
Mr. Jenkins’ distraction caused the others’ voices to stumble and fall like the slow and weak during a Black Friday sale. As the chanting faded, so did the thrall Sesmu had been holding them in, and the exhausted seniors collapsed in a clumsy circle. The torrent of wind rushing through the broken window died abruptly, leaving the basement in creaking silence. The flames Sesmu had been attempting to break free of withered to smoking coals. As for the god himself, his vibrancy dimmed as if someone were turning down a hidden dial.
“No!” he bellowed, holding up his clawed hands that were growing more transparent by the moment. “Noooooooo!”
Journi sagged, her energy draining out, and simply watched the show. Relief rippled through her. They’d done it. They’d stopped the ritual in time.
“I cannot be defeated!” Sesmu cried. Or, rather, mewled. Like the rest of him, his voice was fading, and it came out as a mere shade of what it had been. “I am Sesmu! God of gods! King of cats and blood!”
“What was that?” Journi asked, cupping her hand over her ear as if to hear him better. “I can’t hear you, oh mighty king.”
His rapidly vanishing eyes focused on her, and rage burned in their depths. Well, it flickered in them anyway. “Pathetic bag of bones and filth!” he shrieked. “I’ll devour you whole.”
Journi gazed at him, unimpressed. “The only thing you’re going to be devouring is your pride,” she said. “Go back to the litter box you crawled out of.”
Rage tightened his now-ghostly features, and he hissed. It produced only the barest of noise. He bellowed something at her, but she couldn’t hear whatever it was. He continued bellowing until he winked out altogether, leaving behind nothing but a wisp of smoke rising from the mound of ashes.
It was several moments before her heart slowed to a normal rhythm and her breathing evened out. She glanced behind her, where Dr. Daniel lay on the floor, groaning and holding his hand over his neck where Josephine had tasered him. His ears had returned to standard human size, and his skin was no longer dusted with silver fur. The claws and fangs were gone too. It would seem there was far, far more to the local veterinarian than met the eye.
“Are you okay?” Josephine asked her, hurrying over to fall on her knees at Journi’s side, checking her for injuries.
“Mom, I’m fine,” Journi said, fending her off. “Just banged up.”
Josephine fretted a moment longer and then let out a breath, her shoulders sinking. “Thank God.” She looked over at Dr. Daniel, her face smudged with dirt and marked with cuts. “For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to commit my first murder.”
Journi laughed. “Who would have thought you’d save the world with a pink stun gun?”
Josephine shrugged as if she wasn’t at all surprised.
From across the room, Gramma Jude spoke up. “Women’s pink stun guns have been saving the world since the dawn of time, kid.”
Despite the protesting of her bruised bones, Journi got to her feet and hurried over to her grandmother. “Gramma Jude,” she said, squatting to help her sit up. “Are you hurt?”
The old woman scoffed, waving her wrinkled hand. “Gonna take more than some glorified pussycat to bring me down.”
Tears bit Journi’s eyes and she hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I thought . . .”
Gramma Jude hugged her back. “I know.”
“Your wand?” Journi asked, pulling away. Gramma Jude’s wand had been with her since she was fourteen years old and might as well have been an extension of her body. Losing it would be like amputating a limb.
“She’ll survive,” Gramma Jude said, producing the slender, gnarled wand. Miraculously, it looked no worse for wear.
Journi nodded and turned to look for Frieda, who was being helped to her feet by Josephine. Frieda looked stiff and sore but otherwise okay. Her scarecrow’s overalls were dusty and torn on one knee, and it looked like she’d have a helluva shiner in the morning going by the swelling around her left eye. Despite all that, her mouth was curved in a winning smile. She winked at Journi, and Journi grinned.
Turning back to Gramma Jude, Journi helped her stand, and the two of them met Josephine and Frieda beside Dr. Daniel. While the others dusted themselves off, Journi crouched beside him.
“Hey. Lou Ferrigno. Wake up,” she said.
Wincing, he looked at her. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember going furry and trying to kill me?” she asked. “Here, let me remind you.”
She grabbed the broomstick piece that was still sticking out of his left shoulder and yanked it out.
He let out a growl of pain and rolled to one side, grasping his bleeding shoulder. “Hell,” he groaned and then abruptly stilled, realization flooding his eyes. His mouth parted. “Oh God. I hurt you.” His horrified gaze flicked to Frieda. “And you.”
Satisfied that he’d suffered enough, Journi held out her hand. “Come on.”
He hesitated and then accepted the help, allowing her to pull him up. On his feet, he swayed, and she had to grab his bicep to keep him from falling.
It was a hard bicep. With more muscles than she’d anticipated.
“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat and glancing between her and Frieda. “Look, I’m sorry. I . . . wasn’t myself.”
Journi let go of him. “Yeah, we gathered.”
Shame hung about him like a heavy cloak, and he shook his head. “I don’t lose control like that. Ever. If I’d have known . . . I would have . . .” He dragged his hand down his jaw. “I would have done something.”
Frieda slapped him on the good shoulder with a grin. “Don’t worry about it, son. We’ve all thought about killing Journi a time or two.”
Journi looked at her. “Nice.”
Frieda shrugged as if to agree.
Josephine tucked her taser into her purse which, by some miracle, still hung from her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said to the veterinarian. “But if you ever try to harm my daughter again, I’ll peel your skin off with a lemon zester and feed it to my neighbor’s dog. Then I’ll feed the rest of you to my neighbor’s dog. Are we clear?”
Journi blinked. Even Gramma Jude was taken aback. Frieda looked delighted. Dr. Daniel cleared his throat again and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It’ll never happen again. You have my word.”
“I’m glad we understand each other,” Josephine said and then primly smoothed her hair.
From outside came the distant sound of sirens. The CST cavalry had arrived. Finally.
Journi pocketed her slingshot and returned the remaining marbles to their pouch, sliding it in her battered satchel. Then she strode over to the disoriented summoners. They were in various states of collapse, sagging against toppled shelving units and storage boxes. Mr. Jenkins was still recovering from his orgasm bomb and was hugging his knobby knees, embarrassment clinging to him like an odor. He looked up at her arrival, his tired eyes clouded with remorse. “I didn’t mean to—”
She spit on him, fury percolating in her like a coffee pot that had just started dripping. Now that the chaos of battle was beginning to fade, she wanted nothing more than to make him and his cohorts pay. “That’s for Sylvia Robertson,” she said. “And Mr. Sniggles. And anyone else who got hurt because of you.”
He didn’t bother wiping off the saliva. Just let it drip off his cheek as he bleakly stared at the ritual fire’s ashes. “We just wanted a quieter neighborhood. We never meant to hurt anyone.”
Journi recalled the neighborhood this morning when she’d first arrived at the Burkes’. Picturesque streets. Tidy lawns. Chirping birds. It had been the epitome of quiet. “Try again, grandpa. Bexley isn’t exactly the ghetto.”
“All the solicitations to buy Girl Scout cookies. The school fundraisers. The band practice. The stray baseballs and frisbees that end up in our yards,” he said dejectedly and then mimicked a child’s voice. “Mr. Jenkins, if you buy twenty of these absurdly overpriced chocolate bars, I can go camping.” His face pinched in a sour pout. “Well, boohoo. As if their lawyer and doctor mommies and daddies can’t afford it.”
A round of murmured agreements and nodding came from the others.
“And don’t get me started on the cats,” Mr. Jenkins went on. “Always doing their business in my shrubs. Leaving dead rodents on my porch. It’s just plain unsanitary.”
“You realize people died, right?” Journi asked, her eyebrows raising dangerously. “That you murdered innocent human beings?”
“And pets,” Frieda added coldly, coming to stand beside Journi.
Shock and horror registered on some of their faces, and despite his tirade, tears filled Mr. Jenkins’ eyes. “We never meant to hurt anybody,” he said again, looking at Journi as if convincing her was his road to redemption. “We figured if the parents thought the cats were dangerous, they’d keep their kids inside or at least stop letting them run rampant in the neighborhood. We didn’t know who we were summoning. The girl just told us the spell would take care of our problem.” He hung his head and repeated, “We didn’t know.”
Outside, the sirens grew deafening, and the sound of slamming brakes told her the CST had arrived. Within moments, the All Mighty Ones would take over the scene. If she wanted answers out of the summoners, it had to be now. “What girl?”
Mr. Jenkins’ frail shoulders shook as he sobbed. Frustrated, Journi crouched, grabbing him by the arm. “What girl?”
As if past the point of responding, Mr. Jenkins only wept harder, his knobby-knuckled hands trembling.
Disgusted, Journi let go of him and pinned the others with a hard glare. “One of you answer me or I swear I’ll kill you all right now and tell the CST you died during the summoning.”
Ten pairs of frightened eyes looked back at her, and one diminutive woman who looked to be in her eighties hesitantly raised her frail hand, her voice warbly. “I don’t remember her name,” she said, her cloudy eyes filled with regret. “But we bought the supplies at her store on the corner of Bisby and Darrow.”
Journi recalled the location and then cursed. “You mean Bewitched Basic Bitch?”
The elder woman nodded. “Yes, that’s the one.”
Behind her, Gramma Jude spat. “That pain-in-the-arse bobbleheaded boner. I should have known.”
Though she agreed with the sentiment, Journi pointed out, “I think that’s bonehead, Gramma.”
Aside from cats, kids, and apparently select senior citizens, Kimber Elliston was the UGG-wearing bane of Journi’s existence. And Gramma Jude’s. Fresh from the sorority house, Kimber had set up shop last year with a bubbly vengeance and exactly zero qualifications. Her business model? The witchcraft equivalent of a pumpkin spice latte. Sweet, frothy, and full of useless calories. She specialized in spells for the girl on the go. Eyebrows not on fleek? Basic Bitch has you covered. Too much messy in your bun? Basic Bitch can help. No time to tan? Try Basic Bitch’s Beltane Bronzer and get your goddess glow on. All of which was innocuous enough.
But she didn’t stop at the superficial.
It was when she unwittingly dabbled in things far beyond her capabilities that Journi got involved. Once, while performing a sooth on a teenaged boy, she’d foreseen his slow descent into irreversible insanity. And it hadn’t been due to his overwhelming desire to know whether he would or wouldn’t get into one of the country’s best colleges. But because an infatuated girl in his class had purchased a poorly designed love spell from Bewitched Basic Bitch. A love spell that, had it come to fruition, would have turned a promising young man into a brainless Romeo intent only on wooing his misguided classmate. Forever. But despite Journi’s, Gramma Jude’s, and other local concerned practitioners’ complaints to the CST, Kimber had gone unpunished. Her permits were in order, and she was registered with the Paranormal Business Association. And because the ingredients used in her spells were legal and came with a disclaimer, she hadn’t technically committed any crimes.
It was why Journi had little hope of Bewitched Basic Bitch facing any charges now.
Making a mental note to pay Kimber Elliston an unfriendly visit soon, Journi sighed and stood just as a swarm of black-clad CST agents descended the basement stairs, shouting commands and leading with their weapons. She stepped aside, letting them do their jobs, and looked up as Sergeant Sargent approached.
“Miss McCutcheon,” the sergeant greeted with a brisk nod. She looked slightly worse for wear. Her severe bun was out of place, and the right arm of her uniform had been torn, the dark skin beneath smeared with blood. And she looked as tired as Journi felt. “We got here as soon as we could.” She surveyed the room’s damage and the naked summoners, who were being rounded up and cuffed none too gently. “But it looks like you handled the situation. Probably saved a helluva lot of lives.”
Journi nodded, glancing at Gramma Jude, Josephine, Frieda, and Dr. Daniel, who were being assessed for injuries by the med team. “I had help.”
The sergeant followed her gaze and explained, “The team I originally dispatched was intercepted by a colony of feral cats attempting to claw their way into the orphanage on Ember. If you guys hadn’t done . . . whatever it was you did here . . .” She shook her head. “Well, it could have been a lot worse.”
Journi thought of how close they’d come to a lot worse. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
Sergeant Sargent studied her. “We’ll be questioning the perpetrators thoroughly, but what can you tell me about what went on here?”
Journi jutted her chin toward Mr. Jenkins, who was being walked out of the basement by an agent. The old man’s hands were bound behind his back with spelled cuffs, the matte-black alloy glowing with purple light that reflected off his skinny, pale, bare ass.
“Mr. Jenkins and the others got tired of the neighborhood kids and decided to do something about it,” Journi said, watching him go. “They figured they’d take out two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“Two birds?”
“Kids and cats,” Journi confirmed. Had he not taken to violence, she and Mr. Jenkins might have been on the same page as far as those two were concerned. “Stray cats. Pets too. Guess he and his friends got fed up with their yards being used as a communal litter box.”
The sergeant’s expression flattened. “So, their solution was to murder every child in the city?”
“Not exactly,” Journi said, earning her an arched eyebrow from the sergeant. “Allegedly, they only intended to scare the parents into boarding up their kids. Make them believe cats are dangerous pets.” Journi paused, considering whether it was worth mentioning Kimber’s involvement. Though Sergeant Sargent seemed less arrogant than most CST agents Journi had dealt with, she didn’t know if that was a byproduct of the woman’s empathic ability or if she genuinely cared. “They bought a spell from Bewitched Basic Bitch. They didn’t realize what they were calling up until it was too late.”
Mouth pinched, the sergeant made an unmistakable dammit-not-her-again face, but she quickly covered it with professional detachment. “Thanks. I’ll look into it.” Glancing at the ritual fire’s ashes, which were being vacuumed into a clear transport tube emblazoned with glowing glyphs, she pulled out a dataglass and stylus, asking, “Do you know who or what they summoned?”
Impressed that she hadn’t immediately dismissed the mention of Bewitched Basic Bitch, Journi said, “Sesmu. Ancient god of slaughter, execution, and apparently cats.”
“Charming,” she said, jotting it down. “And you were able to stop the summoning how?”
Journi considered the series of knuckle sandwiches she, her family, and the veterinarian had eaten this evening as they’d endeavored to save the city and said, “Very uncarefully.”
Chuckling, Sergeant Sargent returned the dataglass to her breast pocket. “Fair enough. The lab will confirm the god’s origins, but it looks like the contamination has been contained. I appreciate what you all did here tonight.”
“Anytime,” Journi said and then gave her a look. “Figuratively, that is.”
A hint of a smile touched the sergeant’s mouth, and she indicated Journi’s various cuts and bruises. “Need a medic to look at those?”
“I’m fine,” Journi said and gestured toward the ceiling with her chin. “How’s it looking up there?”
“Lot of property damage, but the cats are returning to normal,” she sighed. “From what I’ve gathered, casualties of both the human and feline variety were minimal.”
Journi let out a long, tired breath of her own. “One is one too many.”
The sergeant nodded wearily. “Agreed. I’ll be in touch with any follow-up questions.”
Nodding, Journi left her to her work and joined the others. “What do you say we get the hell out of here?”
“Amen,” Frieda said, climbing the stairs.
Gramma Jude checked her wrist that was notably missing a watch and scowled before following. “Dagnabbit, I’m late for my root canal.”
“Mom, you haven’t had real teeth for years,” Josephine said, trailing her up the stairs.
Gramma Jude’s voice carried down the stairwell. “Don’t mean I ain’t got roots and canals. Didn’t I teach you anything?”
Journi paused at the bottom step, watching them ascend with a small smile and letting the relief sink in. They were safe. The city was safe. Even the damn cats were safe. If that wasn’t a win, she didn’t know what was.
“A root canal at this time of night?” Dr. Daniel asked, coming to stand beside her.
She glanced at him. “There is legitimately no telling.”
He laughed quietly, and they started up. “She’s a character.”
“You have no idea.”
“Look,” he said, halting her. “I am sorry for what happened back there. Had I known what we were walking into, I never would have come. I was a danger to you all.”
Journi studied him. Though he’d returned to human, his eyes still shimmered with residual magic and regret. “None of us knew what we were walking into,” she told him. “You couldn’t help it. We don’t blame you.”
He held her gaze for a moment and then nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Thanks.”
From upstairs, Frieda called down, “Are you pregnant yet?”
Journi closed her eyes, groaned, and said, “Now I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Chuckling, he continued up the stairs. “Don’t be. What’s worse? Having an eccentric family? Or trying to disembowel a girl before you even have a chance to ask her on a date?”
