Wayward Devils (Souls of the Road #4)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I t was hot as the devil’s armpit, and even with the windows of the truck cranked down, there was no relief.

Lorde was at my feet on the floorboards, snoring. Abbi sat closest to the window, her arm stuck out, her hand flat so she could fly it up and down in the air current.

I sat next to Lu, my arm over the back of the bench seat, my fingers gently brushing her shoulder.

The radio played a country song, just loud enough I could catch the higher notes over the wind in the cab. The sun burned in the pale blue sky, lowering toward the horizon, but not yet giving in to the sunset, to the end of its daily rule.

If it hadn’t been a thousand damn degrees outside, it might have been a nice, sleepy sort of drive.

If we weren’t headed to meet a ghoul, who had tried to kill us, to retrieve a book that everyone else wanted to kill us for, it might even have been almost a perfect stretch of road.

Lula slowed the truck as we reached Adrian, the open fields with short square farmhouses, metal outbuildings, tall cylindrical grain silos, and rows and rows of modern windmills indicating people had settled here to build lives. This stretch of highway was smooth concrete, and recently painted with a huge white Route 66 shield right in the middle of the road.

The Midpoint Cafe and Gift shop sat on our left, the sign with the googie arrow pointing cheerily at the small, one-story white building that housed the home-cooking, 1950s-style café. It shared the parking lot with a brick motel on one side and a boarded-up gas station on the other.

There was only one car in front of the café, and it was not the hunter’s truck. Lu parked in front of the building and turned off the engine.

“I’m going too,” Abbi said.

I reached across Abbi to open the door. “We know. You’ve been telling us that for the last three miles.”

“Because I have the token.”

“Yep,” I said.

She picked up kitten-Hado and dropped him on her shoulder where he draped himself. “And I made the deal.”

“Part of it,” I agreed.

Abbi shimmied out of the truck and batted at her yellow skirt to make all the folds fall the right way down to her knees. She wore a sparkly light blue tank top, and green socks.

“You look like a dandelion,” I said.

She grinned at me. “Thank you! Cassia gave me this skirt. It swirls!” She held out the skirt and did a little twirl.

Lu stepped out of the truck. An oversized blue handkerchief covered her head in a triangle tied behind her braid. She wore a light linen, long-sleeved shirt, jean shorts, boots, and sunglasses.

I’d never seen a more gorgeous sight in my life.

She walked to me, and a smile lit up her face.

“So, what you said this morning,” I said.

“What did I say this morning?”

“That it’s your birthday.”

“I recall.”

“I’d like to do something special for you.”

“Oh?”

I grinned.

“How special?” she asked.

I caught her hand and stepped close enough to breathe in her perfume. I leaned down, my mouth near her ear. “I’ll show you later.”

She made a dismissive sound, but her cheeks had gone pink, and it wasn’t from the sun.

We started across the road, heading to the small windmill set a few feet back from the long, low wooden Midpoint of Route 66 sign (put there so people driving the Route could take photos of themselves in front of it).

They’d built a nice flat brick area for the sign, giving folks a place to walk around that wasn’t on the road or the farmer’s field behind it.

The small windmill was the old-fashioned kind with a wooden base and small metal blades. There wasn’t enough wind to turn the blades, not even with evening headed our way.

“There are a lot of windmills out here,” Abbi said. “How do we know which one he meant?”

“It’s the small one,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“It’s closest to the Route.”

I scanned the area. Other than the distant squat buildings and telephone poles, the only other structure was a billboard built on the ground next to the intersection. It currently advertised where to turn for the nearest gas station.

As we walked toward the small windmill, a figure moved out from behind the sign.

Hatcher. The hunter. The ghoul.

He’d gone back to the dark denim pants, white shirt, black vest and necklaces. He looked the same as he had when we’d first seen him.

I figured he had a gun somewhere handy. I would if I were him.

He moved our way, close enough to be heard, but not close enough to be in punching range.

“You’re early,” he said.

“Not by much,” I answered.

“Where’s the book?” Abbi asked. She was on my right, Lula on my left.

He nodded toward the windmill. “Buried there. I’ve dug it up.”

Lula strode toward the windmill. As soon as she was close enough to see the lump at the base of it, the hunter spoke. “Stop there.”

He drew a gun, but didn’t aim it at anything but the ground.

Lula stopped. “I need to touch it to know if it’s real or not.”

I didn’t like this bit of our plan, but Lula was right. She was the only one besides Hatcher who could touch the book. If we’d traded places and the book was the real thing, I’d be knocked out cold the moment I got a finger on it.

“Where’s the token?” he asked.

Abbi stuck her hand in her skirt pocket and pulled out the coin. “I have it. You know it’s real. You can feel it.”

He paused, as if testing her statement, then nodded. “Bring it to me.”

“Lula gets to touch the book first,” she said.

He swallowed and I thought for sure, he was going to argue. “Do it,” he ordered Lula.

She strode the remaining distance, her mostly healed ankle only slightly shortening her stride. She bent and pressed one finger into the shadow beneath the windmill.

The thrum of energy, of magic, of god power was sub-audible, rolling through the land beneath my boots and ringing through my bones like a strike of metal.

It wasn’t unpleasant. But it was god power, and I’d spent nearly a hundred years doing my best not to attract gods, or their power. I didn’t like it.

“Okay,” Abbi said simply. “I’m going to put this token on the bricks right here.” She pointed at her feet. “You should put the gun away. Remember how I melted the vampires? I can make ghouls into goo too.”

He returned the gun to the holster. “My hair,” he said to me.

I held up the single strand he’d given me and which I’d managed not to lose.

Lula picked up the book and wrapped it in the handkerchief she’d had on her head.

“Put the token down,” the ghoul said, as Lula strode our way.

Abbi did, and then took three exaggerated giant steps backward. “I told you I’d give it to you if you were telling the truth.”

“This is yours too.” I stepped forward and placed the hair next to the token.

Lu was at my side, then past me, headed toward the truck.

“You too,” the hunter said to me. “Step back.”

I took several steps backward, keeping my eye on him.

He darted forward, uncannily fast. He bent, scooped up the token and hair.

“We’re done now,” I said, holding my ground only a few yards from him.

He narrowed his eyes and looked past me at Abbi and Lula. There was calculation in his expression. I didn’t know if he was working out the risk of trying to kill us or trying to steal the book again.

“All of this,” I said. “Done.”

I wasn’t magic. Not like the witches. Not like Abbi. But Ricky had told me, hell, Raven had told me, that I was the voice that could speak the spells in the book, just as Lula was the hands that could hold it.

Between us, we could wield the power of the gods.

It was the thing neither of us had spoken of yet. The very idea too large, too dangerous, too horrifying to try and quantify and accept.

But it wasn’t the book that made me who I was. As Ricky had said, when I was without a body, when I was nothing but a spirit, I had had the power to affect the world, to use my voice to break through the walls that divided realities.

I put some of that into my statement, my words as precise and holdfast as nails hammered into stone.

The ghoul sensed it. Enough that he nodded. “It’s done.”

He turned and strode away across the field. His truck was parked in the intersection, and he piled into it and took off south down the gravel road.

I waited until he was out of sight. Only then did I turn and walk to the café parking lot where Lula, Abbi, and Lorde were waiting for me.

“All good?” I asked them.

Lula nodded. “I put it in the box the witches gave us.”

“With my extra magic keeping it secret,” Abbi added. She was rubbing Lorde’s head.

“It’s as secure as we can make it right now,” Lu agreed.

“Good.” I glanced at the café. “How about we get dinner before we find a place to stay?”

“We have a cooler full of food,” Lu said.

“Sure. But a hot meal won’t hurt us.”

She frowned, and I thought I’d pushed it too far.

“They have pie!” Abbi skip-ran to the door, Lorde at her side.

“Can my dog come in?” she asked, standing outside the door she’d opened with just her head stuck into the place. “She’s really hot.”

There was a murmur of a male voice, and then Abbi shooed Lorde into the building.

“Looks like we’re having dinner,” I said.

“Looks like.”

I gestured her to go first and followed her to the café.

She opened the door and stopped on the threshold. “Oh.”

It was more than I had expected. More than I could have hoped to do on my own. Better, too.

The café was original to when it was built, which meant it had the markings of a place that had seen a lot of years. But the checkered floor shone, and the tabletops were clean.

Yellow and pink and green balloons, all tied together with shiny ribbons, floated above three tables that had been pushed together in the center of the room.

Hung across the wall was a huge banner that looked like it was made of silk with hand-stitched embroidery that read happy birthday, lula . Twirly bits of crepe paper and other glittery gewgaws finished off the party decor.

A beautiful bouquet of flowers centered the table, and next to that was a pink frosted, strawberry angel food cake.

There were exactly four people in the room, and not one of them were people: a Moon Rabbit named Abbi, a trickster god named Raven, a demon named Bathin, and a Crossroads named Ricky.

They all wore shiny, pointed party hats. Abbi blew a noise maker, making the paper tube snap out and roll back.

“Happy birthday, love,” I said.

Lu turned and pulled off her sunglasses. I was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“Hey, now, are you…” I started to ask.

She reached up and kissed me. “Thank you,” she whispered against my lips.

“Can we have cake yet?” Abbi asked. “Oh, no, we have to do candles first, right, Ricky?”

“That’s the tradition,” Ricky said.

“Lula, Brogan,” Raven said, “come on over and have a seat. The birthday girl gets the tiara.”

Yes, it was strange to have a god at a birthday party.

Yes, I had asked the demon for a favor. This favor.

Yes, I knew I would pay some sort of price for it. Demons never did anything for free.

But the joy on Lula’s face, her laughter when I put on the extra pointy hat, and she put on the tiara, was worth it.

So was her delight at the gift from Crow—a crocheted bracelet with bits of glass, agates, and seashells dangling from it, and the gift from Bathin: All Systems Red, a book he insisted was worth reading because the robot was the best character.

Ricky gave her a quilt, made of floral fabrics, that she had hand stitched with green embroidery thread. Lula hugged her long enough, they both got a little teary-eyed.

Whatever price the demon would set for me to pay, it would be worth it.

“Open mine next,” Abbi produced a box wrapped in paper she must have gotten from the witches.

Lula looked absolutely glorious in her tiara and tank top. She took the present and opened it carefully, savoring the moment. She lifted the box lid.

“It’s a rock,” she said.

Bathin, who was leaning on the counter drinking a cola, leaned forward, interested. “Ah.” He leaned back.

“It’s not one of yours,” Abbi admonished. “It’s a lucky rock. I found it by the Blarney stone. And since you didn’t have a chance to kiss it for luck, I got you this pebble, which has to have some of the luck in it because it’s like a baby Blarney. So now you can kiss it.”

Lula smiled. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.” Then she made a big deal of giving it a loud smack, and Abbi clapped her hands.

“Time for cake?” Ricky put a pretty, yellow and white candle into the center of the cake.

“Lu?” I asked.

“Yes!” Abbi said. “Let’s do cake!”

Ricky placed the cake in front of Lu.

Bathin lit the flame with a little snap of his fingers (showoff), and then we sang the song wishing her a happy birthday.

It’s a short, simple song, but our voices seemed to make the best of it, Raven going for fancy harmony, Bathin carrying the tune with a warm baritone, Ricky’s rich alto guiding us all, and Abbi’s voice sweet and pure.

I was singing, too, my gaze on only one person, one woman. My life, my world.

Lula was crying, but the tears slipped almost as an afterthought into the corners of her smile.

She was watching me, too, as if this moment was one she would hold safe and secret to unpack again and again in the years to come.

I wanted that. I wanted that for her, and for me, and for us. Years and years of birthday songs. So many that the memories and the cakes and the wishes on candles all blended together into a blurry happiness.

“Make a wish,” I whispered after the song was over.

She closed her eyes. We held the space for her, the silence, to give her wish its fullest form.

Then she opened her eyes and blew out the candle, giving the wish breath, life, wings. Her gaze found mine, and there was a question there, a hope.

Yes , I said, even though I didn’t know her question. Always, for you.

She wiped at a tear with the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” she said to all of us. “This is lovely.”

“Wait until you try the cake,” Bathin said. “Made by a friend of ours. He runs a bakery called the Puffin Muffin.”

“You didn’t make it?” she asked Ricky.

Ricky shook her head. “None of this was my idea. I love it, though.”

“What kind of cake is it?” she asked, as Ricky handed her a knife and she cut off a generous slice.

“Strawberry angel food,” I said.

“That’s right.” Bathin took the next slice and sat at the table. “Just like you asked.”

Lu paused in cutting. “You asked Bathin to do this?”

“He had already used my feather,” Raven said, like that had any bearing on the event. “I mean, what else are demons good for?”

“Ask me for a favor,” Bathin said around a mouth full of cake, “and you’ll find out.”

“I’d rather work out the details later,” I said. “And just enjoy cake now.”

“Details?” Bathin asked, his gaze locked on me. “What details?”

Shit. This wasn’t something I wanted to do in front of Lu. I had hoped to negotiate the payment for this in private.

“I assume you are going to set a price for putting the party together for me. I assume we will negotiate that after the party.”

Bathin grunted and went back to eating cake.

“Thing is,” he said, like this was a conversation he had been thinking over for a while, “demons are made for deals. We are transactional creatures. Self-centered too.”

Lu placed a plate with cake in front of me, a little of her joy subdued as she listened to Bathin.

I grinned and took a bite, trying to keep the mood light. The burst of flavor and soft pillowy crumb melted in my mouth.

“Damn.” I glanced at the demon. “Is your friend a magician? This cake is stunning.”

He nodded. “Hogan does good work.”

Lula made a humming sound, agreeing wholeheartedly as she sampled a bite.

“But I have a stake in this business now,” Bathin went on. “In the two of you taking the book somewhere safe. Ordinary, Oregon, is safe.”

I wanted to ignore him and devour the cake, but I put the fork down and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“There are a few other places in the world that may also be safe,” he said. “Safe from gods. Safe from demons, the self-centered transactional lot of us. But Myra’s library in Ordinary is the safest.”

He scraped the tines of his fork across the plate, gathering up the last of the bright red strawberry preserves.

“I don’t like that book,” he said. “I don’t like what it can be used for. So, for the low, low price of one private birthday party out in the middle of nowhere, I want your promise that you’ll bring the book to Ordinary, as soon as you can.”

“Yes,” Abbi agreed.

“You can’t promise for them, Bun Bun,” Raven said, sneaking Lorde bits of bacon that had appeared in his hand. “They have to make the deal with the demon themselves.”

“Okay, but I still say yes.”

“Why do I think it’s a trap if I agree to this?” I asked.

“Because,” the demon pushed his plate away and sat back, holding another full bottle of cola in his hand, “I’m a demon.”

“Lying, cheating, self-centered, transactional, cruel…” Raven listed.

“Sometimes,” Bathin agreed. “Not all of those things always. Not all of them this time.”

I shook my head. We’d made promises to Cupid, made deals, and remade deals. The last thing I wanted was to tie us up in another promise with another powerful supernatural.

But what had I expected when I asked a demon to throw my wife a birthday party? I was lucky he wasn’t demanding our souls for it, although our souls might be damaged in ways a demon wouldn’t care to have them.

“Brogan,” Lula said. “Can I talk to you a moment? Outside?”

“I’ll make sure there’s still cake when you get back,” Ricky said.

“But we get seconds, right?” Abbi asked. “There’s so much left!”

Lu and I walked out into the heat. The sun had slid toward the horizon, and though the heat was about the same, the light was richer, gold instead of piercing white.

We paused at the front of the truck where a little shade had inched out from the building.

An RV pulled off on the other side of the road, and six people who looked like three middle-aged couples all got out. They laughed, slapping hands in high fives, and strolled over to pose in front of the Midpoint sign.

“You asked a demon?” Lula said. “Really?”

“It’s the first birthday I’ve had with you since the attack. I couldn’t let it go without giving you a party. Without telling you how special you are to me. Without thanking you for waiting for me, all these years.”

She just stared at me. I fidgeted, wiping the back of my neck.

“So, you called a demon?”

“I admit my planning could have been smoother.”

She pressed her hand over her eyes. Smoother , she mouthed.

When she dropped her hand, I expected her to be angry. I was angry for making such a foolish decision, for putting what I wanted—a party for her—ahead of all common sense that one should not ask minor favors of major demons.

“You know we have promises to Cupid we are bound by,” she said.

“I know.”

“You know At? wants to kill us.”

“I know.” I took her hand. “I wasn’t thinking about all that. I was just thinking of you.”

Having no personal autonomy for so many years had made me yearn for the ability to choose to do a thing, even if it was a foolish thing, and experience it being done.

“The cake?” she asked.

“Ricky and the Crossroads remembered it was your favorite.”

“It really is marvelous. The best I’ve ever tasted.”

I nodded. “Apparently there’s a baker named Hogan in Ordinary who we owe some thanks to.”

She shook her head, but I saw forgiveness, or at least acceptance in her smile.

“Did you invite Raven and Ricky?” she asked.

“I think Raven just shows up wherever he wants. I don’t know how Ricky found out. Maybe he told her.”

“You’re welcome!” Raven yelled from inside the building, loud enough we could hear him through the windows.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. A moment later, Lula laughed too.

“So?” I said. “Do you like it? The party? The balloons and flowers?”

“I like the party. The balloons, the flowers, the cake. But mostly, I like you, Brogan Gauge. Thank you for the best birthday of my life.”

I nodded, surprised at the wave of emotion that rose up to threaten tears.

“Let’s go promise a demon we’ll get the book to the library in Ordinary,” she said.

I squeezed her hand, and we walked into the café, together.