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Authors: Lexi George

BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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“Most unusual,” he said, scooping up another bite.
Evie pulled the aluminum pie plate away from him. “For goodness' sake, don't eat out of the dish like a dog.” She put the last piece of pie on a saucer. “Use a plate.”
Ansgar finished the pie in three bites. “I do not see what difference it makes what kind of dish the sweetmeat is served upon, Evangeline. The taste is the same.”
“It's tacky,” Evie said firmly.
“Careful, Ansgar,” Brand said. Addy glanced at him in surprise. His dark voice vibrated with suppressed amusement. Good Lord, the big guy had sprung a leak in his humor valve. She'd have thought that thing was locked down tight, but the chocolate pie seemed to have loosened him up. “The mama used the same term of censure in reference to one Dinky Farris. I fear it is a serious charge.”
“You're darn right it's serious,” Addy said. “Few things are more unforgiveable in the South than being tacky. Mama could give a whole lecture series on the subject. Why, I could spot tacky by the time I was five years old.”
“Me, too,” Evie chimed in. “And don't get tacky and trashy confused. There's a big difference between the two.”
“I do not understand,” Brand said.
“W-e-l-l.” Addy considered how best to explain. “Tacky is wearing white dress shoes to church before Easter, and trashy is—”
“—going to church on Palm Sunday wearing white dress shoes and no underwear, and sitting on the front pew so the preacher can see your vertical smile,” Evie finished.
Addy and Evie looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Easter and Palm Sunday are religious holy days, are they not?” Brand said once the women had managed to stop giggling. “And vertical smile is, I take it, a reference to the female sexual organs.”
Evie turned beet red. “Uh, yeah.”
Brand nodded. “And it is considered inappropriate to visit a place of worship without girding your loins?”
“None of the best people go commando to church,” Addy assured him.
“Thank you for that useful bit of information. I will endeavor to remember it.” He leaned back and draped a muscular arm around Addy's shoulders. “When we are alone, we will discuss this further, Adara. The subject of female anatomy—your anatomy in particular—greatly interests me.”
Addy choked and looked up at him through her lashes. He seemed . . . relaxed, mellow almost. Usually, he radiated a sense of barely leashed power. But, she could have sworn the tiniest of smiles tugged at the edges of his beautiful mouth.
“I believe I will have more dessert.” He slammed his hand down on the table. “Two more of your excellent chocolate pies, Mistress Pauline, Oh Loveliest of Serving Wenches,” he boomed. “One for me, and the other for my brother.”
“You got it, Sweet Cheeks.” Pauline batted her sparse eyelashes at Brand and scurried through the swinging door.
“Sweet Cheeks?” Addy said, regaining her composure in the wake of The Look. “Watch your giblets, Brand. I think Pauline has you tagged as Husband Number Four.”
The corners of Brand's mouth kicked up again, and Addy's heart rate went into overdrive. Fight or flight; that was the biological response of animals under acute stress, wasn't it? Well, her instincts were in working order, because she . . . because she—
—was going to sit here like a bedazzled lust-drunk female fascinated by the slightest movement of his sensuous lips, waiting to see if he—
Oh, crappy doodle, he was going to do it.
Run away. Run away,
Smart Addy screamed. But Dumbass Addy didn't listen. Oh, no. Dumbass Addy sat there and stared at him, transfixed. She was Eve reaching for the apple. Pandora opening the box because she just
had
to see what was inside. She was a big fat bug drawn to the irresistible glowing radiance of Brand, the Dalvahni bug zapper.
“I am glad you are worried about my giblets, little one,” he said.
His rich, smoky baritone sent an electrical shiver down her spine. And then the dirty, low-down bastard did it.
Zzzzt,
he zapped her with a smile. Smiled right at her, too, so she took the full blast.
The busted hinge on her jaw gave way, and her mouth dropped open. Again. She needed to see about getting that thing fixed, she thought dimly through the roaring in her head. The guy showed his pearly whites and the whole freaking room lit up. Little birdies sang, and silvery sparkles danced at the edge of her vision. It was like a freaking Disney movie. She gaped at him, as dizzy and punch drunk as a raccoon in a beer barrel. It was
so
unfair, she thought, gazing in dazed bemusement at his perfect teeth and killer dimples. A smile like that was a thing of power. It ought to be registered as a lethal weapon. It was terrifying, mesmerizing.
It made her want to drop trow right then and there.
She wouldn't. No, no, of
course
she wouldn't. She had better raising. Why, a moment ago, she'd been going on about the difference between tacky and trashy. Having sex in public with Conan the Stud Muffin would be majorly trashy, at the top of the trash-o-meter with Evie's hypothetical floozie airing her fluff bunny in the Lord's temple . . . only without the divine retribution part. Maybe the Big G wouldn't tap-dance on her head for having sex in public, but Mama sure as shoot would. It would also probably get her banned for life from the Sweet Shop, and that was a bad thing. No more Miss Vi's fried chicken. No more greens cooked with ham hocks, Tony Chachere's Creole Seasoning, and a splash of cider vinegar for that little extra punch. No more buttery corn muffins, fragrant and moist on the inside and golden brown and crusty on the outside. No more crunchy, tangy fried green tomatoes. She would not have sex in public. She would not.
No, no,
no.
The ladies' room in the back of the Sweet Shop . . . that was a different story. Not public at all. All right, maybe technically it
was
public. But, Miss Vi kept a clean restroom, and the door locked.
Holy mackerel, she was seriously contemplating having sex in a restaurant bathroom because the guy
smiled
at her.
She was in big trouble.
Chapter Fourteen
B
londy, of all people, saved her by bursting into song. He had a great set of pipes, Addy would give him that. A pure tenor that darkened and deepened as he caressed the lower notes and soared bright and clear on the top notes of the cheerful little ditty he sang. Or at least it
sounded
cheerful. She couldn't understand a word he said, probably because he wasn't speaking English . . . or any language she recognized. Not that it mattered. The guy could sing right out of the phone book and nobody would care. He was that good.
Evie gazed at Blondy all limp and dewy eyed. It made Addy want to slap her. But then she'd have to slap herself, too, wouldn't she, because hadn't she looked at Brand the same dopey way a few seconds ago? Truth was she owed Blondy one. If he hadn't started wailing she might have forgotten who and where she was and dragged Brand off to the ladies' room, and there would have been wailing of a different kind. And Mama would have found out—'cause Mama
always
found out—and all her years of being a good little girl and a rule-follower would have been for nothing, 'cause it would be all over town that she had sex in the Sweet Shop bathroom with a man she'd known less than twenty-four hours.
Her secret identity would be revealed once and for all, and everyone in Hannah would know that boring Adara Jean Corwin was Super Slut Puppy in disguise.
Addy glanced around the restaurant. None of the other diners seemed to mind the impromptu karaoke. In fact, they seemed spellbound, gazing at Ansgar in rapt adoration. The farmers at the next table clapped and stomped their booted feet in time to the music. Things shot into hyper-weird when Pauline spun out of the kitchen like a jewelry box ballerina. She twirled across the black-and-white checkerboard floor, set two chocolate pies in front of Brand and Ansgar, and pirouetted away, Anna Pavlova in sensible, slip-resistant rubber-soled waitress shoes.
She floated up to the table of farmers, executed a graceful
attitude en pointe,
and refilled their tea glasses.
“Uh, is it me, or is Pauline acting a little strange?” Addy said.
Brand helped himself to half a pie. “It is Ansgar's singing. It has that effect on some humans.”
“Look at Evie, for crying out loud. She's practically a puddle.”
Brand glared at her over his plate. “What about you, Adara Jean? Does Ansgar's singing make you puddle?”
Addy wrinkled her nose. “Jeez, dude, leave a girl a little mystery, won't you? That's kind of personal.”
His scowl deepened. “That is not an answer.”
The room became dark and airless. A deafening clap of thunder rattled the tin roof overhead. Startled, Addy looked out the window. The blue sky had darkened to an ominous gray, and a stiff wind bent the heavy branches of the live oaks on Main Street. A sudden change of weather in the summertime wasn't unusual in steamy, sultry Hannah, but even for the Deep South this was freaky. Almost as if . . . She took a quick peek at Brand. Nah, couldn't be. That would be too bizarre. What was she
saying
? Like everything in her life right now wasn't bizarre.
“Relax, big guy,” she said. “Blondy doesn't do it for me.”
Brand's expression cleared. “Good,” he said, returning his attention to his pie.
At once, the heavy sense of oppression lifted from the room. Addy looked back out the window. The heavy, black thunderclouds thinned to ragged wisps and blew away, and the trees stopped whipping around. Note to self. New boyfriend's moods may affect weather.
Ansgar launched into another verse.
“What's he singing?” she asked. “I mean, it's not English.”
“A Gorthian folk song. Ansgar has a fondness for the place.” Brand shrugged and slid the rest of the pie onto his plate. “Why, I do not know. Gorth is an inhospitable clime, beautiful but harsh. A land of treacherous mountains and raging seas, infested with dwithmorgers and other dangerous beasts.”
“Dwith—” Addy shook her head. “Never mind, I'm not going to play your silly little game.”
Ansgar stopped singing and reached for the other pie. Beside him, Evie stirred, like Sleeping Beauty waking from a centurylong nap.
Her eyelids fluttered. “My goodness, that was wonderful.”
“Huh,” Addy said. “While you were making goo-goo eyes at Blondy you missed Pauline
grand jeté-
ing through the kitchen door.”
“What?”
“Pauline was dancing. On her tippy-toes.”
Evie gave a deep sigh. “It's Ansgar's voice. It does things to you.”
“Didn't do a thing for me. And a good thing, too. Somebody has to keep a level head around here, what with you mooning over Blondy, Pauline dancing Swan Lake, and Jim Bob and Clyde over there doing the River Dance.”
Evie giggled. “Now who's being the fun sucker?”
Addy stiffened. “I am not—”
“Good pie.” Brand pushed aside the empty plate. He watched with an expression of dreamy indulgence as Ansgar devoured his dessert. “Is it not excellent, brother?”
“In truth, I have not tasted anything like it.” Ansgar scraped the last bit of chocolate off the plate. “Quite extraordinary.”
Brand grinned. “I knew you would like it.”
To Addy's astonishment, a mini jungle of thorny, green vines sprang from the wall next to their table. The vines produced buds and burst into full bloom, perfuming the air with the fragrant scent of tea roses. On the other side of the dining room, cracks opened in the rough wooden panels and thick ropes of wisteria slithered out, festooning the wall and rafters with purple clumps of sweet-smelling blossoms. The scents of jasmine, honeysuckle, and gardenia filled the room. The black-and-white tile floor erupted in a profusion of poppies, buttercups, daisies, blue bonnets and foxgloves, transforming the interior of the Sweet Shop into a garden wonderland and a living hell for allergy sufferers.
Jeez, the guy smiled . . . and jungle city.
“Pretty,” Evie said with a rapturous smile.
Evie was slack faced, her pupils dilated. Great, best-est buddy was stoned out of her gourd. Whether from the intoxicating floral miasma that hung over the room or the happy hormones Brand and Ansgar shed like a St. Bernard in Miami, Addy did not know. Evie was smashed, pickled . . . loaded to the gills. She looked around the room. Clyde and Jim Bob were making daisy chains. Over in the corner, Edith and Mildred Judson, the prim retired twins who'd taught Addy and Evie math and science in high school, held hands and danced in a circle. Their cousin, Myrtle Glenn, pranced around the room on a pretend pony, her spray-starched, lavender-tinted beehive hairdo bobbing up and down as she galumphed. Miss Vi, Del, and Pauline came out of the kitchen and joined the Judson twins in a noisy game of ring-around-the-rosy.
“This is nuts,” Addy said. “Where am I supposed to get fried chicken now that you've turned the Sweet Shop into the Dalvahni freaking botanical gardens?”
Brand gave her a lopsided grin. “You worry too much, little one. Have some pie. Pie is good.”
Ansgar nodded. “Pie. Good.”
Addy gave them a narrow-eyed glare. “You're drunk.”
Brand sat up straight in his chair. “You are mistaken. The Dalvahni are not affected by stimulants of any kind.”
“Hey, I was a sorority girl at Alabama. I know a drunk male when I see one. You're loaded.”
“Inconceivable.” Brand waved his hand at Ansgar. “Ansgar, another song.”
“Yes, brother.” Ansgar pulled a giggling Evie onto his lap.
Taking a deep breath, Ansgar launched into a bawdy English chantey that made Brand grin and slap his thigh in time with the beat. Vi and Del broke into a vigorous jig. Blondy reached the third verse about a farmer's daughter and a tin peddler, and Brand threw back his head and laughed.
The sound left Addy feeling breathless and wobbly. Or maybe it was the earthquake. The building shook, and a white tree shot out of the floor and grew to the ceiling. Bright silver leaves formed on the branches and unfurled in a glistening canopy. Miss Vi and Del giggled and ran to dance under the tree.
“Way to go, Miracle Grow.” Addy scowled at Brand. “You've gotten my friends high on Dalvahni pheromones and destroyed the only decent place in town to eat.”
“Do not distress yourself, Adara.” Brand tried to prop his elbow on the table and missed. “Once we abandon this place, all will be as it was. Ansgar and I would not dream of doing anything to cause Mistress Vi or her excellent spouse a moment's distress. She gave us pie.”
Addy smacked her forehead. How could she be so stupid? “It's the pie, of course! You said you'd never had chocolate before, right?”
Brand's eyes crossed in thought. “That is correct,” he said at last. “It has been some ten or eleven centuries since last I visited this realm. What about you, brother?”
Ansgar still held a starry-eyed Evie in his lap. His glacial hauteur was gone. He blinked sleepily, but did not answer.
“Ho, Ansgar!” Brand waved his hand in the other warrior's face. “How long since last you hunted the djegrali in this place?”
Ansgar stared at him, uncomprehending.
“Toasted.” Addy shook her head in disgust. “Whacked out on chocolate. A thirteen-year-old girl with PMS could eat both of you under the table in M&M'S.” She got to her feet. “Come on, big guy, let's get you out of here before you have a fit of the giggles and throw a rain forest or something.”
“Dalvahni warriors do not ‘giggle,' ” Brand said with great dignity. “It is not manly.”
She pulled him out of his chair. He was very heavy. “Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking.”
He swayed and almost fell.
“Hey now, none of that.” Addy grabbed him and placed both of his hands on the table. If he crashed and burned, she'd never get him out of here. “Hold on to this while I get Evie and Blondy up and moving.”
Keeping one eye on Brand, she walked around the table and tugged Evie out of Ansgar's lap, ignoring the blond warrior's protests.
“Pretty,” Evie mumbled, giving Addy a glassy-eyed stare.
“Right. You're hammered, sweetie. Let's get you some fresh air.”
Addy guided the unresisting Evie through the flower-strewn restaurant and outside to a wrought-iron bench.
“Deep breaths,” she ordered.
Evie obeyed. After a moment, some of the stupor faded from her expression. Addy was relieved. Zombie Evie was scary.
Evie put her hand to her head. “I feel funny. What happened?”
“Don't you remember?”
“Uh uh.”
“Oh, boy. Well, uh . . . Blondy started singing and you went stupid on me.”
“Addy!”
“Sorry, but it's the truth. The smell from all the flowers was pretty intense, and Brand's smiling didn't help, but I think it was mostly Blondy's singing that fried your brain.”
“Flowers? Brand smiling? Addy, you're not making any sense.”
Addy sighed. “You do remember Ansgar and Brand?”
Evie gave Addy an
as if
look. “Two guys. Big. Beautiful. Musk-cally.”
“I think ‘muscular' is the word you're looking for.”
“That, too. Who could forget a couple of hotties like that?”
“Do you remember coming to the Sweet Shop for lunch?”
Evie frowned. “Yes, but after that things get fuzzy.”
“Long story short, Ansgar started singing, and you lost your beady little mind, and Brand got happy on chocolate pie and smiled the place into the Hanging Gardens of Hannah.”
“Addy, what
are
you talking about?”
“No time, Evie. Got to get back in there before Brand and Ansgar hit the sauce again. The chocolate sauce, I mean, not the drunk sauce. If you don't believe me about the flowers, take a gander through the window. And don't leave. I'm going to need your help.”
Addy hurried back inside. To her relief, Brand and Ansgar were right where she'd left them. She hesitated, unsure which one to tackle first.
Ansgar lifted his head, his eyes bleary. Poor Blondy, Addy thought with a reluctant pang of sympathy. Drunk on chocolate pie. So much for the mighty Dalvahni warriors. Felled by a simple bean.
“Whersh Evangeline?” he mumbled.
“Outside.” Addy pointed to the window framed by wisteria and climbing roses.
With an obvious effort, Ansgar turned his head. Evie blinked at them in astonishment from the other side of the window.
Ansgar's expression darkened. “Evangeline, wharsh you doing out thersh?”

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