Demon Hunting In the Deep South (22 page)

“I can’t go,” she said, latching on to the perfect excuse with a feeling of triumphant relief. “I don’t have a thing to wear.”

It was an age-old excuse, one that had stood females in good stead since the first fig leaf had worn out. And it was absolutely true. That was the beauty of it. Evie had scads of baggy dresses but nothing remotely suitable to wear to a Halloween dance at the club.

Muddy widened her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you? I’ve got the very thing for you.”

Evie’s elation dimmed. Then she thought of the perfect comeback. “Thanks, Muddy, but there’s no way I could squeeze into anything of yours.”

“Not mine. This dress belonged to my sister Etheline. She was a curvy gal, too. Had nice bazongas, like you.”

Evie’s face got hot. “Well . . . uh . . . what I mean is, I don’t know—”

“Just give it a try,” Muddy urged. “The damn thing’s been heirloomed and sitting on a shelf for ages. Wait until you see this dress. It’s
gorgeous.
I’ll have Amasa bring the box to your house this afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Evie heard herself say.

She could have kicked herself. She was a doormat, and a doormat couldn’t say no—it came with the mat-i-tude.

Holy freaking cow, she was going to the ball.

Chapter Twenty-one

T
hat afternoon, Evie and Nicole delivered the last of the Fright Night table decorations to the club. The day had been stressful. People who came in the shop either ignored her or asked uncomfortable questions. Like, was she was having an affair with Trey Peterson or did she just flip her shit and go homicidal after years of Meredith’s abuse? Miss Mamie wanted to know if Sheriff Whitsun strip-searched her before he put her in jail.

“He can search my body cavities any day,” the old lady said, waggling her gray brows.

Ugh. Evie was pretty sure Miss Mamie’s body cavities predated dirt.

As Evie drove the van back to town, she struggled to find a way out of going to the dance. She tried to picture herself walking into the Collier Grand Ballroom with half the town looking on and failed. She’d rather eat a bee sandwich suspended upside down by a fraying string—over an open latrine. She hated this kind of thing
before
she became Notorious E.

Nicole was over the moon about the dance, especially after she saw the Hannah Country Club, a sprawling white edifice built in the 1920s on 250 acres of land donated by the Petersons. Evie was glad for Nicole, but she wished she’d quit talking about it. Thinking about her imminent demise made her nervous. That’s how she thought of tonight. Death by humiliation and shunning. Like Lura Leigh Bledsoe when she quit the Church of the Holy Jump and ran off to Vegas to dance with a pineapple on her head. Or whatever Las Vegas dancers wear.

“And did you see those columns in the ballroom?” Nicole prattled happily from the passenger seat. “Columns” came out
col-yooms
when Nicole said it. Frodo was in her lap. He was wearing his E-collar again. “They go all the way up to the ceiling. Like twenty feet or something. This is gonna be better than prom.”

“I never went to prom,” Evie said.

Nicole twisted in her seat to stare at her. “Shut up! Me, neither. I had to work. What about you, your boyfriend dump you at the last minute? That’s what happened to my friend Piggy Hollingsworth. Piggy loved her some cocktail weenies. Ate them thangs cold right out the bag. Her boyfriend dumped her two days before prom for a girl everybody called BJ.” Nicole snorted. “Big surprise there, huh? Men.”

Frodo growled in agreement.

“Am I to infer from that cryptic remark that this other female was less discriminating in her sexual favors?” Ansgar asked from the backseat.

Ansgar was riding shotgun. He was a real gentleman and let Nicole sit up front so she could learn her way around town. Even offered to hold the dog, but Nicole said Frodo got car sick if he couldn’t look out the window.

Nicole giggled and deepened her voice. “
Am I to infer.
Baby, with a voice like that you can infer anything you like.” She giggled again. “You got a voice like sex on silk sheets, Mr. Dalvahni, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Please, call me Ansgar.”

“Sure thing, Ansgar. So, Miss Evie, you get dumped right before prom like Piggy?”

“I didn’t get dumped. I never got asked.”

“No way.”

“Way,” Evie said, wincing at the memory.

“Sounds to me like the boys in your school had a bad case of the dumbass,” Nicole said. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Yes, she is,” Ansgar said. His cool voice sent a ripple of pleasure along Evie’s nerve endings. “Although she does not see it.”

“Don’t get that.” Nicole settled back in her seat with Frodo. “All she’s gotta do is look in the mirror.” She gave a little shriek that pushed the Chihuahua’s yap button. “What’s that running through the trees?”

Evie slowed down. “What?”

Nicole pointed out the window. “There, the naked guy! He’s all white and shiny. See him?”

Evie saw him. She couldn’t miss him, because he shot out of the woods directly in front of the van.

She slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting him. Shiny Naked Guy stood in the middle of the road in his altogether. He was actually more silver than white, with the solid, gracefully muscular build of a danseur. A large pair of silver antlers sprang from his head.

Evie stared, and the guy in the road stared back. His gaze made her feel light-headed and floaty. A strange stillness surrounded the van, a bubble of quiet that seemed to separate them from the rest of the world. Even Frodo stopped barking. Shiny Naked Guy gave Evie one last look with his strange, liquid brown eyes, then leaped across the road and disappeared into the woods on the other side.

“Mothertrucker, was that for real?” Nicole said.

“I do not believe he was an apparition, if that is what you mean,” Ansgar said.

“Kami kazi chickens, a bitchy ghost, and now Free Willie.” Nicole shook her head. “And it’s only my first day in Hannah. This is some kind of crazyass town.”

“You aren’t thinking of moving back to Baldwin County?” Evie asked, dismayed.

“Hell no. This is way more fun than working at the Gas ’N Gulp, right, Frodo?” The dog yipped. “There, you see, it’s settled.” Nicole beamed. “Frodo says yes.”

As soon as they got back to the flower shop, Ansgar pulled Brand aside for a little warrior-to-warrior talk. Evie had a hunch they were talking about Shiny Naked Guy. Both warriors looked stern and forbidding. She couldn’t tell whether they were concerned about the guy with the antlers or just being themselves. The Dalvahni weren’t known for yucking it up.

Nicole was telling Addy about the man in the woods.

“You say he had antlers?” Addy said, checking the cooler thermostats one last time before closing.

“Yep. Great big ones.” Nicole put her hands on her head and wiggled her fingers to demonstrate. “Twelve points, at least. And he was much a man, if you know what I mean.”

“Huh.”

“Did I mention he was hot?” Nicole asked. “I’m talking Brad Pitt’s fine little naked Achilles’ butt hot. Normally, I hate movies about old dead people, but I watched
Troy
to see Brad Pitt’s tush. Mm mm mm.”

Addy and Evie exchanged a look of amusement.

“I seem to recall you saying something about it a time or two,” Addy said. Nicole had uttered the word “hot” no less than a dozen times in reference to Shiny Naked Guy. Addy glanced at her watch. “Look at the time. Nicole, you’d better get on to Muddy’s. The dance is in three hours.”

Nicole’s large breasts came dangerously close to giving her a black eye as she bounced up and down with excitement. “Ooh, I can’t wait to see what my costume looks like. I never been to a Halloween dance.”

Evie’s stomach did a funny little roller coaster dip. Oh, God, the dance.

Addy’s voice jerked her out of her loop of terror. “Muddy said Nicole should bring a bottle of your shampoo and conditioner, but she didn’t say what kind. What do you recommend for Nicole’s hair?”

Nicole’s hair was a two-tone, dried-out, mangled-up mess with all the texture and shine of a clump of Spanish moss. The hair product didn’t exist that could fix such a follicular disaster, although she’d never say so. She wouldn’t hurt Nicole’s feelings for the world.

She hurried over to her display table and grabbed two bottles of
Fiona Fix-It,
a new line of hair care products she’d created for overprocessed hair. Her palms tingled and the bottles felt warm against her skin. Too much sun. She must remember to move the table farther away from the window.

“Here,” she said, setting the shampoo and conditioner on the counter.

Nicole swung her huge purse off her shoulder. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. It’s a new line of products. You can be my guinea pig. Just let me know what you think.”

“Cool.” Nicole flipped open the cap and took a sniff. “Wow, smells great. Kinda clean and woodsy. Frodo’s coat is a little dull. I want him to look his best for the dance. Can I use this on him, too, or would that hurt your feelings?”

“Go for it. If it works on Frodo, I may start a doggie line,
Fiona for Fido
.”

“Frodo,” Nicole said. “
Fiona for Frodo
. My handsome little man could be your cover cheesecake.” She gave the Chihuahua a little squeeze. “You got the guns for it, right, Precious?”

Frodo barked.

“Frodo says yes.” Nicole slipped the shampoo and conditioner in her purse, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I got directions to Miss Muddy’s house. See y’all at the dance.”

Evie’s stomach did another zero gravity roll.

Oh, God, the dance.

Evie sat on the edge of her bed and tried to calm her fractured nerves. Her bedroom was her special retreat, the place where she went to regain her equilibrium. Decorated in shades of cream and sunny yellow, her room was filled with things she loved, things steeped in family memories. The four-poster bed had belonged to her parents, the marble-top nightstand and walnut dresser were handed down from her maternal grandmother, and her mother used to sit in the rocking chair every night as she crocheted in front of the television.

Being in her room calmed and centered her, but not tonight. Tonight none of the usual soothing rituals worked.

She’d soaked in the tub until her fingers and toes were wrinkled, and drank a cup of passionflower tea. No good. The lavender-scented candle on the table by the bed did not soothe her, nor did the cheerful bouquet of purple asters from her garden raise her flagging spirits. Her favorite housecoat, a worn blue cotton robe soft from numerous washings, felt as itchy and uncomfortable as burlap. Even her hair seemed to tingle and crawl with nerves. She piled it on top of her head in a loose knot to get it out of the way. Eating was out of the question, unless she wanted to hurl.

Since leaving the flower shop, she’d formulated and discarded a dozen excuses to stay home. The dance loomed before her like some dreadful, enormous thing waiting to crush her. She tried to think of something else. But she couldn’t stop. The harder she tried to forget about tonight, the more her thoughts circled back to it.

She heard the front doorbell ring and the murmur of voices. A moment later, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

“Come in.” Her voice sounded small and pathetic, the squeak of a frightened mouse. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Come in.”

Better, but still rodent-esque.

Ansgar stepped into the room carrying a large white box. “That was Mr. Collier at the door. He brought your dress. I thought you might like to see it.”

Part of her, the cowardly smart part interested in self-preservation, wanted to scream,
What difference does it make what the stupid dress looks like? I’m freaking Hester Prynne and I’m going to the dance and somebody’s going to nail a great big ‘M’ on my chest for murderess.

Her rational self told her to go to the dance and try to figure out who killed Meredith so she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life in a women’s prison being somebody’s bitch. That same rational self reminded her, quite logically, that it was highly unlikely Ansgar had read
The Scarlet Letter,
so the Hester Prynne reference would be wasted on him anyway.

The female part of her wanted to see the damn dress.

Ansgar being male and, hopefully, less schizophrenic, was unaware of the raging battle within her. He removed the lid from the box, took the dress out with a rustle of tissue paper and silk, and draped the gown across the Queen Anne chair next to the bed.

Evie stared at the dress in disbelief. No one could accuse Edmuntina Fairfax soon-to-be-Collier of not having a sense of humor.

She leaped to her feet. “Is she kidding me? I can’t wear that dress!”

The gown was exquisite, an exact replica of the slut dress Rhett made Scarlett wear to Ashley Wilkes’s birthday party after she got caught embracing Mr. I-Love-My-Wife-but-I-Wouldn’t-Mind-a-Little-Scarlett-Coochie-on-the-Side-Wilkes—yards of deep garnet French silk velvet and a matching butterfly train decorated with hand-sewn Swarovski Austrian crystals. An extravagant ruff of dyed ostrich feather plumes fluttered around the deep neckline and on the hem and bustle of the dress. The box contained shoes, gloves, and hair ornaments to match, and a burgundy net shawl.

“With your hair and eyes, I would prefer to see you in green or gold,” Ansgar said slowly, as if not quite sure what all the fuss was about. And why would he?
Gone with the Wind
probably wasn’t on the required reading list for the Dalvahni. “The gown is fetching, nonetheless. Why are you distressed?”

“That’s freaking Scarlett O’Hara’s red dress, that’s why!”

“I thought the gown belonged to Muddy’s sister.”

“It does . . . I mean
did.
”

“Then who is Scarlett O’Hara?”

“Only one of the most famous female characters ever written. Strong and gorgeous and a rule breaker. Basically, everything I’m not.”

Ansgar took her hands in his. “Listen to me, Sarah Evangeline Douglass, and listen well.” His deep, sexy voice sent little shocks of
wowza!
up and down her body. “I do not know this Scarlett, but I have lived a long time, and I have
never
seen a woman more beautiful than you. But, you are not just a lovely shell. You are gentle and warm and kind.” He tilted her chin up. “And you are strong and brave, too.”