Kitty Raises Hell (28 page)

“Don’t use plastic,” Jules said. “It’s not sturdy enough. Those oil lamps, like you see in the Aladdin story, are made of
brass, right?”

“So what do we do?” I said. “You have a plan, right?”

Jules took a deep breath. A “here goes nothing” breath. “We’ll go someplace we know the thing’s been before—Flint House. We
use components we know affect it—your potion. Something of yours because it has a connection to you—your hair. Build a trap,
set the bait, and there you are.”

“So it’s a plan,” I said hopefully.

“It’s
something,
” Tina said.

“Then let’s get going.” The sooner we got started, the sooner we’d find out if it worked. Or not. I didn’t want to think about
that.

“I swear, this job gets more surreal every week,” Matt said, wandering back to the safety of his booth.

T
ina and Jules rode in the
Paradox PI
van with Gary to pick up a few supplies. They were still debating about what kind of bottle to use: clear, opaque, plain,
decorated, screw top, corked. Something without cracks, I told them jokingly before we parted ways. They didn’t think that
was funny. Ben and I drove together to Flint House.

Hardin called, not five minutes after the show ended.

“You’ve got a plan. I want in on it,” she said.

I sighed and started to argue with her, because the last thing I wanted was another person in the line of fire. Trouble was,
she’d keep pestering me until I told her, or she’d sic a patrol car on me. She’d probably already dug up the trail of accident
reports from all our adventures this week and could check those locations as places we’d likely turn up again. The thought
of arguing with Hardin made me tired.

Then again, another ally in the fight was always a good thing.

“Any chance you could get a fire truck on the scene?” I asked. “Just in case?”

She paused. “I do
not
like the sound of this.”

“When do you ever?”

I told her where we were headed without going into too much detail about what we’d be doing there. Hardin promised me a fire
truck.

“Hardin, right?” Ben said after I’d hung up. “Don’t tell me the cops are going to be there.”

“It looks like the cops are going to be there.”

“I’m glad we’re married so I don’t have to be your official lawyer anymore. I don’t envy whoever has to deal with it when
you get charged with something.”

Oh, God forbid, I didn’t even want to think of it. “We’re not breaking any laws. If anything, having the cops there makes
it better, right?”

“If you say so.”

Soon after talking to Hardin, I called Peter’s phone. And got no answer, which meant he was probably in trouble along with
Grant. I couldn’t help them right now, though. Get through the next hour, then worry about them.

We all arrived at Flint House within a half an hour of each other. We each had a job and we set to work, anxious to get this
over with. Gary and the PI production crew were at it again, setting up their cameras and monitors in a quest for elusive
documentation. The hour was god-awful late at night, par for the course when doing battle with the supernatural. Typical creature-of-the-night
bullshit. Didn’t a standoff at high noon mean anything to these beings?

“I don’t like this,” Ben said, following me, not willing to let me out of his sight. I tried not to snap at him over it. He
had a right to be worried, after everything that had happened. “I don’t like going into this with a half-baked plan.”

“It’s not half-baked,” I said. “It’s
mostly
baked. Just a little soft in the middle.” Actually, that was bravado.

“This’ll work,” Tina said, helping Gary with some of the remote cameras. Her nervous fidgeting belied her chipper demeanor.

I retrieved the latest batch of Grant’s protection potion from the trunk of the car. I hoped this wasn’t like antibiotics,
that overusing it wouldn’t encourage some sort of spell-resistant superdemon. I’d have to ask Grant about it. I felt a pang
at that—I hoped Grant was okay, so that I could ask him about it. I dripped the potion in a circle around the house, like
I’d done with every other building in my life. This time, though, I left an opening, a six-foot gap in the circle in front
of the door, giving the
djinn
a way in.
Our
way.

Inside, Jules had more of the potion, which he used to mark out a path: from the front door, into the parlor, where more marks
funneled the path to a circle in the middle of the floor.

“Are we sure we want to be doing this inside?” I said. Inside this very old house made of dry and flammable wood, I didn’t
need to add.

“We want it in a confined area,” Jules said.

At least no one lived here.

Jules paused in his work. “Here’s my problem. I’m a scientist. We’re in the business of studying these phenomena. Investigating,
collecting data, analyzing. We’re not in the business of doing battle with them. We’re not exorcists or crusaders.”

“Maybe we should be,” Tina said, leaning on the rickety banister near the foyer, regarding our handiwork rather than addressing
anyone in particular. “You remember that house in Savannah? The two-hundred-year-old cottage that was supposed to be haunted
by a murdered little girl? We recorded some sounds but didn’t find anything definitive, like what usually happens. But I felt
something. The place was old, and more than just one little girl had died there. The old woman who lived in the house was
scared, really scared. She lived by herself on a tiny income, didn’t have any family, and couldn’t afford to move. She lived
every day in fear that this spirit wanted to harm her. Maybe she was just paranoid, but if I could have done anything to convince
her that the house wasn’t haunted, or that we’d found a way to drive the spirit out, I would have. Who knows? If this works,
maybe we’ll discover there’s a market for this sort of thing. We’ll go from
Paradox PI
to
Paranormal Exterminators.
”

I shook my head. “I so wish I was recording this. Are you guys recording this? The birth of a new show?”

Tina smiled. “If we start a new show, you’ll be the first to know. I promise.”

Hardin arrived with her fire truck, as well as a couple of patrol cars; her people had blocked off the street, to keep innocents
from intruding, and to keep watch in case anything should happen. Like what? We all kept asking. If we knew, we’d be able
to plan a little better.

The detective marched into the house, lit cigarette in one hand, cup of steaming Starbucks in the other, and announced, “I
can’t decide if I want something to happen to prove I’m not nuts, or if I don’t want anything to happen because of the mess
it would make,” she grumbled. “But if I hear my boss humming the
I Dream of Jeannie
theme one more time, I’ll kill him.”

Daaaaa-dum, da dum da dum dum . . .

“Great, now you’ve got it stuck in my head,” I said. The music was way too jolly for this situation.

“American television,” Jules hmphed derisively.

Everyone took their places. Hardin, Gary, and their people waited outside. Ben was stationed near the door of the parlor with
a fire extinguisher. Jules was waiting outside the circle in the parlor. Tina and I were by the front door. Playing bait.
That was the plan: Announce our presence, summon it, like had happened the other times, then piss it off enough that it would
stumble into the trap.

“I still don’t like this,” Ben muttered for the umpteenth time. “I don’t like you putting yourself in the way of this thing.”
His expression had gone taut and snarly. He was pacing back and forth along the wall like a wolf in a cage. I didn’t point
this out to him, since I was doing the same thing.

“I’m not putting myself in the way of anything, yet. Besides, I’m beginning to think it’s way too smart for us,” I said. “It’s
probably not going to come anywhere near here and is off killing people somewhere.” Hardin had one of her people in touch
with the 911 dispatchers. If there was any emergency in the city that had anything to do with fire, we’d hear about it when
they did.

We really needed to come up with a
djinn
detector. Something that would tell us exactly where it was, so we could go after it. Because
that
sounded like a good idea.

Jules shook his head. “All the evidence suggests that this thing is tied to you and has been watching you. It won’t stop now.”

“Since when did you know so much about it? I thought you were the rationalist in the bunch,” I grumbled, unfairly. He was
only trying to help.

“Even magic follows rules,” he said.

This was true. Vampires burned in sunlight, silver was poison to lycanthropes, and the right spells controlled a demon like
this
djinn.
All that was fact. Rational. Just a whole different kind of rational.

“Right,” Tina said, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Let’s get started.”

She retrieved a box from a bag shoved in the corner: the Ouija board again. I wasn’t sure I was ready to call this part of
the plan rational. She set it up on the floor inside the open front door, within sight of the gap in the protective circle.
Sitting cross-legged before it, she gestured me to join her. We sat with the board between us.

Ben stalked menacingly behind us, fire extinguisher in hand.

Tina rubbed her hands before setting her fingers on the planchette. I didn’t want to touch it. I knew I’d feel some kind of
spark, an electric shock, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

She didn’t look like a medium performing a séance. She had none of the closed eyes, relaxed breathing, and meditative stance
that were supposed to happen. Hunched over, braced and glaring, she looked like someone preparing to do battle.

“Come on, come on,” she murmured but wouldn’t say what she was thinking, what she was doing to call this thing besides sitting
there, glaring at the board. I figured it was more likely to burst into flames than talk to her.

Nothing happened.

We waited. The house creaked, a normal sound of old, settling wood, something shifting in a breeze that rattled outside, shushing
through vegetation. To tell the truth, I had almost forgotten that the house was supposed to be haunted. This might have been
spooky if I wasn’t so worried about the
djinn
.

“What’s happening, Tina?” Jules asked in a hushed voice.

“
Nothing
is happening,” she answered around gritted teeth.

I started pacing. “It’s too smart for this. It’s not going to walk into our trap.” But if it wasn’t here, where was it? What
part of the city was it burning down this time?

Frustrated, I went to the front door. My pacing carried me right through it. Ben called after me, a warning. I didn’t stop.
I went to the end of the walk and looked up and down the street.

The breeze picked up, and I caught a scent.

That scent was now so deeply buried in my memory that I’d never associate it with anything else. Years from now, the barest
hint of it would bring all this to the front of my mind: fire, fresh ash, smoke-tinged air, sulfur, brimstone.

The shrubs around me—overgrown, climbing, tangled, and dried out from a hot summer—ignited. Towering flames appeared with
no warning, no opening spark or ember, and roared into the sky. I was caught in the inferno.

Strangely, my fear was an undercurrent, buried. Because what I was mostly thinking then was
gotcha
.

The quiet, late-night world erupted with noise. Sirens from down the street came to life, and behind me Tina was yelling,
“Kitty, get in here, get behind the line!”

The fires weren’t stopping here. Flames leapt from shrubs to trees along the street, to trees at the next house. It was only
a matter of moments before the houses would ignite. I was glad Hardin had brought along the fire department.

I turned and ran to the front door of the house. Then I stumbled, falling to my hands and knees when my heart clenched. Like
something reached in and squeezed, and it was hot, burning, like a fever. Sweat broke out over my skin. I felt heat from the
fire around me, from the burning within. I groaned—it was Wolf squealing through a human throat.

Tina and Ben were at the front door, yelling at me. Five steps. I could do this.

I hauled myself to my feet and stumbled up the house’s porch. The flames behind me seemed to growl, but I didn’t have time
to stop and growl back. I ran, over the threshold and across the line of potion we’d drawn on the floor. Ben’s and Tina’s
hands were on me, helping me.

A flare, like an explosion of fireworks, burst in through the front door with me, singeing my hair and clothing. Instinctively,
we screamed, raising our arms to shield our heads, falling back, scrambling out of the way—

I felt no heat. The searing flames around me, the fire gripping my heart, all of it was gone now. I was safe, behind the stripe
of blackish goo painted on the floor. On the other side of that barrier, hand-sized tongues of flame danced on century-old
floorboards.

Ben leapt forward. I grabbed him, calling, “No, stay back!” But he didn’t cross that magical line. He fired the spray from
the fire extinguisher over it. The flames vanished, leaving behind blackened streaks and the smell of scorched hardwood.

Something made a growling sound. It might have been a natural creaking in the house, or a distant rumble of thunder. Except
the sky outside was clear. This sounded like a voice, very close by, muttering low, too soft to make out the words, assuming
it even spoke in a language I could understand.

Outside, people were shouting, water was spraying from fire hoses into front yards and against houses, and the sirens were
still wailing. Inside Flint House, though, was oddly still.

We braced, waiting for the flames to overtake us. My heart hurt, it raced so hard, bruising my ribs from the inside. My skin
prickled, my shoulders bunched, fur and hackles. Wolf snarled from my hindbrain. Adrenaline kicked the need to Change into
overdrive.