Monster in My Closet (25 page)

Sebastian stretched his arms out to me, as if willing me to run into them like a scared child. His ego did not give up. “Dream Girl, why do you play with boys when you can have a real man? They don’t appreciate you like I do.”

I wanted to have a snappy retort, really I did. I was going to have to accept who I was and quit wishing I were someone else. I was not a kick-ass judo chick with guns, knives and crossbows. On the other hand, I was not the clumsy, love-struck heroine who sat around waiting for someone else to finish off the bad guy for her.

And I wasn’t the wise-cracking comedienne who always had a witty last word before plunging a knife into the villain’s chest.

We do what we can with what we’re given.

I reconnected my channels to the two men by my side, but I kept the emotions inside myself. Feeling outward to the crowd of revelers, I gathered up the flood of good feelings pooling in the gardens. The energy of the guests collected in one enormous river and poured into me. I let it all swirl and crash together, mixing with Andrew and Riley and with me.

I was overflowing with emotional energy, but I owned it. I could feel myself expanding to hold it all. I felt like the sun, a bright beacon glowing from the inside.

At long last, Sebastian looked nervous. I looked down at my hands and saw it wasn’t in my imagination—my body was throbbing with white light.

Here was my chance for that witty closing retort. I gathered all that energy and light into a solid ball.

Nope. I wasn’t going to get to be the witty heroine.

“Asshole,” I said.

I hurled everything I had at him in one enormous wave. It spattered over him like bacon grease and absorbed into his chest. His face convulsed in pain. He flung his arms out to the sides and bellowed. Light consumed him and he shattered into thousands of prismatic shards.

And then he was gone.

The three of us stood like that for several minutes. I was out of breath, my head hurt, and I wasn’t entirely sure he was gone for good.

“You know,” I said, “I really didn’t think that was going to work.”

There was a burnt spot on the carpet where Sebastian had been standing. I wondered if snooty Margaret would make me pay for it.

Riley moved first. Despite being in shock, I felt like a horrible friend. Sara lay collapsed on the floor, unconscious. Riley knelt beside her and felt for a pulse.

“It’s weak,” he said. “But she’s still here for the moment.”

“I’ll call an ambulance,” I said. By some miracle, I had my bag with me. I dug around for my phone, my hands shaking. I cursed myself for not bringing the purse Molly had made for me.

Riley shook his head. “It’s not physical. There isn’t much they’d be able to do.”

I supposed he would know that better than anybody.

Andrew touched my arm. “You’re running hot, Zoey.”

He was right. I hadn’t shut off the channels I was bringing in from the party guests. I snapped it off at the source. I could still feel the energy I’d collected surging inside of me.

I moved to her side.

“Guys, can you turn your backs for a sec?” They shifted for me, and I straightened Sara’s skirt, tucking her ruined underwear into my bag for later disposal.

I closed my eyes and lifted the mental wall of protection I’d dropped over her. I didn’t know if it would help, but she was drained, and I was overflowing. I prodded at her with a gentle touch of my mind. I made the beam small and tight; I didn’t want to overwhelm her. She felt so weak.

I fed her in a slow, steady stream.

“Andrew, I can’t see. You have to be my eyes.”

It trickled into her, and Andrew watched. “It’s like watching a fishbowl fill up,” he said. “I think it’s working.”

It was a slow, agonizing process. I once owned a waterbed when I was in my early twenties. That took forever to fill, too.

After about a half hour, the color in Sara’s cheeks was more to my liking—more like a human and less like a bowl of oatmeal. I had no idea what I was going to say to her if—when—she woke up.

I didn’t have long to contemplate it. Not long after I started to worry about an explanation, she stirred, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Shit,” she said, sitting up and patting at her hair. “This doesn’t look very professional. I have got to get more sleep.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The mind is a resilient thing. Self-preservation is its top priority.

Sara was mortified to have fallen asleep during the Dickson-Strauss wedding. I used her embarrassment to convince her to take a vacation and get some much-needed rest.

The incubus had been robbing her of psychic energy, but there was a physical toll, too. Her eyes were still bloodshot with dark bags beneath them, and she was moving slower than the Sara I knew.

She had no memory of the dark lover who had been keeping her up nights. There’s no way to know if that was more parlor tricks of the human mind or the supernatural erasing of all signs of Sebastian’s visit to our world. Frankly, I didn’t care, as long as Sara wasn’t going to need therapy—or explanations.

The reception had gone well in our absence. Brad had stepped up and performed like the professional schmoozer he was. The toasts were performed in the right order, the DJ was set up properly and, apparently, Brad had a previously undiscovered talent at cake cutting. I still owed him a big one. So far, he’d left me alone about it, but I knew I’d have to pay up soon. I certainly couldn’t afford to send my ex-husband to college, or wherever it was he had in mind, but when he finally got around to telling me his plans, I’d help him. After all—helping was kind of my thing.

The only thing that had gone wrong had me slapping myself in the forehead. Those stupid birdseed favors, the bane of my existence for the past two weeks, had been left in the storage room without being passed out.

Gail hadn’t even noticed.

We made it out alive with our reputations intact and our fees paid in full. That was far more than I could have hoped for. The photos in the paper were gorgeous, and Alma was even quoted, praising Happily Ever After for creating and coordinating her daughter’s flawless day.

The minute I could get away from the reception, I sped home and flew through the front door.

Maurice was sitting on the couch, feet up, reading the paper. He glanced up at me. “Hey, how’d it go?”

“Could have been worse,” I said. “You’re not looking for Molly. Where are the kids?”

“Molly came and got them.”

“And went where? Please tell me she didn’t go back to her husband.” My heart would break if he said yes.

“She’s been talking to him. But no, she didn’t go back to him.” He folded up the paper and stood up. “Come see.”

He led me out the front door and around the side till we were behind the house. Toward the back of the property, but still well within the invisible fairy line, was the most enormous mushroom I’d ever seen. It came up to my hip and was a bright green trimmed with yellow.

Molly must’ve seen us approach through a window, because she came flying out a small door in the stem.

“Welcome home, Zoey. Surprise!”

“Surprise?”

“You have been so kind to us. I could not take advantage of you forever. I have a house now. Surprise!”

“It’s lovely,” I said. And it was. “You know, you were welcome to stay as long as you wanted, Molly.”

“I know that. This is best. We are nearby but not underfoot.”

“Well, welcome home, then.” I would have to think of some sort of housewarming gift for her. “We should have a party.”

“That is very kind of you.”

“What about your husband?”

“We are talking. A little. When he stops drinking, we will talk more.”

I nodded. “All right then. If you need anything at all, I’m here.” I was proud of her and happy. But I was also sad. I’d grown used to having Molly and her children in my home. At least she hadn’t gone far.

That night, it was Maurice and I at the table alone. At least I still had him with me.

“Zoey,” he said after pushing his plate away. His face was serious. “I know I barged in on you, but now that Molly moved out, it got me to thinking.”

I wanted to cry. Whatever he said next was not something I wanted to hear. I considered reaching for a leftover breadstick and shoving into his mouth to stop him from saying it.

“Don’t think, Maurice. Eat.” I pushed the basket toward him.

“No, I’m serious. I should find my own way and stop leeching off of you.”

I looked at my plate of homemade spaghetti and meat sauce and snorted. The pots and pans in the sink, the crumbs on the table, the peach cobbler I’d seen in the fridge—none of this was stuff I had to worry about anymore. If anything, I was leeching off of him.

“I won’t keep you here, Maurice. But I do wish you’d stay.”

“You do?”

I swallowed. I was having a hard time keeping calm and not bursting into tears. I wanted to grab him and shake him. “Please stay? You don’t have to do so much work around here, you know. You’re not on salary.”

“I like cooking and cleaning. I like taking care of you.”

“Then why would you leave?”

“I thought you liked living alone.”

“I did. But I’m obviously incapable of taking proper care of myself. What if another incubus shows up?”

“Then you’ll vanquish him with all your smiteyness.”

“What if a dragon shows up at my door demanding room service?”

“You’ll feed him ice cubes and give him your dinner.”

“What if I can’t sleep at night?”

He grinned. “You can’t make your own hot chocolate?”

“Nope. I’ll poison myself with instant chocolate milk mix.”

He got up and started clearing the plates. “Fine, I’ll stay. But only because you’re so pathetic in the kitchen.”

“I could have made spaghetti, you know.”

He sniffed and put the plates in the sink. “Sure. From a jar.”

The peach cobbler was, as expected, exquisite.

I tossed and turned that night for all of five seconds. The events of the previous weeks had drained me of every ounce of physical strength I had. I dreamed of seashells and talking fish, dancing bears in tutus, and Riley. There was no black wedding dress, and no one died. It was peaceful.

I was up by eight and ready for my first stress-free day in what felt like a decade. The smell of coffee woke me and I said a little prayer of gratitude to a god who made gourmet-chef closet monsters.

I padded into the kitchen, planning my day of absolute nothing.

Maurice was at the table, tented by the morning paper, with nothing of him showing but his checkered sneakers and bony fingers. He was not alone.

The fingers clutching another section of the paper were different. They were thick and gray with spots of green in the joints. Under the table I could see a pair of enormous, black work boots. I braced myself.

“Good morning?”

Both papers went down and Maurice was grinning from ear to ear. “Zoey, good morning! Sit-sit-sit! I’ll get you some coffee, and then I’ll whip up some waffles.”

I sat, obedient. “Hello,” I said to the mountain in front of me.

The face staring at me was like a chiseled chunk of stone. Bits of moss were caught between moving parts and flaked as he moved his jaw. I might have been alarmed but for the warm brown eyes that stared out at me from his craggy eye sockets.

“Oh, this is Phillip,” Maurice said. He slid coffee across the table to me. “He’s my brother-in-law, and he needs a place to stay for a few days.”

“Oh,” I said. I took a sip and scalded my tongue. “All right. It’s nice to meet you, Phillip.”

Words rumbled out of him. They sounded like a quiet avalanche. “My bread fell asleep in the toaster,” he said.

I nodded my head, as if this made perfect sense to me. “Well, you’re welcome here until it wakes up.”

“Phillip is a gargoyle,” Maurice said. His tone implied this should explain everything. It did not.

Breakfast was disconcerting, but somehow still pleasant. Phillip made weird grinding sounds when he ate, and pieces of moss had a tendency to break away into his plate, unnoticed.

He liked syrup very much. Phillip had quite the sweet tooth for someone with no real teeth. “Mice make excellent painters,” he said by way of asking for the butter.

I smiled and passed it to him. Phillip was going to make for an interesting weekend.

My phone rang and I excused myself.

“What’s for breakfast?” It was Riley.

“You know, proper etiquette requires you to say hello first.”

“Hello. What’s for breakfast?”

“Gargoyle surprise.”

He laughed. “New houseguest?”

“Indeed.”

“Do you have to stay home and entertain him tonight or can you sneak out so I can feed you pasta and make fun of you?”

“I suppose I can make time for you.”

“You’re a giver, Zoey. Always thinking of others.”

“That’s me.” I paused. “All joking aside, how much trouble are you in for helping me?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m worried about it.”

He sighed. “Some trouble. I can work it out. Really. Nothing for you to worry over.”

“I have nothing else to worry over right now. I’m between problems. I thought I’d choose you to rebuild my waning stress levels.”

“We’ll discuss it tonight. Wear a white shirt. I want to make sure I can point and laugh when you drop food on yourself.”

“You need to get a hobby.”

“You are my new hobby. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

After we hung up, I did a little dance in the living room. Maurice popped his head out and watched. “Another date with the reaper?”

“Does it show?”

“It shows. Can you come in here a minute?”

He had a worried look on his face and pulled me toward the window facing into the backyard.

“What am I looking at?”

“The pool.”

I squinted. The water rippled and slopped over the sides. “What’s going on out there? What am I missing?”

A slick rope of dull-green flesh slid across the water and disappeared under the surface.

I gasped. “Tell me we don’t have a mermaid in the pool.”

Maurice grinned his toothiest. “We don’t have a mermaid in the swimming pool.”

“Then, what?” My imagination was on full blast. I waited, shivering, for the Creature from the Black Lagoon to climb out covered in seaweed. Swamp Thing might drag himself to my back door any second, stringing moss behind him.

“Sea serpent,” Maurice said. He looked positively thrilled at the idea. “Do you know how rare they are these days?”

I nodded my head as if, of course, I knew how rare sea serpents were these days. “It’s kind of puny.”

“The world gets smaller every day. But there’s more of her in the pool than you can see.”

“So. What do we do about it?” I reached for a sweater. It looked cold out there, and I knew I was about to get splashed.

“I guess you’d better buy some fish today at the market,” Maurice said. “Lots and lots of fish.”

* * * * *