Wicked Charms (13 page)

“He’s also no demon,” Diesel said.

“There’s a demon inside all of us,” Wulf said. “Ammon’s demon is greed. He will always want more wealth and more power. He’ll stop at nothing to get it. And there are those who follow him doglike, if you’ll excuse the expression. Mammon has his disciples, whether they be misguided or not.”

“And your point?” Diesel asked.

“My point is that for all purposes he now owns Miss Tucker. She’s signed a contract that gives Ammon control of her professional future. She’s been caught on security cameras kidnapping Ammon. She’s in possession of stolen property from his house. He will use all this to blackmail her into helping him find the treasure. And if that doesn’t work, he’ll raise the stakes until she agrees. He’ll burn down her house, kill her cat, and kidnap her mother and chop off her fingers one by one.”

This was all said very matter-of-fact, without any emotional inflection or doubt that it would happen. It was the word of Wulf, and Diesel and I knew that everything he said was true.

“Better I get the stone than Ammon and his Mammon worshippers. I can control the power. Followers of Mammon will unleash it.”

“We could just leave the stone hidden,” I said. “Even someone as crazy as Ammon would understand that we’re at an impasse.”

“It won’t stop them from chopping off your mother’s fingers,” Wulf said.

“Even a crazy person has to realize I have no control over you, and can’t get you to give me the last piece,” I said to Wulf.

Diesel and Wulf exchanged glances.

“You
do
have control over him,” Diesel said. “Wulf couldn’t allow anything bad to happen to you or your family. He would have to act.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason I couldn’t allow it,” Diesel said. “We’re bound to you.”

“Jeez,” I said. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means there would have to be a price paid for destroying what I’m bound to protect,” Wulf said. “And that would be a large, tiresome project if my targets were Mammon followers.”

“I don’t get it,” I said to Wulf. “You threaten me all the time.”

“There’s me, and then there’s them,” Wulf said, laying his single piece of the coin on the coffee table.

Diesel took the piece and joined it to the other seven pieces. We put the coin on the map, and Diesel recorded the letters that resulted when we rolled the coin around the rings.

“What does it say?” I asked Diesel.

“ ‘In the deep water west of Gull Rock lies Babur’s cursed gemstone. It may find ye a treasure but the price be your bones.’ ”

“Oh boy,” I said. “A cursed gemstone.”

“
Whatever
it is, you need to find it,” Wulf said.

Phuunf!
There was a flash of light and some smoke and Wulf was gone.

“How does he do that?” I asked.

Diesel grinned. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

“Did we just agree to give him the Stone of Avarice?”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t make me happy, but his power is limited as long as we have two stones safely locked away. He needs all seven to do real damage.”

“Wulf mentioned Mammon followers,” I said to Diesel. “Do you think they exist?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. And I can understand why they would gravitate to Ammon as their supreme representative.”

“You don’t suppose he could actually
be
Mammon, do you?”

“No. I think his parents made an unfortunate choice of a first name.”

“What would these Mammon followers look like?” I asked. “Would they be like a zombie army worshipping Ammon?”

“My money’s on Rutherford,” said Diesel. “He’s always got Ammon in his sights. And if Rutherford is one of them, there are probably other acolytes on the household staff.”

“Rutherford seems unusually devoted to Ammon, but I don’t know if I could see him as a Mammon worshipper. He looks so normal.”

“My Aunt Lydia looks normal, but she belongs to a coven that elected her Goddess of the Daisies.”

“You have a strange family,” I said.

“Not by California standards.”

I poured myself a glass of wine and chugged half. “About tonight.”

Diesel was relaxed against a counter, thumbs hooked into his pants pockets, tie loosened, top button to his shirt open. “You had to drink half a glass of wine before you brought it up?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Not on my end,” Diesel said.

“Here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m sort of creeped out to stay here by myself. Wulf pops in whenever he wants, and I’m worried that Ammon will realize he’s not a dog, and I have his map.”

“So you want me to spend the night.”

“Yes.”

“Where am I sleeping?”

“Wherever you want,” I told him.

“This is too easy.”

“I thought you liked easy.”

“I’m good at my job because I have superior instincts, and my instincts tell me this isn’t going to end well.”

“You’re doing me a favor by staying here. The least I can do is offer you my bed…being that you don’t fit on the couch.”

“And?”

“And I’ll sleep down here,” I said.

“Because?”

“Because I don’t want to take any chances on having to save the world all by myself.”

“I thought we figured that one out,” Diesel said.

“What if it was a fluke? Like, what if someone had just been asleep at the switch? There’s a lot at stake right now.”

Diesel helped himself to the wine and refilled my glass. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’m good on short notice.”

—

I changed my mind at ten o’clock when we shut the television off.

“Maybe we could try the pillow thing again,” I said. “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on my side.”

He wrapped his hand around my wrist and tugged me toward the stairs. “It would be easier if I had Hatchet.”

“He’s a nut.”

“True, but I have no desire to get him naked.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to sleep with your clothes on.”

He tossed his jacket over a chair. “Don’t suppose I would, but feel free to wear whatever you want.”

I grabbed some flannel pajamas and changed in the bathroom. Diesel was already in bed when I came out.

“It’s July,” Diesel said. “Don’t you think you’ll be hot in flannel pajamas?”

“They feel cozy.”

“I bet.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My smartphone alarm buzzed me awake. The room was pitch-black. I could feel Cat curled at my feet. I was cuddled next to Diesel. No pillows. I checked my pajamas. Still buttoned. Still on me. I eased out of bed, found some clothes in the dark, and went into the bathroom. I was showered and dressed in fifteen minutes. Diesel was still sleeping.

“No, I’m not,” Diesel said.

I turned the light on.

“That doesn’t mean I want the light on,” he said.

I turned the light off and went downstairs with Cat close on my heels.

I made coffee, fed Cat, and toasted a bagel. I hung my tote bag on my shoulder, poured my coffee into a to-go cup, and took a bite of the bagel. Carl was asleep on the couch with a night-light on. I crossed the room, unlocked the front door, and was knocked back when the door was shoved open.

Josh and Devereaux rushed into the room. Devereaux held me at gunpoint while Josh went to the kitchen and returned with the coin, the map, and the paper Diesel had copied the letters onto.

“What the heck?” I said.

“One hundred and ninety million dollars be a lot of money,” Josh said, heading for the door with the map tucked under his arm.

It was so unexpected it took a beat for me to put it together. They were stealing everything and going after the treasure.

“Diesel!”
I yelled.
“DEEEEZELLL!”

I dropped my coffee, bagel, and tote bag and ran after Devereaux, grabbing him by the back of his jacket. He whirled around and caught me on the side of my head with the gun butt.

Josh looked over at me. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I said. Blood was dripping off the side of my face onto my sweatshirt, and my ears were ringing.

Devereaux raced toward a car parked half on the sidewalk in front of my house. “Get in the car,” he yelled at Josh.

“Sorry,” Josh said to me. “Ye be a comely lass, but I best do this.”

“Ye be an a-hole,” I yelled after him. “Best you get herpes.”

“Aargh,” he said. And they drove away.

Diesel came up beside me. “What’s going on?”

“Devereaux and Josh just took off with the map and the coin.”

I turned and looked at Diesel. He was naked.

“Holy cow,” I said.

“You got me out of bed.”

A car drove by and beeped. Diesel waved and closed the front door and locked it.

“You have a gash on the side of your head,” Diesel said. “How’d that happen?”

I took my sweatshirt off, pressed it against the cut, and went to the kitchen. “Devereaux hit me with his gun. It stunned me long enough for them to get away.”

“It’s disappointing that Josh threw in with Devereaux. I didn’t see that coming.” He moistened a kitchen towel and cleaned the area around the cut. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “It’s not deep, and the bleeding is stopping.” He got a giant Band-Aid from my kitchen first-aid kit. “Relax while I get dressed.”

Damn. He was going to get dressed. Bummer.

“That’s the sort of thinking that will get you into trouble,” Diesel said.

“You’re reading my mind again!”

“I wasn’t reading your mind,” Diesel said. “You were licking your lips and staring.”

—

Diesel was wearing washed-out jeans, a black T-shirt, and running shoes. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he had a two-day beard. He popped half a bagel into the toaster and helped himself to coffee.

I was rinsing my coffee mug in the sink when I sensed someone at the back door. I looked over and saw Rutherford staring in at us.

Diesel opened the door to him. “How’s it going?” Diesel said.

“Well, the truth is it could be going better,” Rutherford said. “Mr. Ammon is upset that his map is missing. And he would like to have it back.”

“Sorry,” Diesel said. “We don’t have it.”

“Perhaps you might check around just to be sure,” Rutherford said. He was smiling and making patty-cake gestures with his hands.

“Not here,” Diesel said.

Rutherford kept smiling. “Here’s the thing…it isn’t that I doubt your word, but we have video of you taking it.”

“That was yesterday,” Diesel said. “You’re an hour late. Someone just stole it.”

Rutherford gave a short burst of polite laughter. “Ah! Ha-ha. Of course I believe you, but…ha-ha, Mr. Ammon might not believe it. That someone could, ah, just waltz in here and steal it?”

“Everyone waltzes in here,” Diesel said. “It happens all the time.”

“I was hit on the head with a gun,” I said, pointing to my Band-Aid.

“I’m so sorry,” Rutherford said, looking at the Band-Aid, his face a study in agonized concern. “I’ll do my best to explain this to Mr. Ammon. Yes, yes.”

Diesel closed the door after Rutherford left, and topped off his coffee. “You’re getting a lot of traffic in here today.”

I set my mug in the dish drain. “Do you think Devereaux and Josh will be able to find the island?”

“Devereaux probably always knew where the island was located. It was crudely drawn on the bottom of the map, and he had the map long enough to conduct research. Ammon has probably always known where the island is, too. And most likely both of them have searched every square inch of it and found nothing. They were dead-ended without the coin to read the message on the map.”

“What about us? Do we know where the island is?”

“Yep. I took a picture of the map last night and sent it to a guy I know who’s spent a lot of time sailing these waters. The cluster of small islands is in Penobscot Bay. My guy said it wasn’t hard to find the target island because it has a unique shape. It’s called Brimstone Island. And he also knew about Gull Rock.”

“The name
Brimstone Island
doesn’t exactly conjure up thoughts of a tropical paradise.” I checked the time. “I have to run. I’m going to be late for work.”

“Correction. You’re going to be
missing.
You need to call in for another ‘save the world’ day. We need to get to Brimstone Island before Devereaux.”

“Can we do that? He has a head start.”

“I’ve mapped it out. It takes about four hours to get to Rockland, Maine. From there it’s a two-hour ferry ride to the Fox Islands. Then it’s necessary to hire a boat to get to Brimstone. It’s about an eight-hour trip total. Fortunately we have resources that probably aren’t available to Devereaux.”

“And that would be?”

“A fast boat. Wulf is meeting us at the wharf in an hour.”

I called Clara and told her I wouldn’t be in. Sunday was a slow day, and she’d be able to manage the cider doughnuts on her own. Glo could help her with cleanup.

We took Diesel’s car to Pickering Wharf Marina, parked, and walked to the dock.

“I don’t see Wulf’s boat,” I said.

“It’s the orange one on the end.”

“That’s not the boat I was on.”

“The boat you were on is too slow for our purposes. This is a fifty-one-foot Nor-Tech 5000 Vee. It tops out at 120 miles per hour. We won’t be going that fast today, but we’ll be going faster than Devereaux.”

“How many boats does Wulf have?”

Diesel shrugged. “They come and go.”

“Do you have a boat?”

“I have a hammock and a surfboard.”

The boat was long and low with an open cockpit. Wulf was at the helm. Hatchet was in the copilot seat. There were three seats behind them. I counted eighteen dials on the console and more to the left of the wheel. The hatch leading to below decks was also to the left of the wheel. Decking was teak. Seats were red leather. I got on board and took a seat. Diesel stood behind Wulf. Wulf hit the ignition switch and the boat rumbled to life. Wulf maneuvered us away from the slip and into the harbor. He was in his usual black. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. I wondered if he was wearing sunscreen. We reached open water, he pushed the throttle forward, and the boat took off. Diesel and Wulf looked like this was business as usual. Hatchet looked like he was going to throw up. And I was breathless.