Chance in Hell Page 6

  “Look, about last night—”

  “You owe Megan $60 for your clothes, $350 for her dress and shoes, and the both of us big, for a lousy night out,” she said, splitting up the French toast onto two plates and liberally sprinkling powdered sugar over them both. She brought them to the table, where the genuine maple syrup was already waiting. Next she got herself a cup of coffee (her mug of choice was a keepsake from the Salem Witch Museum) with more cream and sugar than it deserved, and sat down opposite me.

  “Of course, I think Megan would call it even, if you ask her out.”

  “What?”

  “You know, on a date? For some reason she seems to like you.”

  “A date?”

  I must have looked horrified because she said, “Chill, dude; commitment-phobic much? Heck, you slept over. In her bedroom. And now you don’t even have the decency to go out with her at least once?”

  She smiled, having far too much fun at my expense. “I’m joking. Anyway, you don’t have much to worry about; she hasn’t gotten serious about a human since I met her. Come to think of it, besides Gregory, she hasn’t been serious about a vamp either. That girl seriously needs to get laid.”

  Against my better judgment, I pondered her last comment. Then I said, “Gregory?”

  “Her ex. Real jerk. You saw him—he was with that redheaded bitch Amanda in the bar last night. Remember the guy I said Megan was stalking?” I remembered. She took a bite of French toast, then said, waving her fork, “Of course, she might just turn you. She almost drained you dry after you went to sleep last night.”

  I blew coffee over half the table.

  Lacey smiled. “Man, you’re just too easy.” Then she frowned at the table. “You’re cleaning that up.”

  I sighed and went to the sink to grab a sponge.

  “Hey, are you going to eat that?”

  I had left a half a piece of French toast unattended for a few seconds and it was gone in a flash to Lacey’s plate, where it was quickly dissected and consumed. I looked at her again. She was maybe five foot four and all of 110 pounds. If she was really a witch, then I knew there must be a spell for weight loss. I grabbed my plate and put it in the dishwasher, making a mental note that unless I wanted to slowly starve, to never leave my food unattended around her again.

  “So, today we go get your car and then see what that key of yours opens up. And I guess we should stop by a clinic and get you looked at.” She looked at me appraisingly, then perked up. “And then we go shopping!”

  “Great. So what about my phone? You said they could trace it using magic or something.”

  “Already taken care of. I’m surprised they could do it, actually. Trace it, I mean. Were you very attached to it?

  “Not really. It was a phone. Not even a very good one.”

  “Huh. A phone isn’t very personal, and for magic like that, the more personal the better. Hair, blood, or nail clippings are way better.”

  Remembering all the blood that had been on Robert’s phone and then what happened to me when I was holding mine, I said, “I suppose it could have had hair on it, or gotten blood on it when I fell.”

  “Maybe. Either way, I took care of it. Someone was using a spell to find you. Don’t worry; it couldn’t get through the wards on this house. I just followed the spell back to its source and fried it.” She looked rather pleased with herself.

  “You fried the witch?”

  “I wish.” She looked disappointed. “No, I just fried whatever the focus was that they were using to trace you. But I bet they were surprised! Don’t get too cocky, though—they can still track you.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Duh, they had your phone. All your contact numbers? Maybe your name? Photos?” I felt a sudden chill, thinking of Bryan, my mom, and my other friends and relatives.

  “And of course now they know a witch is helping you out.” I saw revelation dawning. “Which kinda puts me at risk.” She considered a bit, then shoved the last bite of French toast in her mouth and mumbled, “Today’s shopping spree is definitely on you.”

  Chapter 8

  We entered the garage to find two cars: a vintage 1966 Mustang convertible, red with a white top and interior, and a newer black Jeep Liberty. Instinctively, I went over to the Mustang. It was in beautiful shape.

  “That’s Megan’s,” said Lacey. “She loves that car. She’d kill us if we borrowed it. Of course, stealing vehicles doesn’t seem to bother you too much, but at least I value my life. I’m afraid we have to make do with the Jeep.” She opened the door and got in.

  I didn’t understand. “She drives a convertible?”

  “Yup.”

  “Um…”

  “Yeah, I know, but don’t tell her that. I think she misses the sun.”

  I got in the Jeep and we headed into town. Their home turned out to be a one-story ranch at the base of the hills, in a pleasant upper-middle-class neighborhood nestled in the woods. “What do you guys do?” I wondered aloud.

  “She randomly bites people and then I turn them into newts.” I shot her a look. “What? I kind of got the impression that’s what you thought of us? I was just trying to reinforce the image.”

  “Yeah, well…what I meant was, how can you two afford all this? The cars, the house—you can’t be much older than me.”

  “I inherited a little bit of money; Megan has some investments. As to what we do, I’m finishing a degree in European history, much to my parents’ dismay. After which, I plan on being unemployed. I’m a realist. Megan goes to night school. Computer science. It’ll be her fifth.”

  “Fifth what?”

  “Degree.”

  “Fifth?”

  “Yeah, she collects them. She doesn’t seem to actually do anything with them. I think she just likes to hang them on her wall.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Now, you know it’s not polite to ask a lady her age. I’m afraid if you want to know the answer to that one you’re going to have to ask her yourself.” Then she added, “She’s older than she looks.”

  “I gathered.”

  “She bought the Mustang new.”

  “I see.”

  “Remind me to tease her for being a cougar when we get home.”

  “Sure.”

  We stopped by a clinic, where I confirmed that other than a couple of scrapes and bruises, my new injuries consisted of only a few bruised ribs. I paid for the visit and saw that my cash supply was getting woefully low.

  We left the clinic and ten minutes later were at the parking lot. There was still police tape, along with a couple of officers at the scene. Thankfully, my car was just on the outside of the tape, and after signing my name, they let me have my car. Cost me another twelve bucks.

  I followed Lacey to a lot she knew that was free. I parked my car and grabbed my backpack out of the trunk, then got back in her Jeep.

  “Stylish,” she said, looking at my Miata.

  “Thanks.”

  “Your sister’s?”

  “Shut up.”

  She laughed. “Okay, so let’s see this key of yours.” I handed it over and she looked at it, flipping it over a couple of times. “Yeah, you’re right—looks like it’s a locker key.” She pulled out a smart phone and started typing. “Well, there are two gyms in the neighborhood, and a couple of schools, but that would be the wrong type of lockers.”

  She kept at it. “There’s a Greyhound station.”

  “Let’s try the gyms.”

  We came up with a basic story. We were brother and sister. This was her idea; I had just planned on letting everyone assume we were together, but she assured me this way had its advantages. I found out why later on. One or both of us, depending upon the initial reaction we got from whoever greeted us, was looking for a lifetime gym membership. We were “getting serious” about fitness.

  The first one was nice enough to give us a free tour of the facilities. We found the lockers, but they were the type that used your own
lock. We tried the next one and ended up having to buy a day pass to snoop around. This one turned out to be a bust as well.

  Next, we tried the Greyhound station. We came up dry there, but I did manage to pick up our tail as we left. I had seen the same grey sedan behind us earlier, driving to one of the gyms. It took a couple of tries to explain this to Lacey.

  “What do you mean I have a tail? Is this your way of saying I have a nice ass? ‘Cause I don’t think you should be scamming on me when you’re practically moving in with Megan.”

  “What! That’s not what I meant – “

  “Oh, so you’re saying my ass is fat?”

  “No, it’s not fat, it’s really nice—“

  “I’m telling Megan you said that.”

  “Don’t. Look. This isn’t about your ass. It’s about the guy that’s following us.”

  “Huh? Where?” She looked in her mirrors.

  “Two cars back in the grey sedan. They must have been waiting at the parking lot for me to grab my car.”

  “I don’t see any grey sedan—wait, no, I see it. It’s a ways back there, behind the bikes.”

  Shit. I couldn’t possibly be that unlucky. No, not unlucky—just stupid. I should have been paying attention.

  “Take a turn and see what happens,” I told her.

  “Where?”

  “Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s not a dead end.” She took a turn. I moved the side view just as we rounded the corner, so they wouldn’t see me do it. Once we straightened out, I saw the sedan turn first. I thought the motorcycles were a fluke, but then I saw one of them turn a couple of car lengths behind the sedan. The other one kept going straight.

  “Shit,” I said out loud, this time for her benefit.

  “What do we do?”

  “Can you cast a spell on them?”

  “Sure.”

  Nothing happened. “Okay…”

  “What?”

  “So, throw a fireball at them or something!”

  “This isn’t D&D.”

  “I thought you said you could cast a spell at them.”

  “I can. But I’m a traditional witch. I curse people.”

  “Okay, cool. Do that then.”

  “I could curse them in a lot of ways they would find very unpleasant. You should have seen the acne I gave Amanda last year. Bitch.”

  “You can’t do anything worse?” I looked back and saw two figures inside the sedan. The driver was large and could only be the troll. It was the first time in my life I wished a vampire were with me.

  “Trust me, she would rather have died. Again. Vamps aren’t even supposed to get acne, and her face looked like she was tarred and candy corned. She had to use Clearasil for weeks!”

  “That’s not going to help us here.”

  “Fine. I could make them go blind, make them starve to death no matter how much they eat, give them smallpox, make them laugh uncontrollably until they puke, finally passing out and drowning on their own vomit…”

  “Okay, so do it already!” I was opening my backpack and taking out the Kimber.

  “Unfortunately, all that takes time. There are rituals involved; ingredients. It helps to have a focus. Something of theirs, kind of like with your phone—“

  “So, that’s not actually going to help us.”

  “No, not really.”

  “Great.”

  “Um…”

  “What?”

  “I can do a few things that might help, but we’d have to be pretty close. And I would need to see them. And, well, I really shouldn’t be doing those types of things.”

  “I’d prefer we avoid getting that close.”

  “Sounds good. Is that a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to shoot them?

  “I’d rather we come up with a better plan than a running gun battle through downtown at ten a.m. This is more of a ‘last desperate measure’ thing.”

  “Do you have silver bullets?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but they’re not loaded.”

  “You really did hunt vampires?” I think half of her had been thinking it was a joke the whole time.

  “I said I did, didn’t I?”

  “I guess you did. Um…I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but silver doesn’t really work on them. At least, not any better than lead.”

  “I know. The silver wasn’t for them. We had it in case of werewolves.”

  “Good; we may need it. So, you have iron?”

  “Iron?”

  “For the fae folk. You know, like the troll back there that’s trying to kill you.”

  I didn’t have any iron. I was trying to come up with a brilliant plan that would save us when the street ended at an intersection. The light was red. Lacey looked at me, wanting to know which way to turn. I shrugged, and was about to say it didn’t matter, when I saw a sign down the street. It read YMCA. As the light turned green, I said, “Left.”

  She turned, and I pointed to a rare open parking spot not far past the Y and told her to stop. She looked at me like I was crazy, but then pulled over and began what turned into a 45-second example of how not to look cool while parallel parking. Eventually we made it—more or less close enough to the curb to be legal.

  “Now what?” she said.

  “Now we go inside and look for the locker.” I put my gun in my backpack.

  “What about them?” The car had driven past us, probably trying to find a place to park. The bike had it easier, backing in between two cars not far from where we were stopped. The rider took off his helmet and stared at us. It was Mike from the Deli. His short frosted hair was standing straight up, and he looked agitated.

  “We ignore them for now. I’m kind of counting on this place having a back exit.”

  “Great.” She got out of the car and we both headed into the YMCA. We were met by a middle-aged balding man at a desk. His name was Peter. Peter didn’t look like he spent as much time as he should have using his facility.

  We gave him our rehearsed story about wanting to find a place for me to work out. After finding out that Lacey was my “sister,” Peter was inclined to give us a personal tour of the facilities. A little too personal, as it turned out. He stuck particularly close to Lacey, continually asking if she had any questions despite the obvious fact that the membership was not for her.

  When I asked to see the locker room, Lacey actually proved quick on the uptake, realizing that just in case it was here, I would need some privacy to get the contents out. She asked if the place had racquetball courts. When he said it did, she asked if he could show them to her. And they were off.

  I slipped into the locker room. Keys were sticking out from about half of the lockers and, sure enough, they looked a lot like the one in my pocket. I made my way over to number thirty-two, took out the key and slid it into the lock. It went in with a bit of effort. I turned it and opened the locker. Inside was a cardboard box, taped shut with a thick white envelope on top of it. I looked at it and sighed. I took the envelope and put it in the rear pocket of my jeans. I opened my backpack and swapped everything that was inside except for my Kimber, shoulder holster, and spare clips, which I managed to shove into the front zippered compartment. I was just able to fit the box inside of the backpack. It did, however, make the pack look very square. There was no way Peter was not going to notice.

  I exited the locker room and, as luck would have it—or maybe by Lacey’s design—Lacey and Peter were conversing and the man’s back was to me. I held up my backpack and pointed to it. Lacey saw the problem and once again came to the rescue.

  “Is it just me or is it a little warm in here?” I missed what the man said, because Lacey took off her SJSU sweater to reveal a tight-fitting, low-cut black tank top that ended above her navel with the word “Witch” in silver glitter right across the chest.

  “Sorry,” she said. We didn’t mind. “I get hot easily.”

  She gave
him an extremely cute pout and said, “Don’t suppose I could have some water while we wait for my brother.” It worked like a charm, despite the fact that the man should have known it was almost never too warm for a woman, unless she was having hot flashes.

  “Yeah, sure! I’ll be right back.” He scurried off toward the entrance, where they had the vending machines. He didn’t notice me, let alone the obviously square backpack I was holding not ten feet behind him.

  “Men!” Lacey said. “Show them some tits and they’ll—hey, up here!” She glared at me, then added in mock disgust, “Ew. You’re my brother!”

  “Oh, hey, good job!” I couldn’t help it; I risked another glance down. “I don’t feel like your brother,” I said.

  “Jesus.” She sighed, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go.” I followed her to the back of the building, where we eventually found a door marked “Exit. For emergency use only. Alarm will sound.”

  With a troll, a werewolf, and a smitten deskman waiting for us up front, we had no choice. I pushed open the door and headed out into a back parking lot, expecting a loud ringing. No alarm sounded; at least none that we could hear. This back area looked like it was used for employees and storage for old equipment. A couple of rusting exercise machines sat next to a ping-pong table with a sagging middle. At the back of the narrow lot was a six-foot-tall chain-link fence separating it and a street.

  We hopped the fence and headed in the direction of the free lot we stashed my car in; it was at least a half a mile away. We hurried, and I wished this were one of the cities with a cab on every corner. I wasn’t sure how long they were going to wait for us outside the Y.

  Chapter 9

  We finally got to the lot with my Miata, and I saw the biker just down the street. The Day-Glo green Yamaha R-1 he was sitting on was pretty hard to miss. We were just going to have to run for it. We made it within a few feet of my car when he saw us; I heard the bike turn over and the whine of the exhaust as he gave it gas. We sprinted the last few feet. I hopped in and handed the backpack to Lacey, started the car, and gunned it.