Wicked Appetite

  “Mom,” the door kid yelled. “It’s that man again.”

  The kid was yanked back, the door slammed shut, and I could hear the bolt thrown.

  Diesel put his hand to the lock, slipped the bolt, and opened the door. Melody was on the couch, holding the baby tight to her chest with one hand, cradling the toddler with the other. Two older kids stood beside her. Hatchet was in the middle of the room, dressed in his medieval regalia of green tights, white tunic, and cheesy chain-link armor. He was holding a sword that appeared identical to the one in my kitchen.

  “Halt, rude and lowly beast,” Hatchet said to Diesel. “How dare thee enter without my permission. I have laid claim to this household for my liege lord, Gerwulf Grimoire. Leave before I smite thee with my sword.”

  I took one look at Hatchet, and my blood pressure shot into the stroke zone. He’d broken into my house, slashed my arm, kidnapped me, drugged me, and maybe done worse. I heard a very scary sound, like a killer growl from some feral animal, and I realized it was coming from me.

  Diesel’s hand curled into the back of my shirt, and he dragged me up tight against him. “Let me take care of this,” he said.

  “As soon as I gouge his eyes out and shove his privates so far up in his body he chokes on them. And then I’m going to rip his head off and kick it down the street.”

  “It would be good if we didn’t gouge eyes in front of the kids,” Diesel said.

  I was so angry I was vibrating, but I saw his point about the kids. I tried to focus and redirected my venom. “Does Wulf know you’re here?” I asked Hatchet.

  “He sent me.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said. “I think this is another one of your stupid attempts to impress him with your pathetic devotion.”

  “It’s not!” Hatchet fumbled in his tunic and produced a folded piece of paper. “I have a list,” he said. “He gave me a list, and this is number three, and the first two people weren’t home. And it’s not pathetic devotion. I’ve taken an oath of fealty. I live by honor and the sword.”

  “Great,” Diesel said. “Honor is good, but you need to sheath the sword.”

  Hatchet stiffened his spine and pointed his sword at Diesel. “Never will I sheath my sword in your presence. And you will rue my wrath if you don’t leave my domain. You will feel the sting of my sword.”

  “Hatchelot,” Diesel said, “give up on the rueing and wrathing and smiting stuff. You sound like a crazy nutcase.”

  Even in my enraged state, I knew this was a bad thing to say. It was one thing to tell Hatchet you were going to rip his head off. It was an entirely different deal to suggest he was crazy.

  “I’m not crazy!” Hatchet screamed, face turning red, going on purple, neck grotesquely corded.

  He lunged at Diesel and ripped a hole in the hem of Diesel’s loose-hanging T-shirt.

  “This doesn’t make me happy,” Diesel said, looking at the hole. “I liked this shirt.”

  “Infidel!” Hatchet screeched. “Prepare to die.”

  Hatchet slashed at Diesel, and Diesel stepped away.

  “This is getting old,” Diesel said.

  Diesel reached out, snatched the sword out of Hatchet’s hand, rammed the blade two inches into the wood floor, leaned on it, and bent it to a forty-five-degree angle.

  “Fiend!” Hatchet said, his mouth contorted into a snarl. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

  Diesel grabbed Hatchet by his faux armor and lifted him a foot off the ground. “Here’s the deal,” Diesel said. “I could pull the plug on your power, but the BUM wouldn’t like it, and it would put Lizzy at risk. Ditto killing or crippling you. So I’m going to send you on your way, but I’m sending you with a warning. If you touch Lizzy or cause her a single moment of grief, I’ll find you, and it won’t be good for you.”

  Diesel opened the front door, with Hatchet still dangling off the ground, and he pitched him out. Hatchet flew twenty feet and face-planted, and Diesel closed the front door and turned to Melody.

  “We need to talk,” Diesel said.

  Melody’s eyes were wide and her mouth was open. “Unh,” she said.

  “Four people inherited a charm from Uncle Phil,” Diesel said. “Were you one of them?”

  Melody chewed on her lower lip.

  “I know a warning went with the inheritance,” Diesel told her, “but the danger to you and your children is greater if you keep the charm.”

  Melody was wearing a honeybee charm on a slim gold chain, and she fidgeted with the necklace while she debated her dilemma.

  “It’s the bee, isn’t it?” I said to her. “That’s what you inherited from Uncle Phil.”

  “The note said I’d have bad luck.”

  “Everyone makes their own luck,” Diesel said.

  I put my hand out. “Can I hold it?”

  Melody unclasped the chain and placed the necklace in my hand. I felt the warmth radiate from my open palm and up my arm. The bee glowed gold, orange, and finally bright red.

  I nodded to Diesel. “This is it.”

  “I know this is special to you,” Diesel said to Melody, “but it’s very old and should be returned to the rest of the collection.”

  One of the toddlers spotted Carl hanging back by the door. “Goggy!”

  “Eep!” Carl said, turning tail and scurrying out of the house. Two dogs raced through the living room and ran out after him. There was a lot of monkey chatter and barking from the front yard, and the toddler screwed up its face and started crying.

  “About the necklace,” Diesel said.

  “Take it,” Melody said. “I appreciate the help with Sir Hatchelot, but honestly, I could do without this additional drama. Close the door on the way out, and don’t forget your monkey.”

  I thanked Melody, pocketed the charm, and peeked outside to see if Hatchet was still looking like roadkill on the front lawn. Fortunately, Hatchet and his wreck of a car were nowhere to be seen.

  Diesel closed the door on Melody and her brood, and we crossed into the neighbor’s yard, where the dogs had Carl treed.

  “It’d be so easy to leave him here,” Diesel said, looking up at Carl.

  “Would you really do that?”

  “No.”

  Diesel whistled to Carl, and Carl dropped onto Diesel’s shoulder.

  “You’re such a softy,” I said to Diesel.

  “Yeah. I’m a pushover for monkeys.”

  We walked back to the sidewalk and found that the monkey-barf car had disappeared, and in its place sat a king-size white sedan.

  “What is it?” I asked Diesel.

  “It’s a Lincoln Town Car. An old one.”

  “It’s really long.”

  “Yeah. And really white,” Diesel said.

  He opened the back door, and Carl jumped in and bounced around on the big bench seat.

  “Chee, chee, chee,” Carl said.

  I slid onto the front passenger seat and ran my hand over the white upholstery. “I feel like I should be in a wedding or going to a prom,” I said to Diesel.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but they’re not on the schedule.”

  It was almost two o’clock when Diesel parked the Lincoln in front of my house. It was a balmy seventy degrees, and the sun was bright in a blue sky. General Eisenhower was on his stoop, taking in the day. Aside from the general, the street was deserted. Two blocks away, at the foot of the hill, locals were buying flats of pansies at the little flower shop, sitting on city benches with their coffee and chai, and heading for Crocker Park with their golden retrievers and baby carriages.

  “This is a nice family neighborhood,” I said to Diesel. “Doesn’t it make you want to have a baby?”

  “No,” Diesel said. “Not at the moment.”

  I rolled out of the Lincoln and checked my mailbox. Two pieces of junk mail, my credit card bill, and a letter from an agent. I tore the agent letter open and read it. Short and sweet. No thanks.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” I said. “I??
?ve had it. I’m done. What the heck do you have to do to get published anyway? I bet this guy didn’t even read my proposal. I hate him. I don’t even know him, and I hate him. I hate the whole publishing industry. And I hate this money-pit, broken-down house. I should never have left New York.”

  I tore the letter into tiny pieces, threw them on the ground, and jumped up and down on them and kicked them around. I stopped jumping, closed my eyes, and counted to ten.

  “Unh!” I said.

  I opened my eyes and looked at Diesel. He was smiling.

  “Feel better?” he asked me.

  “I guess.”

  “Did you mean anything you said?”

  “No.”

  Cat was sitting in the front window, watching us, and he dropped to the floor when we walked in. His tail wasn’t bushy and his single good eye looked intense but not insane, so I thought it was a good bet the house was secure.

  “As you can see, I’m fine,” I said to Cat, bending to scratch him behind the ear. “Next time, I’ll pay attention to you.”

  “What’s that about?” Diesel asked, heading for the kitchen.

  “Cat knew Hatchet was waiting for me, and I ignored his warning.”

  Diesel went to the fridge and got a bottle of water. “Hatchet must have been really motivated to get up and out that early in the morning.”

  “He’s an odd guy. He’s stuck in this Middle Ages time warp, swearing fealty to Wulf, but underneath it all, I don’t think he has a subservient personality.”

  “Underneath it all, he’s probably criminally insane.” Diesel turned the tap on and watched it run hot. “Gwen had a new water heater installed. No charge. She said it was a necessary business expense. She said she remembers what I looked like after chasing down a yak herder who’d gone to the dark side in Tibet, and it wasn’t pretty.”

  “How long were you in Tibet?”

  “Weeks. It was impossible to find that guy. All yak herders look and smell the same.”

  It was hard to imagine Diesel not looking good. The scruffier he got, the sexier he looked.

  Diesel gestured to the counter. “I got you a new cell phone. Your number hasn’t changed.”

  “Thanks.” I slipped the phone into my pocket and looked Diesel over. “You ever have your sperm count checked out?”

  His eyebrows raised a quarter of an inch. “Excuse me?”

  “Just wondering. Not everyone’s got good swimmers, you know.”

  “I imagine my swimmers are okay.”

  “Nice to know, because considering your superior genes, you’d be a terrific baby maker.”

  Diesel grinned over at me. “Is that an idle compliment or are you going somewhere with it?”

  “I’m thinking it might be a good idea for us to have a baby. In fact, if it works out, we could have lots of babies. Okay, I know we’re supposed to save the world from evil, but I don’t see why we can’t make babies and save the world.”

  Diesel stuck his hand out. “Give it to me.”

  “What?”

  “Melody’s charm.”

  “Do you think it’s affecting me?”

  The grin turned into a full-on smile. “Yeah.”

  I pulled the necklace out of my pocket and gave it to Diesel. “I guess this means you don’t want to make a baby.”

  “Rain check,” Diesel said.

  I heard the television turn on in the living room, and I stuck my head in to see what was going on. Carl and Cat were on the couch, and Carl was scrolling through the guide.

  “Is he a Normal monkey?” I asked Diesel.

  Diesel chugged half a bottle of water. “I don’t know. What’s he watching? Lifetime? Disney? Fox?”

  “He’s trying to buy porn.”

  “Good for him,” Diesel said.

  “Don’t encourage him. Maybe you’re not father material after all. Maybe I need to go out and find someone else.” I looked at my watch. “It’s too early to troll the bars. I guess I could try my luck at the mall or a supermarket.”

  Diesel finished his water and pitched it into the recycle bin. “You’re not serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. I’m not getting any younger. If I don’t hurry up, all my good eggs will be gone, and I’ll be left with only second-rate eggs.”

  “This is even more bizarre than the food obsession and the hanky panky spanky,” Diesel said. “I need to get some distance between you and the charm. I can’t let you see my safe place, because it would put you at risk with Wulf. You’re going to have to stay here. I’ll only be gone a half hour. You have to promise not to go out alone.”

  “Sure,” I said. “But then you have to help me with the baby making.”

  “Deal.”

  Diesel locked the door on his way out, and I joined Carl and Cat on the couch. Carl had given up on adult movies and settled on a ball game. I think baseball on television is like watching grass grow. I was moments away from falling off the couch in a stupor when Glo called.

  “I’ve got it. I know this is it,” Glo said. “I found a reverse spell for Shirley.”

  “And?”

  “And I need you to come take a look at it. Clara isn’t here. She went to the bank. And anyway, I don’t know if she’s a good judge of spells. You’re an Unmentionable. You must sense some of these things.”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Well, you’re all I’ve got.”

  “Can you read it over the phone?”

  “No! What if there’s something wrong with it. I could blow a fuse and shut down the entire Northeast grid.”

  I hung up and wrote a letter to Diesel explaining the emergency. I taped the letter to the door and told Carl to make sure Diesel saw it. I grabbed my purse, went to the front door, and hesitated. I’d promised Diesel I wouldn’t go off on my own.

  “Only one thing to do,” I said to Cat. “You have to come with me.”

  Twenty minutes later, we were at the bakery. Glo was waiting with Ripple’s book lying open on the glass case, and her broom was propped against the wall behind her. She was dressed all in black, and she had a shiny gold star stuck to her forehead.

  “It’s Cat 7143!” she said. “What a cool surprise.”

  Cat jumped onto the glass case and sat back on his haunches so Glo could scratch his neck.

  “What’s with the star on your forehead?” I asked her.

  “I got the idea when I was at Office Depot yesterday. Clara asked me to stop and get paper for the printer, and I saw these stars. You know, it’s all about accessorizing.”

  “That’s so true.”

  “And you can’t go wrong with gold.”

  “Hardly ever.”

  “And I thought they might be magical. You never know about these things.” Glo turned the book so I could see the spell. “This is it,” she said. “Take a look at it, but don’t read it out loud.”

  I glanced at the spell and slid the book back to Glo. “It looks okay to me,” I said, “but honestly, I’m not an expert. I didn’t pick up anything wrong with the gobble spell until Shirley turned into a turkey.”

  “Here goes,” Glo said. “I’m going to do this long-distance by visualizing Shirley.”

  “Do you think that will work?”

  “I’ve been reading up on it, and this spell should be a good traveler. Anyway, I’m afraid Shirley will shoot me on sight if I go to her apartment.”

  “Good point.”

  Glo took a deep breath and followed word for word with her finger. “Magic come, magic go.” She took a small plastic bag half filled with white powder from her pocket and threw a pinch of the powder into the air. “Wizard, witch, pickle pie in your eye.” She threw another pinch into the air. “Cast out all spells on Shirley More.” Glo turned around three times and clapped her hands.

  Cat sneezed and shook his head.

  “Should there be a sign that it worked?” I asked Glo. “Like a flash of light or a bell ringing?”

  “Ripple’s didn’t say anything ab
out that.”

  “What was the powder?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I got it from the Exotica store. It’s supposed to be a spell enhancer.”

  We stood for a couple beats, waiting for a sign, but no sign was forthcoming.

  “I hope it worked,” Glo said.

  “Me, too.”

  “It’s a little scary, since in the past some of my spells haven’t turned out perfect.”

  That was a gross understatement. I searched my brain for a change of subject and settled on her broom.

  “How’s the broom doing?” I asked her.

  “It’s a process,” Glo said.

  The door opened and Clara rushed in. “I just saw Shirley. She’s three blocks away, and my guess is she’s headed for the bakery, and she’s going at it like Godzilla storming Tokyo.”

  “Oh no!” Glo said. “Lock the door. Does she have a gun?”

  “Not that I could see,” Clara said. “You didn’t do any more reading from Ripple’s, did you?”

  “It was just a teensy spell,” Glo said. “And it was a do-good spell, I swear.”

  Clara looked around. “Were there any explosions? Fire? Did anyone get shingles?”

  “Yipes! There she is!” Glo said, spotting Shirley through the window.

  Shirley threw the door open, and Glo ducked down behind the counter.

  “Ta da,” Shirley sang, making an expansive gesture. “I’m not gobbling anymore.”

  Glo peeked over the counter.

  “I owe you all an apology,” Shirley said. “The whole gobbledegook thing wasn’t your fault at all. I went to the doctor yesterday after I visited the cemetery, and he decided to take me off the blood pressure medication. He said it was possible that I was talking funny from the medication, plus the power of suggestion. And he was right. It just kicked in. I was walking down the street, coming to the bakery to buy bread, and I felt something go ding in my head, and it was like this week never happened.”

  “Gee, that’s great,” I said to Shirley. I looked over at Glo. “Isn’t that great, Glo?”

  “Yeah,” Glo said. “That’s great.”

  Clara moved behind the counter. “What kind of bread do you want?” she asked Shirley.

  “Rye without the seeds.”

  Clara bagged a rye bread and handed it to Shirley. “It’s on the house.”