Wicked Appetite

  The back door opened and closed, and Diesel and Carl moseyed in.

  “Shirley can talk,” I told him. “It just happened.”

  “Congratulations,” Diesel said.

  “Sorry I went goofy at the cemetery,” Shirley said. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

  “I wanted to know about Phil’s funeral.”

  “It was just an ordinary funeral,” Shirley said. “A short ceremony at the funeral home chapel and then a few words at graveside. I didn’t know any of the people.”

  “Was anything buried with Phil? A keepsake or a photo?”

  “Not that I know, but it was a closed casket. The viewing was closed casket, too. I guess he left really specific instructions about all that. I barely got here in time. He died, and the next day I was on a plane. The lawyer sent me a ticket. And then Phil had an evening viewing, and he was buried the next morning.”

  “Do you remember the funeral home?”

  “It was Chippers, but they’re not here anymore. Old Mr. Chippers died last year, and his kids sold the business.”

  “Anything else?”

  Shirley took a moment. “That’s all. Except he had a special casket. I guess he picked it out himself and had it waiting. I think that’s kind of gruesome, but it seems Uncle Phil had his quirks.”

  “Can you describe the casket?”

  “Dark wood. Like mahogany. And lots of carvings. Vines, flowers, bugs. Very ornate. And a big eye on the top of it.”

  Shirley left with her bread, and Clara, Glo, and I exchanged looks that said What the heck am I supposed to think now?

  “I suppose it could have been the blood pressure medicine,” Glo finally said.

  “You never know how people are going to react to medicine,” I said.

  “Anything’s possible,” Clara said.

  Diesel put his hand to my neck and squeezed a little. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, but hard enough to get my attention. “You weren’t supposed to go out of the house without me.”

  “No. That’s not entirely accurate,” I said. “You told me not to go out alone. And I’m not alone. I brought Cat.”

  “Cat doesn’t count,” Diesel said.

  Cat jumped to his feet, arched his back, and hissed at Diesel, showing dagger-sharp fangs.

  “I stand corrected,” Diesel said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was seven o’clock, and Cat and Carl were back in front of the television. Diesel was on a stool in the kitchen, one leg extended, one leg bent, arms crossed over his chest, watching me work.

  I was rearranging my pantry, checking expiration dates, lining up cereal boxes and jars of jelly. It was a lame attempt to convince myself I had some control over my life. Okay, so I might not be able to get rid of Diesel and his save-the-world deal, but dammit, I could set my pantry in order. And when I was done with the pantry, I was heading upstairs to the sock drawer.

  “I’m surprised you’re hanging out,” I said to Diesel. “Shouldn’t you be thumb wrestling Wulf for the last charm?”

  “Yes, but it’s more fun watching you decide if the jelly should be color coordinated or alphabetized. And when you reach for stuff on the top shelf, I get to see skin between your shirt and your jeans.”

  “I didn’t know you were interested in fun.”

  “Honey, I’m all about fun.”

  “It looks to me like you’re all about responsibility.”

  Diesel stood and took his cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s a phase. And you’re right about Wulf. I should be thumb wrestling with him.” He tapped a number into his phone and waited while the connection was made. “We need to talk,” Diesel said into the phone. He listened for a long moment and stared down at his shoe. “Understood,” he said. And he hung up.

  “Is he going to give you the last charm?” I asked.

  “I’ve never understood the function of the charms, only that they would either lead us to the Stone or that in some magical way they would become the Stone. Apparently, that’s Wulf’s ace in the hole. Wulf figured out that the charms were keys. And he knew what the keys opened. And unfortunately, he has that object in his possession.”

  I had a horrifying flash of insight. “Uncle Phil’s casket.”

  “Yes.”

  It took Diesel twenty minutes to collect the three charms. Just enough time for me to finish straightening my sock drawer. I’d tried my best to stay calm by keeping busy, but my stomach was churning. Carl and Cat had refused to stay behind, so we had them with us in the Lincoln.

  The sun was setting on Salem when we rolled into town with the windows down, the idea being that the rush of air might save me from going gluttonously nutty.

  “How are you doing?” Diesel asked me.

  “Doughnut,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “I’ve got it under control. Hot dog.”

  Crap! Did I just say hot dog?

  “Try to hold it together,” Diesel said.

  “You know how you get that tickle in the back of your throat when a killer cold is coming on? I have that tickle everywhere.”

  The address Wulf gave Diesel was close to Pickering Wharf Marina. It was a two-story, warehouse-type building with a corrugated metal roof and cinder-block sides. FRUG SEAFOOD STORAGE had been painted onto the cinder block. The lettering was weathered and faded. There was a FOR LEASE sign in the small downstairs window beside the front door. Diesel parked in the adjacent lot, and we all trooped into the building.

  Hatchet was waiting in the front office. He had a Band-Aid across his nose and a chunk of skin missing from his forehead.

  “Who goes there?” Hatchet said.

  “Sir Diesel, Sir Monkey, Sir Cat, and Maid Lizzy,” Diesel said.

  Hatchet motioned to a corridor. “My Lord awaits you.”

  At the end of the corridor was the large room that Lenny and Mark had described. White walls. No windows. High ceiling that was painted black and had exposed ductwork. A casket rested in the middle of the room, and Wulf stood at the head of the casket.

  “If I’d known there was going to be a parade, I’d have brought my elephant,” Wulf said, taking in Carl and Cat.

  Diesel looked at the casket. “How long’s Uncle Phil been sitting out here?”

  “Not long,” Wulf said. “I’ve had him in the frozen fish locker.”

  “Good to know. I thought the dead fish smell was coming from Hatchet,” Diesel said.

  “Did you bring the charms?” Wulf asked Diesel.

  Diesel took the charms from his pocket and held them in his palm so Wulf could see.

  “They have an excellent selection of baby carriages at Target,” I whispered to Diesel.

  “Not now,” Diesel said. “Get a grip.”

  “Was I bad? Do I need to get punished? Maybe I need a good paddling.”

  Wulf looked like he was thinking about rolling his eyes, and Diesel wrapped an arm around my shoulders and dragged me into him.

  “We’ll get to that later,” Diesel said.

  “I’d be happy to paddle the wench if you’re too busy,” Hatchet said.

  Diesel cut his eyes to him, and Hatchet took a step back.

  “Just a thought,” Hatchet said.

  “Why did you dig Phil up?” Diesel asked Wulf.

  “Six weeks ago, I happened upon Philip More’s diary, and I realized he was a SALIGIA guardian. At one point in the diary, late in his life, he said he would take the Stone to his grave, and that it could only be rescued by all the Humbugs in Salem.”

  Diesel looked at the charms. “And you think these are humbugs?”

  “There are four bugs carved into the lid of the casket. Mark More’s dragonfly charm fits into the dragonfly carving.”

  “But it wasn’t enough to open the casket?” Diesel guessed.

  “No,” Wulf said. “The casket is sealed, and I’m not inclined to open it with force.”

  There were some strange creaking soun
ds, and howling, and Michael Jackson singing in my purse.

  “What the heck?” I said.

  “It’s your cell phone,” Diesel said. “I used ‘Thriller’ for your ring tone.”

  I pulled my phone out and saw it was my dad. We had a two-minute conversation, and I returned my phone to my purse.

  “He was just checking in,” I told everyone. “He’s at a conference.”

  Wulf and Diesel exchanged glances, and Wulf gave his head an almost imperceptible shake, like he couldn’t believe they were saddled with me.

  “What do you want from this?” Diesel asked Wulf. “You can’t have the Stone. The Stone goes to the BUM.”

  “That’s so tedious,” Wulf said.

  Diesel shrugged.

  “I could force you to give me the Stone,” Wulf said.

  Diesel did a tight smile. “I don’t think so.”

  “It probably wouldn’t end well for either of us,” Wulf said.

  “Yeah, and Aunt Sophie would be pissed.”

  Wulf took a beat. “Legend has it that when a guardian dies he’s buried with an inscribed tablet. I’ll give you the Stone without a fight, but I want the tablet.”

  “Deal,” Diesel said. “My instructions are to get the Stone.”

  Diesel placed the ladybug on its carving and the bug hummed. “Nice,” Diesel said. “Very clever. And it feels like there’s a slight magnetic pull, holding the charm secure.” He placed the honeybee on the honeybee carving and the bee hummed.

  Diesel was about to place the cockroach on the casket, and my purse rocked out with “Thriller” again.

  “Excuse me,” I said. And I answered my phone.

  “I’m beginning to appreciate Hatchet,” Wulf said to Diesel.

  Diesel smiled. “She has her moments. And she makes cupcakes.”

  I disconnected and stuffed my phone into my pocket.

  “Well?” Diesel asked.

  “It was Glo. Her broom ran away again.”

  “I would appreciate it if we could get on with this without more interruption,” Wulf said in his eerily quiet voice, his eyes riveted on mine.

  “Lighten up,” I said to Wulf. “Glo lost her broom again. This is a big deal for her. And what have we got here anyway . . . a dead guy and a Stone. Do you think they can wait for three minutes longer?”

  Diesel gave a bark of laughter, and Wulf looked like he was trying hard not to sigh. Diesel set the cockroach onto the cockroach carving, and we listened to the bug hum.

  “Your turn,” Diesel said to Wulf.

  Wulf laid his dragonfly on the dragonfly carving. All four bugs hummed in unison, locks tumbled, and the casket lid released with a hiss of air.

  Carl wrapped his arms around Diesel’s leg. “Eep.”

  Cat’s ears pricked forward.

  “Open it,” Wulf said to Hatchet.

  Hatchet’s face paled. “Me?”

  Wulf glared at Hatchet, and Hatchet tentatively reached out and touched the casket. Nothing happened, so Hatchet stepped a little closer and raised the lid. We all peered inside, and no one said anything for a full minute. Diesel was the first to speak.

  “Where’s Uncle Phil?” Diesel asked.

  “I don’t know the answer to that question,” Wulf said.

  The casket held a small stone and a metal tablet the size of a greeting card. No ashes. No body. No Uncle Phil.

  Hatchet was closest to the casket. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and his skin looked clammy.

  “The Stone,” Hatchet said. “The SALIGIA Stone. It’s beautiful. Can you hear it? It’s singing.”

  I wasn’t hearing any singing, and I didn’t see all that much beauty in the Stone. I mean, it was a plain ol’ rock the size of a duck egg, for crying out loud.

  “Fear not, my liege, these thieves shall not have our Stone,” Hatchet said. “This Stone belongs to thee and me.” Hatchet plunged his arm into the casket and grabbed the Stone. His eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at the Stone in his hand. “I can feel the power,” he said, almost reverently. “It’s inside me. It’s like I’m the Stone. Like I’m a god.”

  “The God of Gluttony?” Diesel asked.

  Hatchet cut his eyes to Diesel. “The God of Everything.”

  Diesel looked over at Wulf. “Do you want to run with this one, or should I take it?”

  Wulf smiled his joyless smile. “It’s your Stone.”

  “Yeah, but it’s your minion.”

  “No longer,” Hatchet said, snatching the tablet from the casket, drawing his sword. “I have the power now. And I have the knowledge. And very soon I’ll have all the Stones.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Diesel asked Wulf.

  “The tablets kept the guardians connected. Every guardian carried another guardian’s tablet. So whoever possesses the tablet has an opportunity to find the next Stone, providing they can understand the tablet’s inscription. The tablets were forged centuries ago and are written in an arcane language, which Steven won’t be able to read.”

  “Don’t underestimate me,” Hatchet said. “I’ll figure it out. I have one Stone, and I won’t stop until I possess the rest. I don’t need you anymore. Now I have the power.”

  “Give me the tablet,” Wulf said.

  “The tablet’s mine,” Hatchet told him. “You lose.”

  “Close your eyes,” Wulf said to me. “I’m going to kill him.”

  I looked to Diesel. “Is he serious?”

  Diesel shrugged. “Probably.”

  “Don’t be crazy,” I said to Hatchet. “Give him his tablet.”

  Hatchet’s head snapped around, full focus on me. “I’m not crazy, you idiot wench.”

  He flicked his arm out, grabbed me to him, and held his sword to my neck, the blade sharp against my skin.

  “Don’t anyone come near,” Hatchet said. “If anyone comes close, I’ll kill her. I swear I’ll do it.”

  He was surprisingly strong, considering he was such a lump of dough. He had me tight against him, and I could feel his whole body shaking, could smell the cold sweat of fear and insane obsession. I looked first to Diesel and then to Wulf. Both men were tuned to Hatchet, waiting for the moment to make a move.

  Hatchet inched toward the door, dragging me with him, sword still at my neck. I stumbled and felt the blade bite into me.

  “She’s bleeding,” Diesel said to Hatchet. “Ease up on the sword.”

  I could feel a trickle of blood ooze from the cut on my neck and soak into my shirt, and I was hit with a wave of panic. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want my throat cut. And I didn’t want to bleed anymore. Tears were pooling behind my eyes and blurring my vision. Help, I thought to Diesel. Can you hear me?

  Hatchet reached to open the door, and I saw Cat 7143 fly through the air and latch onto Hatchet’s arm. Carl was a beat behind Cat, sinking his monkey teeth into Hatchet’s ankle. Hatchet gave a bloodcurdling scream and tried to shake Cat and Carl loose.

  Diesel pushed me aside, grabbed Hatchet, and flung him across the room. Hatchet hit the wall with a thud and a grunt and fell to the floor, where he lay dead still, looking like roadkill. The Stone and the tablet lay at his feet.

  A couple tears had leaked out, and my nose was running. I wiped it all on my shirt and pressed my hand to the cut. “How bad is it?”

  “Not bad,” Diesel said. “It’s not deep. It won’t need stitches.”

  “It felt like a lot of blood.”

  He had his arm around me, supporting me with his body. “It had me worried for a minute, but it’s going to be okay. The bleeding has almost stopped.”

  Wulf retrieved the Stone and the tablet. “This is yours,” he said, handing the Stone to Diesel. “We made a deal.”

  I looked at Diesel. “Why are you letting Wulf have the tablet? It’ll lead him to the next Stone.”

  Diesel slipped the Stone into his pocket. “Like he said, we made a deal. Besides, the Marshalls will keep the Gluttony Stone safe. Wulf will never have all
the Stones, and he needs all the Stones to have ultimate power.”

  “Perhaps,” Wulf said. “Time will tell.”

  Diesel let that hang for a beat. “Give my love to Aunt Sophie,” he told Wulf.

  Wulf gave a curt nod to Diesel, and his eyes locked onto mine, sending a shot of adrenaline sizzling through me. He stepped back, there was a flash of light, smoke swirled through the room, and when the smoke cleared, Wulf was gone.

  Diesel put the Stone into my hand. “Is this the real deal?”

  The power buzzed up my arm and spread through my body. The Stone glowed like the sun, and I suddenly wanted everything. Not power, like Hatchet, but babies and cupcakes and kisses and peace everlasting. I wanted perfect breasts and pretty shoes and Thanksgiving dinner. And I wanted it all bad.

  “Whoa,” Diesel said. “Your eyes just totally dilated, and you’re drooling. Maybe you should give me the Stone.”

  “Never,” I said.

  Diesel pried my fingers open and took the Stone. “Wulf must not have touched you. You haven’t lost your Unmentionable ability after all. And if this is what happens to you with the Gluttony Stone, I can’t wait until we go after Lust.”

  I glanced at Hatchet, still on the floor but moving, flopping around a little.

  “What about Hatchet?” I asked Diesel.

  We all walked over and stared down at him.

  “He’s coming around,” Diesel said. “He’ll have a headache, but he’ll be fine.”

  “You should do something. Arrest him. Or unempower him.”

  “I’m not authorized,” Diesel said. “Besides, he’ll go back to being only moderately crazy now that he’s lost the Stone.”

  Hatchet opened an eye and looked up at me. “Wench,” he said.

  Cat hissed at Hatchet, Carl gave him the finger, and I accidentally kicked him. I accidentally kicked him hard. Twice. And then we left.

  A half hour later, we were back on Weatherby Street. I was trying to keep it together, but I was sweating from the effort. Images of birthday cakes, pot roasts, baby blankets, Hershey bars, Cheez Doodles, cases of wine, new towels, frilly undies, and rooms filled with kittens were clogging my brain. I wanted them all.

  Diesel walked me into my living room, along with Carl and Cat.