Wicked Appetite by Janet Evanovich
Hatchet’s eyes were compressed into black pinpoints, his face was white with rage, and spit flew out of his mouth. “I hate when people say I’m a nut. I hate it. I hate it.”
He lunged across the island, tagging me on the arm with the tip of the saber. My phone flew out of my hand, into the sink, and a bright red line of blood oozed from my elbow to my wrist. I grabbed my arm, stumbled back, and Hatchet continued to come at me, crawling over the island. He raised the saber to strike again, and a blur of striped cat flew through the air in front of me and latched onto Hatchet’s face. It was Cat 7143 holding tight to Hatchet, growling low in his throat, his tail bushed out like a bottlebrush.
Hatchet dropped the saber and batted at Cat. “Get him off!” Hatchet shrieked, his words muffled by fur.
I was dumbstruck. I’d love to say I rose to the occasion, grabbed the saber, and so filled Hatchet with fear that he went to his knees. Truth is, I stood with my mouth open and my feet glued to the floor. Probably, it was only for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime.
Cat climbed to the top of Hatchet’s head, leaving a series of bloody dots where his claws had dug into the sides of Hatchet’s face. Hatchet swatted Cat off his head and ran out the back door into the night.
Cat leaped onto the butcher block and watched Hatchet leave, and when the sound of a car engine catching came through the open back door, Cat relaxed back on his haunches, curled his half-tail around himself, and went into his grooming ritual as if nothing had happened. I closed the door and propped a kitchen chair against it to keep it closed.
“Thanks,” I said to Cat. “That was really brave of you.” I stroked his glossy back and realized he was on my cutting board. “Probably, you shouldn’t be sitting on the board,” I told him.
Cat stopped grooming and looked at me.
“You’re right,” I said. “You can sit wherever you want.”
I wrapped half a roll of paper towels around my arm to keep from bleeding on everything and secured the towels with Scotch tape. I plucked my cell phone out of the soapy sink water and tried to dial Diesel. No luck. The phone was dead. I could call him on my kitchen phone, but I didn’t know his number. It was locked up in the dead cell phone. Blood was beginning to ooze through the toweling on my arm, so I grabbed my purse and went to the front door. I cautiously looked out and measured the distance to my car. I had keys in hand. I stepped out, quickly closed and locked the door, ran to my car, and drove to the hospital in Salem.
______
The whole hospital procedure had taken just a little under an hour. I’d been fortunate to get injured in the lull between rush-hour fender benders and late-night bar brawls. I’d also been fortunate that most of the cut hadn’t required stitches, and I was already up to date on my tetanus shot. I drove the short distance back to my house and found Diesel and Carl standing at the open front door. Carl was looking curious, as always. Diesel was uncharacteristically grim.
“Have you been home long?” I asked Diesel, dragging myself out of my car, suddenly exhausted.
“Only long enough to see the broken door, the blood on the kitchen floor, and the saber. I was about to have Gwen start calling hospitals.”
“I’d explain it all to you, but I’m so tired I can barely stand.”
“My heart stopped beating for a full five minutes when I walked into the kitchen,” he said. “The instant I saw the saber and the broken door, I knew it was Hatchet. If I’d found him before I found you, he’d be dust.”
“I tried to call you, but my phone got dumped in the sink during the scuffle and died.”
“As long as it was just the phone that died,” Diesel said, following me into the house, looking at my arm bandaged from wrist to elbow. “How bad is it?”
“I caught the tip of the saber. It didn’t slice especially deep, with the exception of a small part in the middle. It only required seven stitches.”
“And Hatchet?”
“Cat attacked him and scared him away.”
Diesel smiled. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Cat was awesome.”
“I’ll never begrudge him another muffin.” He looked over at the door. “Since your door got kicked in, I assume Hatchet was acting without Wulf.”
“Hatchet was having delusions of greatness. He had a fantasy of presenting Wulf with the charms.”
“I have a fantasy,” Diesel said. “Would you like to hear about it?”
“I already know about fantasies number seven and eight. How does this one stack up?”
“This one is much better.”
“Maybe you want to save it for when I’m not doped up on painkillers.”
“Yeah, we don’t want to waste this one. You look like you’re done for the day.”
I took the burnt cake out of the oven, trudged upstairs, brushed my teeth, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed. I turned the light off, and ten minutes later, Diesel slipped under the covers next to me. One minute after that, Carl climbed under the covers and inserted himself between us.
Diesel flipped the light on.
“Out,” he said to Carl.
“Eep?”
“Where do monkeys usually sleep?” I asked Diesel.
“Trees, cages, Dumpsters. The last time I had to live with this one, he slept on the couch.”
“So get him settled on the couch. There’s an extra pillow and quilt in the hall closet.”
Diesel slid out of bed and pulled Carl out from under the covers.
“Jeez Louise,” I said to Diesel. “Could you put something on?”
“Don’t look if you don’t like it.”
That was the problem. I liked it a lot. And there was no way I wasn’t going to look.
“It’s easier protecting you if I’m next to you,” Diesel said. “And this is the way I sleep. Just deal with it.”
I woke up minutes before the alarm was set to go off. Diesel was asleep beside me, and Cat was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching me in the dark. I shut the alarm off, grabbed some clothes, and went into the bathroom to get dressed. Cat was waiting for me when I came out. He followed me down the stairs and into the kitchen. I poured crunchies into his bowl, gave him fresh water, and started coffee brewing.
Carl came in from the living room, dragging his knuckles, fur sticking every which way, eyes bleary.
“You didn’t have to get up this early,” I said to him.
Carl shrugged, took the box of Froot Loops off the counter, shoved his hand in, and ate a fistful. I did the same with the Frosted Flakes. Ordinarily, I’d take my coffee out to the back porch, but this morning I hesitated. The back porch didn’t feel safe anymore. My door was broken and my arm throbbed where it had been sutured. Diesel had cleaned the blood off the floor and the saber was gone. The kitchen looked normal, but it would take a while before I felt completely comfortable.
I was pacing with my coffee, muttering to myself, angry that my life was disrupted, angry that I’d become afraid of the dark, when Diesel ambled in. He was barefoot, and from the way his jeans rode low on his hips, showing nothing but skin, I suspected he was wearing just the jeans. He poured himself a mug of coffee and drank it black, lounging against the counter.
“How do you feel about carrying a gun?” he asked me.
“I’m scared, but not that scared. I wouldn’t know what to do with a gun.”
“I could teach you.”
“I’d rather not,” I said.
“A gun would protect you against Hatchet.”
“What about Wulf?”
“I’m the only thing that can protect you against Wulf.”
I closed the box of Frosted Flakes and put it away in the cupboard. “Do you think Hatchet will come after me again?”
“I don’t know. He’s a loose cannon. Hard to say what he’ll do.”
“I was so tired last night I forgot to ask you about Mark.”
Cat was on the counter by Diesel, and Diesel instinctively scratched him behind the ear whil
“What about the charm?”
“You were right about the charm. Mark had it on him the whole time. He carried it in his pocket. It was a dragonfly. The charm’s in Wulf’s pocket now.”
“So it’s two for the good guys and one for the bad guy. Does this mean our work is done?”
“No,” Diesel said. “It means I don’t know how to complete the job.”
“All the gluttony pieces have been found. What’s left to do?”
“The legend is that there were seven Stones representing the seven sins. Nothing is said about a Stone being fragmented. I always thought if the three charms were combined, they might somehow become one Stone, or else lead us to the real Stone.”
“So you’re thinking there’s a chance the actual Stone is out there somewhere, still undiscovered. And if that’s the case, Wulf has a chance of finding it.”
Diesel finished his coffee, rinsed his mug, and set it on the counter next to the sink. “It’s not a good chance, but it’s possible. Give me a minute to get dressed, and I’ll drive you to the bakery. I don’t want you on the road alone.”
Fridays are always busy. People entertain on Friday night and businesses have lunchtime celebrations that range from baby showers to retirement ceremonies. And all those things need meat pies, breadbaskets, and cupcakes. By eleven A.M., the corporate lunch orders were out the door, and the shop was empty of customers. Clara was in clean-up mode, and I was icing cupcakes for afternoon pickup.
Glo stuck her head into the kitchen. “Have you got a minute?”
“Why?” Clara asked, looking like she might not want to know the answer.
Glo scooted through the kitchen to the back door. “There isn’t anyone in the shop right now, and I want to show you something.”
“It better not be another monkey,” I said to her. “Or another cat or rhinocerous or iguana or abandoned bear cub.”
“It’s none of those things,” Glo said, disappearing into the parking lot and reappearing holding four brooms. “I got to thinking about the broom thing. I mean, there are all kinds of brooms, and maybe it makes a difference, right? So I got a bunch of them.” She leaned the brooms against the counter and opened Ripple’s book to the soaring spell. “I don’t really need Ripple’s. I know the spell by heart, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt for someone to follow along just to make sure I have it perfect.”
Clara pulled the plugs on the big mixer, the blender, and the coffeemaker. “Just in case,” she said.
I thought it was no wonder there were rumors of Clara’s magical powers. She had electric hair that defied rubber bands, hairspray, hairclips, and style. Her eyes were almond-shaped, slightly tilted, fringed by dark lashes. Her lips were thin but seemed right for her face. She wore big hoop earrings and a delicate silver cross on a chain around her neck. And she walked fast with a forward tilt, her chef coat flapping behind her, making it easy to imagine her on a broom.
Glo was a more difficult vision, looking like she’d be more at home at the mall than standing behind a witch’s cauldron. Yet here she was with her array of possibly enchanted brooms.
“I got this one at the hardware store next door,” Glo said, selecting a wooden-handled, straw sweeper number. “That hardware store is as old as Dazzle’s. I thought there was a good chance they’d have a wizard broom.”
She straddled the broom, took a deep breath, and concentrated. “Uppity uppity rise thyself,” she said. “Wings of magic, heart of believer, eyes open, spirit soar. Uppity uppity rise thyself.”
Nothing. Glo repeated the spell. Still nothing.
“Did I say the spell right?” she asked me.
“Yep,” I told her. “It was perfect.”
She set the broom aside and threw her leg over a disposable dust mop. “This is a long shot, but no stone unturned, right?”
“And if the spell doesn’t work, you can clean the shop floor with it,” Clara said.
“Uppity uppity rise thyself,” Glo chanted. “Wings of magic, heart of believer, eyes open, spirit soar. Uppity uppity rise thyself.”
She opened her eyes and looked over at me. “Well?”
“Sorry.”
“No biggie. I’ve got two more.” She grabbed a broom with a blue plastic handle and a yellow plastic brush cut at an angle. She stuck the broom between her legs, closed her eyes, and said the spell. She opened her eyes and blew out a sigh. “I’m not feeling it. I know this one isn’t the right broom.”
We all looked at the remaining broom. It had a high-gloss mahogany wood handle and a nicely tied-together natural straw sweeper end.
“I saved the best for last,” Glo said. “I got this broom from Nina at the Exotica Shoppe. She said it was her best performing broom.”
“Did she say it would fly?” Clara asked.
“She said it had real potential in the right hands.”
First off, I couldn’t relate to the whole flying thing. I got a sick stomach at the thought of clipping along with nothing under me but a broomstick and air. I suppose I’m a big, boring chicken, but I had no desire to hang glide, ride in a hot-air balloon, or parachute out of a plane. I hated roller coasters and Ferris wheels, and I threw up on the teacups at Disney World.
Second, I was still having a hard time with the whole enhanced ability stuff. Some of it, I could buy into. Like I could see where someone might be able to sense certain kinds of energy. I could understand that some people were stronger than others. And it seemed reasonable that I might have an instinctive sense regarding cupcake ingredients. I had a harder time understanding Diesel’s ability to open doors. I was completely freaked that Wulf could burn flesh with the touch of a fingertip. And flying on a broom was way out of my believability comfort zone.
Nonetheless, Glo wanted to fly, so I was going to make an effort at being supportive. I gave Glo two thumbs up. “Go for it,” I said, plastering a smile onto my face.
“Thanks,” she said, climbing onto the broom. “I think this might be it.” She squinched her eyes tightly closed, gripped the handle, and repeated the spell. “Uppity uppity rise thyself. Wings of magic, heart of believer, eyes open, spirit soar. Uppity uppity rise thyself.”
She opened her eyes and looked over at me. “Did you see it move? Did my feet come off the ground? It felt like I got a little lift.”
“Maybe a little,” I said. “It was hard to see from here.”
Glo looked at Clara. “Did you see it?”
“Not exactly, but I wasn’t watching your feet.”
Glo focused on the broom handle. “Here goes again. I have a feeling I’m just going to zoom away this time.”
She ran through the spell and waited a beat. We all held our breath, but nothing happened. No uppity. No rising. No soaring.
“Crap,” Glo said. “Damn and double damn and phooey.”
She dropped the broom to the floor and kicked it across the room. The broom ricocheted off the wall, flipped end over end, bounced off the work island, and crashed through the back window.
No one moved for a full minute. We were eyes wide, mouths open, frozen in place.
“I didn’t see that,” I finally said. “I swear I didn’t see anything.”
Clara picked her way through the pieces of glass on the floor and looked out the window. “Uh-oh.”
“What uh-oh?” I asked her. “I hate uh-oh.”
“I don’t see the broom.”
We went outside and looked around. No broom.
“A dog must have carried it off,” I said.
Glo squinted up into the sky. “Come back, broom,” she yelled. “I’m sorry I kicked you.”
We all looked up to see if the broom would return.
“I feel like an idi
We trooped into the kitchen and closed the door.
“I didn’t want to say anything when we were outside,” Glo said, “but I think that broom was really mean-spirited.”
“You should get your money back,” Clara said. “I wouldn’t pay for a broom with an attitude.”
I picked up where I’d left off with the cupcake icing. “It was just a freak accident,” I said more to myself than to anyone else.
Clara used one of Glo’s brooms to sweep up the window glass. “I’ll go along with the freak part.”
Diesel sauntered in through the entrance from the shop. “How’s it going?” he asked.
No one said anything. We were all contemplating the question, not sure of the answer.
His attention moved to the broken window. “What happened there?”
“Angry broom,” Glo said on a sigh.
Diesel cut his eyes to me.
“Glo kicked it to the wall, and then it sort of did a cartwheel and flipped itself through the window,” I told him.
“Hard to get sympathetic about a broom and a broken window when I’ve got a monkey sitting in my backseat,” Diesel said.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Glo said. “It turns out it’s surprisingly difficult to place a monkey.”
Clara scooped the glass up in a dustpan and dumped the pieces into the trash. “At least we’re neighbors to a hardware store. I’m going to run next door and find someone to fix my window.”
Diesel looked at his watch and then at me. “How much longer until you’re done?”
“I have to decorate this last batch of red velvet and do a little clean-up. Maybe ten minutes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
By the time I had my workstation clean and I was ready to leave, Clara had returned and was measuring the broken window with George Henley from Henley’s Hardware.
“See you tomorrow,” I said to Clara. “Have a nice day, George.”
“Back at ya,” George said. “Make sure you’re on your game tomorrow. I’m getting paid in cupcakes. I got a whole week coming to me.”