after sunset. But ultimately, I was Hel’s liaison. No one else. However I did it, whatever it took to get the job done, protecting Sinclair and upholding Hel’s order was my responsibility. If I wanted to maintain any shred of authority in this town, I had to be tough, a hell of a lot tougher than I’d been so far.
I had to be strong. Ruthless.
Unhesitating.
Thirty-two
When I was a kid, it was the days of summer that slipped away too quickly, one lazy sunlit idyll blurring into the next, punctuated by the occasional excitement of a thunderstorm rolling across Lake Michigan.
September was the time when all of summer’s indolence ground to a screeching halt with the return to school, to being trapped behind a desk on a hard seat that bruised my tail no matter how much I tucked or squirmed, breathing in the scent of chalk dust, listening to teachers drone, flies buzzing against classroom windows, the minute hand on the clock inching along with agonizing slowness.
Funny how different things are when you’re an adult. This year, the remaining days of September fled.
It’s not like anything of note happened. I spent most of my time going through the X-Files, inputting data into the Pemkowet Ledger. It gave me a sense of satisfaction to see the database growing from a vague inkling of an idea into a useful, searchable tool. Plus, I was getting paid for doing the work.
I’m happy to say that I also helped Jen move out of her parents’ house. After a lot of soul-searching, several long talks with her brother, and a visit to Sinclair’s place to get a tour of his spare room and the battery of magical protections Casimir and his coven had implemented, she decided it was time. When I reminded her that dear Emmy’s return was just around the bend, she shrugged.
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I plan on making myself scarce. But if that doesn’t work, right now I figure when it comes to hostile sorceresses, Sinclair’s is now officially the safest place in town.”
She had a point.
I would have spent time helping Mrs. Hastings, Lee’s mom. At the emergency room the night of Bethany’s rising, it turned out that Lee had a broken ulna. It was a simple fracture and the orthopedist on call assured him that he’d be fine after six weeks in a cast, but it meant that it was difficult for him to assist his mom with some of her household chores, which was his whole purpose in moving back to Pemkowet.
Of course, I volunteered, thinking that an elderly widow—actually, she was only in her late fifties, but she was one of those women who’d seemed old and crabby her entire life—half-crippled by rheumatoid arthritis would be grateful for the offer. I mean, you’d think so, right?
Not a chance.
She informed Lee in no uncertain terms that no spawn of Satan would ever darken her door and that he should have nothing further to do with me, and hinted broadly that he should move back into her house while his arm healed, which would make it easier for him to wait on her.
Lee refused in equally uncertain terms. Maybe he’d been a bit of a mama’s boy in high school, but no matter how strong a sense of filial duty she’d instilled in him, there was no way he was going to let himself slip back under her thumb.
No wonder he bought his own place. I found a solution by volunteering Jen in my stead, which turned out to be perfectly acceptable to Mrs. Hastings. Since Jen felt we all owed Lee for his successful artificial-sunlight intervention, she was amenable as long as I agreed to help her pack up her stuff.
Other than clothing, there wasn’t that much of it. Granted, the LeBaron had a big trunk, but come moving day, it only took us two trips.
“Oh, my God.” Jen stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the contents of her new room. “My life to date is pathetic.”
I perched on the edge of the sagging mattress. “At least it’s furnished.”
“I don’t have sheets.”
“We’ll get you sheets,” I said. “You can buy them at the dollar store now, remember? And socks. And underwear.”
It was an old joke in Pemkowet—you could buy a ten-thousand-dollar painting here, but there was no place to buy socks. Until the Dollar General opened on the outskirts of town a few years ago, it was true. Not a particularly funny joke if you grew