would have been glad enough if I’d been the one on my way to the grave.
I was pretty shaken up by my abduction from Stompin’ Sally’s. A few days later, Sally herself called. She said she’d sent me a gift card for ten free drinks at her establishment, and she offered to buy me a new pair of cowboy boots, since mine would never be the same after my flight through the cornfield. I appreciated that—but right then, I wasn’t sure about any future line dancing.
And I knew I’d never be able to watch Signs again.
There was no way to thank everyone who poured out of the bar and into their trucks to try to track down the van. At least five other vehicles had headed south, just in case Claude had doubled back that way. As the bartender told me, “We had your back, little lady.”
This little lady was grateful. And also grateful that out of all the people who heard me remind Claude of what he’d be facing, only the Stompin’ Sally’s bartender who’d shot him found a moment while we were waiting for the police to ask me what I’d meant. I’d explained as simply and tersely as I could. “He wasn’t human, and I knew he’d be in a human jail for a century or more. That would have been pretty awful for him.” That was all I had to say.
“You know I had to shoot him ’cause you said that,” the man said steadily.
“If I’d had a gun, I would have done it myself,” was all I could offer. “And you know he was attacking you and would have kept on going until he was stopped.” I could tell from the man’s thoughts that he was a veteran and he’d had to kill before. He’d hoped never to do it again. This would be another thing I’d have to live with. He would, too.
Chapter 22
I went to work the next day. I’d missed enough, I figured. I won’t say it was an easy day to get through, since I had moments of sheer panic. That would have been the case if I’d stayed home, and at least at the bar I was able to hear that Xavier had made it out of surgery and would recover. Sam’s presence behind the bar was reassuring. And his eyes followed me, as if he were constantly thinking of me, too.
I drove home while it was still light, and I was glad to get in the house and lock the door behind me. I was less glad to find Mr. Cataliades and Diantha already in the house, but I felt better about their presence when I saw they’d brought Barry. He was in bad shape, and I had a hard time persuading them that he could not heal himself the way demons could. In fact, I was pretty sure that Barry had broken a bone or two in his face and one of his hands. He was bruised and puffy all over and moved with excruciating care.
They’d put him on the bed in the guest room across the hall from mine, and I had an appalled realization that I hadn’t changed the sheets since Amelia and Bob’s stay. But after evaluating Barry’s physical damage, I realized that worrying about used sheets was the furthest thing from his concerns. He was more worried about peeing without blood.
“I feel pretty rough,” he said, between cracked lips. Diantha watched me give him some water, very carefully.
“You gotta go to a hospital,” I said. “I guess you can tell them a car hit you while you were walking by the road or something. And you were unconscious.”
I was aware, even as I said this, that it was utter bullshit. Not only would any competent doctor be able to tell that Barry had been beaten, not hit by any car, but I was sick of trying to explain away awful stuff like this.
“Isn’t worth the trouble,” Barry said. “I’ll just tell ’em I got mugged. More or less the truth.”
“So Newlin and Glassport grabbed you. What did they think they could beat out of you?”
He tried to smile, but the attempt was pretty ghastly. “They wanted me to tell them where Hunter was.”
I sat down in a hurry. Mr. Cataliades stepped forward, his face grim. “You see why it is a good thing they are all dead,” he said. “Newlin, Glassport, the fairy.”
“He told them,” I said, and it was almost funny how deeply