Demon Cant Help It Page 15

  Maggie coughed, choking on the sip of wine she’d just taken. But Jo’s attention was distracted by a brushing around her ankles. Erika’s cat mewed at her as she looked down.

  “That was wrong of me to say,” Erika said, once Maggie’s coughing fit calmed. “We don’t mean to pry or make you feel uncomfortable.” She reached down and picked up her cat, who yowled in protest.

  “Silly Boris,” she murmured to the cranky black cat, stroking his fur.

  The cat looked sullenly at Jo.

  I hear ya, cat.

  Her friends’ reaction wasn’t a surprise, but it still rubbed her the wrong way. She wanted to share with her friends. Her best friends. But she got the feeling they would be somehow disappointed in her. She was disappointed in herself.

  She began drawing with the water again, getting lost in her thoughts about, well, everything.

  Maggie reached out and placed her hand over Jo’s, stopping her drawing.

  “What is he helping with?” Maggie asked quietly as if she knew Jo was conflicted, the she needed her friends to understand.

  Jo sighed. “He’s helping with the daycare.”

  “The daycare?” Erika and Maggie said in unison.

  So much for the understanding.

  Jo laughed, although it was sounded flat even to her ears. “Yes. He’s been up to his designer-clad neck in paste and finger paints and sticky fingerprints.”

  Neither of her friends said anything for a moment, so Jo added, “And surprisingly, he’s good at it. The kids love him.”

  “Really?” Maggie said. Her brows drew in over her eyes as if Jo’s assertion was the most puzzling thing she’d ever heard.

  “Yes. He actually has pretty amazing past work experience with children. Better than mine as far as the community center goes.”

  “He does?” Erika also looked as if she’d never heard such a strange thing.

  Jo nodded. She took a sip of her water, then she got up to grab a piece of cheese and a cracker from the platter Erika had been preparing, before Jo dropped the Maksim bomb.

  She leaned on the counter. “He’s been a Big Brother and worked with mentally challenged children.” She took a bite of her cracker, chewing thoughtfully. “He’s worked with terminally ill kids.”

  Erika and Maggie exchanged looks again, but for once, Jo didn’t find the shared glance suspect or confusing. She knew exactly what they were thinking.

  “Believe me,” she said, “I didn’t expect that about him, either. In fact, I didn’t believe it to the point I thought he must have manufactured his résumé. But I was wrong. His recommendations were wonderful. I checked them all.”

  Maggie and Erika looked at each other again, clearly dumbfounded.

  “I find that hard to believe,” Erika finally said.

  Boris picked that moment to meow, jump out of Erika’s arms, and begin twining through Jo’s legs again.

  “I did, too,” Jo told them, looking down at the persistent feline. Then she shrugged, irritation rising up in her, but she refused to show it. Instead she busied herself with eating her cheese and cracker, debating why their reactions were bothering her so much. Just a week ago, she’d have agreed with them completely.

  Just a week ago.

  God, a week ago she wouldn’t have contemplated sleeping with him, either. Okay, she might have contemplated, but she wouldn’t have done it.

  She was a mess, and she was taking her own issues with herself out on the wrong people. Erika and Maggie loved her, and they just worried. Of course, there was no sharing the fact that she had slept with him. Her friends were pretty accepting, but that would do them in.

  She did consider telling them about Jackson. Who would have thought bringing up her married ex-lover would be a welcome change of topic?

  But Maggie spoke before she mustered the courage of opening that can of worms. “You look good. Are you feeling okay?”

  Jo finished chewing the cheese she’d just popped in her mouth and nodded. “I’m feeling good. Not as tired.” Not after the satisfied sleep of last night.

  “I’ve heard the tiredness passes pretty quickly,” Maggie said with a smile.

  But Jo frowned. “What?”

  Maggie blinked. “I–I thought you might have had a touch of a flu that has been going around.”

  Jo studied her friend for a moment, trying to tell if that was really what she’d meant.

  “Maybe that’s what had me so tired,” she agreed. “But I have to admit having Maksim around has really helped me out. And I’ve been able to sleep better.” Boy, was that an understatement.

  “Well, if he’s a help,” Erika said without finishing the sentence as if the idea was so unlikely it didn’t even merit completion.

  Jo didn’t add to it, either. Instead she changed the topic to Erika’s work, a commissioned sculpture for the New Orleans Library. Then they talked about what Jo planned to do at the community center. They talked about the new furniture Maggie and Ren had bought, and about the trip to Italy they were planning in the summer.

  By the end of the visit, things had gotten back to an easier, more pleasant place. Jo still hadn’t told them anything about Jackson, or everything that had gone on between Maksim and herself. She was still holding back, but at least Erika and Maggie had let go of the fact that Maksim was working at the center, and that Jo wasn’t going to get rid of him right away.

  “I should head home,” she finally said, after suppressing the third yawn in as many minutes.

  “Are you sure?” Erika asked. “You could spend the night here.”

  Jo laughed. “I only live a few blocks away.”

  “We will walk you home,” Maggie said, rising from her chair.

  “No. I’m fine. It’s not even late.”

  “New Orleans can be dangerous,” Maggie said, still not returning to her seat.

  “I know, and I will be fine. It’s only ten o’clock. And I’ll stay on Royal all the way. It will be fine.”

  Both of her friends looked as if they wanted to argue, but they didn’t, perhaps worrying they’d disagreed with her enough for one night.

  “And I have my cell. I will call you if I get the least bit nervous,” Jo promised.

  “Okay,” Erika agreed. “But call Maggie’s phone if you need us. You know my phone has a mind of its own. I really need to get a new one.”

  Jo laughed. Erika had been saying that for years.

  “I will.” Jo gathered her purse and headed for the door. “Okay. I’ll talk to you both soon.”

  Maggie came forward and hugged her. “You do know we’ll support anything you do, don’t you?”

  Jo studied her friend, getting that weird sensation again that she somehow knew more than she was telling. More than she possibly could.

  “I know,” Jo said—and she did. Jo just couldn’t deal with talking yet.

  “We are here for you,” Erika said, joining them in their hug. Jo laughed, although tears suddenly threatened to choke her.

  Man, she was a mess.

  “Okay,” she said, blinking to hide her reaction. “I think I’m hitting the wall. Off to bed with me.”

  She opened the door and Boris darted past her as she did.

  “That cat,” Erika said. “He’s been acting so weird for days now.”

  “Cats are always weird,” Jo said, watching the animal in question pace back and forth in front of the porch door, waiting to get out into the courtyard.

  “Call when you get home,” Maggie said, clearly still not pleased with the idea of Jo walking home alone.

  “I will. ‘Night.”

  She waved to her friends and headed out into the courtyard. The air was still balmy and if Jo listened carefully she could hear the revelry from Bourbon Street. The nice weather and nearness of so many people made her feel at ease taking her evening stroll home.

  Boris scampered through the courtyard, his dark fur making him appear as nothing more than a shadow before he disappeared totally in the lush
greenery.

  Jo dug around in her purse looking for her key ring. She found it and unlocked the large doors that led to the street. Once outside on St. Ann Street, she could really hear the music and partiers on Bourbon.

  She hummed a little, recognizing the strains of an eighties rock classic as she relocked the doors. She tossed the keys back in her satchellike purse and turned in the direction of Royal.

  It was then that she saw her. The woman Jo had seen in Maggie and Erika’s courtyard a few days ago. The woman whom she’d now written off as one of the bizarre lucid dreams she’d been experiencing of late. She’d even convinced herself that she had dozed in the lawn chair and dreamed the whole event.

  But there she stood as clear as day by one of the posts supporting the gallery balcony on the front of Ren’s building. Her black hair fell down her back in waves; her eyes were pale and almost seemed to glow in the lamplight. She watched Jo as if she was waiting to see if she noticed her.

  Jo didn’t move, and she didn’t look away from the woman.

  “Hello,” Jo called, and again Jo was struck with the notion that the woman seemed to expect her to be talking about someone else. She didn’t look behind her like she had the first time, but she seemed a little startled by Jo’s attention.

  The woman didn’t move, so Jo took a step toward her.

  “Can I help you?” Jo asked.

  The woman frowned, the wrinkling of her forehead doing nothing to mar her ethereal beauty. Then she nodded.

  “Are you in trouble?” Jo got the feeling she was. Not that she looked frightened or panicked. More like sadness wrapped around her.

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  “Do you need me to call someone?”

  Again she nodded.

  “Can you give me a name?”

  Another nod.

  Then the woman mouthed something. Jo shook her head, unable to make out what she’d said. She stepped closer, trying to get a better look at her face. Shadows from the balcony above played across her lovely face, making it hard for Jo to see her clearly.

  “Say it again.”

  The woman mouthed the words again, and when Jo shook her head, still not making out what she said.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t see you well. Can you step into the light?”

  The woman shook her head, and Jo wondered why not. Why did she have to cling to the shadows?

  Loud laughter and voices drew Jo’s attention away from the woman. A group of drunken revelers weaved down the sidewalk toward them. Jo moved out of the way, giving them plenty of space to pass as their impaired motor skills were making it hard for them to navigate.

  When they finally weaved and cackled their way to the next block, Jo turned back to the woman.

  She was gone.

  “Hello?” Jo called, searching the shadows for her. “Hello?”

  She looked, seeing nothing. No hint the woman had ever been there. Just as before.

  She walked to the corner of St. Ann and Royal, which was the only direction she could have gone in. Otherwise she would have had to pass Jo. But Jo saw no one who looked like the woman on the streets.

  She debated, then paced back to Ren’s. No sign of her at all.

  Then Jo heard a noise and looked up. Erika’s cat sat up on the courtyard wall, peering down at her with pale eyes that flashed iridescently in the streetlight.

  Jo stared at the cat. The cat stared back, those glittering eyes familiar, and the strangest notion entered her mind.

  No. She was being crazy. Yet again. How could she even consider something so outlandish?

  She tugged her purse up higher on her shoulder and started walking briskly in the direction of Royal.

  She laughed out loud at her train of thought, realizing she probably looked and sounded like a madwoman. Not that her behavior would even merit a second glance in the Quarter.

  But she felt like she might be going mad. In fact, given the events of the whole week, the chances were pretty high.

  Was she really entertaining the idea that the strange mute woman and Erika’s cat were one and the same?

  She hastened her steps as if she could outrun the preposterous and frankly disturbing idea.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jo was relieved when she made it home without any more sightings of disappearing mute women—who could potentially be cats. Or little dead girls in rainbow-striped bathing suits. Or anything else that might be perceived as disturbingly weird. And that signified her fall into the abyss of insanity.

  She bolted her door, then rooted around in her purse for her cell. She dialed Maggie’s number, waiting only two rings before her friend answered.

  “You made it?”

  “Yes,” Jo said, trying to sound normal. God, she was feeling anything but.

  “Good. Listen, Jo, I’m sorry if we sounded critical about Maksim. I think it’s great that he’s been a help.”

  Jo nodded, then realized Maggie couldn’t tell that over the phone. “Thank you, Maggie.”

  “And I want you to know you can tell me anything. Erika, too.”

  “I know,” Jo said, believing her friend. But still none of the truths of her life in the past few months came to her lips. Why? What held her back?

  Maggie would understand her pain over Jackson’s betrayal. Maggie had been badly hurt by a man before meeting Ren. If anyone would know how Jo felt, it would be her.

  And Erika always believed in the ability to tell the future. She loved going to psychics. She’d believe Jo’s story about her sister and the long-ago-experienced premonition. She’d probably even believe her about what she’d thought she’d seen.

  Yet, no words came. Why? Why?

  Despite her questioning, she knew the answer. If she told her dear friends, then everything would be real. She couldn’t deny it any longer. And she wasn’t ready for the truth. About anything. She wanted to hide—to let all those things stay in her past.

  But they can’t. Not now. Not with what was happening.

  “You’ll talk to us when you are ready, right?”

  Jo blinked, almost forgetting Maggie was still on the end of the line. How long had she been silent?

  “Yes,” Jo said. “Thanks.”

  Jo said good-bye and hung up. She set her phone on the kitchen counter, then looked around, not quite certain what to do next.

  She glanced at her phone, tempted to call Maksim. But instead, she shook her head. As if she didn’t have enough going on. She didn’t need to add him to the mix.

  Sighing, she headed to her bedroom. Tonight, she would crawl into bed early. Maybe read. Do something calm and normal and relaxing.

  She changed into a pair of baggy men’s-style pajamas, then crawled into her bed. She grabbed a novel from the top of a pile she had on her nightstand. Books she’d been meaning to read, but hadn’t had time.

  Dead By Dawn. That didn’t sound like a story that would calm her overactive imagination. She grabbed another one. Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. One of the few Austen books she hadn’t read yet. Getting lost in the social webs of the Regency era seemed like a good fit for her mood.

  She’d let herself get involved in other people’s deceptions and missteps in propriety. Flipping open the book, she read the first line…

  Oh, yeah, this would work. She was immediately drawn into someone else’s drama. Good.

  A crash woke Jo. She sat up in her bed. The lamp still cast warm yellow light around her room. Blackness still colored her windows.

  She must have fallen asleep reading. She looked around the bedding, discovering the book had fallen to the floor.

  She sank back against her pillows. That was all that woke her. Her eyes drifted closed again, and she told herself she would turn off her lamp. In a minute.

  Sleepy. She was so sleepy.

  Then she heard another noise. The sound faint, just barely seeping into her fatigue-hazed mind. But then the sound came into clear focus. A sound she knew and had heard before.

&nbs
p; Her eyes opened as she listened. The noise hadn’t come from within her room. At least she didn’t think so. It seemed like it must have come from the hallway.

  She didn’t move, keeping absolutely still, waiting. Telling herself she wouldn’t hear it again. That she’d imagined it.

  But there the noise was again. Faint, but there.

  Fear rose up in her chest, burning the back of her throat. But she didn’t stir, paralyzed with her own dread.

  Go away. Go away.

  Then she heard it again, closer this time. The sound from the restroom, the sound from the hallway at the community center. Pattering feet. Small feet. But more than that, she now knew what made the sound so distinct.

  They weren’t just small, bare feet on hard wood. They were wet feet. The watery pattering echoing from in the hallway. The sound made more distinct by that slap of wetness on a hard surface.

  Jo swallowed, only her eyes shifting toward her doorway. From her angle on the bed, she could only make out the dim light from the kitchen. But the hint of light didn’t make the situation less frightening.

  Jo didn’t want to see the moving shadows of what was coming in her direction on small wet feet. She didn’t want to see it. Her.

  She closed her eyes, digging her fingers into her comforter, tugging the material up to her chin. She was acting like a terrified child, but she didn’t care. She was terrified.

  The steps stopped.

  Jo remained quiet, except for the occasional shaky, shallow release of her own breath. Minutes ticked by, or at least it felt that way. Still no sound.

  Finally, Jo peeked an eye open. Her room was quiet, empty. She loosened her grip on her bedding and opened her eyes fully. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Her dresser stood against the far wall. A chintz chair in pale yellow sat in the corner, its matching pillow angled against the back.

  A picture of cows grazing in a wildflower-filled field hung on the wall by her bed. Everything was just as it should be.

  Except for the creepy coldness that prickled her skin. The chill she now realized had surrounded her as soon as she’d heard the first steps. Eerie chilliness draining away all the warmth of the room.

  She eased upright, leaning forward a little to try and see out into the hallway. She could make out one small corner, the start of the built-ins that lined the length.