Demon Cant Help It Page 8

  Well, at least one of her programs was going well.

  The attendees had several bingo cards lined up in rows in front of them. They squinted with concentration as Mary called the numbers. Then their gnarled hands would fly over the cards with astounding speed as they punched the numbers they had with fat, round markers designed solely for the purpose of this pastime.

  “Bingo!” one of the men shouted, grinning like he’d won the multimillion-dollar lotto. He waved the card over his head in victory.

  Jo smiled, feeling a little better. Bingo might not seem like a major achievement to most people, but Jo saw it as a step in the right direction. The more she got people into the center, the more they would realize what a valuable resource they had—right here in their neighborhood.

  Another person, a woman this time, with white, white hair and dark skin, yelled out “Bingo!” wiggling in her seat like one of the preschoolers who’d sat there earlier today.

  Jo laughed at the woman’s glee. She watched for a moment longer. Mary spotted her and waved. Jo waved back, then headed to the front door.

  Humidity nearly bowled Jo over as she stepped outside. It was only May; she could only imagine what the heat and humidity were going to be like in July and August. Of course, D.C. could be pretty darn uncomfortable during the summer months, too.

  Even with the events of the day, Jo was still much happier to be here then back in that city—where everything reminded her of Jackson. Now talk about uncomfortable.

  Glancing up and down the street, allowing herself to acclimate to the heat, she debated what to do. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly seven. Was she hungry? She should be. Lunch was hours away now, and she hadn’t eaten much of it before everything went very strange.

  But she didn’t seem to have much appetite. She’d force the issue later, if necessary, which it frequently was these days. For now, however, she was going to walk and see where that led.

  After wandering for a while, window-shopping, she stopped into a convenience store to get a bottle of water. Even though the heat was oppressive, she still couldn’t bring herself to go home.

  Instead she sipped her water and strolled to Jackson Square. Finding an empty bench, shaded from the setting sun, she sat and watched the tourists ambling past. They browsed the artwork being hawked by local artists and wandered in and out of some of the shops lining the square. Residents hurried along with more determination than the visitors, heading to work or to meet friends or just wanting out of the sticky heat. Fortune-tellers under beach umbrellas sat in lawn chairs at card tables, waiting for their newest marks.

  Jo watched over the top of her bottle as a young woman, about college age, who was traveling with several other friends, approached one of the fortune-tellers. The older woman in a multicolored caftan and rings on every finger greeted the girl with a motherly smile and gesture for her to sit down. The girl did.

  Jo watched, trying not to make a face about the scene. The college kid was just doing it for fun. A cool thing to tell others about when she returned to wherever her hometown was. And Jo shouldn’t care.

  But Jo didn’t like things like that. The occult always freaked her out. She told herself she wasn’t a believer, but she still found things like psychics and mediums to be very unnerving.

  After all, who really wanted to know the future? That was a terrible burden. A terrible burden.

  Jo turned her attention to a woman dressed up like a fairy in a red tutu with black and silver wings. Her face was painted in dramatic makeup with false eyelashes, pale powder, scarlet rouge and lipstick, then the whole effect brushed over with iridescent glitter. She posed on a wooden orange crate, remaining utterly motionless, a living sculpture. At the base of the box was an open violin case, waiting for tourists to throw in change.

  At first, Jo considered the woman’s attempt at entrepreneurism quite absurd. As she watched her hold her position for minute after minute in the muggy, relentless heat, Jo reassessed her initial thoughts. That was a tough way to make a buck.

  Absently she wondered if the woman really played violin, even though she didn’t see any instrument, just the case. Jo took a sip of her water, then debated going to get the fairy girl a bottle of water, too. The poor thing had to be miserable.

  Jo stood, deciding that while she would rather have the water, the fairy would probably prefer a buck or two. As she walked toward the street performer, if the woman could really be called that, Jo opened her purse and rummaged around for a couple dollar bills.

  She glanced up, just long enough to make sure she didn’t run into anyone as she searched. It was also long enough for something unnerving to catch her eye. A fleeting glimpse like a flash on a television screen. A child with dark hair clad in rainbow stripes, thin arms, and legs bare.

  Her head snapped back up, but she saw nothing. Tourists wandering past the statue girl, some regarding her with interest, others more captivated by the square itself. Jo spun, taking in all of the square, searching but seeing the child nowhere. She’d looked back up too quickly for the child to disappear, to run down a crossroad, or slip into a store. It was just fractions of a second, but she wasn’t there.

  She imagined it, she told herself. She had to have. Someone else’s clothing reminded her of a rainbow. That had to be the case—she just thought she saw something.

  That was all. She shivered.

  Picking up her pace, she tossed the dollar bills in the fairy’s violin case, then she hurried down St. Ann. She didn’t want to go home. She needed to be with her friends.

  Still peering around herself as if she expected the child to reappear at her elbow, she doubled her steps until she came to the large barnlike door that led to Maggie and Erika’s courtyard.

  They’d given her a key when she first moved here, which she hadn’t used. They’d even offered for her to live in Ren’s apartment house, which was quirky and now charming, a renovated historical building that had once been slave quarters and a carriage house.

  She’d never considered taking them up on the offer, because she’d felt a little like she’d be an intruder on their wedded bliss commune, and that just wasn’t where she wanted to be after the bombshell of Jackson and his own wedded, albeit not blissful, state.

  Now she wished she’d accepted the offer. The idea of going back to her empty apartment did not appeal. Not when she was having these weird hallucinations. How did she even explain what she thought had happened without sounding nuts? And so what if the images had been real? It was just a kid. Hardly worthy of getting all creeped out about. But she was creeped. Something about the image of that little girl was so familiar. So eerie.

  She twisted the key in the lock, then shoved the heavy door open with the aid of her shoulder. Entering the courtyard always made her think of what it would be like entering the lush inner bailey of a castle. Gardenias, azaleas, and magnolia trees were all in full bloom, the scents mingling into a heady mixture, reminding Jo of sweet perfume and romantic, breezy summer nights.

  She tugged the door closed and relocked, then rubbed a hand across her sweaty brow. What she’d give for a breeze. She turned to look at the carriage house straight ahead, then the first-floor apartment to the left. Both places were quiet, all the windows dark.

  Jo had been pretty sure that Maggie and Erika wouldn’t be up yet, but she thought it was worth a try. They lived their husbands’ schedules now—which made sense. Maggie played with the Impalers a few nights a week. And Erika’s job as a sculptor gave her the freedom to work whenever she wanted. Their schedules didn’t do Jo any good now.

  She considered knocking on their doors and seeing if she could wake one of them up, but then she thought better of it. Instead she wandered over to the wrought-iron patio table situated under the sweeping limbs of the magnolia. Collapsing into one of the chairs, she pulled another one over and put up her feet.

  Her feet were a little swollen from the heat. Again, how would it be in the full heat of the summer, and when�
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  She frowned, looking in the direction of the vacant apartment. She thought she heard something. She listened, then saw a small bird hopping around in the leaves, searching for food.

  Smiling, she relaxed back in her chair. She didn’t feel the apprehension she had earlier. That was good.

  She supposed that now that she was sheltered in her friends’ beautiful, lush courtyard with said friends, while asleep, nearby, her fears seemed rather silly.

  She rested her head on the back of the chair and let her eyes drift shut. Suddenly she was exhausted, which happened to her nearly every day of late. A wash of bone-deep fatigue that siphoned away all her strength. And today had been particularly stressful and tiring.

  She must have dozed, because she was groggy and confused when something brushed against her leg. Another brush, and she started, suddenly wide awake. She pulled her legs up onto the chair, terrified.

  Then she laughed, the sound abrupt and surprised, as the culprit, Erika’s moody black cat, wandered leisurely into view, sitting down and watching her with eyes that glowed golden in the waning light.

  “Well, hello, crazy thing.”

  She leaned forward to scratch the side of the feline’s neck. He angled his head, offering her better access. Jo smiled, surprised the temperamental beast was allowing the attention.

  She rubbed the cat for a few more seconds, then straightened up, stretching the sore muscles in her lower back. She was a mess—dog-tired, sore, apparently a nervous wreck.

  Raising her hands over her head, she stretched, angling her head from side to side to get the kinks out of her neck. As she dropped her arms, she spotted her.

  A pretty woman with long wavy black hair and pale eyes and skin stood on the other side of the courtyard, watching her from the growing evening shadows. Jo sat up, peering at the woman.

  “Hi,” she called.

  The woman tilted her head as if she didn’t understand what Jo had said. Then she looked behind her as if she thought Jo was talking to someone else.

  Jo frowned, finding the woman’s reaction strange. Who was she? Had Ren rented out the apartment he’d originally offered to her? He must have—the courtyard doors were locked now and had been when she arrived.

  “Are you renting the upstairs apartment?” she asked.

  Again the woman looked at her as if she didn’t understand. Maybe she really didn’t speak the language. So Jo pointed to the upstairs. “Do you live up there?”

  The woman followed her gesture, but didn’t respond. She did, however, step closer, and Jo had to reassess her initial opinion of the woman. She wasn’t just pretty, she was stunning.

  “I’m Jo,” she said slowly, emphasizing each syllable, feeling a little stupid, because she still wasn’t sure if it was a matter of the woman not comprehending her. Although what else could it be?

  The woman’s eyebrows drew together as she studied Jo. Then she gestured to herself, patting the base of her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Not even a rush of air.

  “You can’t talk,” Jo said with dawning understanding.

  The woman touched her throat again, and nodded.

  The poor woman.

  Just then, the door to the carriage house opened behind Jo. She turned in her chair to see Maggie coming out, still wearing a pair of silky red pajama bottoms and a matching cami.

  “Jo, what are you doing here?”

  “I just came to visit before you all head to work. But everyone was sleeping, so I just decided to relax out here.”

  Maggie joined her at the table.

  “And I was meeting your newest tenant.”

  Maggie frowned. “Who?”

  “Your newest tenant.” She gestured toward the place where the woman had been standing. But she was no longer there. Jo peered around the courtyard, searching for the woman. She was nowhere.

  Maggie looked around, too, clearly trying to understand what Jo was talking about.

  “We don’t have a new tenant,” she finally said to Jo. “It’s still just Erika, Vittorio, Ren, and I living here.”

  Jo studied the shadows and vegetation for a moment longer. “But I just saw a woman in here. Long dark hair, pale skin.”

  Maggie gave her a quizzical look. “I don’t know. Unless she wandered in off the street somehow, she shouldn’t be here.”

  Jo stared at Maggie, not really seeing her friend. She had seen the woman—as clear as day. She’d interacted with her.

  What was going on? Was she losing her mind?

  “I guess I must have—dreamed it,” she finally said to Maggie. “I–I did doze off for a bit.”

  Maggie nodded, giving her an understanding, almost sympathetic look. “That must have been it.”

  It must have, Jo told herself again, trying to convince herself of that theory. But she couldn’t quite do it. She had seen the woman.

  She glanced around again, but there was no one but herself and Maggie there. Then she noticed a small black shape sitting in the place where Jo had last seen the lady.

  Erika’s cat. He blinked at her, his golden eyes there, then gone for a moment, then back. The wise, unreadable gaze like that of a shrewd, watchful owl.

  Jo stared at the animal for a few moments, getting the strange feeling he was watching her with purpose.

  “You’re right,” she finally said. “I had to have been dreaming.”

  But the explanation didn’t lessen the eerie feeling that had returned to her chest. What was happening to her?

  CHAPTER 9

  Jo put off going back to her place as long as she could. But she couldn’t avoid her new home like she was avoiding D.C. This was her new beginning—such as it was so far.

  She dropped her purse by the front door, then kicked off her shoes. She paused as a loud hum filled the room, but she quickly realized the noise was the window unit air-conditioner in her living room.

  She shook her head, telling herself she couldn’t let every noise, every imagined image out of the corner of her eye, terrify her.

  She wandered to the kitchen, going straight to the fridge. She had to eat even though she still didn’t feel hungry. Grabbing a container of plain yogurt, she went to the cupboard, and pulled down a box of granola. Then from another cupboard, she got a bowl. Once she’d created her concoction of yogurt and granola, she sat at the small café table to eat.

  She took several bites, then pushed the bowl away, even as she told herself she should finish it. She had to.

  Instead she rehashed the visit with her friends. Maggie and Erika hadn’t done much to ease her mind. Both of her friends had watched her with wary, worried eyes as if they expected her to have a full blown breakdown right there in front of them.

  Which wasn’t completely out of the question.

  But she hadn’t mentioned what she’d seen or the uneasy feelings she’d had all day. Nor had she told them that Maksim was now volunteering at the center. She told herself, even now, it was because she didn’t want them worrying about any of it. Which was true about the hallucinations, but that didn’t explain why she didn’t tell them about Maksim. She didn’t have an answer for that one, she just hadn’t wanted their opinion, she guessed.

  She’d chatted in a stilted way about grants and programs, and they responded in kind, as if they knew she had other things to tell them, but they didn’t want to pry. Jo appreciated that. She would share everything—she wouldn’t have much choice eventually.

  Jo had actually been relieved when they had to go to work at the bar. Erika had asked her to stay with her while she worked on her latest sculpture, but Jo turned her down, knowing the visit would just continue to be awkward.

  Having them fretting about her wasn’t help get her mind off all her problems.

  So here she was, willing her whirring thoughts to quiet. Which wasn’t great, but what could she do?

  Go to bed.

  She decided that she might as well. She might not sleep, but at least she’d be restin
g in her bed. And that was better than poking at her unwanted dinner or pacing around her apartment.

  She placed her bowl in the sink, then headed to her bedroom. Digging through one of her dresser drawers, she found a pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top. She tossed them on her bed, which she hadn’t made up that morning, because she was late. She considered making it up now, but didn’t have the energy—and she was crawling right back into it, although the rumpled bedding seemed like another reminder that she wasn’t doing well getting her new life in order.

  She sighed and headed to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. The narrow hallway leading to her living room, kitchen and bathroom was lined with built-ins. She had managed to get all her books and pictures put away. That was a good start to organization, she supposed.

  She stopped, taking a moment to admire something that she did have a handle on. Tidy shelves—it wasn’t much, but at the moment she’d hold onto anything she had.

  She straightened a picture of her, Erika, and Maggie on their first trip to New Orleans, taken at Pat O’Brien’s, big smiles, and big umbrella drinks in hand. How things had changed since that trip. She sighed, then moved on to straighten the picture staggered slightly behind it. Her fingers paused on the frame.

  Oh my God. She picked up the picture, studying closer. It was a picture of Jo and her little sister, Kara, holding up sticks with toasted marshmallows on the end. A picture taken only days before Kara died. Jo wore a pale blue bathing suit with yellow and white daisies dotting the material. Kara also wore a bathing suit—rainbow striped.

  Jo set the picture down as if the pewter frame was searing hot, even as a stark chill ran down her spine. She backed away from the photo, telling herself if she had seen a child in rainbow stripes today, it wasn’t a bathing suit. It wasn’t anything more than a coincidence. It certainly wasn’t Kara.

  No. No, that was insane. Insane to even consider.

  She forgot the bathroom and headed back to the kitchen. The bright lights and yellow paint instantly made her feel calmer. But she didn’t want to be alone. She was too shaken.