"Didn't I fire you?" Betty said when she unlocked the front door to CCB's to let me in later that night.
"You put me on sabbatical." I walked into the empty dining room, sat at the counter, and placed my head in my hands. "Turns out waitresses don't go on sabbatical."
Betty glanced pointedly out the front windows to the dark night beyond, and I held up one hand to stop the lecture. "I know. It's past sunset. But I couldn't stay in the house." I let out a whoopee-cushion puff of air. "It's been a rough day. I had the Confessional with the girls this afternoon, and it took a bad left turn."
Betty made a face. "Of course it did. There's never any good to be had from confessions. I've been telling you that for years. You'd think seventy-three years of wisdom would count for something. Jeez."
I reached out and grabbed her hand. "Let me close with you tonight. I can mop. Count the till. Anything. I promise, I won't go outside again until daylight. I'll sleep on your couch. I just need something to do to take my mind off things."
"It's all done. You're just lucky I was still down here. What the hell were you thinking, walking over here at night?"
"What's the difference?" I said. "My house, out on the street, here. If he wants to get me, he'll get me. Holing up at night isn't going to make much of a difference."
We both went silent for a moment, and Betty gave a small shrug conceding the point.
"I need chocolate," I said. "You didn't happen to zap up any chocolate cakes today, did you?"
She shook her head. "Gotta place your order before sunset, sweetie." She watched me for a moment, her expression softening. "So, Millie told you girls about what happened with her and Nick, I take it?"
"How did you know about that?"
"Livvy, everyone knows. She's been blabbing it around town all day. Nick's gone into hiding, apparently; no one's seen him since yesterday. I don't blame him. Peach is a sweet girl, but I wouldn't want to be on the business end of that woman scorned. It's the pretty, perfect ones who go nuclear and take out a city block."
I let out a highly stressed sigh. "Look, work or chocolate. Give me something mundane to distract me."
Outside, the revving of a car with a blown muffler got our attention, and Betty went to the front door to watch, more out of habit than any strong curiosity. "There's no work for you to do, but I think I've got some Ho Hos in my cupboard upstairs."
I followed her. "Ho Hos? Really?"
"Don't mock. You get to be my age, you learn that sometimes life calls for bad snack cakes."
I stood on my tiptoes to try to see the source of the noise pollution, even though there was really only one possibility. "Frankie Biggs, I'm guessing?"
"Gotta be," Betty said. "No one else in this town drives a car that loud. I can't believe the damn thing's still on the..." She trailed off, went silent for a moment, then said, "What the hell?"
"What?" I opened the front door to get a better look and saw the headlights of Frankie's car swerving down the street, accompanied by an oddly familiar popping sound. Betty and I both stepped out into the street to watch, just as Frankie's blue '72 Barracuda became visible under the streetlight at the end of the block.
"Christ, is it smoking?" Betty said just as I took another step out toward the street, my heart beating in response to my mounting panic. The Barracuda jumped the curb at the opposite side of the street, then swerved back onto the road, a cloud of whirling gray smoke circling around it. The car wasn't moving very fast, maybe thirty miles an hour, but it wasn't the speed that was bothering me at the moment. What had my attention were the pool balls flying at it, seemingly from nowhere, bouncing off the car as it went down the street. Pockmarks appeared all over the body of the car. The back passenger window was shattered, and the front windshield was spider-cracked all through.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" I muttered as I glanced up and down the street, my mind racing as I came to the conclusion that only one person in town cared enough about Frankie Biggs to want to hurl pool balls at him.
"Amber!" I yelled, starting down the sidewalk. Betty grabbed at me, but I pulled my arm out of her grasp. I could feel it, that same gut-level sickness I'd had when I watched that same gray smoke attack Peach with walnuts outside my house. It was a bit different this time, though, because beside the blind panic there was now a new emotion; deep, roiling fury. I stomped as I headed down the sidewalk, pissed with Cain for messing with my town, with Millie and Amber for giving him a way in, and with myself for being unable to stop him.
"Amber!" I hollered again, and started running for the corner as the Barracuda swayed under the attack. I glanced back in time to see the blue-striped ten ball crash through his passenger side window, and even over the tragic muffler, I could hear him holler in pain as the car jerked dangerously toward CCB's.
"Betty, call nine-one-one!" Betty darted inside, and I ran faster toward the corner. The Barracuda jumped the curb again, the metal screeching as it scraped against the concrete. Another pool ball shot out from the whirling swarm of smoke and crashed through the windshield, finally shattering it, and I watched in sickness as the ball cracked against Frankie's forehead. He slumped over the steering wheel, his dead foot falling off the accelerator but unable to hit the brake. The car lurched straight for me, and I barely got out of the way before it shot past me and crashed into the redbrick wall of the vacant corner building that used to be Decker's General Store. With the final collision, the gray smoke began to clear, and I heard the familiar blurp-blurp-blurp of the pool balls disappearing as I ran toward the car.
"Frankie!" He was slumped, bleeding, and definitely unconscious when I reached him. I stretched my hand through the busted driver's side window and felt his neck for a pulse; it was there, and it was strong, probably still pounding from the adrenaline of the last few minutes. Given that he was definitely alive, in no more immediate danger, and I could already hear the distant whine of emergency sirens, I thought it best not to move him. I pulled my hand out and spun around, scanning the immediate vicinity for any sign of Amber, or Cain, but whoever had attacked Frankie seemed to have disappeared along with the gray smoke.
Which, honestly, was okay by me, because what the hell was I going to do about it, anyway?
"What happened?" Betty said as she caught up to me, then glanced at Frankie bleeding in the front seat. "Oh, crap."
I pulled her aside, toward the vacant general store, so we'd be out of the way when the EMTs arrived. "Did you see it? The gray smoke?"
She stared at me. "I'm old, not blind. But who was throwing the pool balls?"
"They were magical," I said. "The other night, Peach and I got attacked with magic walnuts. Same gray smoke, same disappearing projectiles."
"Walnuts?" Betty seemed surprised for a moment, then gave a knowing nod. "Millie?"
"Yeah. How'd you know?"
"Her grandmother had walnut trees all over the property, and Millie got hit in the head by one when she was four. She had to go to the hospital and everything. She's been traumatized by walnuts ever since." She shook her head. "But Millie's not a Magical. I would know. And, even if she was, why would she attack Frankie?"
"She didn't," I said. "This was Amber Dorsey."
Betty shook her head. "Now, I know Amber Dorsey isn't a Magical. Too angry. She would have gone all Carrie-at-the-prom way before now if she had the power."
"I don't think she has any." I raised my voice to be heard over the approaching ambulance. "Have you ever heard of people taking conduits?"
Betty thought for a moment, then nodded. "I've heard of it. Never seen it. But who...?"
"Cain, that guy I told you about, from the alley at Happy Larry's? He's a powerful conjurer. With night magic."
Her expression darkened. "That's not good."
The ambulance screeched to a halt and EMTs popped out of the back, rushing toward Frankie's car. Right behind, a sheriff's car pulled up, lights blazing, and Mickey Taylor hopped out, heading straight for us. Betty smiled and waved him over. I grabbed her arm and stepped in close.
"Wait, what do we tell him?" I asked, my voice low.
"As much of the truth as we can," she said.
Mickey walked us into CCB's, where Betty told him that we saw Frankie's car swerving, and it looked like someone had pelted the car with pool balls, and that he might want to talk to Amber Dorsey about it, although we didn't actually see her. Everything she said was absolutely true, and yet not at all supernatural. I mostly just nodded and kept my mouth shut. Mickey took it all down on his notepad, saying he'd call us if he needed any more information. After locking the door behind him, Betty walked back to where I was sitting at the counter and sat down next to me.
"That was really good," I said. "You were incredible."
"Not my first rodeo." We were silent for a moment, until she sighed. "Conduits? You're sure?"
"Pretty sure," I said.
She nodded acceptance, her expression grim. "If this Cain is preying on people with scores to settle, then we've got serious trouble. You know how many people want to kill each other with pool balls and walnuts in this town?"
I sighed. "I'll hunt around town, see if I can find Cain. Maybe I can ... I don't know. Talk to him."
She gave me a dull look. "Oh. Good idea. Go search out the man who wants to kill you. That can't end badly."
"He doesn't want to kill me," I said. "He wants my magic. The fact that it'll kill me is incidental. And besides, he's night magic. I'll just look for him during the day."
"He can still knock you out and tie you up until it's nighttime."
I opened my mouth to argue, but she kind of had a point. He might not be able to do magical damage during the day, but he'd been strong and fast enough to pull me into that alley. I couldn't afford to forget that there was basic human damage that could be done, too.
"Point taken. So what do we do?"
"Tonight, we sleep. You'll stay on my couch. Tomorrow..." She sighed, watching me with dark eyes.
"What?"
"This Davina," she said carefully. "Do you know where she's staying?"
I shook my head. "No."
"But you trust her? Are you sure?"
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. "Yes. I've got no reason not to trust her. Right?"
"If you trust her, that's enough for me." Betty watched me for a moment, her eyes calculating something. "Can you bring her here to me tomorrow night? I'd like to talk to her. Compare notes, find out what she knows."
I hesitated for a moment, not sure how I would find Davina, but somehow certain that she'd show if I needed her. "Yeah. Sure. I think that's a good idea."
Betty reached out and in an atypical show of physical affection, put her palm against my cheek. "You're a good girl, Livvy. Don't you worry. We'll figure this all out."
I smiled. She lowered her hand and started toward the side door that opened into the stairwell to her apartment. I followed, feeling like an obedient dog, grateful to be led.
"So, is this one of those life situations that calls for bad snack cakes?" I asked.
"I'd characterize this as more of a vodka-straight situation," she said, closing the side door behind us, "but you make do with what you've got."
* * *
I went home the next morning, let Gibson out of his shoebox so he could wander around my room - hell, ceramics need exercise, too, right? - and took a shower. It wasn't until I'd dried off and changed that I realized Gibson was missing. I searched the second floor, then panicked at the stairs as I raced down them, trying to comfort myself that there was that strip of carpet down the middle of the hardwood to give him a soft(er) fall, but still.
"Gibson!" I hollered, hitting the first floor running. I heard a clunk coming from the living room and ran in to find him, bumping against the couch. I grabbed him and held him up, running my fingers over him to check for damage. Amazingly enough, he'd managed to tumble down the steps and waddle into the living room with only a little chunk taken out of his handle. Tail. Whatever. It twitched at me as I held him, and I touched the rough spot of bare white ceramic where the paint had chipped off.
"Poor baby," I said, then wondered aloud, "Does it hurt?"
He didn't seem to react at all when I touched the chipped spot, and I realized that what I had on my hands was a blind and likely deaf ceramic mug bunny with no pain sensitivity, and no sense of self-preservation as a result. If I didn't figure out a way to keep him safe, I'd have a shattered Gibson on my hands. I searched the basement, found the huge cardboard box that they'd shipped my computer monitor in, and lined it with old towels. I set him in it and he toddled around, bouncing lightly off one side and then righting himself so he could bounce into the other.
I sat back on the couch, watching him wander happily through my handiwork, and my mind drifted to how the hell I was going to find Davina. She wasn't staying with Grace and Addie, we'd figured out that much, but the fact is, if she'd been staying at any of the places in town, talk of her would have filtered into CCB's by now; no one new came to town without everyone knowing about it. Yet both Davina and Cain had been here for over a week, and not a word was making the rounds about either of them. Wherever each of them was staying, it was either somewhere out of town, or in town with someone who didn't talk.
My bet was out of town. Which, considering that Buffalo, Niagara Falls, and Erie, Pennsylvania, were all within an easy drive of Nodaway, meant it could be weeks before I'd find either of them, and I didn't have weeks to kill.
There had to be a way to get a message to Davina. I closed my eyes and lay down on the couch, soothed by the muffled sounds of Gibson exploring his new space, and thought.
Then, it came to me.
Peach's crane.
I reached over to the coffee table, grabbed the slightly crumpled orange crane she'd left the day before, inspected it, and decided there were crazier ideas than this one. I found a pencil under the couch and used it to jot "My house" on the underside of one wing, and "Tonight" on the other. I held it up to my face, staring it down and wondering what else it needed. I went through the house, out the back door to the patio by my mother's garden of wildflowers, then closed my eyes and tried to work up the magic buzz. For a minute or so, I felt stupid and self-conscious, but then the energy started to build and I immersed myself in it, working up a decent flurry into my palms. I cupped the crane in my hands and concentrated on sending the magic into it. Then I released it and, much to my surprise, it flew gracefully out of my hands and flapped around me, its little body working as if an invisible origami-obsessed child was pulling it, the way the design intended.
"Cool." I laughed, full of accomplishment and satisfaction. Maybe my magic wasn't so useless after all. Of course, there was still part two to consider; I'd given it form, but who knew if I'd be able to give it function? I whistled for it to come close and it did.