Poison Fruit

Oops. “Just give me this one, will you?”

She hesitated. “Is he dangerous? Because I seem to remember . . . something.”

“I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “But as Hel’s liaison, I’d like to take every precaution with him.”

“Very well.” She nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks.” I stood to leave. “Oh, by the way, did Stacey take a job somewhere else? I was just wondering.” Wondering if I could quit bracing myself for the encounter every time I entered the PVB, really.

“You might say so.” A smile of maternal pride lit Amanda’s face, softening her features. “She’s our new head of online promotion. I suggested it after she did such a wonderful job with the video footage of our, ah, manifestations last month. The board approved the position last week.”

Oh, gah.

      Six

I fell asleep that night thinking about the ominous blotch of red on the map Lee had shown me, encroaching on Hel’s territory.

I didn’t like the look of it, not one bit.

I woke up to my phone ringing at approximately six o’clock in the morning, which is never a good thing.

“Daisy?” a woman’s voice rasped in a heavy Alabama accent. “Ah’m so sorry to trouble yuh, but it happened agin, and Scott’s out on the balcony with a gun.”

“What?” I sat bolt upright and fumbled for the lamp on my nightstand. Curled on the bed beside me, Mogwai let out a mewl of protest at being disturbed. “Dawn, what’s happening?”

“He tried to strangle me in mah sleep.” Her voice was thick with tears, and possibly the effects of an attempted strangling. “Now he’s threatenin’ to kill hisself.”

My brain jolted into alertness. “Did you call 911?”

“Yes, ma’am, there’s an officer on the way, only ah thought . . . yuh seemed to know things the police mebbe don’t.”

Shifting the phone against my ear, I rummaged for clothing. “What’s your address?”

“Beechwood Grove,” she said. “Apartment 207.”

“I’m on my way.”

Although I didn’t have the first idea how I could help, I drove like a bat out of hell through sleet and darkness to Beechwood Grove, an apartment complex that had been nice enough when it was first built in the 1970s, but was now a bit run-down. There was already a police cruiser parked in front of the Evanses’ apartment.

Dawn Evans opened the door before I could knock, clad in a ratty aqua-blue chenille bathrobe. Her eyes were red-rimmed and weary, her face was tear-streaked, and there were serious bruises already forming on her throat. “Thank yuh,” she murmured. “Ah do ’preciate it.”

“Scott’s upstairs?” I asked.

She nodded. “On the balcony off the master bedroom. The officer’s tryin’ to talk him down. Ah best get back to him.”

“Let’s go.”

In the master bedroom, a sliding glass door that led to a small balcony was wide-open, cold air and icy sleet blowing through it. Beyond the police officer blocking the doorway, I could see Scott Evans, wearing only a pair of drawstring pajama pants, the muzzle of a pistol pressed under his chin.

Shit.

I must have said it out loud, because the officer glanced back at me. It was Cody, his eyes grave and worried. “Daise. Do you think—?”

I knew what he meant and I shook my head, indicating that it wasn’t an eldritch matter.

He blew out his breath. “Mr. Evans, just come inside for a moment, won’t you? It’s freezing out there. No one can think straight in that kind of cold. I’m freezing. You’re freezing. Your wife’s freezing. Just step inside long enough so we can all warm up.”

“Lissen to him, Scott!” Dawn pleaded. “It’s all right. Ah know yuh didn’t mean to do it. We bin through way worse, yew and me.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Scott bared his teeth in a grimace, but there were tears in his eyes, too. “Bitch nearly got me to kill you tonight, honey. We can’t go on like this. We can’t. I love you, but it’s for the best.”

His finger tightened on the trigger, knuckle whitening.

“Wait!” Cody spread his hands. “Okay, you don’t have to come inside, but Mr. Evans, Chief Bryant’s on his way. You promised me you’d talk to him. You promised me you’d wait until he got here, right? You don’t want to renege on a promise, do you?”

Scott hesitated.

“He’s right,” I said. “The chief’s going to be pissed as hell if we dragged him out of bed at this hour for nothing.”

Beside me, Dawn let out a choked, hysterical laugh, biting down on her knuckle to stifle it.

“Okay, so we’re all waiting for the chief to get here,” Cody said in a calm, level tone. “No problem.”

I had to give Cody credit—he kept up a steady stream of quiet, innocuous talk, keeping Scott Evans’s attention engaged while we waited for Chief Bryant to arrive. It was likely a technique he’d learned in training at the police academy, but as far as I knew, he’d never had to use it before. Still, it felt like forever before the chief’s car pulled into the parking lot, though it was probably only five minutes.

“Yuh promise yuh’ll lissen to what the man has to say?” Dawn asked Scott.

The muzzle of the pistol remained firmly lodged under his chin, and the slow, steady tears that leaked from his eyes were half-frozen on his cheeks. He was shivering in the cold so hard I was afraid he’d pull the trigger by accident. “Said I’d give him the courtesy, didn’t I?”