Page 21

“Alcohol is a depressant,” I softly pointed out as his head slid down my arm to my thigh.

“That explains why I’m depressing then.” He closed his sad blue eyes. I closed my book to run my fingers through his thick, gold hair. His tight jaw loosened. Like a contented cat, he lay there as I carded my fingers through his hair. If I shoved cotton in my ears and taped my eyes and nose shut, I could possibly forget there was a monster outside trying its best to break into the cabin to drag us off to its lair.

“Tell me why the truck made you feel happy,” I said, ears always trained to the low grumbles like an angry bobcat or bear just on the other side of the front door.

“One time when I was a kid, my father came home from a trip with toys. I’d just watched Toy Story, and suddenly I had my own army men. He sat down in the study to play with me, just for a few minutes.”

“That’s a nice memory.”

“Yeah, he told me how important the military was and how he would be incredibly proud of me if I enlisted. He’d always wanted to serve, but he’s allergic to bees.” He paused to draw in a deep breath. “I didn’t enlist. Just another way I’ve embarrassed him, I guess.” A clatter on the roof startled us all, even Henry, who looked up from his silent vigil in the corner. “Fuck I wish we were home. Oh! We could be rewatching that old hero movie that we watched the other night. The one with the mechanical owl. You remember, Arch? And the hero Pissy-Us.”

The monster raced back and forth overhead, then jumped down to the ground with a thud to start pacing the perimeter.

“Perseus, and yeah, I remember the movie.” I ran a hand over his brow to help ease him as best I could.

“Yeah, that’s what I said, Pissy-Us. He was a real hero. And he had that horse with the wings. He was smart. That feels good.” I smiled down at him, wishing we were home on the sofa too. Shit, even at the motel. Anywhere but here, trapped by that thing circling us like a hungry tiger. “We should do what he did.”

“Summon a winged horse to fly out of here?” I teased. Phil cracked an eye open, a rather bloodshot one, and gave me a flat look.

“No, there are no horses around here. They’re mythical. We should find a shield like he had and use it to look behind us. Like he did when the snakehead lady was looking for him to make him hard.” He snickered sleepily. “Hard like stone. You make me hard, baby. You’re so pretty.”

“Thanks. You’re pretty too.” I ran the back of my fingers along his cheek as my weary mind latched onto something he’d just said. We had no shield, but something that allowed us to see behind us would be incredibly invaluable in this situation. Something like a mirror that showed you things in your rearview. I gasped when the answer blasted into my brain. “Phil, you’re a genius!”

“Nope, you are. I’m a dumb jock sleeping under a porch. Me and a family of oh-possums,” he replied groggily right before sleep overtook him.

I bent down to kiss his slack lips. He smelled like a drunken sailor leaving a long port of call. “You are a brilliant, sweet man, and I adore you.” I wiggled around slightly, grabbed a soda, and cracked it open. Exhausted beyond belief, I guzzled half the can to fill my blood with caffeine. A belch roared out of me. Henry looked over as if disgusted but said nothing. Whatever. He could glower. I’d kiss my boyfriend and burp all I wanted. Jerking my sight from the logger, I forced my eyes open wide and, by the light of a flashlight, started reading old Elspeth’s tome as if our lives depended on the knowledge on the pages.

They very well might…

***

Exhaustion did terrible things to a mind that was open to those who had not passed over.

Generally, I slept well. There were few things that crept into my dreams—the Mare Rider notwithstanding—at home. Perhaps that was due to having a resident entity guarding the premises. There was little research done on this particular aspect of parapsychology. I’d ask Reggie if we didn’t get our innards turned into outards.

Lingering odd visions floated around my thoughts. Olden days, buggies, cabins made of wood, pies resting on windowpanes. Obviously, Henry’s memories were sticking to my own thoughts, showing me snapshots of his life and loves. Private things I was sure the man would not want shared. This was just one of the downsides of possession for a medium. Not only did you lose control of yourself, but you absorbed intimacies and recollections of secrets, musings, and reflections.

A jolt startled me awake. Henry stood over me, his ghostly hand jerking back from my shoulder as I sucked in a shaky breath.

“What!? Shit,” I gasped as I tried to shake off a tender moment between Henry and his young bride. “I’m…you cannot touch me, okay?”

“Apologies. I have questions. Also, you were drooling on your…the cheek of your male friend.”

I looked down to find a puddle of drool resting on Phil’s whiskery cheek. I rushed to dab it up with my hoodie sleeve. Hoodie stolen from Phil. Super large, super cozy, super mine now. Once Phil was dry, I returned my attention to Henry. The lights of my flashlight and the camera were dimmer. Thankfully, Phil carried extra batteries. I wanted this place lit up like Times Square. No shadows for a monster who hid in the dark to leap out—

I cocked my head. Up on the roof, the sound of claws on asphalt could be heard. Buddah bless us and keep those rotted old shingles together. If that bastard dropped down on us from above…well, I wasn’t going to manifest that into being. Grogginess swept back over me like a black tidal wave. My hand rested on Phil’s face, the connection easing both me and him if his deeper breathing was any indication. He always rested better when we were touching. As did I.

“What did you want to know?” I asked, picking up Elspeth’s craggy tome. The lines blurred at first, but I eventually found my place. Creating intoxicating smudges to fill the air with a thick smoke that will force the creature to back away. Sage or pine resin mixed with cheap booze. The resin and alcohol were doable. Just go nick a pine tree and voila, pine resin. Then there was something about a moonshine barrier which might be feasible if—

Henry pulled a chair closer, placed his ax down to rest against his ankle, and waved a large hand at Phil sleeping on my leg. My boyfriend whispered “Minge,” then drifted back to sleep.

“In your time is this acceptable?” He leaned forward, elbows on the knees of worn trousers patched a time or two.

“Sleeping? Yes, it’s very acceptable,” I replied as I skimmed over what other tidbits Elspeth the hedge witch could offer us. When there was no reply, I peeked up over the top of my glasses to find Henry staring at me with zero humor. “Sorry, I was being a smart-ass. What are you asking me?” I wanted him to say it. I preferred to deal with racists and/or homophobes by making them voice their hate out loud so they could be embarrassed. Sometimes they were. Oftentimes they weren’t.

“That two men could touch and be outward about their predilections. Is this acceptable in your time?”

“Pretty much. There are some people who stand against queer people being out and proud, but the majority of people are accepting. We even have parades.” Just wanted to tack that on to be a little shit. I was fatigued and then some, so a little bitchiness was to be expected.