The ibuprofen tablets lodged sideways in my throat as I involuntarily jerked at the sound. I sputtered and gagged for a moment, then thumped my chest hard with my free hand, forcing the lump of pills to continue along their way. With a quick gasp, I wheezed in a lungful of air. My eyes were watering, and I coughed to expel the water that had ventured down the wrong pipe.
I looked up, fully expecting Felicity to be gazing back at me and wondering why I was suddenly choking. Instead, I found that she was wearing just as startled an expression as I’m sure was plastered to my features. On top of that, she was looking toward the open door. Before either of us could utter a word, a second cry echoed through the house sounding vaguely like the word “no.” As it faded, it became an anguished sob, supported on all sides by sympathetic words uttered softly by a second voice.
“Aye, that would be Nancy, I’m afraid.” Felicity turned to me and spoke in a hurried voice as she rested a hand on my shoulder, “Are you okay, then?”
The earlier stampede was already being repeated as everyone came back up the hallway, passing by the bathroom on the way.
“I’m good,” I choked out as I coughed once again. I was still sitting on the toilet lid and leaning against the washbasin. I motioned at the door with one hand. “Go. I’ll be along in a minute.”
I didn’t have to tell her twice. In fact, she was already moving in the direction of the doorway as I answered her. I watched her go and then pushed myself upward. My muscles were already feeling the leading edge of soreness from the convulsive attack they’d endured. I rinsed out the glass and set it to the side before taking a handful of the cold water running from the tap and gingerly splashing my face. I lingered for a moment at my eyes, letting the coolness soak in as I rubbed. They felt tired and gritty, and that was only one of the many unpleasant sensations coursing through me.
I dried my face with the hand towel and stood for a moment, my expressionless countenance staring back at me from the vanity mirror. My cheek was already swelling noticeably, and my eyes were bloodshot. I desperately needed a shave, and my goatee could have stood a trim as well. It seemed as though every time I looked into a mirror lately I would see just that many more grey hairs.
“Hell gettin' old, ain’t it?” Ben’s quiet voice came from behind me as he voiced the observation.
I glanced over my shoulder at him then back to the mirror. “Do you need to get in here?”
“Nah,” he replied. “Just checkin’ on you.”
“Old,” I muttered with a sigh as I gazed back at my less than flattering reflection. “I’d be inclined to agree with you, but the problem is, according to my driver’s license I’m only forty.”
“It’s not the years, Kemosabe…”
I finished the cliche bromide for him. “…It’s the mileage. Yeah, I know.”
“Cheer up. You got a few left in ya’, white man,” he said.
“I don’t know, Ben. I’m feeling like a bad re-tread right now.”
“So, like maybe you need to do that groundin’ thing you and Felicity are always talkin’ about,” he offered. “Ya’know, so the creepin’ ooga-boogas can’t fuck with ya’ so much.”
“That’s the other problem,” I said. “I’m already doing that.”
“For real? You ain’t just sayin’ that to get me off your ass?”
I guess I’d lied to him about my condition too many times for him to take my word for it right off the bat.
“Yeah, for real. You can ask Felicity if you want.”
He pondered my answer for a moment before speaking. “So, that’s not a good thing then, huh?”
“No.” I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”
“So, whaddaya gonna do about it?”
I tucked the hand towel across the bar on the wall then turned to face him and leaned back against the vanity. “I don’t know,” I told him as I shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Can’t you cook up a potion or wear some garlic around your neck or somethin’?”
“What was that you told me earlier?” I answered. “I think it was, ‘you’ve been watching too much TV.’ Besides, garlic is for warding off vampires.”
“Does it work?” He grinned back at me.
I couldn’t help but allow myself a small chuckle. “I don’t know, Chief. I’ve never met one.”
The sobbing noises that were filtering down the corridor had diminished for the moment. They had actually been sliding up and down the scale ever since they began, and this appeared to be one of the low points. More soft voices, including the unmistakable Celtic brogue of my wife, could be heard joining the first in an attempt to shore up the explosion of grief. I needed to get out there myself, but I didn’t know that I was ready to face it; not quite yet, anyway. I felt a bit selfish, hiding away and wallowing in my own problems, but there was far more to this than just Randy’s death. And, since I was at the center of it, I was bearing a disproportionate load that was getting heavier all the time.
A small tickle had been working on the back of my head for a good part of the morning, and it was now resurfacing. This time it bypassed its normal annoyance stage and leapt directly into a nagging question.
I furrowed my brow and pursed my lips for a moment as I mulled the query over. I wasn’t entirely sure why it mattered, but for some reason it was begging an answer.
“You got that look,” Ben announced.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, that look like you’re confused about somethin’.”
“Maybe a little puzzled.”
“Okay, so spit it out.”
“I don’t really know if it’s important.”
“Yeah, so spit it out anyway.”
“Okay. You wouldn’t happen to know where Porter is originally from would you?”
“Not off the top of my head, why?”
“Because of some of the choices he’s made lately,” I explained. “Using the page from Hexen und Hexenmeister for one. The nail for another.”
“I thought the nail was pretty obvious,” he said.
“On the surface, yes, but he could have guaranteed that we could ID the body in a lot of other ways. The nail has symbolism of its own…” I let my voice trail off.
After a moment, Ben spoke up. “Okay, so you wanna enlighten us mortals?”
I was so caught up in pondering the query that I just gave him an offhanded answer. “Witches aren’t immortal, Ben.”
“Yeah, whatever. You wanna fill me in please? What about the nail?”
“What?”
“The nail, Rowan. You’re obsessin’ about the nail, and I’m kinda lost.”
At some point while I was staring off into space, he had retrieved his notebook from his pocket, and he now appeared poised to record any pearl of wisdom I may utter. I was afraid he was about to be disappointed by a cheap, plastic imitation.
“Oh, that. Nails are a major component of Witch jars and have been long thought by certain cultures to act as a deterrent to magickal forces and WitchCraft. Kind of a protective talisman of sorts.”
“Do I wanna know what a Witch jar is?”
I shrugged. “It’s just a version of the talisman. I can give you details if you want them.”
“Is it important?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t seem to know a lot today.”
My reply was laced with sarcasm. “Thanks a lot.”
“Just an observation.” He shrugged then continued. “Okay, so anyway, two plus two equals what? Thirty-seven?”
I furrowed my brow deeper and shook my head. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m tryin’ to figure out where you’re headed with this. You’re just talkin’ about nails and the Hex Meister book. What’s that got to do with where Porter comes from?”
“Like I said, the whole nail mythology fits in very well with particular cultures, such as the Pennsylvania Dutch. Add in the book which is German…”
The distance-muted jangle of a telephone floated down the corridor and came to us through the doorway.
“So what you’re sayin’ is that you think Porter might be from Pennsylvania.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s just a thought.”
“And it tells us what?”
“That’s what is puzzling me. I don’t know.”
“I see.” He flipped his notebook shut with a frown and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Well that was a waste of time.”
“Cut me some slack, will you, Ben,” I stated. “You’re the one who asked.”
He held up his hands. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. It’s been a long one for all of us I guess.”
I heard R.J. pick up the phone on the fourth ring and answer it with a solemn “Harper residence.”
Ben glanced up the hallway from his position leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, then looked back at me, and cocked his head toward the front of the house.
“Looks like they’re gettin' ready to bring ‘er back this way,” he told me. “Guess we’d better make an appearance.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “You’re right.”
“Hey, Rowan.” A young man with long dark hair poked his head around the side of the door. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay, R.J.,” I told him with a slight smile.
“Good,” he nodded quickly. “So, like, the phone’s for you.”
“For me?” I asked, “Who is it?”
“I didn’t catch his name, but he said he was a cop.” He shrugged. “He just asked if he could speak to Rowan Gant.”
“I’m with Ben already. Why would the police be calling me here?” I puzzled.
“Albright’s probably got a copper checkin’ up on you,” Ben offered. “It’d be just like her.”
“Great.” I rolled my eyes. “Just what I need. Okay, R.J., I’ll be right there.”
“’Kay.”
The young man disappeared behind the wall, and we heard him moving back up the hallway.
“Be just your luck she’ll get on the phone and start chewin’ on you again,” my friend offered.
“This wouldn’t be a good time for that,” I returned.
“Hey, at least I warmed her up for you.”
“Thanks, Ben,” I said with something nearing good-natured sarcasm rimming my voice. “Thanks ever so much.”
Everyone had moved back into the dining room before I ventured into the corridor and made my way to the front of the house. Ben tagged along behind me, ostensibly to lend some moral support if I was about to be verbally worked over by Albright yet again.
My left shoulder was beginning to ache, and the pain was going out of its way to make itself known. I’d had trouble with the joint ever since Porter had rammed an ice pick into it that night on the Old Chain of Rocks Bridge, especially when I was faced with a change in the weather like today. Not to mention, bouncing it from the doorframe on Ben’s van had only served to aggravate the old injury. I took a moment to rotate it in the socket and felt a grating pop, which just made it worse. I winced and hoped the ibuprofen would be kicking in soon.
“You okay?” Ben asked.
“Shoulder,” I told him.
He nodded then leaned his back against the wall opposite me. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted. “I’ll get you back.”
“So, don’t worry too much,” he continued, keeping his voice low. “If they want you to come in, I’ll go with ya’.”
I nodded acknowledgement back at him as I picked up the handset from the telephone table and pressed it against my ear. “Hello. This is Rowan Gant.”
I was greeted with the hollow sound of static that told me the phone was definitely off hook at the other end, but there was nothing else. For a moment, I thought that I might have been placed on hold. However, as I listened I was certain that I could hear the thready sound of breathing intertwined with the semi-silence issuing from the earpiece.
“Hello?” I spoke again. “Anyone there?”
“You must excuse me,” a painfully familiar voice returned. “It is not every day that I speak with the spawn of Satan.”