Demon Cant Help It

CHAPTER 8

"You do know you should go home, don't you?"

Jo looked up from reviewing the grant proposal she'd started and restarted several times. So much for her determination to concentrate on her work. She'd been staring at the same paragraph for—well, who knows how long.

"Have all the parents come to get the kids?"

Cherise nodded with an indulgent smile. "Hours ago. Now Mary is here with a few others to set up the room for Wednesday Night Bingo."

"Oh, good." Jo acted as if she wasn't unnerved by the loss of time, but she was still shaken about the event of lunchtime. She'd also completely forgotten that tonight was one of the events for the older adults.

It was only the second week the event had been implemented; one of Jo's first ideas for fund-raising and something to get the older adults back to the center. She supposed she could forgive herself for forgetting about it. If that was truly why she'd forgotten.

"You're leaving now, too, right?" Cherise said pointedly.

"You know, I think I will stay and work on this a bit longer."

Cherise grimaced and her hand went to her hip. Jo readied herself for one of Cherise's blunt lectures.

"Girl, you've looked like hell all afternoon. And you've been acting all sorts of strange."

"I know." Jo didn't bother to deny it. She had no idea how she looked, but she knew she'd been acting weird.

She'd been unable to completely dismiss or shake off that eerie feeling that had overcome her in the restroom. Even though she had mostly managed to explain away what she'd seen as a confused child who was too scared to use the restroom by herself.

With bare feet. Which were wet.

This was New Orleans—and Jo had already seen far weirder things than wet, barefoot children in a restrooms.

As much as she'd fixated on the odd event in the restroom, she'd obsessed more about her reaction to Maksim's brief touch. Her whole body had sparked to sexual life with that innocuous brush of his thumb on her lip.

And no matter how she broke it down, the reaction did not please her. She'd wanted him. Desperately.

And then add the nausea and the strange headache, and well, she was sure none of it had done wonders for her behavior. Or her appearance.

"I think you'd better get some rest," Cherise said, then held up her hands, guessing Jo would reject her suggestion. "I'm just saying."

Jo smiled, appreciating the woman's concern. "I'll head out in a few minutes. I promise. I'm just going to finish this up."

"Good," Cherise said, "because you've got the coloring of an uncooked beignet. Get some rest."

Jo wasn't sure what an uncooked beignet looked like, exactly, but she knew it wasn't good. Not in this instance.

"When was the last time you got a good book, went outside, took in a little sun, and relaxed?" Cherise asked in a motherly tone.

"I could ask the same of you," Jo said. Cherise often stayed as late as Jo, and usually was the first one here in the morning.

"Well, all the stresses of this place don't fall on me. I just handle the kids."

"No small feat."

Cherise's eyebrow indicated that she wasn't going to be one-upped away from her point. "I'm not playin' here. You need to get some rest. Real rest."

Jo nodded, quietly accepting that truth. "I will."

"Okay, I'm trusting you on that."

"Good."

Cherise shook a finger at her. "Don't stay too late."

"I won't." Jo laughed at her friend's doggedness.

Again the eyebrow shot up, stating she didn't believe Jo in the least. But then the larger woman bustled away, muttering something about "damned stubborn people" as she went.

Jo smiled, appreciating the concern. And Cherise was totally right. Unfortunately, taking on St. Ann's hadn't allowed much time for relaxation. And while she could go home and work on this in the morning—because of Maksim's help with the kids, ironically—Jo just didn't believe she'd get any quality rest.

Her mind was just too agitated. And despite the creepiness of the restroom incident, it was Maksim who kept popping into her head. So she thought it best to just keep busy.

Of course, forty-five minutes later, it was clear that work wasn't going to be the solution to calming her circling thoughts. Sighing, she saved her document, booted down her computer, and gathered her things. She didn't want to go home, but sitting here, staring at her monitor, fingers positioned over the keyboard but never moving, wasn't doing her any good.

She flicked off the lights and locked her office door. As she passed the main gathering room, gray-haired men and women sat at the tables where the children had been earlier. More tables had been set up as well. All full.

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…

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?