Читать книгу Demon Hunting in Dixie - Lexi George - Страница 10

Chapter Six

There was scarcely time for Evie to activate the alarm system and grab her purse before Ansgar dragged her out of the flower shop.

“Wait, wait!” she protested. “Give a girl a minute to catch her breath, will you? I just saw my first zombie.”

Ansgar looked down at her, a gleam of amusement in his silver eyes. “What you saw, in all likelihood, was a ghoul, a corpse made animate by a demon. Humans are so imprecise.”

Evie pushed the hair out of her face. Nine o’clock, and already the heat and humidity were suffocating. It was like breathing under water, not that Ansgar the Magnificent seemed affected. Cool as a cucumber, he was.

“Ghoul smoul, call it what you want,” she said, “but there’s a dead guy walking around Hannah.”

“Do not concern yourself. The matter will be dealt with. Where is this tailor?”

She pointed. “On the corner at the end of the block.”

Ansgar pulled her down the street, his long stride forcing her to break into a trot to keep up. The businesses along Main Street were beginning to stir to life. Two familiar wrinkled figures perched on a bench outside the Sweet Shop Café and Grill. Herbert Duffey’s moose-like countenance was hidden behind the morning paper. Beside him, Jefferson Davis Willis puffed on his pipe and watched passersby.

“Good morning, Mr. Duffey, Mr. Willis.” Evie smiled at the octogenarians. “Warm day, isn’t it?”

“Herbert, get your long snoot outta that paper and tell me who that is with Evie Douglass,” Mr. Willis said.

Evie smothered a laugh and promptly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

Ansgar’s grip tightened on her arm. “Have a care.”

Her face burned. Why, oh, why did she have to be such a klutz? “Sorry. The—uh—tailor’s is on the corner at the end of the block.”

There were three clothing stores in Hannah: Tompkins’s for men, the Greater Fair for women, and Toodles for children. They reached Tompkin’s and pushed open the front door. The shop was empty except for Brand and the sales clerk, Tweedy Gibbs. Tweedy, a slim wisp of a man in his early thirties with thinning red hair, stood toe to toe with Brand in front of the counter.

“I’m telling you, I’m slap out of anything that will fit a man of your size.” Tweedy glared up at Brand like a Chihuahua squaring off against a Great Dane. “Dean Wilson bought the last tall suit I had in the shop two weeks ago. Or maybe it was David.” He frowned and shook his head. “Hard to keep all those Wilsons straight. Every last one of ’em built like a tank, and all of ’em with names that start with ‘d.’ Darryl and Daniel, Dalton and David, Dean and Del.” He gave a disgusted snort. “It’s like trying to name Santa’s reindeer or the seven dwarves. What was their mama thinking? There are twenty-five other letters in the alphabet she could have used. Duh-duh-duh-duh-dee. I feel like Porky Pig every time one of ’em comes in.” Shrugging aside his irritation at the Wilson matriarch, he said, “I could maybe get you something in a week, but that’s the best I can do.”

Brand frowned at the smaller man. “I cannot wait a week. I need appropriate clothing now.”

“I tell you nothing I have will fit.” Tweedy eyed Brand up and down. “What are you, six and a half feet? I put you in a thirty-inch inseam and we’re talking high waders.”

“Is there a problem, brother?” Ansgar asked.

“There will not be once I ascertain the appropriate garb for this realm.” Evie’s stomach lurched as Brand turned his cold gaze on her. “I see you have brought Mistress Evie. Good. She can help us select clothing.”

Tweedy whipped around, his eyes widening when he spied Ansgar’s tall form. “Good Lord, there’s two of ’em!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Evie saw Ansgar stiffen. She smiled at Tweedy. “Morning, George,” she said, calling Tweedy by his given name to soothe his ruffled feathers. She shot Ansgar a meaningful look. “I’m sure Mr. Brand and Mr. Ansgar don’t mean to be any trouble.”

Ansgar lifted his brows, but remained silent.

Tweedy unbent a little. “Oh, you know these gentlemen, Evie?”

“They’re here for the Farris funeral.”

Tweedy pulled her aside. “What’s with the getup?” He cut his eyes toward the two big men and back again. “Are they in some kind of cult?”

“They’re actors.” Evie felt a twinge of conscience at the lie, but somehow she didn’t think Tweedy was ready to add CLOTHIERS TO INTERDIMENSIONAL DEMON HUNTERS EVERYWHERE to the sign outside the store.

“Oh.” Tweedy seemed to digest this for a moment. He raised his voice for the benefit of the other two men. “And both of them are looking for suits? Like I said, I don’t have their size.”

“They don’t have to have a suit,” Evie said. Lord, give her patience. The very idea of Whaley Douglass giving anybody fashion advice was laughable. “What about a nice pair of slacks and a dress shirt? Something more conservative than they’re wearing now.”

“Show up at a funeral sans jacket?” Tweedy shuddered. “Tacky. Still, when you live in a town where camouflage is considered haute couture, I don’t suppose it matters, especially since they’re not from here.”

“As long as the apparel is not something Conan would wear, it will suffice,” Brand said.

Tweedy gave Evie a look of confusion. “Conan? Who’s Conan?”

“A new designer.” Boy, she was getting scary good at this lying stuff. “Really out there. Lots of leather, but too avant-garde for a small-town funeral. They’re looking for something—uh—a little more traditional.”

Traditional for medieval transrealm warrior types. Granny Moses. Addy owed her big time.

“I’ve got a pair of summer-weight wool dress pants on hold for one of the Wilsons,” Tweedy said. He looked Brand and Ansgar up and down. “They’ll probably be too short and too big in the waist, but it’s all I got.”

He disappeared in the back of the store and returned with two pairs of trousers draped over one arm.

“You’re in luck. I found another pair.” He held a pair of slacks against Brand’s waist. “Like I thought, too big and too short in the inseam. The Wilsons aren’t quite as tall as y’all and softer in the middle. The beer diet, you know.”

Brand took one pair of pants from Tweedy and tossed the other pair to Ansgar. “These will suffice. Is there a place where we may withdraw to don them?”

“The dressing rooms are this way.” Shaking his head, Tweedy led Brand and Ansgar to the back of the store. “I’ll bring y’all a couple belts and some shirts to try. Will you gentlemen be needing shoes?”

“No, we will wear our boots,” Brand said.

Evie dropped into a chair in the shoe section of the store to wait. Tweedy muttered to himself as he selected three or four dress shirts and neckties to match, and handed them into the changing rooms.

“What is this?” Brand stuck a heavily muscled arm through the opening at the top of latticed dressing room door. A necktie dangled from his fingertips.

“It’s a necktie.” Tweedy rolled his eyes at Evie.

“Hmm,” Brand said. “What is its purpose?”

“Purpose?” Tweedy rubbed his temples. Evie sympathized with him. She had the beginnings of a headache too. “Heck, I don’t think it has a purpose. It just looks good.”

“Ah,” Brand said. “It is decorative. No neckties.”

The neckties flew over the top of the dressing room doors and settled in a bright pool at Tweedy’s feet.

Tweedy gave her an incredulous look. “Who are these people and what planet are they from? I thought you said they were looking for something conservative to wear to the funeral, but they don’t know what a necktie is?”

Oh, crap, she wasn’t such a good liar, after all. “Conservative in an—uh—out there kind of way.” Tweedy stared at her, and she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “You know how unconventional these big-city artsy-fartsy types can be.”

“Big city? You mean they’re from Mobile?”

“Farther away.”

Tweedy’s eyes grew round. “Atlanta?”

The dressing room doors opened, and Brand and Ansgar stepped out. Evie gaped at them, feeling a little lightheaded. The super fine wool trousers fit the two men as though tailormade, and the cotton shirts they wore molded themselves to a pair of wide, muscled chests.

Wow. Double wow. Great googly mooglies.

“Well, I declare.” Looking befuddled, Tweedy fiddled with the tribble of hair at the top of his forehead. “I’d have bet my bottom dollar those trousers wouldn’t fit, but they’re perfect. Must have been sized wrong or something.”

He shook his head and hurried into the dressing room to get their discarded tags.

Brand came to a halt in front of her. “What do you think, Mistress Evie? Will we do?”

Evie realized she was staring and flushed. “Yeah, you’ll do.”

“Good.” Brand strode toward the front of the store. “Ansgar, settle our bill with the Tweedy human. I must find Adara.”

“Of course, brother. Evangeline and I will join you shortly.” Ansgar straightened his cuffs. “Oh, I almost forgot. Evangeline may have sighted one of the djegrali on the street a few moments ago.”

Brand halted, his broad shoulders stiff. “What did you say?”

The undercurrent of violence in the softly spoken words sent a warning bell jangling in Evie’s head. Tiger, tiger burning bright. She cut her eyes at Ansgar. He was either unfazed by Brand’s ill temper, or he was channeling Captain Oblivious.

“Evangeline thinks she saw the dead man Dwight Farris standing outside the shop,” Ansgar said in his calm, detached way. “Since dead men do not typically walk about in the light of day, I assume it was one of the djegrali.”

Brand turned. His eyes burned with a predatory glow. “Why did you not tell me this sooner?”

Ansgar shrugged. “I did not see the creature myself, so I could not be sure.”

“For your sake, you had better hope Mistress Evie was mistaken,” Brand said through his teeth.

The door slammed, and he was gone.

Evie jumped to her feet. “He thinks that thing is after Addy, doesn’t he? We’ve got to warn her!”

“Do not be alarmed, Evangeline. Brand will take care of the djegrali and your friend. Adara is safe, I promise you.”

“But—”

She swallowed her protest as Tweedy bustled out of the dressing rooms. “I thought I’d put your other clothes in a bag,” he said, looking puzzled, “but they aren’t there.”

“We took care of them,” Ansgar said. “Do not trouble yourself.”

“But I didn’t see—” Tweedy took a deep breath. “Forget it. I’ll ring you up.”

Ansgar stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the cash register and Tweedy. “What passes for coin in this plane?” he asked in a low voice.

“Huh?”

“Recompense, payment, currency.”

“Oh, you mean money. I’m afraid all I have is a twenty.”

“I do not expect you to pay for my clothes, Evangeline. Show me this twenty of yours.”

Confused, Evie pulled her wallet out of her purse and handed him the bill.

Ansgar took the twenty from her and studied it carefully, front and back. “It is flimsy and somewhat fragile, but much easier to carry than gold or jewels, is it not?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

A flat leather pouch appeared in his hand as if by magic.

Evie blinked. “Whoa, how’d you do that?”

“What, this?” The pouch vanished, then reappeared in his hand. “I keep it hidden in plain sight, as I do my quiver and bow.”

“Q-quiver and bow?”

“Brand and I use a concealing charm to shield our weapons from humans so as not to cause undue alarm. You did not notice Uriel, Brand’s flaming sword?”

Addy did say something to Meredith in the flower shop about weapons, but Evie thought she was kidding. “Uh, no, can’t say as I did.”

Ansgar chuckled. “Humans. They see what they want to see.”

He opened the pouch and slipped her twenty-dollar bill inside. The pouch glowed briefly, bright as a Christmas tree, and grew thick. Ansgar reached inside the swollen purse and handed Evie a twenty-dollar bill. Curious, she peeked inside the pouch. The leather purse bulged with good old American greenbacks.

“Holy smokes, you really are from another planet!”

“Not another planet, Evangeline, another dimension. I know you are puzzled, and that you must have many questions.”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. But, right now only one comes to mind.”

“What is it? Tell me what troubles you. I will do my best to answer you.”

She raised her eyes to his. “Where can I get me a purse like that?”