
Chapter 5
Portland has more microbreweries and brew pubs
per capita than any other US city.
“This is a really bad idea, Tess,”
Donovan says as he drives his pretty cream-colored Mercedes across
the top level of the Marquam Bridge. The rain-swollen Willamette
River passes beneath us, muddy swirls catching on the bridge
supports.
“If it’s such a bad idea, why are you driving me
out to Cooper’s Furniture Emporium?” Tess asks from the backseat.
She sits with her cast in Allie’s lap. Steve is riding
shotgun.
And I’m perched on the window ledge behind Tess.
It’s a pretty drive on a late Sunday morning. I don’t have enough
calm to add to the acid mixture upsetting my tummy to appreciate
the scenery. Showers and broken sunlight offer different
perspectives on lovely vistas at every turn.
“For once in your life, I think you should listen
to him,” I whisper to Tess. I’ve tried tugging her hair to make her
pay attention to me.
She’s ignoring both Donovan and me.
“I’m driving you so you don’t go off on your own
and get into more trouble.” Donovan scowls. He does that
beautifully. Too bad he’s not gay. I could really go for him. But
no, he’s in love with Tess in his own twisted, selfish way. “You
should meet Doreen on neutral territory, tell her what you need and
have it delivered.”
“How much trouble can the Coopers cause?” Tess
asks. “We’re customers. And they are Damiri. They like money almost
as much as they like blood.”
“Um . . . what’s a Damiri?” Steve asks. He looks
car sick. But I think it’s the conversation.
“It’s a tribe of demons,” Allie supplies him the
information. “The Coopers are half-breeds, otherwise they couldn’t
shape-change to human form in this dimension.”
“Um . . .”
“Get used to it, Steve. Your baby sister has gotten
involved with some really bizarre lifestyle groups,” Tess tells
him.
I almost laugh. But that would mean she’s winning
this argument. I can’t have that. I need her to go home and nurse
her hurts and spend some quality time with her brother and his
lovely fiancée.
“More bizarre than the kids at science fiction
conventions who dress up as demons?” Steve asks hopefully.
“Modern day demons hang out at those cons and win
hall costume prizes, but they aren’t really costumes,” Tess says.
“I found that out the hard way.”
“Tess, is it legal to tell Steve the truth?” Allie
asks. “I mean ... didn’t you take an oath of secrecy?”
“Too late now.” Tess flashes them a grimace of a
grin. “I’m out of the broom closet.”
Oh, boy. We’re all in trouble now. When she gets
that determined look on her face, nothing can dissuade her.
What if I got sick? Imps don’t vomit like humans
do. We reject toxic food in other ways. If I blow enough flammable
gas in her face she’ll just open a window and throw me out.
What to do? What to do?

“The Coopers will recognize you, Tess. You married
their son. Hell, they know me!” Donovan protested.
I rolled my eyes. I’d only met the Coopers twice.
Right after I married Dill, then again at their son’s funeral three
months later. They’d avoided me through the entire painful
procedure, barely recognizing my short time with Dill as a real
marriage.
We’d reached a compromise on Dill’s estate only
after I threatened to take them to court with an ironclad will.
They got his trust fund—or what was left of it after he liquidated
it as a down payment on our house in Cape Cod, the one I sold to my
father and his partner last year—and the income from his share in
the mysterious furniture store on a back country road out in the
middle of nowhere. I got the house and his life insurance—double
indemnity for murder or accident.
Only Doreen seemed intent upon contacting me again,
to return a few family photos of mine that got mixed up in Dill’s
stuff I couldn’t bear to look at again. In the last month she’d
become even more persistent in trying to arrange a meeting.
I’d driven by Cooper’s dozens of times in the last
year and never had the courage to stop. They didn’t seem to keep
normal business hours, or to have any customers. The open sign
never changed to closed, even at two in the morning.
“I think I’ll start with a dining table and chairs.
Something simple, Craftsman design to match the railing. Lots of
plain wood, light colored, to accent the parquet floor and kitchen
cabinets,” I replied. “And maybe some end tables and lamps.” That
is, if the Coopers had in stock anything but heavy, dark, gothic
stuff for their fellow half-breed demons.
“She’s serious, Donovan,” Steve said. “I wish
someone would fill me in. I’m a computer engineer, not a
superhero.” He flashed me a wry grin, parroting back my own
protests.
So I told Steve all about the year I went missing
after I buried Dillwyn Bailey Cooper.
“Only you, Tess, would find a Citadel hidden in a
dry canyon in Central Washington that houses a Sisterhood of
dedicated demon fighters. I thought you made that up for your
books.” Steve shook his head and frowned in disapproval. “Part of
me dismisses this as illogical, the stupid wanderings of your
imagination. But it explains a lot. And Allie believes you. She’s
hinted ... I just thought her reading material had latched onto her
mind a little too tightly.”
“Where do you think I got the idea, Steve? I may be
a bit crazy but I’m not delusional. You know me. I changed the
situation in my books to a post-apocalyptic world to protect the
guilty from witch-hunts. Last time that happened a lot of innocent
women died horribly,” I said nonchalantly, as if everyone should
know about my secret life.
“So where’s the imp?” he asked.
“You have read the books!”
“Only the ones you’ve had published, not the one
that’s a year overdue,” he replied.
That was hitting below the belt. I had my reasons
for not writing a word since Mom died and Gollum deserted me. But I
had this mental block. Every time I sat down to write, the words
evaporated. Nothing. Nada. And I was running out of money.
What would I do if I never wrote again? I felt like
only half a person without stories and characters running rampant
through my brain demanding I give them life through words.
My checking account was also growling like an empty
stomach.
I could tap the money Mom left me. But that was
blood money. I didn’t feel like I had a right to it.
The rain evaporated and the clouds thinned. A bit
of bright sunshine peeked through the tattered remnants of
mist.
Donovan wove deftly through traffic headed east
toward the mountain. Most of the cars turned off into the farm
country, probably looking for corn mazes and harvest festivals. And
don’t forget the wineries and microbreweries.
Not once did Donovan ask for directions. He drove
like he really knew his way around, getting into the proper lane on
the freeway well before interchanges and exits.
“Did you drive all night from Half Moon Lake?” I
asked when the conversation wound down and he turned uphill from
the freeway toward the Mount Hood Parkway and took the quick left
turn onto Elsewhere Avenue. This was the back way into Cooper’s,
not the simpler, but longer route offered by the road signs.
He’d been here before.
“I was in town already,” he growled. “I have
business and friends in this town other than you. I even have a new
girlfriend. But I’ll dump her in a minute if you take me back.” He
flashed me an almost sincere grin in the rearview mirror.
A hay wagon pulled out in front of him and crawled
at twenty-five miles an hour in a forty-five zone. It shed bits of
straw like a long-haired cat snoozing before the fire. Donovan
backed off to avoid soiling his lovely car.
“Who is she? I want to give her my blessing, or
warn her about you. I’ll have to meet her before I decide which,” I
riposted brightly. I didn’t dare settle back in the luxurious
seats. I might get too comfortable and let someone else make
decisions for me.
Me, a control freak? You bet your sweet patootie I
am. For a good reason.
“You’ll meet when I decide you deserve to meet her.
Mostly, I’m here on business.” He clamped his mouth shut, a clear
sign that he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Halfling Computer Games business, family business,
or Cooper’s business?” I never know when to shut up.
“You work for Halfling Computer Games?” Steve asked
in awe. “I love their games.” Donovan might legally be described as
our stepbrother. His adopted father married our mother then got
himself murdered thirty-six hours later. I don’t think Steve and
Donovan had met any time other than Mom’s funeral. Steve normally
lives in Chicago, far enough away that our wacky family couldn’t
just drop in on him but close enough to get home in an emergency.
Donovan only showed up to Mom’s funeral because he was executor of
the massive fortune Mom had inherited from his adopted father. Most
of that money was supposed to come to me now.
I couldn’t bring myself to touch one filthy
dollar.
“I own Halfling,” Donovan said proudly.
“Wow, if you ever need a beta tester, let me know,”
Steve replied eagerly. The two men rolled off into geek speak about
various role-playing games and the logic puzzles of programming
them.
I sighed. No more information coming from
Donovan.
I let the luxury car cradle me and turned my
attention to the autumnal colors beginning to show on the trees,
mostly golden cottonwood and brown alder in the foothills, with
just enough splashes of red vine maple to delight the eye. With the
sunshine breaking through the broken cloud cover, those crimson
leaves nearly glowed from within. They looked like something a
faery would paint.
The last time Gollum and I had been together we’d
helped some lost faeries get home.
Don’t go there. Don’t even think about those few
magical days with Gollum.
“The place looks closed,” Donovan said almost
happily as he pulled into the gravel parking area in front of the
single story building. Blinds covered the multitude of windows
beneath the flat roof. A big sign nearly filled one corner. CLOSED.
No hours of operation. The brick house behind the store had plywood
nailed to all the windows and doorframes. The door of the
barn/garage sagged, showing three empty bays.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this place had
been deserted a long time,” I said. “But I drove by two weeks ago.
It was open and well kept.”
Maybe it’s not deserted, Scrap whispered to
me. I smell demon glamour. Like they knew you were coming and
disguised the place. Like someone tipped them off.
Someone like Donovan? I whispered back to
him.
Someone like the Nörglein.