“The gang’s all here,” Occam said. I nodded to the others. They looked exhausted and frightened. For me. Something lightened inside me, and I felt almost weightless for a moment as I looked from one to another. “It’s night,” he added. “Ten hours since you first touched the ground. You’ve been sick as a dog. Now you’re exhausted and dehydrated. The doctors want you to stay overnight for observation. You’re all the rage with the interns. There’ve been about twenty in and out all afternoon.”
Telling me, in a kind manner, that more and more of my secret was out. That I had magic and it was strange and unknown, as I was myself.
“Not staying here,” I said. “No way.” University of Tennessee Medical Center was a teaching hospital, and they had one of the few paranormal units and staff in the state. The state’s other two paranormal hospitals were in Nashville and clear across the state in Memphis. And their idea of observation might be a lot more invasive and personal than I was willing to undergo so soon after the Spook School examinations.
“Figured as much,” Occam said. “Your mama’s been callin’ you. Rick handled it.”
“Oh no. I gotta go. We’uns got family dinner tonight.”
“Not tonight,” he said. “You took a rain check with your family. Rick told ’em that you came down with a raging case of the flu and that the girls’ll take care of you for a few days.”
“Oh. Oh, that was a good lie. Okay. Thank you.” Feeling steadier, I let go of Occam’s hands, pinched the damp hospital gown between two fingers, and let it fall. “Ugh.” He was right. Mama would have a conniption if I showed up looking like this and then passed out face-first in my dinner.
“Tonight you’ll bunk in with JoJo. We’ll all eat and visit and you’ll tell us what happened during the hours you were tied to the earth. And we’ll inform you what we got. Boss’ orders.”
I nodded, a knot in my throat. I think I’d have been crying again if I weren’t so dehydrated.
“Soon as you sign out, we’re going to JoJo’s apartment. We’ll feed you and update you. Debrief and pizza.”
I made a noise of agreement. “Lemme call my mama, though. She’s gonna be mighty upset.”
***
But Mama seemed okay, and had nothing but praise for my wonderful boss and all my friends for taking care of me with my sudden influenza. Rick had lied. To my mama. And I had approved. I was sure and certain going to hell, because I followed along and told her that I had to be careful being around the little’uns and the elders, to keep them from getting sick. The flu was a bad one this year. Mama was so fine with my lie that it was almost scary and was certainly shameful of me. But the family dinner was one problem I didn’t have to deal with at the moment, and was, in the end, a lot easier to lie about than to try to explain the truth. That must be why lying is such a common sin. It’s successful and makes life easier.
Talking to Mama turned out to be much easier than getting my sweat-sticky legs into my pants. After two tries that left me weak as well water, T. Laine brought in my four-day gobag, which she had picked up from HQ, after she’d found my extra key in the fake tree. “Stupid hiding place. Obvious,” she said.
I couldn’t disagree, but said, “In my own defense, I’m glad you were able to find the extra key.” She chuckled as she helped me into an old, elastic-waist skirt and a new sweatshirt, which had both been spooled into a tight roll, the way we were taught at Spook School.
***
We arrived first and JoJo kicked off her shoes at the door and turned on soft lighting that made the gray, charcoal, and concrete color scheme feel warmer than it might otherwise. I don’t know what I had expected JoJo’s place to look like, maybe a Bohemian-style cottage, to match her wildly patterned clothing and eccentric personal style. The two-bedroom duplex, with sparse furniture and a sleek modern look, made me rethink everything I thought I knew about her. She had a leather couch, two upholstered chairs, an industrial metal TV stand, and bookshelves in the front room, shelves that also supported a real turntable andspeakers placed for quadraphonic sound, something I had read about but never experienced. As if reading my mind, she put on some soft jazz, an instrumental that made my feet want to move. Not that I knew how to dance. Her music collection was enormous and mostly vinyl.
A table made of reclaimed wood with a metal base and six antique Shaker-style chairs sat in the dining space. There were no rugs, just spotless wood floors and a clean scent in the house that reminded me of sage.
I stood in the middle of the living area, my arms weighted down with my gear, feeling totally out of my element. I was shaking with exhaustion when JoJo took my bags from my arms and dumped all but my four-day gobag on the coffee table. She pointed me upstairs. “Come on. Let’s get you showered. It’ll make you feel better.” She shouldered my gobag.
“Are you sure? I feel kinda funny—”
“You offer me hospitality every time I come to your house.” She tossed me an exasperated look as, one-handed, she unwound her turban and let her multitude of braids down. “I’m offering you hospitality now. Kick off your boots and come on. I’ll get you situated and see that you have any toiletries you need.”
She preceded me up the stairs, her bare feet silent. This was surreal. I hadn’t showered in a stranger’s house in... ever. If I hadn’t been covered with dried sweat and dried blood and reeking of exhaustion, I might have declined, despite the offer of hospitality. But I stank and I was still so dehydrated that my skin felt as if I had rolled in ground glass.
My boots were still unlaced, so I toed them off as per her orders and followed her up.
Upstairs, the guest room had been turned into an office with a black metal desk and ergonomic chair, and a sofa against the wall that looked like it might pull out into a bed. Across the hall was JoJo’s room, centered by a queen-sized four-poster bed with a shiny metal finish. It had a silky comforter on it and lots of pillows. There was a bureau with the shiny metal finish, three candles, and a wooden box with an old-fashioned lock. Minimalist.
I followed her into the bath, which was just as sleek and modern as the rest of the house. “Your house is beautiful,” I said, meaning it.
“Home sweet home,” she said, with a tone I couldn’t place.“You keep a full travel pack in your gobag?” I nodded. “If you left anything, use what you need. Shampoo and conditioner.” She pointed out each item as she spoke. “Bar soap, or there’s a pump liquid in the shower. Washcloth and towels. And lotion. Don’t forget to put on lotion, girl. Your skin looks a mite pruney, as my gramma might say.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Anytime. T. Laine is bringing your shoes and dirty clothes and blanket in her car. Shower’s hot. Get clean. You’ll feel better.” JoJo left the room and shut the door.
I had never been in a shower so luxurious. It was like standing in a heated waterfall, one that melted the sweat and blood off my body into a pinkish pool before the drain sucked it down. I had brought my own soaps and toiletries, but once the blood was liquefied and drenched away, I made use of JoJo’s gray washcloth, which matched the decorative band of tiles along the bathroom wall.
Her towels were fluffy, so soft they made me want to cry again, when I dried off. And JoJo was right. A shower made a big difference in how I felt.
