I smiled as I watched Shitty Ritchie do the Hustle with Alana Catherine and Jennifer. The Trinity was together and alive. We’d keep them safe until the present Higher Power could be removed. There was no other option.
Candy plopped her sorrily dressed and probably bruised butt down next to me on the couch. “Overheard your conversation with Gram and I got some thoughts.”
Soap bubbles punctuated her every word. It was hard not to laugh. The fact that she was about to chime in on the pet names was terrifying. But far be it from me to not ask questions that I didn’t want the answers to. “And?”
“I’m thinking Gramps’ pet name is either Hot Dick, Flaming Cock or possibly Warm Penis.”
“Kill me now,” I muttered.
“And Gram,” she continued. “Gram is either Squishy Ass, Smooth Bahookey, or maybe Shiny Sphincter.”
“Pretty sure I’m dead,” I said with a groan. Decades of therapy would not be able to remove what Candy had just overshared.
“Anyhoo,” Candy said, pulling a soapy toothpick out of her mouth and licking it. “Let me know if you come up with any others.”
“Will do,” I said, lying through my teeth. I wasn’t going to touch the pet name discussion with a ten-foot pole. Ever.
When Candy boogied onto the dance floor, Jennifer joined me on the couch. She was all Hustled out.
“You okay?” I asked. She seemed like she was having fun, but I wasn’t certain.
“I will be,” she told me. “But right now… in this exact moment, I’m happy—real dang happy.”
“I love you,” I told her.
“Right back at you, Daisy.”
We sat together and watched the joyful chaos. Shitty Ritchie was standing on Gideon’s head. I didn’t think that would end well, but the Grim Reaper was laughing. June and Charlie were slow dancing to a fast song and the Demons were grooving to the beat.
“I think I see something,” Jennifer said cautiously.
I leaned forward. Seeing for Jennifer was very different than it was for the rest of us.
“Talk to me,” I said, feeling trepidation.
Her brow creased in thought. It looked like the Botox had finally worn off. “It’s not clear like Heather’s G-string, or Candy Vargo wanting a ferret farm. It’s more vague.”
“Okay,” I said, reaching for her hand. “Tell me what you can make out.”
She nodded slowly then spoke. “It’s a person. Can’t rightly tell if it’s a male or a female. It’s strong and angry. It wants revenge.”
“It sounds like the Higher Power,” I pointed out.
“I thought so too, but it’s not,” she said with conviction. “It might be worse.”
“Worse than the Higher Power? What in the hell could be worse than the present Higher Power?”
She shook her head. “That’s what I don’t know. I mean, it could be my imagination running away with me.”
“Could be or might not be,” I told her. “We need to tell Gideon, Charlie, Candy and Heather.”
“After the reception. Not now,” she said. “Let’s have a good time.” She stood up and extended her hand. The opening notes of the Chicken Dance blasted from the speakers and everyone cheered. “May I have this dance?”
I took her hand. “Absolutely. I thought you would never ask!”
Never countyour chickens before they hatch. It’s bad luck…
The Chicken Dance was over. We’d made it through Uptown Funk, Dancing Queen—featuring Gram, Marry You and Sweet Caroline before we took a break for cookies and champagne. The mood was cheerful and the alcohol was flowing freely. Gideon had insisted he be present for Alana Catherine’s first champagne. We’d missed all the firsts. I supposed her getting tipsy was one we could treasure.
