Page 41 of (Mostly) Human Resources

Tom fiddled with it and after a few seconds it sputtered to life.

“Pretty handy, huh?”

Nic couldn’t even understand a good 90 percent of what was being said given the radio static and thick, mountain accents. From what he could understand, Mercyhill’s volunteer fire department was 50 percent social and 50 percent town updates. Nic was pleased to discover the night’s special at the diner came highly endorsed by Tom. If Nic could wrangle AlexysandElliot, he’d be very happy to treat them all to dinner and forget this whole thing ever happened. He’d send them both on their merry little way and conduct the research he was itching to get to.

Easy.

With just over an hour left in the drive, Nic was feeling surprisingly optimistic when they came around a wide bend.

Tom slammed on the breaks.

Up ahead, blocking the road in both directions, was a fallen tree.

“Darn it shoot,” Tom said, killing the engine. He reached for the walk-talkie and stepped out of the truck. “This might set us back, I’m ’fraid.” Tom radioed out over the walkie-talkie about the tree. Nic immediately started assessing the situation. First, there was the removal of the tree, directing traffic, clearing the debris.

“Tom,” Nic called. “I really need to get into town. I’m supposed to meet my friend.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, young man.” Tom hooked his thumbs in the straps of his overalls and ambled back to the truck. “If I don’t get this tree up and out of the way, the fire chief will cuss me out more times than you can shake a stick.”

Nic blinked. Then blinked again. “That doesn’t sound like a positive work environment.”

Tom smiled warm and wide. “Well, I’m pure positive it keeps me working.”

“Right.” Nic ran a hand over his face and groaned quietly into his palm. He inhaled a deep breath and asked, “How far is it to walk to Mercyhill myself?”

Tom’s answer was lost within a belly-shaking laugh and molasses accent. He shook his head at Nic before walking back to the fallen tree.

Nic settled low in his seat. He was stranded, had no way of knowing where in town Alexys would be, and walking clearly wasn’t an option.

As the afternoon sun began to dip behind the mountains and the air blowing through the hollows began to cool, Nic took a long, deep breath.

CHAPTER 24

“My mother told me to call upon the angel, but I am afraid of Her. She took my mother from me. She performed a miracle that sounded like witchcraft. If the Pale Man comes back, I will pray to Her for help. Only in that darkest hour of need will I allow Her to save us once more. But I fear I will not be able to pay the same price my mother did. She was far more selfless than I.”

The Fairchild Grimoire,1594 Entry by Mercy Fairchild

The sun had barely risen over the horizon when Opal joined Alexys in the kitchen, a small pouch clutched in her hands.

“Morning, child,” she said, regarding Alexys with stoic skepticism. Alexys held a cup of coffee fiercely in her hands. Opal shuffled up to the table and upended the pouch, scattering its contents across the scuffed wooden surface. “Would you like a readin’ before you run off?”

Alexys looked at the table and asked, “A reading?”

Opal’s smile was far from comforting. “If you’re headed off to your death, you might as well ask what your journey will look like.”Her coffee cup was still half full, so Alexys didn’t have nearly enough energy to muster an argument. Plus, shehadjust allowed her to spend the night. Alexys sighed.

Let the witch believe what she wanted, imminent death or otherwise. Leaning forward to take a closer look at the items Opal had spread out, Alexys’s jaw dropped.

She went to a palm reader once at a Renaissance festival when she was young. Smoggy tent drowned in patchouli, layers of mystic clothing, and all. It was fascinating until Alexys realized how vague the information was, how easily it could be applied to anyone. Cards and crystal balls held little appeal when you knew the truth behind the curtains.

But this was something else. These weren’t cards.

They werebones.

The hairs on the back of Alexys’s neck stood on end when she looked at them, pale slivers about an inch or two long, carved with strange symbols. She’d never seen anything like it before.

Her eyes slid to Opal.

The witch grinned wider, as if she took delight in Alexys’s horror. “Don’t worry,” she said, “they’re clean enough.”