Jenny Plague-Bringer(43)

“What kind of unfinished business?” Seth rose up on his elbow, facing her. His hand went to her hip, then down along the waistband of her soft flannel pajamas. “I can think of some unfinished business we need to take care of.”

“I’m serious,” Jenny said, though she did nothing to stop Seth from hooking a finger under her waistband and sliding it down her hip. “Maybe her opposite’s involved, too. The one who’s hunting you?”

“Right. Like I’m hunting you right now.” He leaned in close to the exposed curve of her pale hip, his mouth open like he meant to bite her.

“Stop being cute,” she said.

“Can’t help it.”

“Listen, if she’s telling the truth, we could be in a lot of danger. You don’t know what happened last time.”

“No, tell me. I’ll be down here listening.” Seth kissed his way from her hip to her lower belly, tugging her pajamas down as he went.

“This is important, Seth. You should, you know, arm yourself with knowledge.”

“Arm yourself with knowledge?” Seth looked up at her, laughing. “Really? That’s almost as bad as the time you said ‘unhand me’!”

“And when did I say that?”

“It was...” His eyes scrunched up as he struggled to remember. Then he smiled. “The haunted house! Right? On our first date?”

“The haunted house where you worked.”

“Right. The haunted house where I...but when did I do that?”

“A lifetime ago. Your memories are bleeding through.”

“Do they have to be ‘bleeding’ through?” Seth asked. “Can’t they be nicely, gently drifting through?”

“I’m still having trouble with our most recent lives...Alexander didn’t want me to remember those, because of my memories with you.”

“That bastard,” Seth said quickly.

“But our last life is coming together slowly. If I tell you what happened, maybe you’ll start to remember, too. And we won’t miss anything, like whether your new girlfriend might be planning to ax-murder us, any details like that.”

“She’s not going to ax-murder us,” Seth said.

“You’re right. She’ll probably use those high heels. And I’ll be in my sneakers, unarmed.”

“You’d just hit her with flying plaguey-pox.”

“That’s true,” Jenny said. “And she’d do that pouty frown thing until it ate off her lips. Now, listen, I have to catch you up on the story.”

“Are you sure? There’s an interesting story unfolding down here, too, you know.” He tugged her pajamas down to her hips, and she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His lips traveled downward, between her legs.

“Stop!” Jenny squealed.

“Usually squealing doesn’t mean ‘stop,’” Seth pointed out.

“First, my turn,” Jenny said. “Then yours. Now, listen.”

Seth rested his chin in his hand and looked at her. Handsome boy, she thought, for the millionth time.





Chapter Fourteen




Fallen Oak was a large, thriving town, with a tall brick cotton exchange, a crowded stockyard, and a textile mill, plus a large Postal Telegraph Company office and a railroad spur connecting the town to the rest of the world. As they rode through in the detective’s Ford Model 18, Juliana and Sebastian sat in the back seat, looking out at the busy little downtown, full of shops, with a two-story department store on one corner. The courthouse had a marble facade engraved with the figure of Justice, blindfolded and wielding a sword, overlooking a neatly manicured town green with a bandstand. There was also a sparkling white Baptist church on the central square, facing the green. Despite the Depression, Fallen Oak seemed to be bustling and growing.

“Looks like such a pleasant place to live,” Juliana commented.

“We should bring the carnival,” Sebastian said. “These people seem like they have money to spare.”

Juliana laughed. “You’re thinking like a carnie already.”

They drove eastward out of the downtown, past fields of cotton. Thin, hungry-looking black laborers in patched clothing worked the fields under the scorching sunlight. They didn’t seem to be receiving too much of the town’s swelling prosperity.

They arrived at a three-story mansion on a hill, largely obscured behind ornamental trees, the entire property protected by a tall, spiked wrought-iron fence. The detective pulled up to the locked front gate, reached out the window, and rang a bell on a rope.

“This is where we’re going?” Sebastian asked, amazed. “This Jonathan Barrett must have heaps of dough.”