Page 29 of Obsession

“Good night, Grandma.”

Chapter 14

I pull out a map of the United States and ready my supplies. Julia’s been teaching me dowsing—a method of divination using a pendulum.

Straightening the map out on my bedroom floor, I ask questions about Bettina Davis and Delilah Jones. My quartz pendulum moves to the right for yes, and to the left for no. According to the pendulum, Delilah is dead.

Confirming that Bettina is alive, I proceed. “Is Bettina Davis in the United States?” The pendulum moves ever so slightly to the right. I continue asking questions, narrowing down her location to the south, and from there Mississippi.

Running downstairs to my office, I print out a Mississippi map. “Whatcha doing, sugar pie?” Grandma asks from the doorway.

“Entering some tax invoices,” I fib.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says, hightailing it down the hall. Ha, that’s better than an abracadabra magic trick. Mention paperwork and she disappears.

Returning upstairs with the map, I keep asking questions until I’m able to narrow down Bettina’s location to Natchez.

An Internet search for Bettina Davis of Natchez proves fruitless, so I print out a city map and begin to narrow down her location, using the quadrant method Julia showed me. Eventually, I circle a spot on the map I’m reasonably certain is her location. Pulling up the driving directions on my computer, I frown at the almost five-hour drive.

Taking a seat on my bed, I text Damion to let him know I’m taking a road trip tomorrow, and he can come with me or not.

“A text would have saved me the heart attack,” I say, placing a hand to my thudding heart. Damion is now seated next to me.

“But then you’d miss out on the perfection that is my human form.” I can’t argue with him on that one. Even in a T-shirt and joggers, he still looks like sex on a stick. Maybe even more so in the T-shirt and joggers I think, as my eyes linger on his joggers. Specifically, a certain region of his joggers. Damn.

Snapping myself out of it, I ask, “What about your demonic form?” It’s the question I’ve been too afraid to voice. I’ve never seen Damion’s demonic form. I’m not sure if it’d be terrifying or erotic. Terrifyingly erotic? I really need to get the ball rolling on that survivors of demonic possession support group.

“I only channel my demon fully when I’m engaged in soul contracts. Interested?” He gives me a seductive smile.

“I’ll refer you back to our previous contract and the fulfillment of my part of the bargain. You’re not getting my soul.”

“Not today.” He winks at me. “I’ll ask Zazel for transport to Natchez, but only if I accompany you.”

“Not that I don’t love first-class airfare, but I thought you didn’t want to involve your father in our business.”

“I’ll tell him it’s work-related. Not a lie, as keeping you out of trouble is a full-time job.”

“Ha ha. Can you also double-check to make sure Delilah Jones is dead?” I explain how I couldn’t find her using dowsing.

“I’ll look into it, but you’ll owe me a favor, of course.”

“Yes, your majesty, and I would expect nothing less.”

“No booty call for you tonight, dream or otherwise. I have work to do this evening and we both know you can’t keep your hands off me.” He glances down, and I follow his gaze to find my hands are on his chest. Dang it! I drop them like a hot potato. He smirks as he floats my vibrator to my nightstand. “You’ll need this to tide you over in the meantime,” he says with laughter in his voice as he disappears.

“You are still a prick!” And yes, I do happen to need it.

I wake the next morning out of sorts—I had the same dream of being trapped in a small, dark space, and I still don’t know what it means.

Frustrated, I spend some time on the puzzle. I’ve almost filled in the High Priestess, so maybe that means I’ll receive some clarity about my mama’s situation. Or the scurrying vision. Or the dreams. Hell, any of the above would be welcomed. Grabbing my cards, I hold them to my heart and then give them a shuffle. I pull the High Priestess. Reversed.

The afternoon rolls around in no time. Damion appears and we tell Aunt Callie goodbye. A moment later we’re standing in a back alley. Clutching Damion’s chest, I take a moment to orient myself. While convenient, I don’t think human bodies were designed to fly demonic air. I realize how difficult it must be for you to keep your hands off me, but you will need to remove them so we can walk to Bettina’s shop, he says smugly in my mind.

I remove my hands all right, flipping him the bird.

He laughs as we exit the alley, strolling along a street across from the Mississippi River. We arrive at an old building with a sign that reads Miss Mable’s Ghost Tours. Stepping inside, a heavyset woman in her late forties greets us with a warm welcome. She’s around my height with long brown hair pulled back in a bun and hazel eyes. She’s wearing a colonial wench costume with corset, which I’d imagine would be just about miserable in this heat.

“Hello, we’re looking for Bettina Davis,” I say.

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