Heart and Soul by Jackie May (reading list .TXT) 📗

The hand creeps around my waist to my belly, then brushes my rib cage and savors the valley between my breasts on its way toward my throat.

Hillerman keeps her eyes on me while she speaks urgently. “Russo? Danny?”

“I hear you.” His breathing has turned ragged. “Keep talking. It helps.”

“I know you’re hearing many different voices right now, but I need you to only hear mine.”

I feel the phantom fingers exploring my neck. Another hand materializes at the base of my skull. This one doesn’t glide; it walks like a spider, moving up through my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on Hillerman’s voice.

“Tell me what you see, Danny.”

“I’m at the steps. There’s a door, but no handle. It’s solid stone.”

“What else? There’s got to be something.”

“Dragons. Or gargoyles, I don’t know. Carved in stone all around the door. But no handle. There’s no…”

“Danny?”

The hands roam. One gliding up my throat, the other creeping over the top of my head.

“There is something,” Russo announces. “On the mantle above the door, a rectangle carved into the stone.”

“A rectangle?”

“The same size as the business card.”

“Put it in,” Hillerman orders.

The spider hand crawls out of my hair onto my forehead. The slithering fingers prod at my closed lips. They want in.

“Put it in, Danny.”

“What will happen?”

The creeper pokes at my eyes. The other hand pushes between my teeth. I might throw up.

“At the club, you gave your will over to Elle, Danny. You trusted her completely. I’m asking you for the same. You can choose fear, or you can choose me.”

“Hell, that’s easy,” he responds with renewed confidence. “Trick or treat, bitches.” He slaps the invite against the mantle, and instantly the hands recede from my face, then disappear altogether. I release a long-held breath, gasping. All my muscles relax at once. Brenner drops to his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Why’s the door not opening?” Hillerman asks impatiently. “Do you see a handle? A way in?”

Russo sounds hesitant. “Well. No…”

“But?”

“But…” He pushes overgrown ivy away from the wall. “One of these gargoyles just opened its mouth.”

“What’s inside?”

“Nothing. It’s just a hole. And don’t say—”

Hillerman says it. “Stick your hand in there.”

Russo sighs.

We watch as Russo hovers his hand just inside the gargoyle’s mouth, then quickly pulls it back. He tries again, leaving his hand in for longer this time. When nothing happens, he pushes his hand all the way in. I can’t see the details of the gargoyle from where we are. All I see is a black hole and Russo’s whole hand disappearing inside it. Then his whole wrist. Then his entire forearm. Russo is gagging. “Oh man, oh, ew, that’s just…”

“What?” I ask.

“It’s smooshy. And wet.”

“Child’s play,” Hillerman says. “We all did this at Halloween parties as kids, right? Reach your hand into a box labeled intestines, but it’s really just spaghetti.”

“This doesn’t feel like spaghetti. Spaghetti doesn’t have a heartbeat.” Russo pushes until he’s in that thing past his elbow, and finally he announces, “There. I got something. It’s either a hairy doorknob or this thing’s balls.”

“Either way, turn it,” Hillerman says.

“I am. Nothing’s happening.”

“This isn’t good.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve decided it’s definitely not a doorknob.”

“I mean, it’s not good that it’s to one side of the door. Why not in the middle?”

I read her meaning. “You think it takes two?”

“Danny, what’s on the other side of the door?”

“More gargoyles, I think. The ivy is covering them. Look, I’d go over there and check, but if I pull my hand outta this thing’s guts, there’s no way I’m putting it back in again.”

“I’ll go,” Jay volunteers.

Hillerman steps between him and the gate. “It’s a nice instinct, but think about it. If you were in his place, who would you really want going in there with you?”

Jay immediately looks at me.

“Another good instinct.”

I feel a little slow. “Me?”

“She’s right, babe. Let’s not take any chances with Russo. We play our best hand. That’s you.”

Hillerman steps away from the gate, as if to invite me in. “It’s called witching hour for a reason. We don’t have long.”

I want to complain. I want to whine something pathetic, like, Let’s not take chances with Russo? What about taking chances with me! But apparently my ego still trumps self-preservation, because I summon a totally fake bravado and trudge through the courtyard.

“Bad-ass, Shayne,” Russo says. “By popular demand. Must be nice, huh?”

“What?”

“Having friends who think so highly of you.”

I stomp up the steps and start pulling at the ivy vines. “Oh, it’s just swell. There’s no end to the privileges they volunteer me for. Like getting to be elbow deep in a gargoyle’s…” I quickly drop the vines back into place. “I’m sorry, we’ll need a plan B. What if we come back with a truckload of dynamite?”

Hillerman kicks the gate. “No. There’s got to be another hole. Look harder.”

“Oh, there’s a hole. The problem isn’t that there’s no hole. The problem is that the hole isn’t a mouth.” I jerk the vines away for all the world to see the glorious invitation awaiting my arm: a large, bulbous buttocks above hind legs, with a curly pitch-forked tail. Between butt cheeks of polished stone is a perfectly round hole the size of a softball.

I get no response. Everybody just stares.

“Hello? Is this thing on? In case you can’t see, it’s an ass. And no, not a biblical ass. An ass-ass!”

Hillerman shakes the iron gate and growls through clenched teeth. “We get it. We see it. We hear you, and yes, it’s gross. Now, please stick your arm up that gargoyle’s asshole and squeeze its balls so we can all get the hell out of here!”

I look at Russo, at a loss for words. He’s got nothing to offer me but a shrug. And he’s absolutely right. I have to agree. What Hillerman has just said is so profound—so unique in the history of spoken words—that the only appropriate response is to immediately put them