Gone With The Minion: Chapter 3
Wheel of Fortune and Chamomile? If the demon lord didn't kill me, the boredom would.
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Chapter 3
The two-mile drive up the gravel road leading to David's old farmhouse brought back memories of Olivia's childhood. Her father, too old for the rebel draft, had spent most of the war hiding refugees and slaves escaping to the north. Like David, Jonathan Madder had been a noble man, and Olivia knew he would be ashamed to see her now.
It broke her heart.
Southerners had never liked the term "civil war" and preferred to call it the War of Northern Aggression. Her father favored the term "The Late Unpleasantness." Even though Poppa was Southern through and through, he and Olivia's mother had been united in their principles. Freedom was meant for everyone, and everyone deserved the chance to build good lives. They taught their daughters compassion for all human beings—and showed what it meant to risk everything to save the innocent. Olivia's mother died bringing the twins into the world, and she knew Mama would never regret forfeiting her life for theirs.
Poppa died ten years after the war, and by then, Olivia, who had turned twenty-eight, was well-versed in running the farm. By the standards of the time, she had been an old maid. Her marital prospects were thin, with her being on the verge of spinsterhood. She'd never gotten on board with that whole "women are property" mentality. For that same reason, she refused to parcel off her sisters like cattle.
But four young women of decent breeding owning property and farming like common folks had been an affront to their community. If the Madder sisters refused to marry like proper Southern Belles, then the only recourse was to force them off their land by any means necessary.
Say, like poisoning their livestock.
Stealing their horses.
Burning their crops.
And finally, an actual assault on their home by masked men. Imagine the bandits’ surprise when four delicate feminine flowers fired shotguns at them until they ran away screaming.
Olivia had been at her wit's end about how to protect her siblings—and keep the farm.
Then Moloch showed up and offered the bargain. In exchange for keeping her sisters and the farm safe, Olivia would spend two hundred years as his minion, and when her two centuries were up, she was his to take to Hell.
She swatted away the memories like annoying flies and focused on her task. As she parked her truck in front of the railroad ties that marked the parking area, she stilled the apprehension in her gut. David had been twenty-six the last time she saw him. He would’ve been eighty-two when he died. In the end, had he even remembered her? Did it matter? Not anymore.
Her window with the man had passed too long ago. Besides, he’d been married with a family. For Olivia, that was a boundary she would have never crossed. Still, it hurt being back.
She tried to shake off the grief and melancholy. All she had to do was get into the house, find the book, and get out. Even so, she wasn’t sure how long her heart could take being on David’s farm—around David’s possessions—before it exploded from sorrow.
The sooner she put Sanctum in the rearview mirror, the better.
The entire property used to have wards against lesser demons, ghosts, vampires, and elves. Despite the efforts of cartoon cookie makers and high fantasy movies to make elves nice, wise, and peaceful—they were anything but. Elves were assholes. If you ever meet one, don’t walk. Run.
However, as Olivia made her way up the drive, she didn’t feel any of the tell-tale tingles the wards used to give her. As a minion, she was human enough that they didn’t keep her out, but she was demon enough that they made her feel buzzy. Without David alive to renew the wards, the farm was no longer protected. And if that was the case, why would Moloch need her at all? Maybe he really didn’t. Maybe he’d wanted to inflict the most suffering possible by making her come here to retrieve his dumb book.
Not for the first time since she started the trip to Sanctum, she wondered about David’s wife, Clarissa. Would she be there? What about David’s son, Thomas? He would be what, in his fifties now? She could only hope they didn’t remember her. She wasn’t sure they’d believe her lies over their own eyes, but what choice did she have?
None.
As usual.
The farmhouse was a two-story turn-of-the-century structure in good repair. It looked like someone had given it a fresh coat of paint recently, and the brand-new exposed wood on the front stoop steps told her that same someone was currently making repairs. David had been terrible about maintenance. He loved his family and made sure they were sheltered, fed, and healthy, but his passion was reserved for the supernatural.
And if things had been different, some of that passion might’ve been Olivia's.
She knocked on the front door and waited.
And that’s when her sisters shimmered onto the porch.
“Do you really think anyone will be home?” asked Charlotte. She peered into the window on the right side of the door. “It’s dark in there.”
“We could scout ahead and look for the book,” offered Eliza. She patted Olivia's shoulder, a gesture of comfort, even though she knew Olivia couldn’t actually feel her touch. “That way, you don’t have to stay here for too long.”
“I’m fine,” Olivia said. She looked around. “Where’s Elise?”
“Remember that big brick house we passed right before we drove through Sanctum?” asked Charlotte. “Apparently, the homeowner is marathoning Monsters Inside Me, and she decided to hang out there for a while.”
“Oh, lawd,” said Eliza. “It’s going to be days and days of microbial this and bacteria that.” She unfolded a fan and waved it in front of her face. “I wish she would find a different hobby.”
“It’s not a hobby,” Olivia said, defending Elise. “If she wasn’t a ghost, she’d be a helluva doctor.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Liv,” said Eliza. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know.” Olivia knocked again.
She was about ready to get out her lock-picking tools when she heard a man in the distance holler, “Hello.”
A tall guy in coveralls, grease on his face, and his dark hair shiny with dirt and sweat walked out the doors of the large red barn. The last time she’d been here, that barn had been falling apart, its cracked timbers a dull gray.
When the man finally reached the porch and he got a good look at Olivia, the wrench slipped from his grasp and thunked to the ground. He looked shocked to see her standing there, and no wonder. She didn’t look like your typical Sanctum resident. She’d put on what Charlotte called “confidence clothes”—a red short-sleeved blouse with a deep vee-cut to show off her assets, a form-fitting burgundy brushed velvet skirt, and her black leather boots. She’d French-braided her hair and, as a final touch, put on big silver hoop earrings. And yes, the earrings doubled as weapons.
The greasy man recovered himself quickly. He picked up the wrench and asked, “Can I help you, miss?”
Olivia cleared her throat and put on a polite smile. “Uhm, yes, sir. I’m looking for David Jensen?” This guy didn’t know she knew David was dead, so it was the quickest way to explain her unannounced visit.
He tilted his head to the left, studying her with a penetrating stare. His gray-blue eyes shone brightly in contrast to his darkly smudged face. “David Jensen is dead.” The cold way he said the words made Olivia gape.
“Close your mouth, sister, dear, before you catch flies,” Charlotte said primly. She and Eliza were leaning on the porch rail, eyeing the young man.
Olivia paused to compose herself then asked, “What happened to him?”
“He had a stroke. Clot went straight to his heart.” He tapped his chest. “Killed him quick.” His gaze didn’t waver from hers as he took a rag from the overall’s pocket to clean grime from the wrench he held. “How did you know my grandfather?”
“Oh. Uhm. Your grandfather was an old friend.”
The man snorted. “Did you meet him when you were a toddler?”
“Yes,” Olivia said, rolling her eyes. She studied David’s grandson. She didn’t know what David’s life had been like. Thomas had been seven the last time she saw him. Maybe David and Clarissa had more children. “Are you Thomas’s son?”
“I would have to be since Dad was an only child.” The man narrowed his eyes. “He died when I was two years old.”
Oh, David. The loss must have broken his heart. “I’m sorry,” Olivia said. “What about your grandmother? Is she around?”
“She died of cancer when my dad was ten years old. And Gramps never remarried. It was just him and Dad.”
Olivia couldn’t believe it. Clarissa had been dead for decades, and David had been left to raise his son on his own. Despite her feelings for David, she’d always liked Clarissa. The woman had been sweet as apple pie and the epitome of the 1950s housewife. The whole cleaning-the-house-wearing-heels-and-pearls kind of woman who made sure dinner was on the table by six every night and the baby was put to bed by eight. She had waited on David hand and foot. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been hearty enough to be a farmer’s wife. Milking a cow or picking corn was not in her purview. David loved her, loved his family, but he’d confided his worries about Clarissa’s delicate constitution.
Even so, she hoped David and Clarissa would live a long and happy life together. How awful for David to lose his wife at such a young age.
His grandson closed the distance between them. “I’m Tristan, by the way. I’d shake your hand but...” He held up his grimy palms. “I’d hate to get you messy.”
Now that Tristan was up close and personal, Olivia could see much of David in him. The narrow face, high, sharp cheekbones, the aquiline nose, the square jaw, and broad shoulders reminded her so much of his grandfather. However, he had darker hair and a beard, and David’s eyes had been hazel-green, not the color of a cloud right as a storm was lifting. Even so, the strong family resemblance was hard to deny.
Olivia shuffled her feet nervously, feeling suddenly shy and unsure of herself. “It’s nice to meet you, uh, Tristan. I’m Olivia Madder.”
“Are you sure you were a friend of Gramps? This feels a bit like a scam.” The man waved a hand at her. “You know, find out someone is dead, then try to con their loved ones out of the…” He glanced around at the property. “…family farm.”
“I assure you, this isn’t a scam. I truly am sorry for your loss.” Not a lie, since Olivia keenly felt David’s absence as well. “I just…you’re grandfather and I did business together a few years ago, and he…” she debated on whether she should mention the box that Moloch wanted but decided against it. “He was a sweet man,” she told Tristan. “We became fast friends over shared interests.” There, that wasn’t a lie. She and David bonded over their singular drive to send every demon they could find back to Hell.
He smirked. “So you’re a Wheel of Fortune and chamomile tea kind of gal.”
Olivia snorted with disbelief. David had been a man of action. He hadn’t had an idle bone in his body. She wouldn’t believe his final years were spent on gameshows and herbal tea. That hadn’t been David. “You’re grandfather would never drink chamomile. He’s more of a bourbon guy.”
“Was,” Tristan corrected. He arched a brow at her and shook his head. “I could use a bourbon about now.”
“I have a bottle of nineteen fifty-three I.W. Harpers in the back of my car,” Olivia blurted out.
“Seriously?” Tristan narrowed his gaze on her, his dark gray eyes studying her face. “That’s a rare bottle. Has to be worth a couple of thousand dollars, and you’re just driving around with it in the back of your car?”
The more Tristan talked, the more he reminded Olivia of his grandfather. God, even his forehead creased in the same way David’s had when he was skeptical. Of course, being raised by David, Tristan probably had many of his mannerisms.
“Seriously,” Olivia replied. “I was bringing the bottle for David. It was one of his favorites.” And it had been a bottle from a case of I. W. Harper bourbon, she and David had taken off a demon in Kentucky near Louisville. When she’d left, the bourbon was one of the few things she’d taken with her. She’d been saving it for her last drink before Moloch took her to Hell when her contract was up, but looking a Tristan, she couldn’t help but think, why wait?
“I’m willing to share a toast to David with you…” She gave the young man a coy smile. “If you invite me in for a chat about your grandfather.”
Tristan mulled over the offer for a moment, then nodded. “Only if the conversation goes both ways.”
Olivia’s smile widened, and she held out her hand. “Deal.”
Tristan chuckled as he wiped his dirty hand on his jeans. “Deal.” He took her offered hand. “Would you like to come inside, Olivia? You can tell me all about the friendship between you and Gramps.” He strolled onto the porch and opened the door. “Ladies first.”
She only hesitated a fraction of a second before entering the house—and the past she had worked so hard and so long to forget.
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