“Let go of Gwen, you old dingbat!” Flo yelled, jumping into the mix. She began to tug on Zelda’s arm, trying to get her off me, but those acrylics were sharp as blades, digging into the cashmere with vengeance, refusing to release.
The doorbell rang again, punctuating another bellow from Mickey. “I’M NOT GOING AWAY, YOU THIEVING CUNT!”
We all flinched.
“Zelda, I’m sorry, but you’re in real trouble,” I whispered quickly, blinking back tears of pain. My arm was throbbing. “Let me call for help. I know a detective who works for Salem PD. He can—”
“No!No police.” Her grip tightened and I swallowed down a whimper. She shook me, rattling me hard enough to give me whiplash. “I did my time! I’m not going back. Certainly not because of a pissant little fool like you.”
“Excuse me?!” I glared at her, any sympathy I’d harbored evaporating instantly. “I came here to check up on you because I was worried—”
“You should’ve kept your nose out of my affairs!”
“Ding dong!” Hecate parroted, mimicking the ringing bell. “Ding dong! Enemy at the gates! Enemy at the gates!”
I tried to shrug Zelda off again, but she only tightened her hold. The wrath in her eyes was bordering on scary, now.
“You wanted me to leave,” I reminded her. “Let me go!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” she hissed, getting right in my face. Her murky blue eyes were narrowed, her mouth pursed into a dozen deeply scored wrinkles from decades of smoking two packs a day. “You brought this mess to my doorstep. You’re going to help me clean it up.”
I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, and I was not interested in finding out. I began to struggle in earnest, attempting to peel Zelda’s bony fingers from my bicep. In response, she shook me again, even more violently this time. My brains were beginning to feel like scrambled eggs. Which, honestly, I blamed for the action I took next.
I didn’t think; I just knew I wanted her off of me, right freakingnow, and I reacted instinctively, lifting one low-heeled leather boot and aiming for her midsection. Unfortunately, beneath all that fabric, it was difficult to tell where her true form began. I managed only to graze her. (And piss her off further.)
The momentum of my kick sent us both lurching several uneven steps sideways. We rocked to a sudden halt, slamming up against the back of the sofa. A low pulse of pain shot through my hipbone. Ignoring it, I kicked at Zelda again. (And missed, again.) In retaliation, she reached out and grabbed me by the hair with her other hand, yanking the thick rope of my ponytail, jerking my head back. My scalp burned with pain and a muscle in my neck spasmed sharply as it twisted at an unnatural angle.
“Ow!” I yelled loudly.
Blinking away the dizzying pain, I leveled another blind kick at my psychic’s midsection — and felt no small amount of satisfaction as this one connected. Zelda loosed a lowoofof pain, then released my hair. Unfortunately, her vise-like grip on my arm remained, keeping me within arm’s reach even as I tried to reel away.
“Let me go!” I cried, kicking at her again.
“LET ME IN!” Mickey bellowed distantly.
“Let the chips fall!” Hecate squawked, much less distantly. “Fall as they may!”
While Zelda and I grappled, both breathing hard as we clawed at each other with increasing violence, Florence (who had, until this point, been watching from the sidelines) picked up a heavy paperweight off the coffee table — a massive chunk of onyx, from the looks of it — and raced toward us.
“Enough!”
Both Zelda and I stopped grappling long enough to look over at Florence. She was standing less than a foot away, the stone held aloft in both hands, her pretty face contorted into a hellbent expression I’d never seen before. (And, over the course of our decade-long friendship, I’d seen most of Flo’s looks.) She appeared fully prepared to bring the heavy onyx down on Zelda’s head if she didn’t release me, pronto.
“Listen to me, you old bag,” Florence growled at the psychic. “Let. My. Best. Friend. Go!”
Hecate, sensing her master was in trouble, chose this moment to join the fray. The massive bird swooped down from her perch, sailing straight toward Florence with her razor-sharp, curled talons poised to do some serious damage.
“Flo!” I shouted. “Behind you!”
She dodged just in time, ducking for cover behind the green brocade chair. The onyx went tumbling across the floor. Hecate — and her talons — missed Flo’s face by mere inches. Zelda’s grip loosened as she turned to see what was happening and I used the opportunity to finally wrench myself free.
“LAST WARNING, ZELDA!” Mickey roared.
The pounding at the door downstairs grew louder. More violent. I wondered how much force it would take to knock it clean off its hinges. Probably not much, given the ramshackle state of this place, and the size of the man doing the pounding. Mickey O'Banion was built like a Mack truck.
The thought had scarcely occurred to me when I heard the unmistakeable sound of wood splintering.
We all froze for a heartbeat. (Even Hecate.)