From Dead to Worse

room. They seemed to be having a good old time. I could hear Octavia’s voice, which sounded very much like it was in teaching mode. Every now and then, Amelia would ask a question.
    I did a lot of muttering to myself while I cooked. I hoped this magical procedure worked, and I was grateful to the witches for being so willing to help. But I was feeling a little sideswiped on the domestic front. My brief mention to Amelia that Octavia could stay with us for a little while had been a spur of the moment thing. (I could tell I was going to have to be more careful in conversations with my roomie from now on.) Octavia hadn’t said she’d be in my house for a weekend, or a month, or any measure of time. That scared me.
    I could have cornered Amelia and told her, “You didn’t ask me if Octavia could stay right now at this moment , and it’s my house,” I supposed. But I did have a free room, and Octavia did need someplace to stay. It was a little late to discover that I wasn’t entirely happy at having a third person in the house—a third person I barely knew.
    Maybe I could find a job for Octavia, because regular earnings would allow the older woman her independence and she’d move out of here. I wondered about the state of her house in New Orleans. I assumed it was unlivable. For all the power she had, I guess even Octavia couldn’t undo the damage a hurricane had done. After her references to stairs and increased bathroom needs, I’d revised her age upward, but she still didn’t seem any older than, say, sixty-three. That was practically a spring chicken, these days.
    I called Octavia and Amelia to the table at six o’clock. I had the table set and the iced tea poured, but I let them serve their own plates from the stove. Not elegant, but it did save on dishes.
    We didn’t talk a lot as we ate. All three of us were thinking about the evening to come. As much as I disliked her, I was a little worried about Tanya.
    I felt funny about the idea of altering someone, but the bottom line was, I needed Tanya off my back and out of my life and the lives of those around me. Or I needed her to get a new attitude about what she was doing in Bon Temps. I couldn’t see any way around those facts. In line with my new practicality, I’d realized that if I had to choose between continuing my life with Tanya’s interference or continuing my life with Tanya altered, there was no contest.
    I cleared the plates away. Normally, if one of us cooked, the other did the dishes, but the two women had magical preparations to make. It was just as well; I wanted to keep busy.
    We heard the gravel crunching under the wheels of a truck at 7:05.
    When we’d asked him to have her here at seven, I hadn’t realized he’d bring her as a parcel.
    Calvin carried Tanya in over his shoulder. Tanya was compact, but no featherweight. Calvin was definitely working, but his breathing was nice and even and he hadn’t broken a sweat. Tanya’s hands and ankles were bound, but I noticed he’d wrapped a scarf under the rope so she wouldn’t get chafed. And (thank God) she was gagged, but with a jaunty red bandanna. Yes, the head werepanther definitely had a thing for Tanya.
    Of course, she was mad as a disturbed rattler, wriggling and twisting and glaring. She tried to kick Calvin, and he slapped her on her butt. “You stop that now,” he said, but not as if he was particularly upset. “You’ve done wrong; you got to take your medicine.”
    He’d come in the front door, and now he dumped Tanya on the couch.
    The witches had drawn some things in chalk on the floor of the living room, a process that hadn’t found much favor with me. Amelia had assured me she could clean it all up, and since she was a champion cleaner, I’d let them proceed.
    There were various piles of things (I really didn’t want to look too closely) set around in bowls. Octavia lit the material in one bowl and carried it over to Tanya. She wafted the smoke toward Tanya with her hand. I took an extra step back, and Calvin, who was standing behind the couch and holding Tanya by the shoulders, turned his head. Tanya held her breath as long as she could.
    After breathing the smoke, she relaxed.
    “She needs to be sitting there,” Octavia said, pointing to an area circled by chalky symbols. Calvin plonked Tanya down on a straight-backed chair in the middle. She stayed put, thanks to the mysterious smoke.
    Octavia started chanting in a language I didn’t understand.