VenCo(63)
“The wood says?”
“The wood wants mountains. So that’s where you go.”
“Is that where the last spoon is? And the witch that comes with it?” Lucky was exasperated. It was too early for this. She wasn’t sure what the right time of day would be for this, but six a.m. was not it.
“Fuck if I know. I just know that’s where it wants you to head. It’s bound to get you closer, at least.” She got up with a groan. “I need a helper. Getting too old for this.”
She was wearing the same outfit as the night before. And in the early light, Lucky noticed lines around her mouth and eyes, like someone who’d expressed a lot over many years. “You ever think about coming back, I could use your hands.” She tapped her forehead. “And your sight.”
“Did the wood have an address I can put into the GPS or . . . ?”
“Oh, you’re a funny one. It did not. But I have one. I know who you need to see. I could smell her damn cooking as soon as I got here.” She pulled out another piece of paper from her never-empty pockets. This time it was a receipt. She reached down and got the stub of a carpenter’s pencil out of her sock, licked the tip, and started writing against the rear windshield.
“May Moon Montgomery. She doesn’t have an address, not really. Not even sure she lives on a legitimate street. But she has a place, and these are the directions. Get to the town of Blowsy Creek, Missouri, and then follow these.” She handed over the receipt.
“May Moon . . .”
“. . . Montgomery, yeah,” Ricky finished for her. “It’s her real name. Not like you’re one to judge, Lucky.”
“I have a question, Ricky. If all it took was some pieces of wood and a prayer, why in the hell didn’t Meena just get you to find all the spoons?”
Ricky smiled, slow and wide. “It’s cute you think that’s all it took. There are consequences to everything—to every inquiry, every ask, every push. Each witch finds the next, and all things in their own time, according to the good Lord.”
“Fair enough. So when do I leave? Is there, like, a time frame?”
“Well, considering you’re running down the clock standing here, I’d get going now, or as soon to now as you can.” She grabbed Lucky’s hand, which was a shock. They hadn’t touched before now. Ricky’s skin felt like suede, a lot softer than it looked, a lot softer than any human’s probably should be.
“Now repeat after me, and don’t go interrupting the prayer.” She closed her eyes and after a moment squeezed Lucky’s fingers until she followed suit.
“I, Lucky St. James . . .”
“I, Lucky St. James . . .”
“Will go on a journey today. And by the Virgin Mary with her seven rings and her true things . . .”
The prayer was half familiar—old Catholic terms and words—and half absolute weirdness to Lucky’s ears and mouth. Ricky made her slow down at one point and paused so long in other places that Lucky peeked to check if she was finished. After an “Amen,” Lucky started to pull her hand away, but the older woman held fast.
“Now you have to say three Hail Marys.”
“The whole thing?”
“Jesus, girl, it’s like the shortest prayer.”
“Three times, though?”
“Everything in threes.”
When they were done, Ricky tipped her hat, made the sign of the cross with her fingers in the air, and wandered back to the road without another word. She whistled as she walked, a cheerful tune that didn’t fit with her dark court suit and her sombre office. Lucky watched her as she turned right onto the road and sauntered back towards where she had come.
“A legend, truly,” she whispered.
“What’s that?” Stella was at the door with her suitcase in one hand and stolen motel towels in the other.
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about what I want to be when I grow up,” she said. “And turn around, Stella. I need a quick shower before we go. I hope you left me a towel.”
Stella gave her a furtive glance and handed one over. “Where are we headed to now?”
Lucky tossed her sweater on the chair. “Today we are going to the Moon.”
She whistled on her way to the bathroom, a cheerful tune that didn’t fit the road they were about to take.
21
A Wolf at the Door
The drive back to Salem was uneventful. Except for a quick stop so Wendy could throw up in the ditch, which then triggered Freya to vomit out the window, it was a straight shot home.
“Amateurs,” Meena had scoffed.
Wendy spoke in a whisper. “Why does every visit to Lucille have to end like this?”
“Because that’s how she does it. I don’t question her methods.”
“Maybe you should,” Wendy groaned.
“Almost home, love. Then you can have a shower and a nap.”
“I’m just going to get into the bath and drink it dry,” Freya said from the back seat.
“Well, I don’t approve of you drinking to begin with. You’re much too young.”
“I am a member of the coven, though. I didn’t want to throw off the ritual.”
Meena looked at the girl in the rearview mirror. “What a good witch you are, Freya.”