I wasn't sure why she hadn't come after me again; it probably had something to do with Sawyer, or the turquoise, maybe both. If I allowed myself to be sidetracked, if I backtracked, disaster would follow.
Sawyer and I were on the road within half an hour. I stopped in at the desk, grabbed a complimentary Go-cup of coffee and a disgusting cellophane-sealed cheese Danish. I also took one for Sawyer, but he sneered at it, so I ate that one, too. I couldn't recall the last time I'd had any food.
I suspected Sawyer had made use of his time in the long grass to not only take care of business but chomp on a rabbit or a mouse. How a mouse could be more appetizing than a mushy Danish, I had no idea, but perhaps I'd feel differently if I had pointy ears and a tail.
"As soon as we send your mother to hell, we need to figure out a better way of contacting seers. Set up some kind of contingency plan for emergencies."
The one we had was pretty half-assed, but I'd discovered that a lot in this world was. Humans weren't perfect and neither were their plans.
Sawyer, who'd been hanging his head out the window, pulled it back in and waited for me to continue.
"I know, our whole life is one long emergency, but still, cell phones, even e-mail, probably aren't the best idea. I'm thinking the Nephilim, having lived longer than long, have bought some pretty impressive technology."
Cell phones could be traced. Monsters, with their abnormally good hearing, could listen in on conversations they had no business hearing. Hackers came in all shapes, sizes, and supernaturalities.
We rolled into Detroit before noon. Trulia Street was located in a somewhat seedy section, the house cozied up to all the others on the block with very little space in between. The gray bungalow was surrounded by a small patch of dried grass; the bright red shutters only served to emphasize the bars on the windows.
When we rang the bell, the snarl of a very large dog on the other side made Sawyer's hackles rise. He pushed himself between me and the door, crowding me backward until I nearly tumbled off the porch.
A sliding sound followed by a click revealed a tiny window at eye level. The inside of the house was so dark I couldn't get a good look at the eyes beyond a tiny sparkle as a murky cloud-covered sun traced across the glass.
Then the peephole slammed shut. I tensed, prepared to pound on the door and shout a while, but the locks were released, bolts were pulled back, the door swung open, and a voice murmured from the darkness, "Ciao, bella. Been waitin' for you."
CHAPTER 15
Though the door was wide open, I still couldn't see anyone in the long, dark tunnel of the front hall, but I could hear that dog growling. He sounded both monstrous and mean.
"Are you—" I paused. How was I supposed to ask if the woman who belonged to the haunting, melodious, somehow sexy voice was a witch? Was that considered polite? Or an open invitation for the dog to eat me?
Sawyer walked inside, legs stiff, hackles still raised. He lifted his head, sniffed the air, shook himself as if he were soaking wet, then glanced at me with an expression I could only label confused.
"Am I who, bella? Or perhaps you mean what?"
She laughed, the sound so rich and full of joy, I couldn't keep myself from smiling. I wanted to laugh with that much happiness, too, but I had a feeling I might never do so again.
"Since you mentioned it," I began.
"This is no place to have such a conversation. You on the porch, me in the dark, your poor wolf—"
"Dog," I blurted.
"Certainly," she answered without missing a beat. Her voice was not only beautiful, smooth and clear, like an aria soaring through a darkened opera house, but lightly accented. English was not her first language; however, she'd been speaking it for a very long time. "You must both come inside, then shut and lock that door behind you."
I hesitated. Locking myself inside with Lord knows what, and her dog, might be a very dumb move. I tried to avoid them.
"Elisabetta," she murmured, and I tensed, though my name wasn't a secret any longer, if it ever had been. "I am Carla Benandanti."
Well, that was convenient, although anyone could name themselves a good witch. Didn't mean that they were.
"You were sent to me by a woman who is both your friend and mine."
"Ruthie," I whispered.
"She told me you would come."
"You spoke to her?" I took an eager step forward. "Recently?"
"No. She's a bit dead, is she not?"
"Then when did she tell you—"
"Years ago."
"Years ago she knew that I'd come here?"
"Ruthie knew many things."
She had me there. Of course, Ruthie could be self-fulfilling her own prophecies. She'd been the one to send me to Detroit in the first place.
"Including," Carla continued, "that you would need a benandanti at some point in the future. Come along, bella, and your little dog, too."