Texas Gothic

22



“to the Goodnight girls.” Mark lifted his beer, the toast almost drowned out by the band and the holiday weekend crowd at the Hitchin’ Post. “Fortune favors the floral.”

“That’s not how it goes,” corrected Phin. “Fortes fortuna adiuvat.”

I reached over and clinked her bottle of soda with mine. “Pretend to be normal, Phin, and drink your drink.”

The Dr Pepper tasted so much better than the pond scum.

But as vile as it had been, I would’ve drunk the potion again if it could have told me how to solve this problem. The only thing I knew to do was stick with my plan. Look for the ghost. Do what it had told me. Which was why I was in the Hitchin’ Post with the crew, paper spell in my pocket, on the hunt for info on the Mad Monk.

If Mark had wanted to meet with just Phin, he should’ve picked somewhere other than the roadhouse. The rest of the crew were there, too, celebrating the find, and dissecting what it could mean. Since this was what I needed to know, too, I was happy when, after his toast, Mark set down his beer, rubbed his hands together, and said, “Okay, let’s brainstorm. Rosary and gold nugget. Where did they come from?”

“Did you find anything else after we left?” Phin asked.

“More bones that appear to be from the third skeleton,” said Mark. “Tomorrow we dig test holes around the field to see what else turns up. Then home so Dr. Douglas can write a grant proposal.”

“Well, some of us are staying for the party,” said Lucas, his eyes following a pair of women who walked by, checking him out in return. He lifted his beer to them, and they laughed and hurried on.

“Is it just me,” said Jennie, amused by the exchange, “or are we getting even more stares than usual?”

“Everyone’s talking about the dig,” said Lucas. “I’m not fooling myself that it’s because of my stunning good looks.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said.

Emery hunched over his bottle. “They’re a lot more interested today than yesterday.”

Dwayne elbowed him. “Stop sulking because Phin found some buried treasure and trumped your bones.”

Jennie giggled. “Trumped your bones. That’s funny.”

I was going to miss Jennie when she headed back to Austin. Emery, not so much.

“That’s the lamest treasure I ever saw,” he said. “A fist-size hunk of gold ore. Even at today’s prices, that would hardly be worth the cost of refining.”

“Well, I’ll ask the question no one has yet,” said Dwayne. “Where did it come from?”

Lucas tore his attention away from another passing woman and answered. “There are records of several Spanish expeditions to look for gold in central Texas.”

“Like Coronado?” Phin asked.

Mark turned to her with a laugh. “What is it with you and Coronado?”

She shrugged. “He’s the only conquistador I remember.”

I cleared my throat, hesitant to tell them their business. “While I was home this afternoon, I looked up that San Sabá mission that Mark talked about. There’s supposedly a lost San Sabá gold mine, too, that no one has ever found.” The Google hit had startled me, since buried treasure kept coming up in conversation. Ben had even reminded me today: the Mad Monk was supposedly guarding his treasure.

Lucas straightened with interest. “The San Sabá mine is just a legend, but there are actual records of a mine in this area. Los Almagres.” He stared at a neon beer sign for a moment, checking his mental files. “Or maybe that was silver. No surprise it was lost, because this was Apache country, and they weren’t keen on prospectors.”

“Maybe what we’ve found was a prospecting expedition,” said Jennie.

“But what about the cross?” asked Dwayne, tag-teaming the speculation. “Doesn’t that mean they were monks or missionaries or something?”

“Maybe it was both,” said Mark. “Missionaries wanted to convert the heathens; conquistadors wanted their land; everyone wanted their gold. It’s not like Spain had separation of church and state.”

Emery wrapped it all up with a sneer. “So we’re all agreed. The Mad Monk is a totally plausible theory based on historical record.”

Phin turned a considering gaze his way. “You would be sort of funny if you weren’t so obnoxious.”

Lucas laughed, and nudged me to let him out of the booth. “Well, you guys are great, but I’ve been with you all day. I’m going to do some socializing. Who’s with me?”

“I need something to nosh,” said Jennie, “and I cannot eat one more Hitchin’ Post burger or hot dog.”

“You forgot nachos,” Dwayne said.

“And nacho cheese fries,” added Mark.

“So who’s for trying that Mexican food place on Main Street?” Jennie looked at Phin, then me. “Wanna join us?”

I realized we were down one. “Where’s Caitlin?”

“She’s, um, on a date,” she confessed, so apologetic I would have guessed whom the other girl was with even if I hadn’t seen them talking at the dig today.

Which was fine. No, it was good, because it meant Ben was busy, leaving me free and clear to (hopefully) run into Joe Kelly. Which I realized I was less likely to do if I was in the middle of a crowd.

“You know,” I said, “I’m beat. I think I’m going to grab something from a drive-through window and head home.”

Mark volunteered, as I’d expected, “Phin, I can drive you home later if you want to hang out.”

“Sure,” she said, and one by one they slid out of the booth until only Emery was left. I thought they might just leave him, but Jennie relented and said, “Come on if you want, Emery.”

“I figured I was too obnoxious.”

“So’s rap music,” said Mark, “but some people like it.”

Emery didn’t give them a chance to reconsider.

As the rest headed for the exit, I caught Phin’s arm, holding her back. “How’s this spell supposed to work? Should I do something?”

“Just go about your business,” she said. “It’s not instantaneous, just sooner rather than later. These kinds of spells merely affect probability. But you can’t manipulate the human factor. Influencing free will is a much bigger deal.”

“Okay,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Tell the others I’m going to the restroom, then heading home.”

Phin frowned. “I don’t think the ladies’ room will up your chances of meeting Joe Kelly.”

“It’s not a tactical stop. It’s too many Dr Peppers.”


In the “Cowgirls” room, I washed my hands and hit the dryer with my elbow and just a little bit of déjà vu. I was taking Phin’s advice and going about my business, which unfortunately meant wondering whether Ben had asked Caitlin out (or accepted her invite) before or after the back-rub, and why it mattered.

The door opened and a woman in the Hitchin’ Post uniform (jeans, T-shirt, apron) came in. She was older than Jessica by a long shot, and might have been a natural blonde at some point in her life, but not now. She watched me as the dryer ran out, but I thought maybe she was just waiting for the sink.

I had no hint of anything odd until she asked, “Are you the witch that’s digging up the bones in the pasture?”

Warily I dried my damp hands on my jeans, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I’m one of the volunteers working with the crew from the university.”

“I know who you are.” Whoever she was, her eyes were hard as flint, her voice a bitter pill. “Jessica told me you’re not just digging up bones. You’re digging up the ghost.”

“I’m not—”

The words stuck in my throat like a tongue on a frozen flagpole.

No, no, no! Not now!

Think, Amy. This is what you do.

But I couldn’t. I reached for my store of clever evasions and found nothing but cold, empty space. Panic spiked, my mind raced, but I couldn’t find a single word.

“You are,” said the woman. I silently begged her not to be a small-town, small-minded cliché. “You’re poking your nose where it shouldn’t be. No wonder the Mad Monk is stirring. A witch like you digging up his bones.”

“Trust me,” I managed. Hope flared, and I tried again, “I’m not—”

But my tongue knotted on that, too, and holy crap what was wrong with me? I wasn’t a witch. Why couldn’t I say that?

Maybe because there was a spell in my pocket and a ghost paying calls at my house. But it wasn’t honor or nerves or guilt that stopped me. I physically could not speak. This was not natural.

“You are.” She spit words like daggers. “All of you Goodnights, passing yourself off as hippie, new age types, thinking you can charm this town with your money. But what you’re doing is unnatural. And so are you.”

She poured out her venom on me, thinking I was young and defenseless. And, horribly, I was. I couldn’t control this conversation and couldn’t even walk away. I was paralyzed by my inability to deny what she said and my unwillingness to just own it.

No one was that bitter without some cause. I seized on that and used it to say something. “I’m sorry for whatever’s happened to you.”

“You should be.” Her voice hitched, but her fever of anger didn’t break. “My husband is in the hospital right now because of you. Hit on the head because you city types can’t leave things alone.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said again. I didn’t try to explain that I hadn’t even heard of the ghost until two days ago. Excuses wouldn’t make any difference.

“You tell those college folks to stop violating those graves. And you—” Her voice quaked. “Just get out to your farm and stay there, before you hurt any more decent people than you already have.”

She straight-armed the door and left. In her wake, I sagged against the counter, the strength washing out of me. My eyes burned with tears I’d held back while she was flaying me.

My hands shook too hard to turn the knob on the faucet. It took me three tries before I could splash cold water on my face and begin to sort through my tumbling thoughts.

Why couldn’t I lie?

What was wrong with me? How had I lost the ability to steer my own voice?

I heard Phin’s words in my head. Influencing free will is a much, much bigger deal.

Was my bond with the ghost enough to do that?

Panic rose up to choke me. Maybe I could live being haunted, but how could I exist without the ability to spin-doctor my crazy dual life? My glib explanations, my denials and dodges … those were my lifeline. They were how I kept my balance between my worlds, and how I protected my family from the skeptic authorities and the crazy believers.

Even if the Goodnight Effect would keep them safe without my help, I didn’t even have that. Could I handle a lifetime of living in a magical world with no magic, and no defenses, dealing with situations just like this? Because the only other option would be to disown my family and become a totally different person.

It was too much to hold in, and I did not want to cry in the bathroom in front of the condom machine. I fled the cowgirls’ room and in the hall turned away from the throng in the bar, toward the back door with the half-dark exit sign.

I burst out into the night air. Or more specifically, into a haze of marijuana smoke. And in the middle of it, sitting on an upended milk carton, two minions lounging with him, was Joe Kelly.

This was why I didn’t mess with magic.