Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia
Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)
Fandom: The Gates
Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia
Pairings: Canon
Rating: Call it PG-13
Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.
Chapter Ten: Second Verse, Same As the First
In a chair in the corner of the bedroom Dylan sat quietly in the dark and watched Claire sleep. He had long since run out of tears and with them went the energy to pace. Every once in a while she made little noises and grimaced as if she were having nightmares, and every time his heart would give a wrench, almost like it was trying to beat again. The bleeding had not started again yet, but he expected it to.
The house made little night sounds as it cooled off from the day and the wind scraped branches against the window. He thought of Christian and Devon, and did not know who he wanted to kill more. Now that he knew Christian's phone number, he could trick him into a meeting and deal with him like the poacher he was. Maybe he would be able to get into Devon's shop now. Though he was aching to get up and do something, he knew neither option would do any good. Claire would still be wasting away, unconscious on their bed, no matter what he did.
He called Devon, who would not answer her phone. He called the other vampires and got variations on the same sympathetic but unhelpful response: That's terrible, Dylan, but it's not my problem, which was as he expected. He would have said the same in their place. He thought of all the other people he knew, business acquaintances, mostly, and came up with no one he trusted enough to go to for help except Nick Monahan, who could do nothing. It looked more and more like Christian was his only option left.
"What have you gotten yourself into?" he asked the form on the bed. As if in answer, thunder sounded in the distance. Dylan sank deeper into his chair.
Just as he reached for his phone to finally call Christian, a car pulled into the driveway. The engine stopped and two car doors slammed. For one hopeful moment he thought it might be Nick, then slammed the lid shut on that thought. Ridiculous to be glad to see him when there was nothing he could do to help. He went downstairs and was at the door before the bell rang. Jerking it open, he surprised the two women on the step, who jumped back in alarm.
"Mia?"
The girl stood in the darkness of the arched stoop, in jeans and T-shirt and with a black messenger bag stuffed full of something slung over her shoulder. Behind her, a taller woman stood in loose clothing, with bouncy curls framing a vaguely familiar face.
"Hey, Mr. Radcliff," Mia said. "Oh, my God, are you okay?"
She gazed up at him, wide eyed. He wiped his face and cleared his throat, put on a fake smile and said something unconvincing to which Mia nodded, playing along. He tapped an agitated finger against the doorjamb.
"Do you think we could come in?" she asked. "Oh, this is my mom." Mia tilted her head at the taller woman. Dylan looked her over carefully.
"Pam, is it?"
"Peg. Can we come in? It's about Claire."
"Actually, it's not a good time. Maybe tomorrow." He nodded goodbye and stepped back into the darkened house.
"She told me she was having a problem with Devon."
Dylan froze.
"What do you know about it?" he asked.
"Enough that I'm pretty sure I can fix it."
"You're a doctor."
"Yes." Peg smiled, obviously ready to be let in on that count. "Claire came to my office today. Didn't she tell you?"
He listened closely and picked out their heartbeats from the other, louder sounds of rustling leaves and night animals. Their hearts beat steadily, if a little quickly, which meant it could be the truth or a well-rehearsed lie. He shook his head.
"She doesn't need a doctor. Thanks anyway." He took another step back, ready to close the door when Mia spoke.
"Mr. Radcliff," she said in a tired sort of voice that said she knew exactly how ludicrous her words sounded. "We think Devon's hexed Mrs. Radcliff."
"Mia!" Peg hissed at her. Mia half-turned toward her to give her a helpless shrug before turning back to Dylan.
"Mom knows her stuff, though, so if she did something to Mrs. R., I'm pretty sure she can fix it." She raised a hand and looked at the ground. "I know it sounds crazy, but there it is."
Peg made an exasperated sound and spread her hands at her daughter as if to demand to know what she thought she was doing. Mia just shrugged again. Then the mother turned back to Dylan, every line of her body expressing a besieged dignity that only the truly embarrassed can muster.
Dylan looked them both over again. He'd known Mia for years, had come to trust her in his home, with its many secrets, and with his daughter. She was obviously cashing that trust in now but if they were here for any other purpose but to help Claire, she could have come up with a better story. Finally, he opened the door wide again, giving them room to pass by. He would never let a doctor in to see his wife, but after her talk of witches and the evil eye, he was ready to at least hear what Mia and her mother had to say.
Mia went in first, squeezing past with the extra bulk of the messenger bag. Peg remained where she was.
"Mia, get back here," she called. Mia made a teenaged sound of annoyance and stomped back to stand just outside the door. She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes up, one hip jutting out. "It's better if you explicitly invite us," Peg explained. "It will make it more likely that this will work."
Dylan looked from one to the other silently. They smelled human enough and he could not fathom any reason an invitation would matter to them.
"You serious?" he asked, looking to Mia, who gave an embarrassed half nod and looked at the ground. "Come in, then," he said. Peg blinked at him in surprise.
"Thank you," she said. The two trooped in and Mia led the way to the kitchen, flipping lights on and seeming to warm the house as well as light it as she went. "Mia, get some water going," her mother called.
"'Kay." Pots clattered and cupboards banged as she pulled utensils out, familiar with the kitchen from her many babysitting visits, and soon a saucepot of water sat heating on the stove.
Dylan was on Peg's heels as they passed into the main room, and nearly ran into her when she stopped and turned to face him. She held a hand up, heading off his question.
"Okay," she said, and explained the situation as she would to any other patient's family. "Claire came to me this afternoon, very sick but unable to tell me what had happened. Saying Devon's name seemed to make it worse. I performed some tests and determined that she had been hexed." She said the last word without any special emphasis, as if they were talking about the flu. "I'm not sure exactly what the spell does; for the sake of time I didn't do any more tests, but it's malicious. I've got it here," she patted her purse, "And luckily there's a fairly simple way to undo it."
"Right," he said and blinked down at her for several seconds before continuing. "Okay, I want to make it perfectly clear that I'm humoring you when I ask 'What way?'"
"She has to consume the spell."
He gave a nervous bark of laughter and shook his head.
"Is it too late to kick you out?"
"Yes," she said, but her smile was friendly. "Where is Claire?"
"Asleep." His tone discouraged further questions, but seemed to go right over Peg's head.
"Okay." She nodded thoughtfully to herself. "I think you should wake her up. It'll work better if she's involved in this."
Dylan hesitated. If she saw Claire now, Peg might think she was dead, which would present a whole host of new problems for the both of them. Something must have shown on his face because her eyes widened.
"What's wrong with her?" she asked.
"Nothing. She hasn't had much sleep lately and I don't want to wake her up."
"Well, I should still check on her to see what harm the spell has done."
"No." He shook his head. "You walk in here spouting fairy stories about hexes and eating them, and you think I'm going to let you near my wife? You can do your witchdoctoring down here or not at all."
"Dylan, I understand your skepticism. But if this goes on, Claire could die, and there would be no way to connect it to Devon legally. She would get away with it, and might even come after you or Emily next."
"Why would she go after any of us?" he exploded. "What have we done to her?"
"I don't know. I think she feels threatened by Claire in some way. That's Devon for you." Peg shrugged. "If she feels threatened, she attacks. Usually when you least expect it."
"Water's getting hot!" Mia announced.
"What's Mia got to do with all this?" Dylan asked.
"I've been raising her in the craft." She gave him a rueful smile. "Family tradition. Now." She crossed her arms and stood a little straighter. "Claire came to me for help, and I'm going to help her with or without your cooperation. What will it be?"
What could he do? He shook his head helplessly and made a sweeping gesture at the stove. She nodded thanks and walked by, her chin up and her steps quick and purposeful. When she pulled the spell out of her purse, Dylan gaped at the hideous thing.
"What is that?"
"This is the hex." Peg held it up for him to see before she dumped it out of its plastic bag, took it in two hands and twisted the rat's skull off the top. It had been affixed with wooden dowels and hot glue. Mia pulled variously colored candles out of her bag and arranged them on the counter around the stove, smiling and humming a quick tune.
"I thought spells were rhymes or nose twitches or something."
"Not this one."
"This is what's been making her sick?"
"Yes."
"But she said it was tea."
"Who said it was tea?"
"Um… Well, Devon." Oh, he could kick himself for believing anything the woman had ever said. He rubbed his eyes. "She came in here and had Claire drink something. And I helped her!" Mia jumped at the volume of his voice. He wanted to break something but instead crossed his arms, gripping his biceps tightly, and paced away to get a hold of himself. It would not do to lose his temper around these two. Peg gave him a sympathetic look.
"Don't feel bad. You're not the first family to be infiltrated by someone like her, and you won't be the last. You didn't do anything wrong. Here," she handed him a plastic lighter. "Start lighting candles."
Dylan did as he was told, happy to have something to do, until he got to the last one, a fat, white thing with a long, black wick that would not light, no matter how long he held the flame to it. Finally he held it up to Peg.
"Is this one of those joke candles?" he asked. She blinked at it, frowned and took it from him.
"Mia," she held the candle out to her daughter. "Red, not white."
Mia bobbed her head, still humming, and traded the white candle out for a red one from the bag before pulling a stone mortar and pestle out as well. She took a seat at the island and, dropping the rat's skull into the mortar, began cracking it up with the pestle. Water steamed and began to boil on the stove as Peg lit the last candle and set it in line with the rest, then dropped the body of the doll into the pot where it turned and danced in the roiling water, but was otherwise unaffected. Dylan came over to slump in the chair next to Mia, one leg bouncing with pent up energy.
Peg began to hum along with her daughter as she went through the candles on the counter one by one, picking each up and tipping it over the pot so that a few drops of wax fell into the water and onto the doll.
"So, if Devon had this," he pointed at the mortar containing the broken bits of skull, "how did your mother get it?"
"Oh, it was so cool. She sang to it 'til it walked right out-"
"Mia!" Her mother gave her a sharp look before gesturing at the mortar. "Aren't you forgetting something?" For a moment, it appeared that Mia did not understand, then she cried "Oh!" and pulled the black bag across the counter. She produced a small, glass spice jar full of tiny specks of seeds. Before she could twist the cap off, Dylan put a hand over it, stopping her.
"What is that?" he asked.
"This?" Mia held it up. "Mustard seed."
Dylan gave her a long stare and she shrank back from him.
"How necessary is it?" he asked eventually.
"Scale of one to ten? About a three." She shrugged. "It's for luck, mostly."
"Let's leave it out then. Claire's allergic."
"Oh. No problem." She dropped the jar in the bag and went back to work on the rat skull, now nearly a powder, humming along with her mother. She gave him a sidelong look as he put his elbows on the counter and buried his face in his hands.
"You know, most people wouldn't even let us do this," she observed.
"I wouldn't, either, except there's nothing else to be done." He sat up a little straighter. "I suppose it can't hurt."
"Yes, it can," Peg said sternly from her position over the pot. "We're not here to cause any trouble, but people like Devon can wreak havoc with this knowledge. You're lucky that she's such an amateur, or I wouldn't have been able to fix this in one night. Who knows what she's going to get into next." She shook her head.
"You don't think this is the end of it, then. Will she go after Claire again?"
"Maybe. Probably."
"And what do I do then?"
Peg had been tipping a blue candle over the pot but her hand slowed as she replaced it in the ring on the counter. She held it at its base and tapped the blue wax, seriously considering his question. After a while she turned to face him and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.
"There's not much you can do that won't make you a target, too. Your best option is to stop it before it starts again by staying away from her. Don't try to get back at her for this. Don't go to her home or her shop. Don't let her into your house or eat or drink anything she gives you. That should about do it."
"Hide from her, you mean."
"I would call it being the better person, but if you must, then think of it as ostracizing her. It's your first and best line of defense. And there's also-" She stopped and tipped her head. "I don't mean to pry, but is there anything that might be making Claire unhappy?"
"Why does that matter to you? Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. He had not meant to snap at her. Their presence in the house, no matter how well-meaning, felt like an intrusion with Claire so incriminatingly unconscious upstairs. The vampire craved privacy and silence in the face of such a frightening situation, and these two would have none of it.
"That's alright. It matters because unhappy households are easier to infiltrate. I'm not saying that's necessarily what happened here, but it would help to make sure the family is…" She tipped her head back and forth with a small, reassuring smile. "Harmonious."
"I'm afraid we don't do harmony very well."
"Try. It will help keep this from happening again. Mia?" She held a hand out and the girl jumped up from her seat to pass the mortar to her. Peg dumped the dusty contents into the pot and reached for the last candle. Mia beckoned Dylan to come over to the stove.
"This part's cool," she said.
The red candle still in her hand, Peg turned the stove off, but the burner underneath was still hot enough to keep the water boiling. She tilted the candle over the pot and as the first drop of red wax hit the water, it quit boiling and steaming all at once and the doll fell apart as if the heat had finally melted whatever had been holding it together. Bits of blond hairs floated and tangled with dry sticks and grass, and here and there globs of hot glue and wax floated and clumped the grass and hair together.
"For the record," Peg said, "I don't like doing this sort of thing. It's attracts attention I'd rather not have and it smells bad."
Dylan sniffed at the pot and had to agree.
"Which is why," she continued, "I would appreciate it if you would follow my advice and let this be an end to the problem." She raised her eyebrows at him.
"I'll see what I can do," he said noncommittally. "So, is that it?"
"Almost." Mia found a strainer and Peg poured the darkened water into a glass. "She needs to drink this. And this," she picked up the strainer and tipped it over a mason jar her daughter had produced from the black bag, "we will take with us." When the remains of the spell were safely sealed in the jar, the Muellers left. Peg repeated her instructions at the door: "She needs to drink the whole glass. Call me tomorrow and let me know how she's doing."
Once they had left, Dylan stood in the foyer, half wondering if he had imagined the whole thing. They had come bustling in with their light and noise and left so quickly that the house seemed too quiet and a little colder for their absence. The wind picked up outside and rustled in the bushes and trees, a poor substitute for Mia's musical humming.
A soft noise came from upstairs and Dylan's head jerked around to listen. He dashed up the stairs as fast as he could and found Claire propped up on one elbow and rubbing her face. He came to crouch by the bedside and look up at her. She looked better, not quite so skeletal, and gazed around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
"I was downstairs," she whispered. "How did I get up…" Her eyes widened and she looked down at him. "Oh, Dylan. I remember. Devon tricked me. She took some of my blood and - oomph!" Her eyes widened as the arm she had been leaning on slipped out from under her and she fell back onto the pillows. "I feel like hell," she groaned.
"Mia's mum left you something to take," he said and touched her face. "I'll be right back. Stay here."
She snorted. "Well, I was going to walk to the market, but if you say so…" her voice was barely audible, but relieved tears rose in his eyes and he laughed them away. She was in the same spot when he returned with the glass of darkened water.
"Did you say something about Mia being here?" she asked.
"And her mother."
"Oh. Peg. I went to her… when was it? Yesterday?"
"Today." He helped her sit up and sat behind her, propping her up against his chest. "I'm sorry, love. I should have been here." He held the glass to her lips and her hands were on top of his, feather light and weak, and he tipped it gently so she could drink. Afterward, she lay back again, still so weak that he helped her arrange herself comfortably. Before she drifted off, he kissed the spot on her neck where he had bitten her years ago, making her shiver.