Damaged Gods by K.C. Cross, J.A. Huss

CHAPTER EIGHT - PIE

I walk out the door and the sunshine hits me in the face. I feel like I’ve been cloistered away for decades and it’s only been one night. I want to believe that this is all a bad dream, and I was holding out hope this morning, but this isn’t a delusion. And even if it is, while I’m living the delusion, I need to outsmart it. I need to be one step ahead. Hell, ten steps. I need to make good decisions and weigh every one of them carefully. Because it’s all a trap. I can just feel it.

The sheriff hasn’t noticed me yet and the tow truck driver is too busy hooking my Jeep up to a very questionable truck. Maybe my Jeep is nothing special, but it’s my baby. And picturing it rattling behind that clunker is giving me heart palpitations.

Once I’m halfway down the path I call out, “Hello! You can stop now. I’m here.”

None of them turn to look at me.

“Hey!” I call out, louder now. “I said you can stop. That’s my Jeep. I live… here.” That was hard to say. “Hello?”

They don’t even look at me.

In fact, it’s like they don’t even see me.

“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no, no, no. This is not happening.” Am I invisible? “Hey! Dickface sheriff! You’re an ugly—” I stop. It’s very apparent that I do not exist without that ring on my finger. But aside from that, I was going to call the sheriff ugly. And… he’s not ugly. Like. At all. He’s… “Wow.” He’s fucking hot.

“Huh.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Maybe my theory about hot dudes was true?”

Tomas is a looker. Like… mmm. That kind of looker.

And even though the beast is a monster and he has horns, and hooves, and fur… he’s got a nice face. And that scruff of blond beard? Mm-hm.

I shake my head and snap out of it. Because the tow truck driver is lifting my Jeep up now. Like he’s about to pull away.

I turn, run back to the sanctuary, fling the door open, and screech to a halt. Because the monster is standing right there, palm out, ring in the center of it. “Forget something?” He smirks at me.

I snatch up the ring. “Fuck you.” He might have a nice face, but he’s the reason I’m stuck here. And he’s a dick.

“You’re gonna have to put it on, sweetheart.”

I sigh up at Tomas. “Give me a minute.”

“You don’t have a minute,” the beast says. “Your car is about to pull away.”

“What?” I look out the window, and sure enough, the driver is getting into his truck. I spin around, go back out, run down the walkway, and slip the fucking ring on my finger just before I call out, “Hey! Stop! That’s my Jeep!” A repeat of what just happened two minutes ago, but with real fear in my voice this time.

The tow truck driver just pulls away. Either he didn’t hear me, or didn’t care.

But the sheriff has definitely noticed. He turns in my direction, flashes me a brilliant smile, lifts his sunglasses up to his forehead to reveal the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, and he says, “Well, well, well. Would you get a look at this.”

I stop at the gate and frown at him. “Get a look at what?” And that’s when I realize… I’m still wearing my slutty schoolgirl outfit from Halloween night.

The sheriff actually leers at me, looking me up and down but good. And I’m still trying to decide if I’m offended or not when he adds, “You, little darling, are a vision in plaid.”

I want to be offended. I really do. But wow. He’s so hot. Like… supernaturally hot. He’s tall. And lean, but not skinny. I can see the definition of his biceps through his khaki-colored button-down shirt. And those already-mentioned eyes. Not to mention his accent. It’s just the right amount of rural Pennsylvania hick.

I smile at him, even though his comment was pretty sexist. I don’t care. Besides, I have to sweet-talk this guy. He just had my Jeep towed and I need it back. Without paying for it. “Hi,” I say. “I’m… Pie—”

“Pie?” He chuckles. “You’re Pie? That’s…” He licks his lips. “Adorable.”

“Well. Thank you. Um. And. Yeah. What I’m here to say is—” Holy hell, Pie. Get a hold of yourself. You’re acting like a schoolgirl. This almost makes me snort. “Anyway. I’m sorry to bother you, but that was my Jeep.” I point down the road where it disappeared. “Do you think you could call the driver and have him bring it back?”

I do a flirty thing here. I bat my eyelashes at him and kinda swivel a little as I wrap a long strand of blonde hair around my finger and pucker my lips. I don’t even know where this is all coming from, because I cannot recall a single time in my twenty-five years where I’ve ever been such a shameless flirt, but it makes the hot cop smile. So whatever.

“Well,” hot cop says, “Pie.” He licks his lips again. Like I might be delicious. Then his smile falters. “I’m sorry. But once the car is hooked up, the driver has to take it in. It’s… procedure.”

“Procedure.” I keep smiling. I’m not giving up that easy. “But… procedures… they’re subjective sometimes.”

“No.” And, unfortunately, hot cop seems pretty set in his ways about this no. “Rules are rules, Pie.”

I look over my shoulder, picturing Tomas and the beast having a good laugh over this.

“But I’ll tell you what,” hot cop says. “I’ll drive you into town and help you get it out of impound. How about that?”

“You will?”

“I will. I like to be helpful. Protect and serve and all that junk.”

“All that junk.” I giggle these words out and then… my eyes slide down to look at his junk. When I look up at him again, he’s grinning wildly.

“I’m Sheriff Roth, Pie. Sheriff Russell Roth. But you can just call me Russ. Everyone does.”

“Russ Roth,” I whisper under my breath. “Sounds like a quarterback name. Did you play football in high school, Sheriff Russ Roth?”

“How did you know?” He winks at me as he walks over to the little gate, pulls it open, and says, “Come on, Pie. Let’s get you to school.”

And like an idiot, I laugh at this dumb joke that is both sexist and offensive.

It’s weird. But also… I don’t care. I’m completely enamored by former high-school quarterback Sheriff Russ Roth.

I walk through the gate and do not even look back.

To hell with the monster of Saint Mark’s Sanctuary. And I like Tomas, but he’s part of this whole curse thing. I’m out of here.

Sheriff Roth even opens the passenger door and lets me ride in front with him. I’m pretty sure this is against regulations. I mean he’s got his rifle right there between the front seats.

“Don’t worry.” Russ slides into the car and pats his weapon. “I won’t let it hurt you, Pie.”

I shrug my shoulders up and grin. Damn. He’s very nice to look at.

We pull away from Saint Mark’s and he gets on his radio. “Eileen. I’m 10-8. Heading back to Granite Springs.”

There’s a crackling on the radio, then a female voice. Presumably Eileen. “Got it, Russ. See ya soon.”

Russ picks up his radio again just as we turn back onto the main highway. “Dammit, Eileen. How many times do I have to tell you to use the 10 codes? Act like a professional. I have a passenger listening.”

“Sorry, Russ,” Eileen crackles back. “Understood.” She clicks off, then clicks back. “I mean, 10-4, Russ. See ya soon.”

He puts his radio away and sighs. “She’s my cousin’s wife-in-law’s sister. Not the sharpest tack on the bulletin board, but she tries hard.”

Cousin’s wife-in-law’s sister? I can’t even begin to unravel those words so I just forget I ever heard them.

“So how long have you been out here at the cemetery?” Russ asks.

“Oh, it’s not really a cemetery. It’s a sanctuary.”

He lifts an eyebrow at me and I realize I should shut up about Saint Mark’s. If what Tomas and Pell said was true, then he only thinks about that place when it comes up. And I’m pretty sure that it’s better for everyone if Saint Mark’s doesn’t come up.

“What’s the difference?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.” I wave a hand in the air. “Doesn’t matter. So you’re the sheriff, huh? That’s a pretty big job.”

He chuckles as we speed down the highway towards the town of Granite Springs. “Not really. We’ve got about five hundred people living in town. Maybe a couple dozen more running the farms on the outskirts. We’re a quiet, sleepy little place, Pie. And can I say—that name of yours? It’s…”

“Adorable?” I offer. Since he’s already said that.

He points at me. “So. Damn. Adorable. Where are you from?”

“Philly.”

“No. They don’t have girls named Pie in Philly.”

“Not anymore they don’t.” I laugh.

“So what kind of pie are you? Strawberry? Peach? Cherry?” And ‘cherry’ comes out as a whisper. Like it’s something dirty.

I actually sigh over this. I don’t know what it is about this man, but I like him. He’s on the obtuse side as far as women go, but it comes off as more small-town cute than big-city insulting. “I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t ever thought much about it.”

Which is a lie. People ask me this question all the time. And I always have an answer. But I’m enjoying Russ Roth’s low-level flirting.

I watch the scenery as we drive. There is a thick forest on either side of the highway, so all I see is trees. But they are nice trees. Fall colors. Brilliant reds and fiery oranges, with a sprinkling of bright yellow. I am beginning to love rural PA. It’s so damn pretty in the fall.

And even though we’re complete strangers and this silence between us should be awkward, it’s not awkward. I’m enjoying the ride and I’m actually disappointed when the quaint town of Granite Springs comes into view.

It’s something out of Gilmore Girls. Only better, because Stars Hollow isn’t real and Granite Springs is. There’s an old downtown with dozens of shops lining the main street. A hardware store, a grocery store, a mechanic and tire place, the post office. Plus a slew of touristy places that sell things like candles and locally made goods like goats’ milk soap. There’s a big feed store next to the police station, but we don’t turn in to the station. We go right on by to the outskirts of town where the tow yard is.

And that’s where we stop.

He picks up his radio. “Eileen, I’m 10-6.”

She crackles back, “Got it, Russ. I mean, 10-4, Russ. But Russ?”

“Yes, Eileen?”

“I’m gonna need you to go out to the old trailer park on 75. There’s a scuffle happening.”

Russ sighs, then looks apologetically at me. “I wish I could stay and iron this all out with you, Pie. But duty calls.”

I salute him. “I can take it from here. Thank you for the ride in, I really appreciate it. And it was a pleasure meeting you, Sheriff Roth.”

I smile stupidly at him. Damn, what is wrong with me? I don’t flirt like this. There’s just something about him that makes me want to capture his attention.

“How about…” He pauses. “I mean… this is wildly inappropriate, but…”

“How about what?” The eagerness in my voice almost feels like desperation. And I want to smack myself out of this stupor he’s put me in.

“Would you like to have lunch with me? After you’re all sorted and I take care of my scuffle?”

I’m nodding my head before he even stops talking. “I would love that, Russ.”

“Great. Meet me at the Honey Bean in about two hours.”

“Honey Bean?”

“It’s the only diner in town. You can’t miss it. It’s right next to the Buffalo Nickel.”

“Got it.” I smile as I open my door and get out. But then I lean back in. “One hour, Russ.”

He winks. “Don’t be late, Pie.”

I close the door grinning like a girl in love as he pulls away. But as I walk to the grungy office door of the tow yard shop, I suddenly feel like an idiot for the way I just behaved.

What the hell was I thinking?

I’m not dating the stupid sheriff of Granite Springs. I’m in the middle of a curse. A curse that involves a magic cathedral, a cemetery filled with stone monsters, and a real-life monster who expects me to wash his hooves and pleasure him daily as part of my duties.

I have more than enough going on. I do not need a love interest.

And the minute I walk through the shop door I decide I will break this date. Once I get my purse back from my car, I’ll call up the station and let Eileen know that I will not be meeting Sheriff Russ Roth for lunch and have her relay the message.

“Can I help you?” The older woman behind the glass doesn’t even look up at me as I approach. Just keeps typing on her keyboard.

“Yes. My Jeep was just towed in. I need to get it out.”

“Name?”

“Pie Vita.”

Now she does look up. She is late sixties, maybe. Pin-curled blue hair. That’s old-lady blue, not hipster blue. She’s got an elaborate pair of reading glasses perched on her nose. The frames are glittering with rhinestones and they are on an equally elaborate, sparkling silver chain. She pushes them down her nose. “I’m sorry, what language are you speaking?”

I sigh. I get this a lot. Sometimes, if people understand what the word ‘vita’ means, they even get the joke. Pie. Life. Pie is life. And I have to admit, it’s a little bit cute.

Old-Lady Blue does not find me cute. She looks at my outfit, then me. And I see it all on her face.

Trash.

“First name Pie,” I say calmly. “Last name Vita. Pie. Vita. My Jeep just came in and I want it back.”

Her long fingernails click her keyboard as she scans her computer. “License plate?”

“Seriously? I don’t have my purse. It’s in the Jeep. I don’t know the license plate. It literally just came in. It’s that one.”

She pushes her glasses down again. “Can you describe the Jeep?”

“Brown? Rusty? PA plates.”

Her fingernails click again. “That’s two hundred and twenty dollars.”

“What? That’s a joke, right?”

“Not a joke, Pie.” She smiles as she says my name. “It was picked up quite far out of town. So there’s mileage. Plus the hook-up fee, the drop-off fee, and the storage fee.”

“Storage fee? It just came in. It hasn’t been stored.”

“There’s a minimum three-day storage fee for our trouble.”

“Fucking hell—”

“Mmm-mmm-mmm.” She shakes her head at me. “Not today, Satan. We do not put up with the likes of that here at MoMack’s Towin’.”

I sigh. “I need to get my purse out of the Jeep. Can I at least do that?”

“Let me alert MoMack that you’re here and he can help you out. One moment, please.” She gets up and disappears through another grungy door.

“Two hundred and twenty dollars,” I mutter under my breath. “That’s highway robbery.”

I only have fifty bucks left in credit on my card and like thirty in my checking, but maybe they will let me write them a bad check?

Then I see the sign. No checks.

Wonderful.

Oh. Then I remember what Tomas and the beast were saying this morning about how our money works.

Did I just say ‘our money’? And did I make all that up? Or was it real?

One glance down at the silver ring on my finger clears up any lingering doubt about my new reality. And now that I’m looking at it in the light, there is no Green Man face on it. It looks like oak leaves and maybe a tiny acorn or two. I try to take it off and it doesn’t budge… so yeah. It’s all real.

I wish Russ Roth was still here. Maybe he was a little aphrodisiac-y, and that’s a red flag when you’re neck-deep in a magical curse, but I’ll take that swoony feeling over this despairing one any day.

I reach through the little opening in the glass partition and grab a pen and piece of paper, then write down the word ‘MONEY.’

This will never work. It can’t work.

But then again, I’m wearing a cursed ring and I’m the new slave caretaker of a horned, hooved beast called Pell who comes with a rulebook that sounds suspiciously like a manual for a dominant-submissive sex club.

Old-Lady Blue comes back and plops down in her seat. “He’ll meet you out back, Pie.” She smiles at me when she says my name. But it’s way too saccharine sweet, to be honest.

We’ll see who’s smug when I leave here with my Jeep and all you get in return is a piece of paper off your own notepad.

“Thanks,” I say, my appreciation just as fake as her smile.

Out in the yard, MoMack is waiting for me by my Jeep. He has unhooked it and is holding my purse. “Honey,” he says, handing it over. “You don’t have enough money in there to pay this bill.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” I say, snagging my purse from him. “I’m good.”

I go back inside and shove the piece of paper through the glass at Old-Lady Blue.

“What’s this?”

“Huh?” Shit. Please, please, please tell me this is going to work.

“What is this paper?”

“Oh, sorry,” I say, sliding it back towards me. “I thought you dropped it—”

“Two hundred and twenty dollars, sweetie Pie.”

I point at her. “Clever. Never heard that one before.” Then I proceed to dig in my purse, pretending to look for money. But really, I’m replaying that conversation back in my head. They told me to write down the word ‘money’ on a piece of paper. That’s all I needed.

Obviously, they left out a detail or two, because it’s not working.

“I really did think you were speaking another language,” Old-Lady Blue says.

“Huh?” I look up at her without interest.

“When you came in here. Pie Vita. I thought you were speaking Latin or something. Livin’ la Vida Loca.” She does a little shoulder shimmy. “Isn’t that what the kids say?”

“That’s a Ricky Martin song and he’s Latino, but I’m pretty sure the similarities end there… ooo! Latin!” Of course! That must be it. I need the Latin word. Pell was insisting that we were speaking Latin even though we weren’t. Welp, it can’t hurt to try. “One more sec,” I tell her, then grab my phone and do a search for the Latin word for money. I snatch the pen from the counter, cross out ‘money,’ and write ‘moneta.’

I pass the paper back.

Old-Lady Blue smiles. And this time it’s real. “Thank you very much for your business, Pie Vita. We really do appreciate it. You have a good day now.”

Holy fucking shit. It worked!

“You too, ma’am.” I smile back. And my smile is real as well.

I have literally been given a blank check.

I can spend as much as I want.

I can buy anything I want.

The first thing I do is take the Jeep to the mechanic place because one of my tires is looking suspiciously low. The mechanic finds a nail in the wall of my back tire and tells me I should buy all new ones since they are mostly bald.

I get that sinking feeling of panic when I hear this. It’s the kind of panic only people who don’t have money for a full set of tires can appreciate.

But then I rally. Because I don’t need money. “Sure,” I tell the mechanic. “I’ll take four brand-new tires. The big ones. You know, the kind that makes Jeeps look cool.” Then I spy shiny chrome rims stacked on the one side of the waiting room. “And a set of those too. Give me the best ones you’ve got.”

The mechanic looks at me like I’m stupid. Because my Jeep is a piece of shit and this purchase is probably worth more than the actual vehicle.

But I don’t care.

Not my money.

Not money at all.

I snicker as I slide my key off my ring and give him my phone number so he can text me when it’s ready.

Then I hit the shops. And I hit them hard.

So I totally forget that I planned on canceling my date with Russ Roth until he pulls up beside me as I’m walking down the main street, my hands filled with bags of clothes, and candles, and makeup, and all kinds of fancy shit I could never afford to buy before today.

Russ’s window slides down. “Pie Vita. If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re trying to stand me up.” Then he winks at me.

And yeah. There is no freaking way in hell I’m breaking this date.

This man does things to me. I can’t explain the way he affects me, but affect me he does.

Russ doesn’t even wait for me to answer. He gets out of his car, opens the back passenger door, takes all my packages and puts them inside, and says, “Get in, Pie. We’re going on a date.”

And that’s exactly what I do.