The rest of the drive to Chicago was a far less tense affair for me. Jessie didn’t have any moral qualms about what we were doing. As far as she was concerned, this was just going to be another day at work. A hard day, perhaps, but nothing all that unusual. That spared me any more deep philosophical debates. Instead, we mostly talked about Majorca. All I knew about the place was that it was a Mediterranean island and supposedly had good beaches. That left Jessie a lot of room to talk about the place. It turned out, the island had a pretty fascinating history. Settlements on the island dated all the way back to the Phoenicians. Roman rule held there for the better part of six centuries, save for a comparatively brief period of Vandal rule. A Spanish king eventually conquered the place in the Middle Ages. It even played a role in the Spanish Civil War, serving as a stronghold for the fascist Nationalists who eventually took control of Spain.
Of course, all of that was ancient history for Jessie and me. The Nationalist dictatorship had ended decades before I was even born. By the time Jessie was old enough to care about the place, democracy had been restored and the island had long since transformed itself into a Mediterranean tourist destination. Jessie actually seemed a little sad about that. She said most of the locals there worked some kind of service jobs catering to all the European travelers who were off on a holiday. Something I didn’t expect was that Jessie was considered a resident of the place.
“How the hell did that happen?” I asked.
“It’s called a Golden Visa,” she answered.
“You realize that that sounds sketchy as hell, right?”
“Right? I thought it had to be a scam when I first heard about it, but it turns out it’s a real thing. It costs a lot, but it’s legit.”
“We have different ideas about what a lot of money is. How much are we talking here?”
“Around half a million. The exact number changes depending on where the exchange rates are at any given time.”
“You spent half a million dollars to get residency. What in the hell did you spend that kind of money on?”
“Oh no, that’s the minimum investment to qualify for the program. As for what I spent it on. I bought real estate, of course. My villa there is super nice.”
“Jesus Christ. That’s like a made-up number to me. By the way, what are exchange rates?”
“You know, the relative value of one currency against another. One US dollar is worth X amount of one Euro.”
“Why would I know that?”
“You went to college. Didn’t you ever take an economics class?”
“No. It was an elective.”
Jessie stared at me like I was some kind of alien. “Fine, but you’ve been out of the country, right?”
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“Sure. I’ve been up to Canada a few times. Took a couple trips to Mexico.”
“Well, didn’t you trade some US cash to get some local currency while you were there?”
“No. They were work trips. I didn’t hang around to go shopping afterwards. The few times I bought stuff, I just used a credit card.”
Jessie shook her head at me. “Seriously, man, you work way too much, and this is coming from a closet workaholic.”
Jessie decided for me that, assuming we survived, she and I were going to take that trip to Majorca. I’d be required to hang out on the beach, eat things that were bad for me, and drink too much. I’d also be forbidden to do anything even remotely related to dealing with a supernatural problem. I told her that I didn’t think I’d survive that for very long. She laughed at me then. Well, cackled is probably a better description. She said she was making a bet with herself about how long it would take before my head exploded or my brain melted.
I did my best Clint Eastwood squint at her and said, “You’re a bad friend, Jessie Wood.”
That just sent her into a fit of laughter before she shouted, “It’s wrong!”
I rolled my eyes at her. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Not if you live to be a thousand years old. I will literally haunt you just so I can pop out of cabinets and walls to shout that at you.”
“Oh good. A reason to live,” I deadpanned.
She smirked and then pointed out the front window. “This is our exit coming up.”
I closed the distance between Bill’s truck and the rental so I could keep him in sight. I trailed him off the highway and we spent another twenty minutes navigating streets before we pulled into a place called Louis’ Steakhouse. It was either a local chain or independently owned because I didn’t recognize the name of the place. We got out of the rental and stretched my back, trying to ease some of the ache that had grown steadily worse as the drive had dragged on and on. Even when you take road trips on a regular basis, long drives are hard on the body. I was about to suggest that we go inside when I saw a small handful of people making their way over to Bill. I didn’t know any of them, but it seemed that Jessie did. She fast-walked over to Bill, while I hung back a little. They were probably friendlies, but it never hurts to hedge your bets a little. If any of them weren’t as friendly as expected, having a little distance could provide me with a critical split-second of decision-making time.
As I watched, though, it became apparent that my paranoia, no matter how practical, wasn’t needed this time. Everyone in the group looked focused but ultimately calm. After perhaps a minute of chat between Bill, Jessie, and the strangers, Bill waved me over. I studied the new people as I walked over. There was a big guy in jeans, a light hoodie, and what looked like old-school combat boots. His dark hair was cropped short and neat, but it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He studied me with amused dark eyes. Standing a little back from the group was a tall, severe woman with dark, auburn hair in a tight bun, and pale blue eyes. There was something almost clinical about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She was wearing dark slacks and a gray cardigan over a light-colored shirt. The final person I didn’t know was also the one most likely to draw the eye. He wrapped his lean frame up in black jeans and a black leather jacket. With his bleached hair, he reminded me a bit of Billy Idol or maybe the vampire from that show.
“Everyone,” said Bill gesturing at me, “this is Jericho Lott.”
That got an interested look from the severe woman, but the other two just sort of nodded at me.
“Jericho, this is Muriel Lee and Jacob Wells,” said Bill, pointing at the severe woman and the guy in jeans. “And that’s Knox.”
I looked at the man in the leather jacket. “Knox? Just Knox?”
The man shrugged. “All the name I ever needed.”
He said it casually enough, but the look he shot me told me that I was exactly one more question away from an immediate, violent confrontation. Curiosity is good, most of the time, but you need to know when it’s time to back the hell down. I backed the hell down.
“Knox,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”