Invasion of the Blanche (Strange Totems Book 2) by Corey Mariani (best love novels of all time .txt) 📕

“What now?” May said.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking around. “I thought there’d be a window in here.”

The doorknob jiggled as someone tried it from the other side. Then there was a loud thud. They were trying to break the door down. It looked solid to me. We were safe for the moment.

“What’s the best toaster oven money can buy?” Lou shouted at the wall.

“Give it a rest, Lou,” I said.

He hung his head. “I don’t know why it’s not working. It always works.”

“Well, it’s not this time. What else do you have?”

“This is it. I’ve got more in the truck, but . . . . I don’t know why its’ not working.”

“Maybe there’s something we can use in here,” Em said, holding up the program she had in her hand. “They were having like a class before you guys got here. They went over all the stuff in this booklet. They seemed really afraid of this.” She flipped through the program and showed me two pages occupied by eight different, colorful patterns that were nearly exact replications of the eight patterns on the shower curtain, the Omen Totem currently in Lou’s basement. Each pattern was labeled. I learned the names of the patterns later. The pink polka dots had three labels: Emadine, the Void, Instant Death. Plaid was labeled Optivar, the First Stomach. Paisley was Elestat, the Second Stomach. Damask was Zaditor, the Third Stomach. Argyle was Crolom, the Fourth Stomach. Houndstooth was Pazeo, the Fifth Stomach. Greek key was Alocril the Sixth Stomach. And herringbone was Xalatan, the Seventh Stomach.

“What is this?” I said.

“They talked about it like it was a map,” Em said, and pointed to the polka dots. “They talked about Emadine a lot. They seemed to be afraid of it.”

“Have you heard of this?” I said to Lou.

“I’ve heard of the Seven Stomachs, of course. But I don’t know anything about these patterns.”

“Isn’t Zaditor an allergy drug, like eye drops?” May said. “And I’m pretty sure Xalatan is for glaucoma. And Optivar is definitely an allergy eye drop.”

“These other worlds are named after eye drops?” I said.

“That’s ridiculous,” Lou said. “The eye drops are named after the seven worlds.”

“And that’s not ridiculous?”

Lou shrugged. “You don’t think mobiaks work in the pharmaceutical industry? They gotta name those drugs something. Why not after the seven stomachs?”

I was having trouble believing that an old shower curtain could be a map to the Seven Stomachs and something called the Void. I didn’t see how a bunch of patterns could be the key to travel between magical worlds, but that didn’t matter at the moment. We were trapped, and we needed to escape before more of Blanche’s Friends showed up. But how?

“If these people are afraid of pink polka dots,” I said, “then maybe that’s what we should give them. May, you have pink makeup in your purse, right?”

“Yes?” she said.

“Good. Okay, what if we paint pink polka dots on those toilet seat covers over there, and then slide them under the—no, we put them on like clothes and walk out of here? If those creeps are afraid of pink polka dots, then maybe they won’t touch us.”

Lou threw up his hands and said, “Sweet Mary and Joseph. This is a farce.”

“The pink polka dots aren’t the farce here,” I said. “Your toaster oven is the farce.”

Lou wagged a finger at me. “My poisons are based in reality. They take magnificent skill to make. They work. You’ve seen them work. They saved your life more than once. This crap about pink polka dots is absurd. You’re losing it.”

“Stop,” May said, and took a Leatherman tool out of her purse and handed it to me. “You take apart that toilet seat.” Then she pointed at Lou. “You take the toilet lid. I got a can of pepper spray in my purse. I’m going to spray everyone behind that door. If anyone’s still a threat after that, you guys come in and hit them over the head. Lou, if I get spray-back in my eyes, you guide me out of here. You guys got it?”

Lou nodded, smiling, looking at my sister with unabashed admiration.

“Yes,” I said, a little embarrassed by my plan now. “But why do I get the toilet seat?”

“You know why?” she said.

Grumbling to myself, I cleaned the toilet seat as best I could before removing it. May gave Em a scarf, and Em wrapped it around her mouth, nose, and eyes, and claimed she could see just fine. Lou and I positioned ourselves behind May, our weapons ready. May stood at the door, her purse over her shoulder, pepper spray in one hand, and her daughter’s hand in the other, waiting for a break in the thuds. I was shaking, breathing heavy, hoping the others didn’t notice, hoping May would open the door soon because the waiting was torture.

Then without warning, she swung the door open and sprayed. The room filled with the smell of engine oil, and the sounds of coughing, sputtering, suffering people. The first row of Friends went down, and May sprayed the next. They went down too, and May stepped aside and let me and Lou go out first.

We kicked a path through my sister’s victims as they grasped blindly for our legs. Two women and the poet were still standing. They came at us, and I swung the toilet seat like an ax, hitting one of the women on the shoulder. She screamed, and she and the poet kept their distance after that, hopping around, looking for an opening. May came up from behind and sprayed them too. Then I heard Em cry out, and I turned to see a man on his knees, eyes closed, snot running down his chin, clutching Em’s leg as she hopped on one foot, struggling to break free. Rage flared in me, and I brought the toilet seat down on the man’s ear, hard, and he howled and let go.

We ran, all of