by Derek Landy
“Yep,” said the slob.
“Have you seen them?” Byrd asked.
Amber got ready to bolt for the Fire Exit door behind her.
“Nope,” said the slob.
Byrd folded her arms. “Would you tell us if you had?”
“Well,” said the slob, “that depends now, doesn’t it?”
“It does?” Byrd said.
“On what?” Sutton asked.
“On what you can do for me,” the slob answered.
The agents looked at each other, then back at the slob.
“I’m sorry,” Byrd said. “What?”
“I know how these things work,” the slob informed them. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”
Amber watched Sutton frown. “But yours is probably really hairy.”
“Sir,” Byrd said, “that’s actually not how things work. We are Federal Agents in pursuit of two suspects in a string of murders. If we ask you for information, you are obligated to tell us what you know. That’s how things work.”
The slob looked at her. “But I don’t know anything.”
She sighed. “Okay. Fine. Thank you.”
“But if I did …”
Byrd pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes?”
“… then we’d obviously need to come to some sort of arrangement.”
Sutton leaned on the counter. “Have you or have you not seen people who may fit the description we gave you?”
The slob looked confused. “When did you give me a description?”
“Like, one minute ago.”
“What did you say?”
“A man and a teenage girl, driving a black Dodge Charger.”
“That’s not really a description, though, is it? It’s their genders, an age, and a mode of transport.”
Sutton took out the photograph again and held it up. “This girl.”
“What about her?”
“We’re looking for her.”
“Who is she?”
“It doesn’t matter who she is. Have you seen her?”
“Who?”
Sutton pocketed the photo. “We could arrest you, you know.”
Byrd shook her head. “Sutton, we’re not going to arrest him.”
“Why not? He’s being a jerk.”
“You can’t arrest me for that,” said the slob. “I know my rights.”
“Do you?” Sutton said. “Do you really?”
“I know some of them,” said the slob. He frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Thou shalt not steal.”
“That’s a commandment. That’s a commandment you just said, not a right.”
“I’ve got a right to freedom of the press.”
“You’re getting things mixed up now.”
“I’ve got the right to congregate,” the slob said.
“There’s only one of you.”
“I’ve got the right to freedom of assembly.”
“That’s the same thing,” said Sutton, “and there’s still only one of you. You don’t know your rights at all, do you?”
“I’ve got the right to remain silent.”
“That’s only if we arrest you.”
The slob didn’t respond.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, are you not talking to us now? Seriously?”
The slob shrugged and kept his mouth tightly shut.
Byrd took a folded bill from her pocket, put it on the counter and pushed it over. “Sir, here’s twenty dollars. Have you seen the people we’re looking for?”
The slob picked up the money. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“To be sure, I’d have to see a fifty.”
“Come on, Sutton,” Byrd said, and walked out.
Sutton followed, but turned at the door. “I hate you,” he said.
“I hate all Feds,” said the slob.
“I just hate you.”
“I can live with that.”
Sutton walked out.
Amber watched them get in their car. When they were reversing away, she approached the counter.
“Thank you,” she said.
The slob looked at the counter, then frowned and looked up at her. “For what?”
“For not saying anything.”
“When?”
“To the FBI.”
Milo stepped into view and the slob’s eyes widened. “You’re the girl they’re looking for!”
“You seriously didn’t realise that?” Amber asked.
He lurched off his stool and stumbled to the door, but Amber blocked his way. The slob shrieked and detoured, knocking over a display of small paint cans. They got under his feet and he crashed to the floor.
Amber left the slob crying in a heap, crossed the street, headed into the alley and got in the Charger.
“Why are the FBI looking for us?” she asked.
Milo frowned. “Sorry?”
“Two FBI agents came into the store just there, looking for us. Sutton and Byrd, they said their names were. They didn’t know I was there, but they had a photo of me. Why would they be after us?”
Milo thought for a moment. “Might have something to do with all the dead bodies we leave behind.”
“I can’t fight an FBI agent, Milo. They’re the good guys.”
“I’d hesitate to call any government agency the ‘good guys’, but I see your point.”
“How did they find us? We’ve been in this town for, like, an hour. How have they caught up with us so fast?”
“I don’t know,” said Milo, “but let’s do our best to leave them here, what d’you say?”
The Charger roared to life.
THE HEADACHE THAT HAD threatened since Pattonsburg caught up with her in Eagleville, a steady, sharp throb above her right eye that got so bad she had to turn her head so that Milo wouldn’t see the discomfort on her face. She felt her hand start to tremble so she jammed it under her leg and put all her weight on it. She knew what was coming next. These were the kinds of tremors she got from drinking Astaroth’s blood.
“Why haven’t you told him about me?” her demon-self asked from the back seat.
Amber ignored her. Green fields whipped by.
“He knows you’ve been hallucinating,” her demon-self continued, “so why not just tell him? Is it because you don’t want him to think you’re nuts? I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Or wait, do you not want him to take those last four vials away from you? Is that it? Because you’re still planning on drinking them, right? Even though you know they’ll turn you nuttier than a fruitcake? You’re still going to drink them because you want to be strong when you meet your folks again.”
Amber glanced over her shoulder. Her demon-self smiled.
“Hey, I wouldn’t blame you. I’d want to be as strong as possible, too. They’re sneaky, your parents. Maybe even sneakier than you.”
Amber went back to ignoring her.
“That truck is moving pretty fast, isn’t it?” her demon-self said.
Amber frowned, and turned again. The back seat was now empty, but an old, massive truck filled the rear window.
“Noticed him, too, huh?” Milo muttered.
“A bit close, isn’t he?” she asked. “Fast, for an old wreck.”
“That’s a Peterbilt,” said Milo. “Good trucks.”
“Yeah? Do they come with brakes?”
Milo grunted. He signalled to pull off the road, but the Peterbilt didn’t slow down. Then its headlights came on and filled the Charger with red.
“Ah dammit,” was all Milo had time to say before the truck rammed into them.
The world jolted and Amber braced herself as Milo put his foot down, and they started to pull away.
Then the truck surged, rammed them again and the Charger swerved violently and Milo fought to keep it under control. The Peterbilt drew up alongside them. Amber risked a peek at the driver. From her angle, she didn’t see much – just his glowing red eyes – before the truck veered into their lane. The Charger bo
unced off in a shower of sparks and screaming metal and spun into the fields and the Peterbilt kept going, blasting its horn as the car rocked to a sudden stop.
Amber took a moment to check herself and Milo did the same.
“That was one of Demoriel’s demons,” Amber said. “He had the same glowy red eyes as you and everything.”
“Yeah,” was all Milo said.
He got out and so did she. The back of the Charger was crumpled. The side was scraped and dented. A side mirror hung off. Amber tried fixing it back in place.
“Think it’s a coincidence?” she asked as she did so. “Maybe he was coming this way, anyway, and saw a chance to be an asshole.”
“Maybe,” said Milo.
“But you don’t think so?”
“I do not.”
“What do you think?”
Milo scratched the stubble on his chin, his eyes on the empty stretch of road. “I think the Hound dragging me to Hell might have put me back on the Demonic radar. Astaroth might not have handed me over, but it seems pretty obvious that Demoriel knows where I am now.”
“So you’ve got a demonic trucker after you.”
“Looks like.”
They got back in the Charger. It started first time, and Milo steered them to the road and they took the first turn they came to.
“How much extra trouble are we now in?” Amber asked.
“Hard to say,” Milo answered. “Probably a lot. You still got a fix on your parents?”
She focused on them, and nodded. “Keep going the way we’re going,” she said. “We’re close.”
After an hour of driving, and Milo constantly checking the rear-view mirror for the truck, Amber straightened up.
“Turn here,” she said.
They moved off the road, up a dirt track with trees on either side. They crested a hill and a large house came into view.
“They’re in there,” said Amber. “Maybe.”
They kept going, approaching the house from the rear. It was more than a house, she could see that now. There were added wings and a cross on the roof.
“A church?” Milo asked.
But she recognised it. “It’s a funeral home,” she said. “Stromquist’s Undertakers and Coffin Makers.”
He frowned at her. “How do you know?”
“I … I saw it in a dream. My brother was here.”
They passed a garage containing a gleaming hearse, came round the corner and parked out front. They got out. The building – wooden walls painted white – was surrounded by trees. There were no other cars that she could see.
Amber went round to the trunk, took a small box from her bag and opened it. Inside were four vials of Astaroth’s blood. She slipped one into her pocket and closed the trunk.
“You okay?” Milo asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You dreamed about this place?”
“Never mind that.”
“Is this another one of Astaroth’s side effects you didn’t tell me about?”
“How was I supposed to know it meant anything? Up until this moment, I thought it was just a stupid dream. Now I don’t know what to think, so can we just focus on my psycho parents, please, and leave this stuff till after?”
“Sure,” Milo said, clipping his gun on to his belt.
They approached the door. It stood open. Inside, out of the sun, it was dark. Milo took his gun from its holster and flicked the safety off.
“Stay behind me,” he said, and stepped through the doorway.
There was a flash and a crack and suddenly Milo was in the air and hurtling backwards. He hit the ground and rolled and Amber dodged, ducked down, eyes searching for the attacker, ready to lash out the moment they showed their face.
Milo groaned.
“You okay?” she shouted. “Milo! You okay?”
“Goddamn it,” she heard him mutter.
“Who is it? Where are they?”
He turned on to his back, and groaned again. “No one’s there.”
“Then what happened?”
“Booby trap,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
Amber waited a moment, then straightened up. Keeping well away from the door, she hurried over to Milo, helped him stand.
“Jesus, that hurt,” he said. “You didn’t happen to dream that, did you?”
“I don’t dream the future,” she said. “Just the past.”
“The future would be more useful.” He looked around. “Where’s my gun?”
“I think it fell into the house,” Amber told him. “What kind of booby trap was it?”
“An old one.” He limped back to where he’d been standing, examining the door frame. “See this? It’s called a mur du sang. It’s a demon thing.”
She peered closer, seeing what looked like a line of dried blood going all the way up and around the frame. “What’s it do?”
“Stops uninvited guests from getting into places they’re not invited,” said Milo. “It’s a blood barrier. Only family can pass through.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So me, then.”
He nodded. “They want you alone.”
“I’m tempted to give them what they want.”
“Let’s not – how about that?”
“Does it protect the entire building?”
“Only the entrances they’ve managed to coat.”
“How many doors and windows into this place? If there’s a lot, maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ve already died of blood loss.”
Milo nodded again. “Because we are known for how lucky we get. Could you get me my gun back, please?”
It lay within arm’s reach.
Amber hesitated. “And you’re sure this won’t work on me?”
“Pretty sure.”
“You don’t sound it.”
“I’m very sure.”
“A second ago, you were pretty sure.”
“That was a second ago. I’ve had time to re-evaluate and I’ve upgraded my certainty to very sure. Now will you please get me my gun back?”
Amber took a breath, then shifted into her demon form and reached in, picked up the gun without being thrown off her feet. She straightened up. “You got a lot of attitude for someone asking me for a favour.” She gave it back to him and Milo holstered it. “So how do we get you in?” she asked. She spat on her finger and tried rubbing the blood off. It didn’t even smudge. “You know one place I bet they haven’t sealed? The fireplace.”
“I’m not dropping down the chimney,” said Milo.
“You could be like a scary Santa Claus with a gun.”
“Not doing it.”
“I should just go in myself.”
“That’s what they want.”
“Yeah,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but they don’t know I’m Astaroth’s representative, do they? And all I have to do is drink that vial and whatever they have planned for me will just, like, bounce off me and I’ll have them. They’re in there, Milo. They’re literally waiting for me to grab them.”
“First of all,” said Milo, “your parents are never to be underestimated. Ever. They’re like you that way. Second, how do we know they haven’t figured out your new job title yet? They’ve obviously been expecting you – the mur du sang would seem to suggest that – and they might even know about your recent upgrades. They could be counting on it.”
“Milo, we’re wasting time talking about this, so here’s the plan. I go in. If they come running out, you shoot them. Deal?”
He hesitated.
“Come on now,” said Amber. “I’ve just thought up a plan in which you get to shoot someone. You must be at least a little happy about that.”
“Okay,” he said, “you go in alone. But drink that before you do.”
“Naw, I think I’ll wait,” she responded. “I want to see their faces when I drink it.”
“Amber …”
“What, now you’re trying to make me drink it? I’ll
be fine, okay? Trust me.” She took out her phone and turned with her back to the door.
“What are you doing?” Milo asked.
“Selfie,” she said, taking the picture.
He stared at her, and she gave him a smile, put the phone away, and stepped in.
The funeral home was cold, and old, and very formal. Wood panelling and polished floorboards. Framed paintings on the walls. Antique furniture. Tasteful carpet.
Her dead brother stepped out of the doorway ahead. “This is where they killed me,” he said.
Amber’s heart hammered so hard in her chest it was like it wanted to break free. She blinked and he was gone, and she carried on walking.
Her parents were nearby, but when she was this close to them it became impossible to tell which direction she should take. She thought about calling for them, then decided against it. They could be right around the corner. Her fingers became claws and she took the next right.
The tall man from her dream stood before her. For a moment, she was going to just walk on by, but she looked into his eyes and stopped. He wasn’t a hallucination. His black suit was a different, more modern style and he was older then he’d appeared in the dream. His face had settled into a permanent sneer and his grey hair was now white.
It was unsettling, talking to someone she’d first seen in a dream, but she could handle it. When she was horned up, she could handle anything. “You’re hiding my parents,” she said.
“I am hiding nobody,” he responded. His voice was deep. Hollow.
“I know they’re here.”
“They are,” he said, “but I am not hiding them. I have simply given refuge to some old friends.”
“You don’t really want to count my folks as your friends,” said Amber. “People who do that usually end up dead.”
The sneer twisted a little. “Death holds no mystery for the likes of me, young Amber.”
She faced him with her hands on her hips. In any other circumstance, he’d be one hell of a creepy bastard. “They told you about me, then.”
“They told me you are the Shining Demon’s lapdog.”
Amber shrugged. “They figured it out, did they? And I wanted to surprise them with the news. So are you Stromquist? I feel like I know you, and yet we’ve only just met. Stromquist the bloodsucker, am I right? You wanna step outside with me, Stromquist? It’s a lovely sunny day. Let’s work on your tan.”
Stromquist grimaced slightly. “They said you’ve developed a smart mouth recently. They said before your skin turned red, you were quieter. Less confident. I think I would have liked you better back then.”
