Midnight Rider

by D V Wolfe

  “This is different, Bane,” Nya said, her voice returning to the flat serious tone that always rolled down my spine like an unexpected bucket of cold water. “This isn’t some little pissant demon in an Empty House that is just serious about the job and putting some notches on his belt. This is a big dog who wants to turn you from an ‘is’ to a ‘was’, and pronto.”

  I shrugged. “You mean send me back in line for another Empty House?” I glanced down at myself. I’d been in this body for almost four years now and as far as Empty House bodies go, this one fit me the best of the three I’d had so far. It would suck to have to start over.

  “Bane, the last time you went downstairs, it took three years in topside time before you got a new House. You don’t really have the time to fuck around and get killed again, do you?”

  She was right. I hated it when Nya was right because she was always smug. It was true though. I definitely didn’t have time to go stand in the Bodies-R-Us line in hell if I got my throat slit and my ass handed to me.

  “You don’t have to answer,” Nya said, a wisp of her familiar smugness lining her words. “You know I’m right.”

  “Ok, so there’s a demon who personally wants to send me back downstairs before my time?” I asked, trying to keep her on the ‘moving-forward’ train.

  “That’s what it sounds like,” Nya said. “And I think I know why.”

  “Well spill, woman,” I said. “Did I sleep with its girlfriend? Boyfriend? Cousin’s ex-college roommate?”

  “Bane, I know who your sexual partners have been and I know you like to think of yourself as some kind of player, but four total does not a player make.”

  “You don’t know,” I said. “I could have more.”

  “Do you?” Nya asked.

  I huffed, “So why does this demon want me dead?” She’d called my bluff. Nya knew me way too well. Going to Hell at fifteen and as a virgin came with its drawbacks when I got topside again.

  “Because it holds your contract,” Nya said.

  I felt like my heart stopped beating in my chest. “This demon holds my contract? On my soul? And the souls of everyone from Ashley?”

  “That’s what my sources tell me,” Nya said.

  “Wait,” I said. “You were going to see a techie contact the last time you called.”

  “And after him,” Nya said, “I talked to another one of my snitches. This one has downstairs connections. He said that the only reason a demon would get a hard-on for someone who was already hellward bound would be if they felt that the contract was at risk or if they didn’t want to wait for the party to open their presents. It sounds like you’re getting too close to your number for his comfort and he’s starting to sweat. Apparently, they have a very aggressive promotions protocol in Hell, and losing a contract and a soul, or in your case a shit ton of souls, would mean a serious demotion probably ending in torture and death for said demon.”

  “Shit,” I said. “So if I kill this demon, the deal goes away, right?” My heart was pounding again. Holy shit. If all of this hell I’d created could be undone...

  Nya hesitated. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but that’s kind of the way it’s looking. I’m still trying to research that part.”

  “Ok,” I said. “Before I throw myself a parade and streak across campus in excitement, let’s talk about this demon coming after me. Even if he does hold my contract, is it, I don’t know, legal for him to come after me? The courts in both Heaven and Hell entered into this agreement for me to go on this suicide mission. If either side purposely tries to take me out, doesn’t that, I don’t know, fuck with the deal?”

  “You’re asking me?” Nya asked. “That is way above my pay grade. Besides, when have you ever known Hell to be fair?”

  “True,” I said with a sigh. “Ok, so I should probably find him before he finds me.” I took a deep breath, trying not to sound overly excited at the prospect that this could all be over and undone. “Then, when I find the bastard, I just exorcise him before he can…”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work this time,” Nya said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you, this isn’t some demonic supporting character. This is major league, Bane. That’s why I called you with this ‘potentially shit news’ update after hearing Walter’s weather report. I knew you’d be all hot and heavy for St. Louis. The snitch that told me about the demon, started bleeding from the mouth after spilling what he knew. They’re scared and the supernaturals that live in Missouri are bailing out like rats deserting a sinking ship. ”

  This was odd. Usually, supers couldn’t give a flying rats’ ass what other supernaturals were up to. If they were considering their own safety at stake, this had to be big.

  “Ok,” I said. “I’m starting to see the ‘potentially shit news’ portion of this public service announcement.”

  “We passed ‘potentially shit’ three drinks ago for me and I’m guessing between one and five bad decisions and forty miles for you.”

  “Not that many miles,” I said. “I made a pitstop.”

  “Hopefully to a hospital,” Nya grumbled. When I didn’t answer she sighed. “You went after the fucking Rawhead, didn’t you?” I still didn’t say anything. “Well the fact that you’re still alive enough to talk is something. Did you kill it?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Unfortunately it was only worth one soul on the Price of Souls is Wrong.”

  “Your accountant is a loose number two,” Nya grumbled.

  “I’ll tell him that the next time I see him,” I said. “Ok, so if I can’t exorcise this demonic hemorrhoid, how do I kill it?”

  Nya was silent for a beat. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I’ve never heard of a hunter killing a demon before, let alone one that plays professional hell ball.”

  “And now we’ve passed ‘shit news’ and been upgraded to ‘burning, screaming, discharge news’,” I said. “So what makes you think it’s the thing in St. Louis? I mean besides the supers jumping ship.”

  “Well, when these assholes come topside they upset a lot of the normal balances that humans are used to. They cause weird weather and omens simply because of the amount of hell they raise by coming upstairs. And Walter…”

  She didn’t have to finish, I knew what she was getting at. “And ‘clouds over’ is Walter’s code for ‘not sure, but bad shit’,” I said.

  “By George, she’s got it,” Nya said. “So until I can get some intel on how to kill the damn thing, stay away from St. Louis.”

  I felt the brush of anxiety against my stomach, realizing I was going to have to disappoint her again. “Nya, that was the only thing on the weather report. I just spent two days hunting something that only netted me one soul. Time is running out…”

  “It’s going to run out a lot faster if you go off to St. Louis half-cocked and end up in a body bag,” Nya growled.

  “How sure are we that it’s the demon in St. Louis?” I asked. “I mean, I know your snitch says everything is evacuating Missouri, but what if the demon is actually hanging out in Springfield, or Columbia? I mean, why would the demon ‘announce’ where he was like that? If he is some downstairs big-wig, wouldn’t he know that the Harbinger would pick up on his scent?” I asked.

  “Probably doesn’t care,” Nya said. “Like I said, you can’t exorcise him and no known hunter has ever managed to kill a demon.”

  A thought flashed across my mind. If no hunter had ever been able to kill one, if I managed to, somehow, I wondered how many souls bagging a demon would be worth. That is if they counted killing their own kind against the soul exchange. I knew I was better off not sharing that thought with Nya. She’d just get pissed and yell, telling me not to go and the sharp pain of having to disappoint her would get worse.

  “Well, you’ll let me know if you find a way to bag a demon?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Nya said. “Just...stay safe until then, ok? My last quarter’s almost out, I’ll call you la
ter.”

  I flipped the phone closed and threw it on the seat. The kid was still sound asleep. I knew Nya had my best interests at heart, or so she thought, but beggars can’t be choosers and something was going down in St. Louis. Maybe it wasn’t the demon. Maybe it was one of the other few supers that could camouflage what they really were from Walter. Maybe St. Louis was perfectly safe for me to hunt in. Well, relatively speaking. Either way, I couldn’t just let the opportunity pass me by.

  “Shit,” I mumbled and I started looking for a turn-off. At the first one I saw, I turned west, heading for St. Louis. I merged onto the westward highway, driving right through the smoky outlines of Mr. and Mrs. Abraham Fitch, silently screaming with their heads on fire, and Noah snored loudly, turning his head and settling into sleep again. I’m sure there were a million Greyhound stations along the way.

  4

  The sun was creeping up behind us by the time Noah opened his eyes. He sat up and rubbed his neck as he looked around.

  “Where are we? This doesn’t look like Maryland.”

  “Change of plans,” I said, ignoring the ditches that were still filled by the burning townsfolk of Ashley. Somehow, they were slightly less eerie and more traumatizing to look at by the light of day.

  I glanced at Noah. “You know anyone in St. Louis?” Noah shook his head. “Well I can stop at the next Greyhound station and put you on a bus heading back east.”

  Noah shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Or you can come to St. Louis with me,” I started. Why the hell had I said that? It had just slipped out. He’d say ‘no’. No harm done...

  “Why not,” Noah said.

  Shit.

  I looked over at Noah. I could tell by his tone that he was trying to sound like he didn’t really care, but he honestly looked relieved.

  How could he be relieved about going with me after what I’d put him through last night? As desperate as he must be to get away from his hometown and avoid the villagers with torches and pitchforks who were supposedly awaiting his return, I gave him one more incident with me before he jumped out at the next bus station we passed.

  But what if he didn’t? A brick of guilt landed in my stomach and started to sink. Taking a random hitchhiker on a regular hunt was one thing that I shouldn’t have done, but hunting down a demon? I couldn’t take the kid with me on that kind of a dumpster run.

  “So why St. Louis?” Noah asked.

  “I thought we’d take in a Cardinals game.” I flexed the fingers of my right hand on the steering wheel. They were starting to feel stronger. The kid had done a good job of putting me to rights.

  Noah rolled his eyes. “Come on, Bane. Seriously, can you ever just give a straight answer.”

  I looked at him. “You haven’t known me long enough to ask me if I ‘can ever just’ do anything. What makes you think I’m not always giving straight answers and you just caught me on a whimsical night?”

  “Call it an educated guess,” Noah said. “Now why are we going to St. Louis?”

  We. Oh god. I sighed. Who was the kid going to tell anyway? “There’s a weather forecast for a chance of thunderstorms in St. Louis.,” I said.

  Noah looked at me, blank-faced. “And?”

  “And ‘chance of thunderstorms’ with a forecast of ‘clouds over’ a place means something ain’t right in the neighborhood.”

  “You watched Ghostbusters a lot when you were a kid, didn’t you,” Noah scoffed.

  “Not when I was a kid. And I saw it once. Grossly inaccurate.”

  Noah shook his head. “So because you hear a weather forecast on the radio, you think there are...what...ghosts, in St. Louis?”

  “Ghosts… no spirits, aren’t something you really have to worry about. If it was just a simple case of a haunting, we’d be done with it in an afternoon and then be heading down to Tijuana to get you drunk and laid.”

  Fuck, I’d said we. Now he had me saying it.

  “Really?” Noah asked. I looked over at him. “Well obviously not the drunk part,” he stammered, “but…”

  Most likely not the other part either with his condition. “Anyway,” I interrupted. “I figure there are about twenty to thirty Greyhound stations between here and there and you can have your pick of any of them. You just have to tell me when.” Now why had I given him that option? I should have said I’d drop him at the first one. Getting him away from me and away from hunting was the only sane thing to do and I kept screwing up that message with semantics.

  “I thought I was going to go with you to St. Louis,” Noah said.

  “Whatever is going down there, it’s going to be a lot nastier than a Rawhead. Rawheads are kind of the wallflower cousins twice-removed from anything really bad. It’s really better to get you headed in the opposite direction of this thing.” There. Now he knew where I stood, and he knew that he couldn’t come with me.

  Noah was quiet for a minute. “So weather reports are-”

  “Not all of them. Just one station.” Jesus, I couldn’t shut up. Was this what happened when you didn’t interact with people? You automatically turned into a chatterbox when you were around someone again? I needed a distraction. Noise. Noise would stop the questions and stop me from answering them. I turned the knob to 115.8 AM.

  Walter’s voice rang out over the static, “The brownout that threatened to overtake Pasadena today dissipated in the desert, leaving only strong winds blowing over into the Las Vegas area …”

  “Damn. I could have used that hunt. Oh well, I wasn’t really looking forward to hunting a Bonnacon. I feel bad for anyone on the strip tonight though,” I said without thinking. I was desperate, but not quite desperate enough to drive across the entire country to get shit on by a supernatural bull when said shit could eat through metal.

  “What?” Noah asked. “How did you get all that from the weather report?”

  So much for the noise distraction making me shut up. “I listened to it,” I said, finally.

  “But it didn’t say…”

  “It’s code, Noah,” I said, passing an SUV. “I would have thought that you would have at least tried to get a badge in code-talking for the glory of your troop.”

  “For the last time, I was not a boy scout.”

  I grinned. “Come on Noah, admitting it is the first step.” Oh well, I may as well steer into the skid. Talking can be a distraction.

  “How about you admit something, Bane. Tell me something true about yourself. Anything.”

  I thought for a minute. “I love the chick Peeps but the bunny-shaped Peeps creep me out.”

  Noah shook his head. “Doesn’t count. It has to be something real.”

  “That is real. I think it’s their dead little eyes, judging you.”

  “The chick ones have the same eyes,” Noah said. “Besides, they’re disgusting.”

  I had to hide my grin. I hadn’t had a good Peeps argument in a long time.“I will try to overlook the fact that you said that and pretend that I don’t want to throw you from the truck cab like a Mad Max extra for insulting Peeps.” I picked the box of Peeps off the seat and showed them to him. “See, their eyes are farther apart. They look like they’re just happy to see you. The bunnies, on the other hand, look like they’re going to wait for you to fall asleep and then pull a knife on you.” Noah just raised an eyebrow at me. I set the box down and scratched the back of my neck. “What I can’t figure out is why they made marshmallow chicks. Why not marshmallow ducks?”