“You go, guuuuurl,” Dwayne shouted.
Nodding to Dwayne, I continued. “So here’s the deal. You will transport to Alabama and search for the fugitives. You will be given till sundown. You will report to Reginald hourly. If we don’t hear from you, we will let the Dragons know that you’re fair game. Trust me, boys. You don’t want the Dragons on your asses. They make dealing with me look like child’s play.”
Clark and Jones bowed their heads in respect and assent. I didn’t like it. It was as old school as the rest of the antiquated WTF. However, some things would never change. Weres had been around for a very long time and habits were hard to break. If I could break their habit of treating women as second-class citizens, then I’d accomplished something. If they needed to bow, they could bow.
“I’ve got the address of the former compound,” Hank said, handing a piece of paper to Zeernebooch. “I’d suggest shifting as soon as you arrive, boys. Move fast and tie your cellphones to your necks before you shift. Junior Wilson and the Georgia pack will be in the area as well as the Dragons. He’s been made aware that you will be arriving shortly. Don’t fuck up. Pissed off Dragons are one thing. My pissed off brother is entirely another.”
“You people are so much fun! Soooo violent,” Zeernebooch gushed as he eyed the piece of paper. “Son, I need your help here. Let’s try to transport these douches without castrating them.”
“Shit,” Jones muttered, going as white as a ghost.
He’d played right into Zeernebooch’s happily evil hands.
“Can’t guarantee that the weenies won’t shrink in size… dramatically,” Belphegor said, doing his best to look and sound evil.
The use of the word weenie wasn’t exactly dastardly. He kind of failed, but Clark and Jones didn’t seem to notice.
“And can you do a counter spell so they don’t develop D cup mammaries, son?” Zeernebooch inquired.
“I think I remember it, but I’m not experienced enough to ensure that they won’t end up with five testicles and male patterned baldness,” Belphegor replied in a very serious tone.
Maybe he was a little bit evil… Clark and Jones were terrified. As gratifying as it was to watch them panic, it wasn’t conducive to them actually being ready for the mission.
“They’re shitting you,” I told them. “Your tiny weenies will be fine.”
The sighs of relief from the asses would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so dire.
“Party pooper,” Zeernebooch mumbled as he raised his arms over his head in preparation to send Clark and Jones to Alabama.
“Send them,” Hank said flatly. “The clock is ticking.”
In a blast of sparkling black magic, Clark and Jones disappeared.
“What do we do now?” Granny asked.
“We wait,” I said. “It sucks, but we wait. And Hank?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Ten works for me,” I whispered.
Hank stared at me like I was the most precious thing in his life. He certainly was the most precious thing in mine. I wanted to bring more beauty into this world. I wanted to make it better and I wanted our kind to live to see tomorrow. Nothing I could think of would be more important than a child of ours created in love. Nothing.
Hank’s smile made my heart melt. “We’ll get started on that tomorrow.”
“Promise?” I asked.
“I promise.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Waitin’ doesn’t feel right,” Granny said as she perused the selection of stolen candy—compliments of her deranged Demon.
I agreed with her assessment, but staying put was the smartest thing to do right now. With the Demon transport, we could be anywhere in the world within seconds. We’d be nauseous, but we’d be there. Splitting up was not the way to go. We were far stronger as a single unit.
“The Bobs are on their way back from California. The Witches wouldn’t strike a deal… thank God. However, we owe Red Lobster a hundred thousand dollars,” Reginald announced as he too chose some candy.
“That’s a lot of buttery seafood,” Zeernebooch commented as he dug into his third box of Milk Duds.
“Agreed,” Reginald said with a chuckle. “The Bobs have been appraised of the situation and commend both Essie and Hank.”
“That’s a joke, right?” I asked. Had Hell frozen over?
“Not at all. The bill was enormous, and the Bobs are pleased with what you and Hank have done thus far,” Reginald replied. “I believe the word they used was impressed.”
“Wait. You told them I’m on the WTF Council now?” Dwayne asked while twisting Belphegor’s dark hair into crazy little braids.
“Umm… no. I saved that tidbit so Essie could tell them in person. I was thinking it might be fun to video her speech.”
“Are you getting a sense of humor?” I asked my godfather. “Because it really sounds like you are.”
“Of course Reginald has a sense of humor,” Dwayne said with an appropriately sized eye roll. “He’s gay. All gay men have wonderful senses of humor. It’s a requirement.”
“I have to agree with my love,” Belphegor added with a giggle. “Reginald is simply a gruff ol’ teddy bear. I’d say he either needs to get laid or watch a Judy Garland marathon to loosen up.”
“Reginald is standing right here,” Reginald said with an eye roll that beat Dwayne’s by a long shot. “And yes. I have a sense of humor. I usually leave it at home. As far as my private life goes… it’s private. And a Judy Garland marathon is an outstanding idea. I officially invite you and Dwayne to spend an evening at my home for the viewing. As long as we’re still alive.”
“I’m already dead,” Dwayne said with a thumbs up. “So I’ll be there. Name the date and the place. I’ll even come dressed as Judy in her later years.”
“Just don’t ask him to sing,” I muttered, wondering how we could be talking about movies and eating candy when we might not see tomorrow. “We need a Plan B.”
“Essie’s right, there’s not much time and too many unknowns,” Hank said. “If Giles and the Tinas can’t be found we’re in trouble.”
“They can be found,” Zeernebooch said as he reached across the candy array and accidentally on purpose grazed Granny’s left traffic stopper.
“I see what you did there, Weiner Hooch,” Granny said, giving him the evil eyeball.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” the Demon lied and placed a little distance between him and the nutbag he was obsessed with.
“Next time you better give both girls the same attention,” she admonished him with a laugh. “If you play favorites with my knockers, you’re gonna lose another point.”
“My PLEASURE,” he bellowed as he seated himself even closer to Granny.
“Nope,” I told the two dummies. “There will be no public groping. And why are you so sure that Clark and Jones will find the fugitives?”
Zeernebooch tilted his head to the side and looked at me. “I don’t believe I said that Clark and Jones would find them. I said they could be found.”
“How?” Hank asked.
“Obizuth,” Zeernebooch replied with a shudder. “Since she has worked with them, she has most likely taken their souls. That’s a hobby of hers.”
“She sounds awesome,” Granny commented sarcastically. “A real fun gal.”
“Oh dear,” Belphegor said, sitting up and wringing his hands. “If we call on her, she can’t know about Pappy and Bobbie Sue.”
It was kind of difficult to take anything he said seriously since he had about thirty little braids sticking out of his head, but his expression was deadly serious.
“Why?” I asked.
“She’ll eat her,” Zeernebooch spat. “The disgusting wench from Hell hates me, but would rather die than see me happy.”
“Again, she sounds like a barrel of laughs,” Granny muttered.
“This is not a joke,” Zeernebooch insisted. “If we have to bring her in, you must act as if I’m a di
sgusting pig. Am I clear, Bobbie Sue of the fabulous traffic stoppers?”
“Not a problem,” she told him with a grin. “You are a disgusting pig.”
“Thank you,” he replied proudly.
“Welcome, Weiner Hooch.”
We all sat in silence for a bit as we considered this new plan of attack.
“How long do we give Clark and Jones before we go with the sucktastic Plan B?” I wondered aloud.
Again, there was silence. Calling on a vicious she-Demon could be the end of us all anyway. The choices were not stellar.
“Ohhh, Hell’s bells,” Belphegor said. “I don’t have her number. Do you?” he asked his Pappy.
“No, I don’t have her damned number. It’s taken me years of therapy to get over the fact that I poked the heinous hellbag in a drunken stupor,” Zeernebooch snapped.
Belphegor looked crestfallen. Zeernebooch immediately went to him and pulled him into a bear hug.
“Son, you are the only good thing that came out of that nightmare-inducing poke,” he said lovingly as he tried to stroke his son’s hair, only to get his fingers caught in the myriad of tiny braids. “At this point, I would rather lop my own majestic schlong off than poke that dog again, but I’m glad it happened once.”
“And I’m glad you didn’t let her kill me,” Belphegor told him, trying to help him dislodge his fingers from his hair. It took Dwayne’s intervention to separate them.
“Okay, that was really sweet in a weird way, but did I just hear that neither of you have Obizuth’s phone number?” I asked.
“Why do you need a phone number?” Reginald asked, perplexed. “Why can’t you simply summon the demonic hag?”
“Duuuude, you call yourself a Demon Hunter?” I asked, squinting at him in surprise. “Everyone knows that when you summon a Demon all you get is a pissed off ghost.”
“This is correct?” a shocked Reginald questioned the Demons.
“It is,” Belphegor said, smiling. “Everyone knows this.”
Reginald was silent as he digested the new information. He was dick-ish, but he was my Godfather. I couldn’t ride him like this.
“Fine,” I conceded with a laugh. “We just learned that tidbit. However, it’s true. And from the sounds of it, we don’t have a Plan B now if no one has Obizuth’s number.”
“Can Junior hack it from somewhere?” Hank asked.
Zeernebooch glanced over at Belphegor who was getting his braids repaired by Dwayne. “I suppose he could try,” he said. “But it would be a very long shot.”
“Pigeons,” I shouted, startling everyone. “Homing pigeons. If we can’t call her, we can send a pigeon to retrieve her.”
“Haven’t used a Pigeon since the late seventies,” Zeernebooch said. “Those bastards are violent and mouthy. Lost several fingers back in the day.”
“Homing pigeons talk?” Hank asked, confused.
“They’re actually Were Pigeons,” Belphegor said. “Very rare and very violent. Haven’t seen one in ages.”
My grin was so wide it hurt my cheeks. Hank’s eye met mine and he laughed. “You guys are in luck. I might just happen to know where the illusive Homing Pigeons live.”
“Do we need to transport?” Granny asked looking a little green.
“Nope. It’s a ten minute walk.”
“Lead on, leader,” Reginald said, standing and gathering up his bag and the files.
His praise gave me a rush of happiness. I was fearless when it came to the people I loved. I was definitely insane. But mostly, I was a leader. I was a leader who would save her people…
Or die trying.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Birdie shouted in an excited squeal as she hopped out of her golf cart and jogged over. She was wearing bright green coveralls and was a very welcome sight on this bright sunny morning that could turn out to be our last day breathing. “Was hoping I’d see you again!”
“Lookin’ good, Birdie,” I said with a wide grin.
“Right back at ya, Essie.”
Birdie’s laugh was musical and her tiny stature was adorable. However, she was one of the most deadly Weres I’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.
“Your name is Birdie?” Granny asked as she shook the delightful woman’s hand.
"You can laugh," she said with a put-upon sigh. "Everyone else does. My Mamma was a little out there and very literal—hence the name. My brother’s name is Chicken.”
“I like it,” Granny announced. “I’m Bobbie Sue, Essie’s Granny.”
“Pleased to meet ya,” Birdie said as a few more Pigeons joined the crowd.
I’d known Were Pigeons existed, but I'd never seen them until a year ago when they’d helped save our butts. There were only three known Packs of Were Pigeons in the world—Chicago, New York and London. In their Were form, they looked like Pigeons on steroids—about four times the size of a normal pigeon. However, the razor-sharp and unnaturally long fangs were a dead giveaway that they were not typical birds.
They lived openly, yet in total secret right in the Lincoln Park Zoo. In fact, they owned the Zoo and plenty of other real estate in the Chicago area. I’d made a deal with Birdie that I’d teach her to shoot if she taught me some of her insane moves. Sadly, I hadn’t had the time to take her up on it yet.
“While I’m hoping this is a social visit, I’m guessing it’s not from the company you’re keeping,” she said, eyeing the Demons with curiosity. “Is that you, Zeernebooch and Belphegor?”
“It is,” Zeernebooch said, bowing to Birdie.
Belphegor wasn’t as formal. He sprinted forward and wrapped the small women in a giant hug. The other Pigeons joined in and it was a literal Demon-Pigeon hug fest. Zeernebooch was even pulled into it, much to his mortification.
“Was wondering what happened to you big boys,” Birdie said, wiping a tear from her eye and slapping Zeernebooch in the head. “Missed ya and your evil asses.”
Weird was my normal. Never thought I’d see a Pigeon smack a Demon and live to tell about it. But Birdie was not a normal Pigeon—not even close.
“Alrighty then,” she said, pulling an industrial-sized street broom from the back of her golf cart. “It’s not every day that ya see Werewolves, Vampyres, Demons, and a Demon Hunter together. Is this about the deaths in the warehouse?”
“You know about that?” I asked. Again, thinking the Bobs should have been more subtle in their actions as far as guarding the place.
“Heard there were a bunch of Weres dead in there, but that’s about it,” she said as she began to beautify her park. “Is it true?”
I nodded and grabbed another broom. Hank grabbed some clippers and the rest of our group followed suit. Dwayne, Belphegor and Reginald took pruners and went to work on the flowers. Granny and Zeernebooch strapped on some leaf blowers and began to clean the walkways.
“It’s true, but there’s a lot more to it,” I told her as I swept the sidewalk alongside her.
“Spit it out, friend,” she said. “I’m guessing you need my help, so get me up to speed.”
I did.
She was shocked. And pissed.
“Break time!” Birdie shouted and then whistled so shrilly that I was sure I was now deaf in my right ear. “We have some business to discuss. Everyone follow me to the monkey cages.”
“Dear god,” Dwayne whispered with a laugh. “Monkey cages remind me of Sadie’s baby shower.”
“Word,” I said with a giggle. “At least we won’t be expected to eat anything.”
“So you want us to bring you Obizuth?” Birdie choked out with such distress my stomach started to hurt.
Exactly how bad was this particular Demon?
“Even Satan wants her eliminated, if the rumors are true,” Birdie’s brother, Chicken, shared with a shudder of repulsion.
Okay… she was really bad.
“They’re true,” Zeernebooch said, darkly. “Apparently, she destroyed Cinderella’s Castle in Disney World. Satan tried to smite her on the spot
, but she escaped.”
“Heard about that,” Birdie said. “Too bad he didn’t get her. She’s some seriously bad business.”
“Obizuth is the one creating the Jazz Cabbage,” I said. “We’re not sure we can find the Weres who called on her. But we know she can find them.”
“And we need them so we can stop another outbreak,” Hank explained. “One more on this large scale and Weres are no longer a secret. The human authorities are already investigating. Our Dragon Seer, Seth, thinks we have twenty-four hours before everything goes to Hell in a handbasket.”
“Shee-ot,” Birdie muttered, looking worried. “So I’m not following about how we can help you fine yet insane people.”
“No one has Obizuth’s phone number,” Dwayne said.
Birdie digested this news silently. I heard several of the other Pigeons gulp loudly.
“We want to know if you would be willing to bring the hag to us,” Reginald said, stepping forward. “The WTF will be willing to pay a hefty sum for your services.”
“We don’t need money,” Birdie said. “We got all the money we need. Hell, we just keep giving it away. You can’t take that shit with ya.”
“What is it that you would like in return?” Reginald asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” she replied, glancing over at her comrades who just shrugged. “We live a pretty simple yet violent life here. We’re quite happy.”
“How about Were Pigeon representation on the WTF Council?” I offered as I heard Reginald groan and then sigh dramatically. “It’s about time that it wasn’t the Werewolf Treaty Federation anymore. It should be the Were Treaty Federation—all Weres.”
“I’d vote for a name that doesn’t mean what the fuck,” Birdie said with a chuckle.
Were We Belong Page 14
